Benjamin whooped into the phone. "You're slipping off the track! It takes you five days to make ten corrections. From the numbers you just posted, you've dipped under fifty-one percent-you're in danger of dropping below fifty percent corrected!"

"I'm in the middle of nowhere. They don't cotton much to words out here."

"Excuses!"

I couldn't hold back anymore. I spilled all of my doubts and frustrations. I told him about the internal war that the Hawk and the Hippie seemed to be waging in the guts of our mission.

He didn't sound surprised in the least. "I could already tell that something was different. I'm not sure I have the answers you're looking for-but we'll figure them out as we go."

"We?"

"You heard me, dude," Benjamin said. "TEAL needs me back on the team. I know that shotgun seat is opening up once your Jane heads back home. So, Deck, I'm putting the Appalachian Trail off for a year. It'll still be there in 2009."

I didn't know what to say. Light began to diffuse into the dark future of the League.

"I'll see you in Chi-town," said Benjamin.

TYPO T TRIP T TALLY.

Total found: 276 Total corrected: 140 * The The Oxford English Dictionary Oxford English Dictionary would expand upon the use of quotations in quant.i.ty as well as depth, as the makers of this comprehensive and literally would expand upon the use of quotations in quant.i.ty as well as depth, as the makers of this comprehensive and literally exhaustive exhaustive dictionary didn't just add sample sentences to show the words in use, but also worked to track down the earliest written appearances of the words. dictionary didn't just add sample sentences to show the words in use, but also worked to track down the earliest written appearances of the words.* More on Latin specifically next chapter. More on Latin specifically next chapter.

14

The Epic Chapter Wherein Heroes Battle and the Scenery Flashes Past

April 27-May 1, 2008 (Minneapolis, MN; Madison, WI; Chicago, IL; Bloomington, IN; Cincinnati, OH; Newport, KY)Reunited with his faithful friend and foil, our Hero charges into the last battle for the soul of the League. Taking opposing sides, these Allies spar through the snowy streets of Madison, tread carefully around mental land mines in the Windy City, are nearly mad driven on Indiana roads, and finish Once and For All over the Ohio River.

I shall skip describing the scene at the Minneapolis airport, where Jane and I bade each other farewell, lest the upwelling of your tears streak the ink of these pages and damage this highly collectible book. I returned to Callie, alone for the first time in seven weeks. Perhaps if I could have crawled into some eremite cave, the sudden aloneness wouldn't have been so shall skip describing the scene at the Minneapolis airport, where Jane and I bade each other farewell, lest the upwelling of your tears streak the ink of these pages and damage this highly collectible book. I returned to Callie, alone for the first time in seven weeks. Perhaps if I could have crawled into some eremite cave, the sudden aloneness wouldn't have been so loud loud, but as it was, I had a mission. In the Twin Cities, my destination was clear: the Mall of America, a monument to capitalism and testament to Americanism-complete with roller coaster-that could not be pa.s.sed over. Unfortunately, the typos therein were all too easy to pa.s.s over. I failed to correct a single one of the eight I found, dropping me under the fifty-percent correction mark.

Back in the infinite warrens of the mall's parking garage, I called Benjamin to find out when he'd arrive in Chicago.

"Hey man," he said, "if your typo hunting's done this early, you could always move on to your next stop. That's Katie and Lisa, right? You sound way down. Madison's your best bet."

I set off on the four-and-a-half-hour drive without hesitation, stopping briefly to unfurl my limbs and void my bladder. Western Wisconsin was still lonely territory, and I considered how, when I'd first envisioned the trip, it had been as a solo run. The sun set behind me and darkness fell like a coconut on an animated noggin, eliciting a swirl of stars in the open sky. I pulled up to the home of my college friends, and Katie bounded out into the cold night to bear-hug me. A cat tried to dash through the screen door when I greeted Lisa. I looked around, noted the futon already unfolded into a bed, and the paused image from Collateral Collateral. From a chair pointed at the television, a face popped up, belonging to a guest I had not foreseen. Benjamin smiled his wily smile.

