grammar

What is a ‘constitutional sheriff’?

Inauguration ceremonies at the capitol lift the curtain and set the stage as the 88th legislature gets underway in earnest. We’ll have more on the inauguration of the Governor and the Lt. Governor. Also a prison hunger strike and allegations of retaliation. And the constitutional sheriffs movement and why advocates of police reform are concerned a vow to uphold the law is being twisted into something that subverts the law. Also 50 years of BBQ. The barbecue editor of Texas monthly on what’s changed in those decades, and it might be a lot more than you think. Plus, commentator W.F. Strong in celebration of Texas grammar, a Politifact check and more today on the Texas Standard:

We Might Oughtta Praise Texas Grammar

Those who didn’t grow up in Texas can have a lot of trouble with the way many Texans pronounce many place names. Think Gruene or Refugio. But commentator WF Strong noticed sumpin’ else — some Texans use words you pert near won’t hear in other parts of the country.

An Edit Button on Twitter

It’s not the biggest thing in the world. It may be the smallest — a misplaced letter, forgotten punctuation, clumsy thumbs. But it can obscure your message, change its meaning entirely, or just make you feel a little silly. That was the inspiration for this Typewriter Rodeo poem.

Endangered Words

We have many endangered species in the world. Among the better-known at-risk animals are snow leopards, Asian elephants and orangutans. In Texas, we have the gray wolf and ocelot as endangered animals, among others. Endangered reptiles here include the Texas indigo snake and the horned lizard.

But that’s not my focus today. That’s just a segue to talk about something else that’s on my mind, and that’s endangered words. They are words that, through lack of use, or through use seemingly restricted to the more senior of us Texans, run the risk of dying out when we do. Now “y’all” and “fixin’ to” and the like are safe. They have vast popularity. They have even been observed migrating up north. My endangered list is comprised of words that are becoming scarce and may disappear altogether, only to be seen caged up in old dictionaries in the future.

I want to make sure to clarify that I’m not claiming the following words are endangered for everyone. Many Texans still use them daily. I’m just claiming that they are becoming far less common than they once were.

Mosey is one such word. It used to be quite popular and still is used often among octogenarians. But you never see it or hear it venturing out among those under 40. Often when you do hear it from someone under 40, it is used in caricature.

Reckon is another word I reckon is headed for true scarcity in the next few decades. That would be a shame because it does have a wonderful place in the linguistic ecosystem. It fills a niche and is not easily replaced. One can say “I guess,” or “I suppose,” but neither have the beautiful contemplative nature of “I reckon,” when said with eyebrows raised and tipping your hat back. It is the pronouncement of agreement reluctantly concluded.

Supper. This used to be the dominant word for the evening meal. Dinner was at noon. But as we’ve become more urban, supper has been pushed out by dinner.

Ice house and ice box. Ice house used to be a common expression for running to the convenience store or making a beer run: “Gonna run over to the ice house a minute.” Ice box is a synonym for the fridge: “Martha, we got any Blue Bell in the ice box?”

Yonder. “It seems that yonder is most popular out yonder in the country.”

To make sure I was on the right track, I conducted a survey on the net and found a few more words folks agreed seemed to be endangered:

Britches refers to pants, of course: “Get your work britches on and let’s get goin’” Britches is still used among those over 60, but not so popular among the under 30 crowd.

Cattywampus for catty-cornered. Cattywampus is one word and catty-cornered is hyphenated. Both are spelled with two t’s and neither has anything to do with cats: “The flower shop is cattywampus to the Exxon station.”

Cotton pickin.’ “Just a cotton pickin’ minute!” There could be lots of reasons for this. Many Texans over 50 or so, have memories of pickin’ cotton. Even though combines mostly took over decades ago, the expression remains. “In high cotton,” too, hangs on. It means “having it easy.”

Dreckly – sometimes said “di-rectly” – has nothing to do with direction or going straight to something. It is about time and in Texas, has the meaning of manana in Spanish. “Yeah, I’ll be gettin’ to mowin’ that lawn dreckly,” which may well mean in a few hours when I “finish watchin’ the Astros play.”

