It is. It's 11°F outside (3°F with the windchill). Here are four versions of Frank Loesser's song, via YouTube:
June Carter Cash and Homer and JethroThe recording of the song can be found on Ray Charles and Betty Carter (1961).
Rock Hudson and Mae West
Tom Jones and Cerys Matthews
Fred MacMurray, Ann Miller, and Dinah Shore
"Baby, It's Cold Outside" (Wikipedia)
Reading an essay from a college freshman many years ago, I came across a sentence that baffled me — it referred to "ingesting an orange." I crossed out "ingest," wrote "eat," and wondered why anyone would've written otherwise. At the time, it didn't occur to me that my student had very likely started with "eat," only to cross it out and substitute a word that seemed somehow better — lofty, less plain, more imposing.
Since then I've taught many students who seek to improve their writing by using "better" words. Their revision strategies focus on replacing plain words with big, shiny ones. Such students usually rely on a thesaurus, now more available to a writer than ever before as a tool in many word-processing programs.
But dressing up a piece of prose with thesaurus-words tends not to work well. Here's why: a thesaurus suggests words without explaining nuances of meaning and levels of diction. So if you choose substitute-words from a thesaurus, it's likely that your writing will look as though you've done just that. The thesaurus-words are likely to look odd and awkward, or as a writer relying on Microsoft Word’s thesaurus might put it, "extraordinary and uncoordinated." When I see that sort of strange diction in a student's writing and ask whether a thesaurus is involved, the answer, always, is yes.
A thesaurus might be a helpful tool to jog a writer's memory by calling up a familiar word that's just out of reach. But to expand the possibilities of a writer's vocabulary, a collegiate dictionary is a much better choice, offering explanations of the differences in meaning and use among closely related words. Here's just one example: Merriam-Webster’s treatment of synonyms for awkward.
What student-writers need to realize is that it's not ornate vocabulary or word-substitution that makes good writing. Clarity, concision, and organization are far more important in engaging and persuading a reader to find merit in what you're saying. If you're tempted to use the thesaurus the next time you're working on an essay, consider what is about to happen to this sentence:
If you're lured to utilize the thesaurus on the subsequent occasion you're toiling on a treatise, mull over what just transpired to this stretch.¹ Not the dog.
The jazz critic Whitney Balliett died yesterday. His style, like any distinctive style, is easily parodied, but there is no better writer to convey the sound of jazz. Here is one sample, from a long piece on Charlie Parker:
Parker had a unique tone; no other saxophonist has achieved as human a sound. It could be edgy, and even sharp. (He used the hardest and most technically difficult of reeds.) It could be soft and buzzing. Unlike most saxophonists of his time, who took their cue from Coleman Hawkins, he used almost no vibrato; when he did, it was only a flutter, a murmur. The blues lived in every room in his style, and he was one of the most striking and affecting blues improvisers we have had. His slow blues had a preaching, admonitory quality. He would begin a solo with a purposely stuttering four-or-five note announcement, pause for effect, repeat the phrase, bending its last note into silence, and then turn the phrase around backward and abruptly slip sidewise into double time, zigzag up the scale, circle around quickly at the top, and plummet down, the notes falling somewhere between silence and sound. (Parker was a master of dynamics and of the dramatic use of silence.) Another pause, and he would begin his second chorus with a dreaming, three-note figure, each of the notes running into the next but each held in prolonged, hymnlike fashion. Taken from an unexpected part of the chord, they would slip out in slow motion. He would shatter this brief spell by inserting two or three short arpeggios, disconnected and broken off, then he would float into a backpedaling half-time and shoot into another climbing-and-falling double-time run, in which he would dart in and out of nearby keys. He would pause, then close the chorus with an amen figure resembling his opening announcement.From New York Notes: A Journal of Jazz in the Seventies (New York: Da Capo,1977)
Whitney Balliett, New Yorker Jazz Critic, Dies at 80 (New York Times)
I have little tolerance for what I call "bookstore music" -- the tepid, unobtrusive stuff one hears when browsing in Borders. And nothing seems to say "bookstore music" more plainly than "Norah Jones." Jones is, in truth, a distinctive singer (her "Don't Miss You at All," a lyrical setting of Duke Ellington's "Melancholia," is one of the most moving recordings I've ever heard). But she's being marketed as background music. Here, sentence by sentence, is Borders' pitch for Jones' new CD:
With its laid-back beauty, sly musicianship, and honeyed singing"Sly"? "Honeyed"? Those adjectives grate. Given the sexy overtones in this opening phrase, I wonder whether "its" was originally "her."