"Surprise!" he roared. After more than three weeks away from the mission, my old friend looked refreshed and geared up to tackle orthographic chicanery once more. "I couldn't come all the way out to the Midwest without seeing these two crazy kids-I haven't seen them since the wedding!" The girls, of course, were laughing. I joined in, and my curdled heart squeaked with joy.

The next morning, Lisa suggested a promising neighborhood for typo hunting, and a faithful reader had posted the address of Brennan's, a combined produce market and local food store. In spite of the temperature hovering at the freezing point, I felt ready to dive in, but I cautioned Benjamin that I might be more of a spotter than a corrector. "I may be seeing it Jane's way. Maybe I'm more of a descriptivist."

"No, you're not, Deck. A Grammar Hippie couldn't have dreamt up this mission. You may not be a true Hawk, either, but what we need first is momentum. We'll talk on the way. You tell me what you think, and I'll-"

"Play devil's advocate?"

Benjamin shrugged. "No, tell you why you're wrong."

I responded with equal sarcasm, channeling Bill Murray: "I love this plan. I'm excited to be a part of it. Let's do it."

At Brennan's, I mentioned the possibility that I'd been lying to myself about the value of these corrections. Plenty of the typos we'd found had gone long unnoticed, and few clouded comprehension. Over at the apple stand, I found a perfect example. No one needed the first n n in Washington to recognize the name. I wondered how many people had even heard of Washington Pinata apples, and if they started calling them "Washigton Pinata," so what? in Washington to recognize the name. I wondered how many people had even heard of Washington Pinata apples, and if they started calling them "Washigton Pinata," so what?

"A slippery slope, that's what. You gonna fix this? I want strawberries."

"I'll go ask." I went up to a woman at the center of the store and told her that I'd found a sign missing a letter, offering to fix it since I was going around the country fixing typos. I practically spat it out in one breath as I saw her eyes starting to glaze over.

"Oh no, we'll take care of it," she said, though I hadn't told her what or where the typo was. Then, in a voice reserved for the preadolescent set: "We have a special marker special marker for those signs." We moved on to the other part of the store, but not before she said-as if to a co-worker, but loud enough so we could hear it-"Oh, whoops, looks like I spelled 'strawberry' wrong." I started to turn back, and she added, for those signs." We moved on to the other part of the store, but not before she said-as if to a co-worker, but loud enough so we could hear it-"Oh, whoops, looks like I spelled 'strawberry' wrong." I started to turn back, and she added, "Oh wait "Oh wait. No, I didn't." And she glared at me. In that moment, the cashier eerily resembled a few of my exes, making me grateful for Jane's sweet presence in my life all over again.

"Mm," Benjamin commented. "Now I'd really really like to fix that typo. Anyway." He proceeded to argue that words used to have multiple spellings, and they'd been understandable, sure, but reading was much easier now. As an example, he offered his father. Due to his dyslexia, the goal of correctly processing what he was reading had trumped learning how to spell, which he'd never quite come back to pick up. "It takes more like to fix that typo. Anyway." He proceeded to argue that words used to have multiple spellings, and they'd been understandable, sure, but reading was much easier now. As an example, he offered his father. Due to his dyslexia, the goal of correctly processing what he was reading had trumped learning how to spell, which he'd never quite come back to pick up. "It takes more effort effort to decipher his e-mails, man. His choices of phonetic representations don't always make sense to me. If everyone decided spelling conventions don't matter, we'd get a growing variety of spellings for each word, and when you factor in accents ... good luck." Agreed-upon spellings made the act of reading much quicker for society as a whole. If we relaxed our standards, we would still understand most text, but it would be more difficult, and it would take more time. Issues of wrongness aside, ignoring those spelling norms was really just to decipher his e-mails, man. His choices of phonetic representations don't always make sense to me. If everyone decided spelling conventions don't matter, we'd get a growing variety of spellings for each word, and when you factor in accents ... good luck." Agreed-upon spellings made the act of reading much quicker for society as a whole. If we relaxed our standards, we would still understand most text, but it would be more difficult, and it would take more time. Issues of wrongness aside, ignoring those spelling norms was really just rude rude. Benjamin said, "So you mind that slippery slope, man. The next step's a doozy." doozy."