Sam Hill. “What the Sam Hill is going on here?!” My father said it so often I thought Sam Hill was a relative I’d never met, but I hoped to. Seemed that he lived an exciting life. But it was just a euphemism for “hell.” It’s used in place of “What the hell is goin’ on here?!” and since I can now say hell on the radio, you can see why Sam Hill is endangered.

Fair to middlin’ is interesting. It’s fading away as a common expression but perhaps finding a second wind by means of its malaprop. Some Texans have taken to saying “fair to Midland,” which makes sense if you are driving from El Paso, or maybe from Abilene. Fair to Midland, rain in Odessa.

And some words that many people said they believed were dying out – and sadly so – were these:

Please and thank you.

I hope not. I’ll do what I can right now to help. Thank you for listening. Please stay tuned to The Texas Standard.

Texas Contractions

Anytime I hear someone say something like this: “Y’all ‘bout fixin’ to head out?” I think it’s highly likely that they are from Texas. You have y’all and fixin’ to in the same sentence and a couple of contractions. We do love our contractions, which, if you don’t recall from your halcyon days of grammar school, are words squeezed together to make shorter ones, with apostrophes standing in for what’s missing.

“Y’all” of course, is our most famous contraction. But we have even extended its usefulness by placing “all” in front of it to form “all y’all.” It is well known that y’all describes two or more and all y’all could mean five or 500. And we even use all y’all possessively as in “y’alls’s.” I heard this sentence at a barbecue two weeks ago: “Y’all need to move all y’alls’s trucks so Carlos can leave.”

Now that y’all have heard this, I know y’all are gonna start wanting to practice your possessives, but try to wait till the lesson is finished. I’ll let you go in two minutes.

We can also use an interesting contraction for something that is owned by at least two people. “Whose dog is this?”

“Oh, that yorkie is our’n.” Our’n is a contraction of our own. It’s our’n. The expression is a bit archaic – on its last legs, so to speak – but still around if you listen carefully.

The king of contractions I believe is y’all’d’ve. It has three apostrophes in it. Three! You have to admire the muscular nature of that contraction. y’all’d’ve. You all would have. And here’s how you use it: “y’all’d’ve loved it if y’all’d’ve come.” Now just stand back and take in the magnificence of that sentence. 12 words reduced to six! That, ladies and gentlemen, is the very soul of linguistic efficiency.

Cousins of y’all’d’ve are she’d’ve and he’d’ve. She would have or he would have. “I figure she’d’ve married him if he wudn’t such a ne’er-do-well.” Or, for a more modern take, “He’d’ve already lost 20 pounds, if he’d’ve stuck with that low carb diet.”

I’m sure you’ve heard of “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” as a kind of mantra of regret over what might have been. My father was fond of it. It was his way of teaching me that I could not change the past, but the future was quite pliable.

Similar to a contraction is a hybrid word, or as my friend and linguistics professor Lars Hinrichs calls them, portmanteau words. These words are comprised of two words. “tumped” is one such word. “I tumped over my coke.” It is a combination of tipped and dumped – tumped. I don’t say it myself, but it is common in Texas and throughout the South.

“Spanglish” is a portmanteau word. It combines the words Spanish and English to describe the tendency to merge the two languages with expressions like mandar un mail (send an email) or googlear – to google something.

Hangry is a modern portmanteau, combining, of course, hungry and angry. “I’m mighty hangry for a Whataburger.” Certainly a useful word. Chillax, too, is quite in vogue these days.

And for a more Texcentric take on these hybrids we have: “texplain” – to explain Texas to others; “texpatriate” – one who lives outside of Texas but still longs for home; and “texcellent,” which needs no explanation.

That’s our linguistics lesson for today. Y’all’d’ve liked it a lot more if y’all’d’ve been listening instead of repeating everything for your immediate amusement, but that’s okay. As long as all y’all had a good time.

