Under the cloak of night, I made my way to Edith Stein Hall for my initiation into the most secretive society operating within the bucolic confines of the College of the Holy Cross. It was my junior year, and I had proven myself worthy for entrée into the Nu Chi Chapter of Sigma Tau Delta. Due to the Greek name, one might think that I joined a fraternity that night. I did not. (Much as I would have loved to join in communion with a group of misogynistic, repressed homosexual devoted entirely to an appetitive lifestyle, there are no frats at Holy Cross.) Nor was I joining a mystical pseudo-spiritual group like the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. (Much as I would have loved to don a cloak and pledge my allegiance to the gods of the Hittites.)

Rather, by becoming a member of Sigma Tau Delta, I was entering into an organization devoted to advancing the study and appreciation of the English language. Also, unlike a fraternity or cabal, the process leading up to my induction did not include racing around with a pickle pinched between my ass cheeks or drinking yak blood. Admittance was earned by showing devotion to our tongue by excelling in my classes, and by being sponsored by two of the members of the English Department. It was quite the honor, and that's why I was almost able to recite the pledge without snickering and giggling like a girl. Almost. My pledge that night:

I shall endeavor to advance the study
of the chief literary masterpieces
to encourage worthwhile reading
to promote the mastery of written expression
and to foster a spirit of fellowship
among those who specialize
in the study of the English language and of literature
ever keeping in mind our international motto:
Sincerity, Truth, Design.

Since college, I haven't exactly done any of that. What I have done is shown my love of our language by frequently using "fucking" as a gerundive--as in, "Dude, stop being such a fucking assclown, alright?", and by using "like" in place of "said," almost as much as a female mallrat. I think I might have once leant a decent book to a friend, and I have gently reminded others of their grammatical mistakes by reminding them, "Hey dumb-dumb It's 'Jim and me.' Direct Object. Not 'Jim and I.' not "Jim and myself.' But I hardly think this is in keeping with my promise to always remember the motto of "Sincerity, Truth, and Design." Whatever that means.

Now, I want to make amends for forsaking my solemn pledge. This is why I am setting up this page at Parmistan.com which shall be devoted entirely to advancing the "mastery of written expression, yadda, yadda, yadda." By all means, if you feel you have something to add--please send it along. Thank you.

On Email

No one expects an email to be held up to the same level of excellence as a letter. However, email has killed the letter to a large degree, and because of this, one should take some care before hitting "send." So please remember it's "you're" not "your;" You didn't "here from Jim that theirs to many people going already," and "it's" is a contraction meaning "it is." Also, if you were born with testicles, or if you're a woman over the age of 19, for crissakes, do not "lol," "lmfao," or use a semicolon, dash, and closed bracket to wink at anyone.

On Poetry

Don't write it if you really have no respect for it as an art form. And that's probably the case. Likely, you do not love an economy of language. You do not love the way words sound. You do not enjoy the constraints of form. You do not love considering using line breaks for meaning or pace. You do not like assonance, near rhymes, off rhymes, jarring sounds, soothing sounds. You do not like word play. You're just trying to get a chick in the sack. You can't just nail two pieces of wood together and call it a bookcase; you can't randomly place your fingers on a guitar fret, strum it a few times and call it a song. So you shouldn't break flowery prose into lines and call it a poem.

If for some reason you still feel you need to write a poem, there is a good chance that you're going to be a total puss and start with a love poem, and of course you'll make it rhyme. It might be about unrequited love, or lost love, or how much you really love the person you're with, but chances are it'll be a love poem. If you do start this way, do not actually use the word "love" in it. If you find that you have, for the love of goodness, do not end any of the lines with the word "love," because, despite what anyone says, your "love" is in no way like a "dove," and if it has come from somewhere, it was not from "above." This means, that you're left with the prickly pear of trying to seamlessly integrate "shove" or "glove" into a poem about your one and only. It just won't work.

More on poetry . . .

For examples of the most criminal offenses to the English language, one needs to turn no further than reality TV. Here are two poems I've culled from two different dingleberries from two different reality shows. The first was recited on board the Love Cruise by a cheesedick for the benefit of the other captive shipmates. He recited it as he stared out into the night sea. The editors of the show humanly truncated his performance, so sadly we only have this abridged version. The second poem comes from Ryan, the triumphant Vail firefighter from the original Bachelorette.

Friends floating in a dark sea
With dark fish and dark me
As we steer in the mirror of ourselves.

It's that gentle rhythm that reminds us of who we are
We see it in the moon
And we see it in the stars. . .

Ryan's Poem:
Imagine a place fit for angels
Where laughter fills the air.
The whole place fresh and clean,
Smells like it just washed its hair.

