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August 26, 2008

Comments

kb

It's called "xanax" darling. Don't leave home without it.
Glad you made it! Can't wait to hear all.

Davin

That's funny, the majestic plural is a pet peeve of mine. Guess it's all relative.

tonya

Just regarding your peeve for another day: mine is when the person in front of me reclines their seat back as far as it will possibly go, making it near impossible to get out without gutting myself. Are you sure you weren't sitting in that person's lap?!

Ocky

Or people standing up and gathering their had luggage before the plane has fully stopped, and despite the pleas of the cabin crew. Then they stand awkwardlly in the aisles, pressed together like doomed cattle, waiting for the doors to open. Fer Christ's sake, people, the plane aint about to take off again before you get off.

Welcome to Melbourne, Mark

R. Tilern Smurtz

I believe they mean to be annoyingly redundant in order to avoid any confusion from passengers claiming not to have been aware that it was the LAST boarding call.

JEN

Hah! I laughed reading this post. I thought my husband and I were the only ones who got annoyed by people pulling themselves up with the back of our chairs.
I don't have a problem with people who put their seats back though. It is well within their rights and unavoidable if one wants to sleep. Pulling on the back of the seat is, however, an avoidable discomfort.

Don

The other outstanding use of language is when the flight attendant "welcomes you to (location) or wherever your final destination may take you."

Um, my final destination isn't taking me anywhere.

This is something to be contemplated while your flight is "pre-boarding."

Don

The other outstanding use of language is when the flight attendant "welcomes you to (location) or wherever your final destination may take you."

Um, my final destination isn't taking me anywhere.

This is something to be contemplated while your flight is "pre-boarding."

Shyam Kumar

No one puts it better than George Carlin.

My fav:

"Please get on the plane"

Carlin: "Eff you, am getting IN the plane. It's a lot less windy in there"

:)

w

Ha!

You should take a look at Jonathan Miles's Dear American Airlines. It's brilliant like your letter.

C-

Also too, there's not enough fresh air.

Mary McPhee

It makes perfect sense. "This is your last (and the final announcement of the last)boarding call." Or: "This is your last--and by the way, we aren't telling you again--boarding call. So that's final."

Chinmay

Um... been to Bangalore International Airport? Here's the start of the "announcement" I'm hearing now: "Good morning; may I have your attention please... All passengers.."

Talk of redundancy!

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."