We paid for the food and went back into the part of the store with the apples. Benjamin grabbed my green marker and walked up to a guy stocking the shelves from a box across from our "Washigton" apples. "Hey, check this out. There's an n n missing in 'Washington'. Mind if I write it in real quick?" missing in 'Washington'. Mind if I write it in real quick?"

The guy shrugged and said, "Sure."

I caught my jaw on its way down. Benjamin inserted a tiny letter, almost like an apostrophe, thanked the guy, and headed for the exit. "So yeah," I said, by which I meant, It's great to have you back.

"I know," Benjamin said. "The wonders of apathy." Sometimes it works against you, sometimes with you. That's the thing about apathy; it doesn't care. "The ol' 'If Mom says no, ask Dad' trick. Works like a charm. Actually, it never worked on my parents." Even so, that had been golden delicious.

A cold wind pushed against us as we headed to the car, and the first squadron of snowflakes descended from a dull gray sky. As we headed to State Street, Benjamin and I began a conversation that blurred our surroundings into a similar gray. The stores and scenes and text we pa.s.sed faded, save for the insistent luminescence of the typos that continued snagging my attention as we swept by. The conversation became the single tangible element of our world, a clamor of argument and counterpoint, with neighborhoods and cities swishing by unnoticed as swords swung and shields clashed.

Benjamin was was right that spelling standards had helped. Once that printing press began to crank out words, perhaps a right that spelling standards had helped. Once that printing press began to crank out words, perhaps a fixing fixing (in terms of freezing in place) of the language was inevitable. Wider access to the written word meant a greater need for standardization. Increasingly better dictionaries offered not only a growing volume of words, with meanings, but also spellings that came to be viewed as authoritative. That's when some rode the swinging pendulum too far: they tried to (in terms of freezing in place) of the language was inevitable. Wider access to the written word meant a greater need for standardization. Increasingly better dictionaries offered not only a growing volume of words, with meanings, but also spellings that came to be viewed as authoritative. That's when some rode the swinging pendulum too far: they tried to fix fix (in terms of correcting) the language. A true breed of Hawks hatched, and things got messier. An upper-cla.s.s campaign chose Latin as the gold standard of languages and worked to alter English accordingly. They played havoc with the spellings of words, altering some to be more like their Latin roots, and even Latinizing words from other languages. That's how we got silent letters in words like (in terms of correcting) the language. A true breed of Hawks hatched, and things got messier. An upper-cla.s.s campaign chose Latin as the gold standard of languages and worked to alter English accordingly. They played havoc with the spellings of words, altering some to be more like their Latin roots, and even Latinizing words from other languages. That's how we got silent letters in words like doubt doubt and and island island. The Hawks also added grammatical rules to make English function more like Latin (or seem to); one rule finally dying out is the prohibition against splitting infinitives. Back at the publishing house in D.C., my boss had pulled me aside to note that I'd let a split infinitive "get past" me. I drew him up a quick little poster in which his own cartoon head informed him that "to blithely split" infinitives is perfectly acceptable, allowing us "to fully utilize" our language's range of expression. We've been friends ever since.

"Hold on," Benjamin interrupted. "You haven't changed any split infinitives. You wouldn't. You invented the rules for TEAL in the first place-so you can decide how much of a stickler you want to be. We can discard all of those nonsense dicta that limit expression and don't truly enhance clarity. What we're after are obvious errors, helping correct slip-ups, not forcing people to bend to our grammatical will." Benjamin seemed to think I could walk some mediating line between Hawks and Hippies, but I had trouble seeing it through the thickening snow. "We're too binary, stuck on ones and zeros, ones and zeros. Forget who you fit with or don't. Stick to what we're actually doing."

