#179 First Annual

I admit that I spend way to much time worrying over the sloppy use of language, but like my old English teacher that used to use her ruler to rap us across the knuckles when we dangled a participle, I’ve come to believe that language is the foundation of civilization, for shizzle, and if we don’t pay attention to its fundamentals and be active and vigilant in the defense of its rules we run the risk of a constant erosion of our culture and a preponderance of run-on sentences.
So I hate it when I hear the phrase First Annual. Such and such is having their First Annual Calendar Sale. So and so is putting on the First Annual Educational Drive. Annual is the anniversary. You may have noticed, your first birthday was not when you came out of the womb. You can have a first event, and a second annual event. According to persnickety grammarian types, annual is a term that can only be applied to an event that happens two or more years in succession. Frankly, I’m a little surprised a green squiggly line doesn’t grammarcheck me when I type in “first annual.” So, “second annual” is barely okay. “Third annual” is safer. If you want your first event to sound more impressive say “inaugural” and then, by gosh, just tell people flat out that you plan to keep going year after year.
Nothing bothers me more than sloppy word usage. And you know what? I think I might get me some of that nothing stuff. I’ve been hearing a lot about it again lately. Seems that nothing works harder. And nothing is better for my toilet clogs. And nothing works quicker. And nothing acts to remove that unsightly hair with less damage to your skin. Yoo hoo. I want some nothing. It sounds almost as versatile as scratch. Everybody loves stuff made from scratch. You can make cookies and furniture and sauces and even decorative knickknacks for your home.
“Where you’d get that wall hanging, Madge?”
“I made it from scratch.”
“Do say. Nothing is better than scratch.”
“No it’s not!”
“Is too!”
“Who says?”
“Who’s on first...”
Like I say, attending to the details of language is important.
Like my Halloween candy. Little, fun-size, Three Musketeers bars. The fine print on the wrapper says: “May contain peanuts.” My brother-in-law pointed it out. “They’ve been making Three Musketeers for about fifty years. Don’t you think it’s about time they knew whether or not they contain peanuts?”
I replied honestly: “Nothing would please me more”
America ya gotta love it.