Texas Standard: March 22, 2017

Is this the end of what’s been known as Obamacare? The Texas delegation split as a vote comes down to the wire. Plus, they say no one’s above the law, but is the FBI above politics? Not if history is any indicator. Why James Comey’s command performance at the capitol this week may be seen as part of a larger pattern. And an unexpected partnership between a pipeline and police as both sides celebrate a payoff. Plus a bill with a distinctly Texan accent and our commentator reckons there are some words we Texans use more than they do anywhere else…think of any? Those stories and so much more today on the Texas Standard:

Might Oughta Talk About Texas Grammar

In Texas we are mighty big on the word “mighty.” Mighty is used as a ubiquitous adjective. Mighty pretty, mighty ugly, mighty expensive, etc. The word “might” (mighty’s cousin) is popular, too. It is used in place of maybe. Instead of saying, “maybe I can help you Sunday,” we say, “I might be able to help you on Sunday.” “Might” works with verbs to give us an impressive menu of options for conditional expressions like might could, might would better, might oughta, might’ve used to, and even the steroidal conditional tense: might woulda had oughta.

Taken out of context they can sound odd and even wrong, but when heard in conversation, they come to life and seem, well, mighty normal to many of us. I want to point out that Texas is a diverse state of varied dialects. Many Texans would never use this folksy grammar, but there are many who prefer it’s adorned utility. And there are many who would never talk this way at work, but slip into these comfortable rhythms when they get home. Some of us are bi-dialectal.

Let’s begin with “might could.” It is often used to answer a question:

“Would you go with me to the movies Friday night?” “Might could.”
“You figure you can fix the starter on my truck?” “Might could.”

“Might would better” has a good deal of appeal. It is used often as a command. You hear it in Western movies:

“Sherriff, you might would better think long and hard ‘fore you pick up that gun.”

Or you can use it as a self-directed, thinking out loud, suggestion:

“Well, I might would better get on to bed. Long day tomorrow.”

“Might would better” is also a future tense conditional verb, something that might be done differently in the near future.

“On second thought, I think they might would better drive on down here Friday night.”

“Tell you what, she might would better just divorce that man.”

“Might oughta” is often used in kind of shaking one’s head over poor choices:

She might oughta thought about those bills before she quit a job without havin’ another.
He might oughta known not to tease a rattlesnake, especially with a short stick.

For an uncertain memory, we have, “might have used to.”

“I might have used to stay there when I was in Dallas, but I can’t say for certain. “

Or:

“I’m sure I might have used to know how many feet was in a mile, but now that you ask, I can’t recall.”

And here’s the mighty king of the conditional tense: might woulda had oughta. Linguists call this modal stacking, like verbal legos – just keep piling on verbs to see how high you can stack them. “Might woulda had oughta” is way outside the bounds of standard English.
When my wife, an English prof and proud member of the Grammar Police, hears such verbal anarchy, she wants to call in the swat team. But I find “might woulda had oughta” admirably creative. It’s like watching Lebron James fly to the basket and do a mid-air spin to reverse dunk between two defenders. Magic.

In redneck culture, it’s comfort grammar. Here’s an example:

“They might woulda had oughta sold that house about ten years ago before it fell apart on ‘em.”

“They might woulda had oughta listened to me when I told ‘em not to buy a used pickup that was owned by a teenager.”

The famous southern linguist Jeff Foxworthy has pointed out how useful “used to could” is in Southern speech. He says people ask, “Do you dance?” Some respond: “Used to could.” Even “used to could” is used in modal stacking. “Might have” often precedes it. “You know how to program the TV remote?” “Might have used to could, but not anymore.” See? Saves you from unwanted work. Here’s another instructive example: “Can you tune up my 98 GMC Z-71?” Well, I might have used to could, but mighty doubtful about it now.”

I’m W. F. Strong. These are Stories from Texas. Some of them are mighty true.

Higher Ed: What Does “Smart” Really Mean?

What do you think of when someone is described as “smart?” They know a lot of things. Maybe they got high grades in school. Or maybe they always use correct grammar. But what does it actually mean to be “smart?” In this episode of KUT’s podcast Higher Ed, KUT’s Jennifer Stayton and Southwestern University President Dr. Ed Burger discuss the deeper meaning of the word “smart.” Being “smart” and being “intelligent” – are those the same thing? Are there different ways of being “smart” (think “street smarts” vs. “book smarts”)? Listen to Ed and Jen unpack the definition of “smart” and examine what it does and does not mean. Did the latest puzzler about pieces of a cube leave you feeling less than smart? Listen on to find out the solution.

This episode was recorded on August 10, 2016.