Fine. We greeted a woman with her hands in a customer's hair. "Uh, the sign in your window has a couple letters flipped," I said, indicating the "ect" in place of etc etc. "Do you mind if I fix it?"

"Go ahead."

Well jab me with an apostrophe and call me a contraction. I had not expected that chipper reaction. We removed and reversed the sticky letters. "We've gotten comments on the blog from the Hippies that language changes," I said, wiping out a plural apostrophe as we pa.s.sed it on the sidewalk. "Grammatical rules, words' meanings and spellings, it's all in flux, and that can't be stopped. Is my mission at odds with a natural process? Language can't be preserved preserved. Anything that fixed is dead. Like our late friend Latin." I grabbed a Counting Crows alb.u.m from the rock-pop rack as a prop. "Isn't that why you love these guys? They put their songs through new arrangements, rather than playing the studio versions at concerts." Benjamin nodded. He didn't go to shows to hear the alb.u.m again-that could be done at home. "If there could be one final form of English that remained truly pure, we'd soon need a new language for actual use use."

"Point to you," my companion conceded. "But ad ad instead of instead of and and, like we saw in the Atlanta parking garage, isn't language change. I doubt Las Vegas's extra s s in in greatest greatest is going to catch on because I have never heard anyone say 'greastest'. These are errors, unquestionably. Language change is so gradual that it's mostly invisible." In is going to catch on because I have never heard anyone say 'greastest'. These are errors, unquestionably. Language change is so gradual that it's mostly invisible." In Watching English Change Watching English Change, Laurie Bauer notes that most specific changes can only be pointed to after the fact, and more amusingly, that the one real sign of shifting meanings or spellings at the time is the complaints of Hawks trying (and failing) to stop them. "How about that 'seafoood' back in New Mexico? Come on, man.

"And what about people's names?" he added as I made corrections to CAPTAIN BEEFHART CAPTAIN BEEFHART and and JIMMY BUFFET JIMMY BUFFET. "That's not how Jimmy Buffett spells his own name, so end of story."

My thoughts returned to e.e. c.u.mmings. Didn't the true sovereigns of the language often buck literary conventions that didn't serve them? Shakespeare invented words at his convenience. Kerouac had his own style of punctuation that made sense for his writings. Twain, who pushed for some spelling reforms of his own, used true phonetic representations of words to re-create the accents of his characters. c.u.mmings used all of those tricks and more to force people to read his work exactly as he wanted them to. Even if you can't fake a pa.s.sable Russian accent, reading the poem "k.u.mrads die because they're told)" aloud will force you into one.

"Kids in school need to get the basics straight so that they can experiment wisely," Benjamin replied. "There's a huge difference between using sentence fragments like Hemingway, for effect, and using them erratically and inelegantly because you don't know how to construct a basic sentence. This is the part that the Hawks would get right if they stuck to concerns about clarity-without limiting expression."

Rules that aided the clarity of a sentence had an internal logic, like the rule about where to place antecedents (nouns being referred to by some other word) to avoid p.r.o.noun confusion. "When he took a deep sniff of the black marker, Benjamin deduced that Jeff needed a break from typo hunting." This is not a great sentence because the p.r.o.noun he he could refer to two possible antecedents-either Benjamin or Jeff. So who sniffed the marker? Did Benjamin take the sniff and thus gain deductive powers? Here's a clearer sentence: "When Jeff took a deep sniff of the black marker, Benjamin deduced that his friend needed a break from typo hunting." Note that I cut the p.r.o.noun out of the picture altogether-if I'd said "Benjamin deduced that could refer to two possible antecedents-either Benjamin or Jeff. So who sniffed the marker? Did Benjamin take the sniff and thus gain deductive powers? Here's a clearer sentence: "When Jeff took a deep sniff of the black marker, Benjamin deduced that his friend needed a break from typo hunting." Note that I cut the p.r.o.noun out of the picture altogether-if I'd said "Benjamin deduced that he he needed a break," it would still be unclear which guy the needed a break," it would still be unclear which guy the he he referred to. referred to.

