The difference between 'a' and 'an'

A lot of us get to thinking that there exists this arbitrary rule within the English language that enforces people to say 'an' when the word following it begins with a vowel.

For instance, we say, "An artichoke" and, "An umbrella", but the gurus of language didn't intend us to do so simply because "we have to use 'an' when the next word starts with a vowel." That would be like saying, "The sun sets because it's night time."

The real reason the 'n' was added was because it can break the flow of a sentence when two vowel or consonant sounds are spoken without something to break them up. It has nothing to do with the letter itself, only the sound it makes within that word.

In most cases, we get it right.

Example 1a: "Next year, I'm going to make an Easter egg out of vegetables because I'm a rebel."

Example 1b: "Will it be a teeny tiny Easter egg, or a massive, fatty Easter egg comparable to the size of a fully grown elephant?"

However, because this rule has nothing to do with the consonant or the vowel itself, there are exceptions. When people misunderstand the rule, they are unable to adapt to these exceptions, and they begin to sound silly.

Example 1c (incorrect): " 'Fatty' was an euphemism, but I wouldn't mind trying a small Easter egg made out of vegetables."

Why is it wrong? Because it sounds silly.

Example 1c' (correct): " 'Fatty' was a euphemism. Having said that, anyone who dares to eat an Easter egg made out of vegetables will be shot and killed."

The word 'euphemism' begins with a consonant sound (you), not a vowel sound. Therefore, use 'a'. The rule was invented to make the flow of words easier, not harder, and that is entirely dependent on how the words sound. Make sense? Moving on.

Example 2: "Janet Bunnyhop's autobiography, Chocolate Heaven, Vegetable Hell, portrays the significance of Easter in an historical setting."

A teacher in high school taught me to write 'an' in a phrase such as the one above because the emphasis on the word 'historical' is placed on the second syllable - that is, historical - which is a vowel sound, and because the first letter - h - is almost silent. In other words, you will only have a case like this when the word begins with an 'h' and the emphasis of the word is placed on the second syllable. You wouldn't say, "I'm quite an happy man."

For a long while I thought it was a stupid exception, because 'a' carries the sentence just as well as 'an' does. So I did some research, and guess what? It doesn't even matter! You can ignore the rule in this case and do whatever you like. Perhaps your accent might dictate which word improves the outpouring of your speech, but feel free to decide which one you prefer.

Remember, it's the sound of the phrase that determines whether 'a' or 'an' is more appropriate. Something to note is that, because most people, such as the man at your next job interview, don't realise that the rule is based on the sound, they'll see 'an historical' (and other such phrases) and think it's wrong. Best to stick with 'a historical', at least in print.

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Everything in my life happens in twos!

Hear me out. It's more a theory than a hypothesis, you know, because it's been tested. A hundred times, even, and a hundred times it's happened. When a thing occurs in my life, it occurs again. Everything in my life happens twice!

Last week the keyboard tray on my computer desk fell apart. Just fell apart. The screws had been loosening themselves, I guess, and all at once three of them popped out. The next thing I knew, my fingers were typing the air.

I reattached the keyboard tray, which took longer than expected because there were screws that had to be undone to get to the screws that had undone themselves; but eventually it was back in place. A minor setback on my easy life, I thought. But not one second after sitting back on my chair did my computer blue screen on me! Coincidence? I think not!

"Um, but those are two different things happening," I hear you say. In a sense, you are right, but they have one thing in common. They are both minor inconveniences. One minor inconvenience occurred right after another! Not only that, but my computer (which I've had for two years) had never blue screened before that point, and the keyboard tray had never fallen apart before that point! 

Still not convinced?

Last week a friend was in town for a few hours, and she called me hours in advance, asking if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over dessert. Two days later another friend called me to say that she was in town for a day and asked if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over coffee (at Starbucks). See the pattern!?

The week before last week I'd caught up with yet another friend at the same Starbucks mentioned above, at the same seat at the same time of day. (I didn't choose the place to sit. They got there before me). Also, coffee!

NB: I'm so introverted that I myself never take the initiative to catch up with people. All of these ideas were theirs!