Flowers paint the landscape,
Waters run crystal clear.
Gentle summer breezes,
Whisper music in your ear.

A place where dreams come true,
Every wish is granted.
Days of active splendor,
Moonlit nights enchanted.

Imagine this place of endless beauty,
And know that it doesn't compare,
To the moment I stepped out into the night,
And saw you standing there.

If you still aren't cringing, check out a rerun of HBO's Def Poetry. Def . . . Poetry. Man . . . those cat's are PISSED! And how! That means their poetry MUST be good--and you know its all poetical and shit because they deliver each line in a feverish machine gun stacato until the last two words, which they extend as they trail their voices upward.

Repeat after me:

From uptown to downtown from Staten to Boogie Down mothers are cry-ing.
Because from project to project to project our sons are dy-ing.

See, you too, can be a Def poet.

Speaking of Reality Programming . . .

If you find yourself on a reality TV show, remember to be true to yourself. And if someone asks you why you made a decision, be it to cheat on your boyfriend, or to not give an individual a rose during the rose ceremony, remind the person who had the audacity to question your choice, that you had to be true to yourself.

What does "being true to yourself" mean? I haven't the foggiest. Actually, that's not at all true. I know exactly what it means. It's a saying that is absolutely devoid of any meaning whatsoever, and it has become a handy little escape for any one pressed for an answer to a question that he or she is unable or unwilling to answer. If in the past, when a tough question arose, like "Why the hell did you do that to me?" an appropriate response might be to garble some guttural sound like "ahgrgh" while plaintively looking up and to the left and holding out one's palms. One didn't say anything, because one had nothing to say. This is because words used to mean something. That's not necessarily the case now because one can use some of weasel words and say something like, "I'm just being true to myself. That's why."

I'm not entirely certain how this started, but its genesis may be connected with the use multi-word strings as verbal filler, replacing "um's" and "ah's" as acceptable conversation bridges between sentences or thoughts. "Know-wha-I'm-sayin?" For example, a drinking game keyed to how many times JLo says "Know-wha-I'm-sayin" in a ten minute interview would be suicide pact. And if you ever saw her interview with Diane Sawyer, I'm sure you do, in fact, know what I am saying.

Next, meaningless responses went unchallenged as a general rule. I knew a girl who thought my anecdotes where "craaaaazy." What does "craaaazy" really mean? It means, " ."

Even I've fallen into the trap. I frequently end conversations with the words, "good stuff." What the hell is this "stuff" and what about it is "good?" I must change, and we all must fight this scourge. Otherwise, we're not being true to ourselves. Know-wha-I'm-sayin?

More On the Art of Saying Nothing.

"No, man it's a 'pop.''
"POP?! Dude, it's a 'soda.' So-da."
"You know what they call it up in New Hampshire? 'Tonic.'"
"Yeah, yeah. 'member calling them 'soft-drinks? growing up? . . . oh and in some areas of the South they call everything a 'Coke.' Like, 'can I get a Coke?' 'What kind?' 'a root beer.' Isn't that ridiculous?"
"What did they call submarine sandwiches where you grew up? . . ."

There are whole conversations now that aren't really conversations, for instance, when people jabber on about the regional naming conventions of soda-pop. Each person knows that the back and forth on this subject is a well known and well worn give and take and each person knows how to keep the string moving. It's nothing more than a community effort to create noise to fill the silence. It's like the white noise the TV in the other room provides while you're making dinner.

So the next time someone says, "'Empire' was definitely the best movie." Do not add, that "Jar Jar totally ruined Episode 1. Plus the computer stuff was so cold." Or that "Things started to really suck when they added the Ewoks. That was the beginning of the end." Just nod and agree, and politely change the subject. Because you're not in a conversation, it's just a reasonable facsimile of one.

Things you should never say. Ever.

"That's a great cigar shop."
"Guinness isn't the same over here. Not like you get in Ireland."
"There's no good pizza outside of New York."
"Well, Pachino is always good."
"Global Warming." (Given as an explanation for every unseasonably warm day.)
"I don't like sad movies."
"Well you take a risk just getting out of bed in the morning."
"Very unique. (as opposed to somewhat unique?)"
(boasting): "I'm not good at math."
"My mom makes the best PA-sta fa-JOOOULLE."
"Reality TV? You watch that Garbage?"
"I never watch T.V."
"Brilliant. Simply brilliant." (Applicable to Americans only.)
"I'm just talking out loud here."
"F.Y.I . . ."
"Look, I've got nothing against gays, but . . ."
"Oh, I'm just obsessive compulsive."
"Whatever. They're all corrupt."
"I don't think there are any words to describe it."