Guidelines masquerading as rules, on the other hand, operated from caprice rather than logic, like the one about not starting sentences with but, and but, and, or because because. That might help elementary schoolers avoid mistaking dependent clauses for sentences, but later on, no one remembered to tell the kids to remove those training wheels. "Because of that prohibition, I couldn't fully utilize because," because," I pointed out. The outer fringes of the vast dorsal mantle of Chicago oozed onto the horizon. "Besides, people speak in sentence fragments all the time." I pointed out. The outer fringes of the vast dorsal mantle of Chicago oozed onto the horizon. "Besides, people speak in sentence fragments all the time."

"Let's keep the written separate from the spoken for now," Benjamin said.

"Some of these arguments are going to cross over," I said.

"Yeah, but TEAL's mission is focused on the written word, and we should zoom in on that stuff. You even said it on NPR." When my story had been featured on Wait Wait ... Don't Tell Me! Wait Wait ... Don't Tell Me!, they'd pulled a sound bite from me on how written mistakes can linger forever while a verbal remark disappears into the ether. "Lots of the mistakes we're finding are specifically written mistakes that aren't about language language at all. They're about the mechanics of our written system, the sound-symbol correspondence, the way we add the suffix to the root on paper. Those are the ones I got kinda intense about when I hit the library. Am I making any sense?" at all. They're about the mechanics of our written system, the sound-symbol correspondence, the way we add the suffix to the root on paper. Those are the ones I got kinda intense about when I hit the library. Am I making any sense?"

Two separate levels of symbolism were at work here. Language, the oral process, is a single level all by itself. Somehow, in our separate tribes, we've agreed upon sounds to represent most every conceivable thing, action, descriptive detail, et cetera (or "ect" if you prefer). The sounds dog dog and and blue blue are not onomatopoeic, like are not onomatopoeic, like vroooom vroooom or or whoooosh whoooosh-they don't have any connection to what they represent beyond the significance we've given them. This first level is innate to our species. Babies naturally acquire and then begin to utilize spoken language, both the lexicon and grammatical patterns of a given language.

The use of written symbols to represent the sounds we make, and the combination of those symbols to create the word-units, is a second and very different level. The written word follows behind the oral, but written language is not a natural creation. It has to be taught to us. This is why failing our kids on the educational front leads to illiterate but not mute children. When children can't-or won't-speak, we a.s.sume something's physiologically or psychologically wrong with them.

I looked up and caught a ma.s.sive sign for MILWUAKEE FURNITURE MILWUAKEE FURNITURE. The letters were definitely bigger than the Arizona billboard apostrophe, making this the physically largest error yet. The Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune reporter who'd been shadowing us for the last few blocks nodded appreciatively; there was an error worthy of the paper. Benjamin shot me a glance: reporter who'd been shadowing us for the last few blocks nodded appreciatively; there was an error worthy of the paper. Benjamin shot me a glance: See, there's another one See, there's another one. This wasn't about language change. It was specifically an editorial problem, an issue with the written word, an error born of inattention.

Stick to what we're actually doing, Benjamin had suggested. TEAL concerned itself only with the written word. No wonder both Hawk and Hippie perspectives felt wrong. I'd brought checkers onto the chessboard. After spending time with Josh the Hawk and Jane the Hippie, I'd gotten too spun around by the extremes when so much of that debate didn't apply to TEAL.

"I personally," Benjamin confessed, "have descriptivist leanings. Your mission certainly feels prescriptivist. Like I said, it's not something a laissez-faire descriptivist could have come up with." On the Kinsey scale of linguistic orientation, he suggested the following: Josh = 0, Jeff = 2 (though I'd perhaps started as a 1), Benjamin = 4, and Jane = 6. What I'd first thought of as zeros and ones was in reality zeros and sixes. I'd missed the whole range in the middle.