LAST WEEK I tutored a student named Finley. His dad only had twenties, so he paid me $10 too much, and asked if it was okay to pay me $10 less the following week. Not being a thief, I said, "Sure." On Wednesday I tutored Stephanie, who requested $10 change because she too only had twenties. I checked my wallet, but having no change, suggested that she pay me $10 less at the next tutorial. She agreed, and then it hit me. Everything in my life happens twice! (I promise I didn't orchestrate that second instance).

NB: I only tutor two students at the moment, and never before has this kerfuffle over payment occurred.

These are just four examples within the same week. No biggie, right? Wrong! Consider every other week in my life and the possibility that they contain at least four instances of stuff happening twice! (Believe me, I could go on).

I've shared this (tested) theory with several mates. Tatai's dubious to the say the least. The sceptic in him says, "You only take note of the things that happen twice, so of course you'd say that. If you compared those four things with everything that doesn't happen twice, you'd find that the proportion of things happening twice to things happening once is extremely small; and therefore, the things that happen twice are merely coincidences."

Uh, good point. However, "Things that have happened once are only things that have yet to happen again, testified by the examples I have just provided." Come to think of it, I'm fairly certain we've had two conversations about this theory!

Perhaps you too are sceptical. Fair enough, I say, nodding. It isn't a science (yet), for I have no current way of presenting a cause-and-effect relationship between the stuff in my life and the fact that said stuff tends to happen twice. But I'm working on it.

The other obvious question is, "How do you know that the stuff that's happened twice won't happen a third time?"

The answer: "Stuff that happens a third time is destined to happen a fourth. In other words, 'A thing happening twice is itself a thing, which can also happen twice.'" 

Therefore, my theory boils down to this. Everything in my life happens in twos. While 'everything' might be an exaggeration, my theory wouldn't be a theory unless 'stuff happening twice' in my life wasn't so prominent that I became aware of it. Four cases in seven days, I tell you. Beat that!

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My smartphone is a culmination of first world problems

I swear that my phone hates me. I've come to believe that it's teeming with thousands of tiny first-world nanomites that refuse to vacate their nest whenever I'm forced to open my phone and fiddle with the battery.

I try to console myself. Think realistically. Be grateful. I mean, none of us is free from the gripes and annoyances that make our lives slightly less convenient. For some it's that dishwasher that doesn't dry the dishes properly; for others it's the unreachable in-flight magazine in Business Class. (You have to get up from your seat and walk three steps in order to attain it). But things could always be worse. A lot worse. I mean, you could---
POOF!
Sorry, that was the sound of my reverie snapping, because my phone decided to die. See what I mean?

My 19-months-old LG-P970 Android and I have had our moments. There was that one time when the battery lasted a whole day, and that other time when my message sent. But I've come to expect none of that any more, largely based on the fact that it fails.

1. About once a fortnight my phone turns itself off -- annoying if I'm sleeping and have to, you know, wake up.

2. About one in every four texts doesn't send. When that happens, my phone notifies me, to which I think, "Oh, a super fast reply!" Then I read it. "Message not sent." RAGE!

3. In about 29 days of every month my phone functions incredibly slowly.

4. My phone battery dies in about nine hours. You can almost watch the green meter whittle away.

5. The headphone receptacle no longer clips the jack properly. So, when I go for a run, the plug pops out after the fifth step, and I lose all motivation to exercise.

6. My phone freezes at the same frequency that it turns itself off.

7. Of all the apps that crash, the home screen crashes the most. HOW DOES THAT EVEN MAKE SENSE!? 

8. When someone calls me, my phone takes until the fourth ring to display the answer and decline options. And then how I answer is itself a mini-game. It might be that all I'll need to do is touch the green 'answer' button. But the next time someone calls, I'll instead have to drag the button from right to left. And even then my phone tends to amp up the difficulty by LAGGING. So by the time that it registers my commands, the caller has already reached my voicemail. DOUBLE RAGE!

9. Apps open by themselves minutes after I close them.

10. Sometimes, when I want to text, say, Nicole, I'll select her name, but my phone will take me to Hamish instead! Since I won't think to check the name at the top of the the screen, it's only when Hamish replies, "Huh?" that I realise I've texted the wrong person. You can imagine the potential for awkward here.

