Look Askew? How about Look Askance?

The Sept. 27 Sunday New York Times Week in Review section's Ping columnist Brad Stone asks if "social network sites ... will look askew... ."

The expression he wanted is "look askance," which means to view with suspicion or doubt. Askew and askance are not synonyms when used in that context, if they are synonyms at all in any context. Ironic that those who work in precision disciplines such as technology or engineering can be highly imprecise, if not flat-out wrong, in their use of language.

Fire Fox ALCS reporter Ken Rosenthal

Who at Fox thought it a smart move to hire this guy? We hope they are reviewing the situation because he is exasperating for any half-knowledgeable fan to watch. Ken, who's as animated and personable as an inanimate Mattel doll, asks riveting questions, such as this one to a Yankee player after Game 2 of ALCS: "You're up 2-0. How big is that?" [Give the player credit for resisting the temptation to reply, "It's really no big deal; they only have to win four of the next five games, so we are back on our heels right now, you jerk!"]

Virtually every one of his ill-conceived queries begin with "How," but instead of asking, for example, how the player did something, his questions answer themselves. Whatever is the opposite of incisive sums up Rosenthal's limp interview technique." If the responses to his questions were any more obvious, he could be replaced by the team's PR person, because that's exactly what he sounds like. Interestingly, when he interviewed Jerry Hairston, his question was more cogent than when interviewing Alex Rodriguez, and it seems as if Rosenthal is awed by the big stars, virtually afraid to ask the tough questions. This guy is the journalistic equivalent of a batting practice pitcher -- he serves up deliciously big meatballs for the interviewee, which is about as meaningful to the audience as a home run hit in batting practice. Yawn. One only can hope the next time there's a Yankee walkoff win this post-season, pie-eyed Ken Rosenthal becomes the first non-roster target of A.J. Burnett's now-famous facials.

Core (rhymes with "poor" English) Performance.com

The tag on a new Adidas sleeveless workout jersey invited the purchaser to a free three-week trial at coreperformance.com. The Adidas affiliation implies a measure of quality and professionalism. 

But the site featured subliterate copy gaffes like "dos and dont's." That one was bound to happen sooner or later, what with all the crazy, ignorant use of apostrophes to make words plural. The apostrophe denotes the possessive, as in belongs to, or a contraction as in don't do not. The apostrophe is not used to pluralize words except by those for whom English seems to be their second language, even when it is is not.   

Ironically, whomever wrote the above did not commit the commonplace "do's" but managed to misplace the apostrophe in  "don't."

In another place of the site, the word assessment is misspelled as "assesment", so at least the person who is butchering the English language at Core Performance is consistent -- consistently not up to the task they are paid to do. Double-duh on the culprit. 

Icon, artist … I, con artist?

  Knowing how I have a penchant for setting the cable box’s DVR to time-shift selected programs – concerts, PBS documentaries, awards shows, Tiger on a red-shirt Sunday – my wife Elyse asked me a question of earth-shattering significance last Tuesday afternoon as we caught up with each other during the workday: In a hushed tone of reverence that resonated with raw emotion, she wanted to know if I had recorded the Michael Jackson Marathon – I mean Memorial. My reply was supremely solemn: “What, are you kidding?! Enough already. I could care less.” 

  Okay, so I made up the dramatic part about how Elyse posed the question, which she did in fact ask, only very matter-of-factly. (My family knows better than to upstage me as soap opera diva-in-chief.)

  I enjoy Michael Jackson’s music as much as anyone. I just never realized that his cosmic halo was more blinding than Ghandi, Churchill, King, Kennedy, Ali and Rod Blagojevich combined. That is some heady company to be in, let alone to transcend. But, let’s face it, and reface it, MJ deserves all the accolades that The Today Show showers on him every minute of every day. 

    Now I’m home after a long day and tell Elyse I’m writing this, and that I trash the Today show, which she likes to watch each morning before switching channels to MSNBC before she leaves so I can watch Morning Joe (Scarborough). On such thoughtful if small gestures do marriages turn golden.

   I ask my much better half, “What day did Michael Jackson die?” As a loyal Today Show viewer, she of course has this vital statistic burned into her braincells as indelibly as the NBC logo on screen, and instantly replies, “June 25.” There I go again: “Geez, Louise … I mean Elyse, geez, they’ve been doing this now for almost two weeks? It’s insane!” 

  Louise … I mean Elyse tranquilizes the maniac screaming at her by contending that the Today Show is only giving viewers what they want. I come right back with a sharp left jab: “Do you think that nobody would watch the Today Show if they didn’t have this wall-to-wall off-the-wall coverage of Michael Jackson?”    

  I then proceed to score crucial late-round points with the bedside judges when Elyse backpedals courtesy of fancy footwork to empathize with those poor megastars who must go through life fending off ga-ga fans everywhere they go. I don’t buy the rope-a-dope feint, and remind Elyse of her disdain for the celebrity-culture social media that impels people – like, say, her very social husband – to go on Facebook and Twitter and incessantly broadcast to the world “it’s all about me” every chance they get. (You mean it isn’t all about me? Wait a sec. I better go tweet that to everyone right now then.)

  The bad news about the media meltdown over Michael Jackson’s predictably premature demise is the merciless reflection of our shallow culture that has stared us in the face since June 25. There’s a gaping chasm between appreciating a musical talent of seismic magnitude and elevating that mortal icon to an immortal deity. We lower ourselves by letting others rise beyond reason. 

  The good news? Maybe this overdose of undeserved deification will convince more people to watch less TV, especially those parts of TV that can’t be trusted to treat their viewers with even a modicum of respect because their lazy and loud and clear message is, “This is the only person in the world who matters right now, and the next day, and the day after that, and … .”    

  Those who think of Michael Jackson as a con artist miss the point if they think he conned anybody more than he conned himself. He was not only a show business great. He was the world’s greatest self-identity thief who never was comfortable looking at the man in the mirror. As a performer, he was the ultimate thriller, but if depression was his demon, he found the ultimate way to beat it.