"So let's figure out what TEAL is really about," I said, "and that will naturally be the middle path."

"I thought you'd never ask," Benjamin replied. "I have trouble admitting it, but this typo hunt is a blast."

"Thanks."

"Though it's not the typos themselves I care about," Benjamin said. "For me, it's mostly about-" A barking ball of stir-crazed energy drowned out the rest. We found ourselves in the furniture-chewed apartment of our Bloomington host.

"Uh, I didn't quite catch that," I said.

Benjamin shook his head. "Forget it. Wasn't important."

Even so, I hated when that happened. Which got me thinking. "Everyone deserves to be understood," I declared.

"What's that?"

"What TEAL's really about."

He looked like he'd just downed one of the apocryphal eight spiders annually consumed by the average person. "First, didn't we agree that typos rarely have an impact on clarity?" Before I could respond, he added, "More important, I disagree with the basic proposition. We have freedom of speech in this country, but that doesn't extend to a freedom to be understood to be understood. Adults are responsible for putting in whatever effort is necessary to communicate. Not everyone does that; therefore, not everyone deserves to be understood. Maybe I'm right not to trust the meat from a store that can't get the spelling of grocery grocery right, so they get less business due to a lack of professionalism. Sometimes you get what you deserve." right, so they get less business due to a lack of professionalism. Sometimes you get what you deserve."

That sounded shockingly Hawkish for Benjamin. It came back to judgment. We'd been worried about the Atlanta typo on the Obama shirt, fearing that not merely the wearer, but our candidate himself, would be judged by that missing apostrophe.

My eyes strained at their nerve tethers, nearly jumping out of the sockets in pursuit of something I'd glimpsed while driving past. Benjamin hadn't seen it. I doubled back and pulled Callie to a stop in front of the billboard. RESTUARANT! RESTUARANT!

"I've got it!" I declared as we ambled into the field. The billboard wasn't up on a scaffold, but the error was still sufficiently elevated to make this a difficult correction. "I was close before." We craned our necks up at the transposition. "People judge you by your mistakes, so we can help people avoid the scorn and judgment of others. If they don't want the typos fixed ... I guess they're comfortable being judged." Ugh, now I I sounded overly Hawkish. sounded overly Hawkish.

There was no way to fix this artfully. The best we'd be able to do was add little editorial arrows above and below to show where the letters should go. After a test leap proved inadequate, my lighter colleague placed himself immediately underneath the troubled letters. "Give me a leg up?" Clutching the marker in his teeth and walking his way up the sign with his hands, Benjamin let me hoist him up as high as we could send him, but even then he could only reach high enough for the bottom arrow. He got back down and I flexed my weary fingers.

"Afraid not," Benjamin said as we marched back to Callie. "Keep working. I have a problem with your hypothetical judgmental people. You You, Jeff, are the one who cares! Referring to some other person who might come by and make judgments sounds too much like ... like what you hear on TV. 'Some people 'Some people think that Obama's relationship with Reverend Wright is very telling.' No, they don't; the TV pundit wants to justify covering an attention-getting, ratings-boosting non-story. These hypothetical-these fictional-people give that pundit lat.i.tude to push his issues on us, or blatantly replace news with entertainment. You can't slip into the comfort of doing the same, man. think that Obama's relationship with Reverend Wright is very telling.' No, they don't; the TV pundit wants to justify covering an attention-getting, ratings-boosting non-story. These hypothetical-these fictional-people give that pundit lat.i.tude to push his issues on us, or blatantly replace news with entertainment. You can't slip into the comfort of doing the same, man. We We correct typos because correct typos because someone else someone else might be bothered by them? It's too circular, and you're better than that." might be bothered by them? It's too circular, and you're better than that."

"Right. I'm getting closer, though. Give me a moment to rejigger my thoughts and try again." We arrived at the home of my mentor from the Rocks & Minerals Rocks & Minerals days, Marie. An editor herself, she dove right into the typo hunting while expertly tour-guiding us around Cincinnati. days, Marie. An editor herself, she dove right into the typo hunting while expertly tour-guiding us around Cincinnati.