Well, how do I do it? I hear you ask. Believe it or not, there are worse first world problems than a headache-inducing phone. I've considered buying a new phone, which would eliminate this mass inconvenience; but then that would only create the issue known as having no money. And having no money could easily become a genuine problem. So, you know---
POOF!
Oh look, there it goes again.

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Wacky things we get told to believe, for no real reason

Case One

One rainy day during high school, I was sitting inside, eating my lunch when Jeanne, a fellow student, decided to educate me.

She'd obviously noticed that I'd peeled my banana like any normal person would:

But it wasn't good enough for her. She approached me, placed her hands on her hips and declared, "You're supposed to peel it from the other end." By 'other end', she meant this:

"Why?" I asked.
"Because that's how monkeys do it."
I looked around to find my friends nodding in agreement, the way you'd nod in agreement if Gandalf had spoken. Evidently Jeanne was quite wise. But I simply raised my eyebrows. "Are you a monkey?"
"What? No," she replied. I think she was upset, because she took off.

Sure, there could be actual reasons, such as the fact that it requires less effort, to peel a banana from the other end, but "because that's how monkeys do it" isn't, of itself, a reason to do anything. Why would we want to mimic monkeys? Should we speak like monkeys, too? Why not go one step further and build nests instead of houses because, you know, that's how birds do it?


Case Two

I never believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy, or even the Easter Bunny. I think, during my early childhood, my parents must have said, "They aren't real. Don't listen to anyone," in super stern tones. Not that it would've mattered. Everyone outgrows these beliefs sooner or later.

Strangely, a lot of people never stop believing the myth that the daddy longlegs is the most venomous spider on the planet (and that its fangs are too small to pierce human flesh).

I consider myself quite a gullible person, which is why it surprises me when I think back to that fateful day on which I too was told to believe the myth, and refused. Despite being only eight years old, my undeveloped capacitors for reasoning somehow deciphered that the claim didn't make any sense.

"Its fangs are too short. Well isn't that convenient?"
"Why is an eight-year-old schoolmate telling me this, and not the news, or my dad, or someone who knows stuff?"
"Why are there zero reports of someone with a cut on their foot standing on a daddy longlegs and subsequently dying?"

All of these questions rummaged through my mind, ransacking the furniture and messing up the carpet. But I knew better than to argue with a classmate who placed his Scrabble letters diagonally across the board, and whose facial expression said, "No matter what you say, I know more than you."

Here's some research to debunk the myth forever:

"Supposedly, daddy longlegs possess extremely powerful poison, but their fangs are too short to penetrate human skin. To find out, [Mythbusters'] Jaime and Adam hunted down a host of daddy longlegs and took them to a spider specialist who could milk out their venom. Next, the spider specialist compared the toxicity of daddy longlegs venom to black widow venom. The red-bellied widow won out, busting the myth.
A microscopic measurement of the long-legged spider's fangs proved their miniscule quarter-millimeter length could puncture human skin, taking a double bite out of the daddy longlegs myth."

Case Three

Several years ago, I was having lunch at a café with some mates. I bought a Coke Zero because... I don't know. "I don't want cancer!" I told myself, which is why I don't know. I think I'd never drank Coke Zero before. Anyway, one of these mates (it might have been Jeanne) said, "Eew! You shouldn't drink that."
"Why not?"
"A chemical in the sweetener is used in embalming liquid!"
I think someone changed the subject, because I never got the chance to say, "And water is used in nuclear power plants. Best not drink that, either."

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Why I didn't study at the Auckland University of Technology University

It was late last year when indecision plagued my mind. The days were becoming longer, the air warmer. Summer was coming, and I had no idea what to do with my life! After much indecision and frustration, a plethora of infinite possibilities was hammered down to a much more surmountable two. The options were:

1. A Masters in Creative Writing at AUT

2. An Advanced Diploma in Applied Writing at Northtec

Both were one year courses, both full time. Thing is, I still had to make a decision, which was, like all decisions, hard. So, being the outside-the-box thinker I am, I decided to do something unspeakable. I decided to cheat Fate. I decided… to apply for BOTH!

Naturally, both institutions got back to me with promising information, playing their respective cards, talking themselves up and whatnot. Some things I noted were that AUT requested a portfolio five times longer than that of Northtec, AUT's site was more sophisticated and easier to navigate, and AUT had a far better reputation. Yet, I was swayed towards Northtec for one simple reason.