Norah Jones' latest album is as comforting as a summer breeze on a winter day.It's odd to refer to an "album's" singing, which strengthens my suspicion about "its" and "her." And in light of global warming, I'd think twice about calling that breeze "comforting."
On Not Too Late, Jones shares in the writing of each trackOne doesn't write tracks; one writes songs (or fugues, sonatas, symphonies, and so on).
for a personal recordingI'm not sure what defines a "personal recording," but given the ability of great singers (Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra) to make songs their own, composer credit is hardly necessary for a "personal recording."
that indulges her honky-tonk side."Honky-tonk" startles a bit: suddenly I smell cigarette smoke in the summer breeze, a breeze that is now even less comforting than it was when it was reminding me of global warming.
It's a lovely set"Lovely," on the heels of "honky-tonk"? Ah, what lovely honky-tonk! This CD promises to be all things to all people.
that sounds perfect whether you're enjoying a dinner party or the Sunday paper.Yes, middle-aged listener, you there with the newspaper spread all over the living room, this CD's for you. You want music that's comforting, but you too have a honky-tonk side waiting to be indulged. And yes, it's the 21st century, in which music is mere background to accompany other, more important endeavors, like sipping a latte, or doing the crossword puzzle, or browsing in a bookstore.
From a piece by English professor Rob Jenkins on the use of the phrase "customer service" in higher education:
After 20 years as a community-college faculty member, I think I can speak for most of my colleagues when I say it's not the "service" part of that thoroughly despised phrase we object to. We all understand that teaching is, at heart, a service profession. That's why most of us got into it in the first place.You can read the rest via the link.
What bothers us is the suggestion that our students, while sitting in our classrooms, are customers. Because words have meaning, and that particular word carries some pretty dangerous connotations in an educational context.
For one thing, when students hear it, their first association is with that famous if not necessarily correct adage, "The customer is always right."
Your Friendly Neighborhood Instructor (Chronicle of Higher Education)
There'll always be an EnglandHere's news that gives new meaning to the "turning wheel": Manchester has been chosen as the location of Britain's first Las Vegas-style casino.
While there's a country lane,
Wherever there's a cottage small
Beside a field of grain.
There'll always be an England
While there's a busy street,
Wherever there's a turning wheel,
A million marching feet.
Manchester wins super-casino race (BBC News)
"There'll Always Be an England" (Wikipedia)
[From left: Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Audrey Meadows, Joyce Randolph]
Joyce Randolph, 82, is the last of the Honeymooners:
She signs her name to Playbills and cocktail napkins. “But I know what they really want is the name Trixie Norton,” she said. “So I sign that, too.”From an article in today's New York Times:
It has been 56 years since Miss Randolph assumed the role of Trixie, yet she is still revered as the surviving goddess of the celebrated screwball comedy from the golden age of television.
“I am the last one left,” Miss Randolph said a bit later, without drama. “Even the girl who held the stopwatch, Joan Reichman Canale, is gone.”
For TV's Trixie, the Honeymoon Lives On
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"It is a boon traveling companion, without which I do not function, I cannot operate. It has been with me for 21 years."I just found a wonderful clip on YouTube, Glenn Gould talking about his chair with filmmaker Bruno Monsaingeon. I suspect that this conversation, like other Gould-Monsaingeon conversations, was scripted by Gould.
"Do you actually mean it's been as close a companion to you as Bach has been in your musical career?"
"Oh, much closer actually."
Glenn Gould talks about his chair (YouTube)
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