Waiting for us to resume verbal fisticuffs, Benjamin wandered past something in the gift shop of the Krohn Conservatory. After pulling a double take, he read a note out loud: "The wood chopsticks stamped with an eternity design and are nestled in a double fish brocade pouch." After a quick discussion over the best way to correct this, Benjamin added an arrow to indicate where the "are" should be moved to. "There, now future readers won't get dizzy puzzling that one out." He smiled.

Then I smiled. "It's rude not to proofread."

"You're onto something, Mr. Deck, but be careful there." As the eminent linguist David Crystal has pointed out, grammar and etiquette have long been tied together. The post-dictionary craze about proper proper grammar went hand in hand with an increasing obsession over proper rules for everyday interaction in polite society. Start with the fork the farthest out and work your way in; a grammar went hand in hand with an increasing obsession over proper rules for everyday interaction in polite society. Start with the fork the farthest out and work your way in; a gentleman gentleman walks on the right side of his lady. While some of these rules are merely anachronistic with a faint trace of logic in their origins, many simply popped into existence as the demand for such rules increased. The self-perpetuating emphasis on the "proper" way to handle all manner of minutiae demanded more rules, so more rules there would be. I could understand why people might throw up their hands at all the little grammar rules that feel much like table-setting details-which one of these is the salad fork, and why does the number indicating the footnote go after the comma? walks on the right side of his lady. While some of these rules are merely anachronistic with a faint trace of logic in their origins, many simply popped into existence as the demand for such rules increased. The self-perpetuating emphasis on the "proper" way to handle all manner of minutiae demanded more rules, so more rules there would be. I could understand why people might throw up their hands at all the little grammar rules that feel much like table-setting details-which one of these is the salad fork, and why does the number indicating the footnote go after the comma?

While I might bend toward the Hawks here, I don't want to twirl a baton in their parade. Lynne Truss manned a float in this parade when, succeeding her angry-panda grammar rant, she wrote Talk to the Hand Talk to the Hand, an intolerant little etiquette manual that bemoans the state of society today. What is is the world coming to? Even as I felt repelled by the idea of becoming a maven of grammatical etiquette, the point remained that a certain inattention was rude, or worse. The Cartoon Art Museum had evidenced a disdain for its paying customers, tossing up signs that became utter nonsense in places; they couldn't be bothered to check them over. the world coming to? Even as I felt repelled by the idea of becoming a maven of grammatical etiquette, the point remained that a certain inattention was rude, or worse. The Cartoon Art Museum had evidenced a disdain for its paying customers, tossing up signs that became utter nonsense in places; they couldn't be bothered to check them over.

As Marie led us onto the Purple People Bridge, which crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky, Benjamin mentioned to her how much he'd enjoyed tormenting me over the past few days. "He tries to figure it all out, and I kick back and act profound by saying, 'Um, not quite.'"

"All right, sensei," I said. "What's wrong with 'It's rude not to proofread'?"

"Nothing and everything. It's all a matter of emphasis, gra.s.shopper."

In the mall on the Kentucky sh.o.r.e, a plural PHOTO'S PHOTO'S sat on a light blue background painted with traces of white representing clouds. I tried to use the elixir of correction to cloud over the apostrophe, but it was too blatant that way, with the two shades of white not quite matching. Instead, I made a white elixir bird to fly up there in the sky with the clouds. I hope they liked it. Our Kentucky typo corrected, we left the shopping center and turned right back around. sat on a light blue background painted with traces of white representing clouds. I tried to use the elixir of correction to cloud over the apostrophe, but it was too blatant that way, with the two shades of white not quite matching. Instead, I made a white elixir bird to fly up there in the sky with the clouds. I hope they liked it. Our Kentucky typo corrected, we left the shopping center and turned right back around.