Turns out AUT wasn't (and still isn't) its full name. It's AUT University! Or, in full, Auckland University of Technology University.

Not wishing to study at a tertiary institution that can't proof-read - or, at least, explain - its own name, I wrote them an email to withdraw my application.*

I get it. They don't want their university confused with, say, an airport. But there's a reason why you don't go to the ATM machine.

So now I'm studying at Northtec, and it's going rather well. I mean, my thesis-type assignment in this course is, wait for it, the novel I'm writing! Woo!

Still, I shake my head. Surely a reputable institution such as AUT University, which offers advanced courses in Creative Writing, would have editors smart enough to note the jarring, mouthful-of-a-name University University they represent. The name hasn't changed, however, so I can only infer that they do not. I think I made the right choice.

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*This scruple - and, believe me, it was a mammoth of a scruple - was not actually what vanquished my indecision, but that doesn't mean it wasn't flippin' annoying!

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When to use (and not to use) quotation marks

The marks of quotation are perhaps the easiest marks of punctuation to use, yet so often they lead only to destruction. You know what else leads to destruction? Walking on your face.

Compare man walking on his face with man walking on his feet.

Silly, yes? That's because it's easy to walk on your feet, and impossible to walk on your face. For starters, you'd need to have two faces so that your weight can always be on one face while the other takes a step forward. As it happens, we don't possess the required amount of faces, so we'd have to sort of face-hop from place to place. I imagine the process would be rather destructive.

Fortunately it's easy to walk on your feet and not on your face. All you have to remember, when you get up in the morning, is not to walk upside-down.

But there's another reason why we walk on our feet and not on our faces. It makes us look more intelligent. Therefore, walking intelligently is easy. The criteria is as follows:

1. Don’t walk on your face.

You know what else is easy? Using quotation marks! It's like walking, provided that walking had two more rules.

*Only use quotation marks when,

1. quoting someone besides yourself

2. denoting sarcasm

3. writing dialogue

When my brother sent me this image, I was left wondering which of the three rules applied.

1. Forget the backwards quotation marks. Generally, if you're going to quote someone, the done thing is to tag the person whom you're quoting, otherwise you might as well have made it up, which defeats the purpose of having quotation marks. Fortunately no one patented the words, 'Thank you'.

2. If sarcasm was the intention, then the staff member who wrote this sign wasn't wanting to thank me, but to insult me. Yet, as Harvey Norman is a store that tries to sell me things rather than ruin my self esteem, I decided that blurting sarcastic courtesies to potential buyers was counter-productive.

3. Pretty lame dialogue.

The inevitable conclusion was, of course, that the writer either had no idea how to use quotation marks properly, or he/she had no idea how to underline text.

Do not use quotation marks when:

1. You aren't doing anything in the above list. Or, in other words, whenever you're trying to place emphasis on a given word or phrase.

Surrounding a phrase in quote marks in order to denote emphasis is just as helpful as surrounding it in commas, or @ symbols, or these things: ~ , which is to say that they do nothing. Except they don't do nothing. For people who know better, the phrase becomes sarcastic.

If you want to add emphasis to a phrase, underline it, use italics, or write it in bold. You could even try using CAPS, though that generally denotes yelling. The only punctuation mark that adds any form of emphasis is the exclamation point!

The writer of the sign didn't know that, and he/she is one of millions. Sad, isn't it? Who would put ~ thingies around the words 'thank you' to denote emphasis? I sure wouldn't. It's sort of a rule of life for me. Rule #1: Don't walk on my face. Rule #2: Don’t emphasise words with ~ thingies.

------------

Here they are again.

Only use quotation marks when,

1. quoting someone besides yourself

2. denoting sarcasm

3. writing dialogue

*There are some other, rare instances in which quotation marks can be used, but even then they aren't necessary.

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Speaking with robots will be socially awkward

Sometimes I ponder what the future might be like, you know, after I'm dead. I think about the things I'll never get to experience, which you might argue impossible, since I've never experienced them. Either way, it's kinda sad.

Recently I thought of those annoying automated phone operator thingies that force you speak to make conversation with them. They suck, mainly because I never know what to ask for until I'm given the choice. And instead of giving you choices, they simply ask, "What's your enquiry?"