"It's rude rude not to proofread," I said. "No. It's rude not to not to proofread," I said. "No. It's rude not to proofread proofread. Why don't people proofread?" The author who doesn't proofread may leave trouble behind for his readers. They're now forced into exerting the extra effort to decipher what the author had meant. Then again, many readers won't bother. Benjamin was right that the author didn't automatically deserve to be understood. What readers deserve, though, is that the author present his message with the greatest possible clarity.

The shifting weather mirrored my inner exultation, as the wind picked up and the waves below the bridge chopped and frothed. We paused, occupying neither Ohio nor Kentucky, but some strange liminal zone.

"You're an editor, Jeff."

"I'm an editor."

"As am I," Marie chimed in.

"Yes! We're editors! editors! By the plow of Cincinnatus, we're editors!" I shouted on the bridge, my words dispersed but not dispelled by the rising winds. By the plow of Cincinnatus, we're editors!" I shouted on the bridge, my words dispersed but not dispelled by the rising winds.

Our mission wasn't about the mere typos, those little errors. Our message surpa.s.sed typos on its way to the greater realm of clarity. At some point an English teacher got through to me that I shouldn't just write a paper and turn it in, that I should take the time to edit it. Maybe even edit it again. The first draft of writing was only about getting it down from your head and onto the page. The editing stage was where you made it work: refined what you were trying to say, figured out how how to say it better, and polished it to maximum effect. In fixating on the niggling little rules, the Hawks were reading only sentences and not paragraphs, pages, or books. to say it better, and polished it to maximum effect. In fixating on the niggling little rules, the Hawks were reading only sentences and not paragraphs, pages, or books.

Back at college, Benjamin had reorganized the whole first chapter of his thesis, cutting it up into pieces and shuffling them around on his floor, until he'd gotten all his information into a logical flow that helped his argument. My thesis adviser had sent me back through every chapter I wrote to cut the excess fat, redundant sentences and words that didn't add anything new.

I didn't want to stop at raising awareness of typos. They were the obvious mistakes. I wanted to help everyone attain new levels of clarity, to recognize the editing process as a part of writing. "TEAL's mission should be about raising editing editing awareness." awareness."

"And hopefully without being jive-a.s.s arrogant punks about it," Benjamin added.

"Without rancor," I agreed. Yes, we could offer a new voice of grammatical reason, a voice that wasn't screaming or jeering.

I stopped short. "What about the typos then? Do we leave that all behind?"

"No," Benjamin said. "Dude, the typos have led us into so many other things we'd never thought of ... that's what I got stuck on, why I had to come back. If I get a vote, it's that we keep riding on this course. See what we find. I'm curious about what happens next."

I tugged at my cowboy hat. "Yeah, me too," I said. We'd come to a kind of koan: the path you're on is the path you need to find. "Let's go blog our finds. If my count's correct, we've got eight for nine today, and I think that might push us back over fifty percent." Benjamin and I stepped onto Ohio soil once more, ready for whatever revelations awaited us. We wouldn't drop below fifty percent again.

TYPO T TRIP T TALLY.

Total found: 328 Total corrected: 165

15

Why Hudson Can't Read

May 26, 2008 (Athens, OH, to Cleveland, OH)Here, an Ironic tragedy brings our Heroes to a juddering halt, as wounded and wailing as foundering school Standards. The torch of Education burns low in a toy store with auspices of a loftier, educational purpose.

During a car-bound lunch of peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches and graham crackers, Benjamin discovered a surprise on his voice mail. We'd parked on a residential street near Ohio University, killing time before meeting up with my sister. As he listened, a strange expression stole over his face. He hit the replay b.u.t.ton so that I could hear the message his friend from the bookstore had left. "Hey man, this is Semajh. Uh ... I don't know if you've been peein' on bushes or what what, yo, but the Park Service is really really wanting to talk to you. They called here looking for you. I told 'em you don't work here anymore, but I don't know, man. It was weird." wanting to talk to you. They called here looking for you. I told 'em you don't work here anymore, but I don't know, man. It was weird."