And I reply "I received a letter telling me to-"

And they cut me off, "I don't understand whatever it is you just said," which, of course, defeats their very purpose. So frustrating. But what if this didn't just occur on the phone but everywhere else, too? The future would suck. Take, for instance, the following scenario.

-----------------------------

Deep down, we all know that machines will rule the world one day. And even if not 'rule', then at the very least replace checkout operators.

Self-service checkouts are only the beginning. Supermarket franchises will soon be offered human-like robots to replace checkout staff. They'll be individually groomed (by other robots, who work in factories), so that no two robots look the same. They'll even have nametags, like 'Sue' and 'Hal' - mostly three-letter, one-syllable names to cater to a wider audience; but on occasion you'll meet a 'Maximilian' or a 'Jacqueline'. It's more realistic that way.

Say, for instance, you reach the checkout with your trolley of groceries, and Hal greets you with a wave and a smile, and says, "Hi there, Jesse." (He knows your name from an online passport database).

As this is the future, the world is overpopulated and supermarkets are perpetually aflood with customers. Naturally, quite the queue is lined up behind you: impatient eyes watch as you formulate your generic response to Hal's equally generic, albeit automated, greeting. And in those split seconds between voice prompts, you ask yourself, "How do I do it?"

Not minutes ago, you heard the previous discourse between man and machine, and you shake your heard as your mind replays the scene.

"Hi there, Geoffrey!"

"Hey, Hal."

"How is your day going, Geoffrey?"

"Well, my car broke down on the way to work. But a man pulled over to help out, so I stole his car and ended up making it in time. It was hectic, but I'm here now, so that's good, right?"

"I'm sorry, Geoffrey. I do not understand, 'Well, my car broke down on the way to work. But a man pulled over to help out, so I stole his car and ended up making it in time. It was hectic, but I'm here now, so that's good, right?' Please try a shorter answer, like 'Good, thanks.'"

"Oh, well… it was good."

"Wonderful. Cash or credit, Geoffrey?"

You shudder at the memory of Geoffrey walking off, an abashed expression pasted onto his face. It was so awkward. Everyone was laughing at him, except Hal. Hal doesn't laugh.

Years ago, when you called the tax department, they didn’t ask for verbal responses, only numbers. '5' for general enquiries. It was always general enquiries.

Then businesses got all obnoxious with their tech, forcing people to talk instead of push buttons on the keypad. As if saying 'general enquiries' in a tone that implied the recipient was both foreign and deaf was ever easier than pressing 5. Half the time you'd get a response, "Sorry, was that 'student loans' or 'tax returns'? The answer, of course, was neither. And it certainly wasn't fun if you were in a public space.

Even then those were the good old days. You know, when supermarkets had real humans at checkouts. Now, not only are there less jobs, but you have to contend with robots everywhere you go! They don't even blink, and the ones that do are always on a five-second timer. Sometimes, if you're at the end checkout, you can look down at all the other operators and notice that they all blink in time with each other.

It's not right; the conversations aren't even real! But if you don't greet them back, they stare at you in a perpetual stasis, wide eyes and creepy smiles waiting for your reply.

Hal is no different. As you reminisce on times past, he looks at you with false anticipation on his plastic face, and crane-like hands hover over the conveyor belt, set to move upon your reply. But who wants to talk to a robot and risk looking like a total loser? Who wants to converse with someone who doesn't really converse? It's then that you remember the scarcely advertised 'code' for a free discount.

"Hi," you then reply, all moping and whatnot.

"How was your day, Jesse?"

"Bad."

"Oh!" Hal pauses. You take his creased brow as a sign of pity. "Well, let me offer you a box of Coke Zero for 25% off."

The black box of sugar-free goodness sits atop all other items as you wheel your trolley across the car park. You realise you were only given the discount because you spent over $100 on everything else. Below that, and Hal would've said, "Oh, that's too bad," and nothing more. You wonder if the awkwardness was worth it. I mean, you only get the discount every three months, and it doesn't roll over if you don't use it.

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If we think of the future in this light, it doesn't seem so amazing after all. Of course, though, the deeper meaning underlying whatever it is you just read is the overarching metaphor about the mundane uniformity with which we live our lives. Jokes. I just made that up at the end.

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