On teaching

So I'm about to wrap the whole thing up. The school year is almost over and I have the distinct feeling that I may not be returning to this blog for a long, long time, which justifies a glance back at what I've done professionally over the past few years. After some seconds of serious consideration, I find myself facing a bewildering realization, namely, that I don't know what the best teaching method is.

Before I elaborate on that, let me drop some truths on you. Teaching is not as straightforward as some of you might think. Expectations are as wildly varied as the so-called "learning styles" (of whose actual existence I'm not quite convinced). I do know, though, that not everyone learns things in the same way and certainly not because of the same reasons. Does that mean that brains are hardwired in radically different ways? I really don't know.

Whatever the truth of the matter may be, I think I needn't explain why I can't teach in, say, eleven different ways. So, what am I to do? The answer is simple: choose. Indeed, I have no alternative but to choose one method and then try and make the best of it. I am aware of the fact that, to some students, my approach to teaching may seem chaotic and confusing. I'm prone to referencing pop culture, recounting personal experiences and resorting to all kinds of obscure vocabulary (e.g. "regolith" and "coulrophobia"). Admittedly, this can all be slightly disconcerting to students expecting a standard type of by-the-book class. Yet, one thing is glaringly obvious to me: life is a miscellaneous affair. And there's precious little scaffolding to it. Just think about it for a second. You watch the news or listen to a podcast and all kinds of terms, accents and topics are thrown at you in no particular order of grammatical complicacy, which is absolutely normal because, well, because... that's life. The funny thing is that it is precisely that kind of confusing experience (which you get, for instance, by spending some time abroad) that makes you learn better. Ask anyone who's lived in an English-speaking country for a long enough period of time.

Say what you will about general systems and specific strategies, it is my firm belief that a truly sophisticated speaker should be ready to face unexpected situations and understand out-of-context texts. Can you get that from adapted books or watered-down versions of a news reel? Maybe not.

At the advanced level, a perfectly organized, step-by-step lesson plan, one with increasing degrees of complexity can be easy on the students, but fails to live up to reality. Something of that sort can certainly be useful in the early stages of the learning process. However, at the advanced level (C1 and C2) it can be more of a hindrance than a benefit. Don't get me wrong. I'm not making a case for aimless instruction and a rejection of textbooks. In fact, I do pay attention to the textbook... but in my own personal way. That said, I'd rather start conversations and refer to apparently unrelated snippets of information than do exercise 8 right after finishing exercise 7. Shockingly enough, my system appears to work. At least, sometimes. Every once in a while I receive an email from a student who tells me how happy they are about the progress they've made. The whole thing is quite miraculous to me, which is the reason why I never take any credit for my students' learning. They do the learning. I just given them some pointers or, as I usually phrase it in the classroom, I show my students the way but they do the walking.

The unvarnished truth, however, is that, after many years teaching English, I still don't know how to do it. I guess I try and turn my classes into a conversation, probably because that's how I learned to speak English: by experiencing stuff. If you're a student of mine you know full well that in my classes, topics, words and references appear to simply "come up" (even if I often bring them up deliberately). You're also aware of the fact that I like to overexplain things, put them in a context, connect seemingly unrelated ideas, go off on a tangent, whip up a conclusion, etc. and I try to do all that within the boundaries of what "looks like" casual banter. After all, if one learns to swim by swimming, it stands to reason that we should learn to speak a language by speaking it. So, even if it doesn't look that way, "there is a method to my madness". That said, if I had to give you all a piece of advice I would simply ask you to practice. Practice as much as you can as often as you can! Copy expressions, imitate accents, borrow turns of phrase, listen hard, read a lot and speak whenever you find an opportunity. Seek exposure to the target language. Remember that attending classes alone doesn't really cut it anymore. Classes are just a part of your "diet", but you should also find your "nutrients" elsewhere.

But I digress.

What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that I'm never sure if my teaching really helps my students. Quite frankly, I can only hope it does. So, imagine my surprise when I came across the video below and I saw the great Richard Feynman, whom I admire deeply, discussing his experience as a teacher and saying "I really don't know how to do it". Not only did he win the Nobel Prize in Physics (1965), but he also taught at the highest level imaginable. Students were invariably enthralled by his explanations (there is footage of him teaching and lecturing). Yet, he claimed not to know how to do it. Well, that might just be the only thing he and I have in common. I don't know how to teach, either. Anyway, I'm afraid it's time for you to listen to the master himself. My dear students... Mr. Richard Feynman.

It feels "artificial"

Yes. That's what I often hear whenever I discuss the importance of using idioms. "It feels artificial" say some of my students. Well, allow me to paraphrase. What you really want to say is probably something like this: "I feel weird because I've never done it before".

Does that get too close to the bone? Eating with chopsticks, playing a new chord on the guitar, wearing a business suit, saying "my husband"... All those experiences feel "strange" at first, right? Only the first time we do them. But it's not because they are intrinsically odd. Some Asian peoples have been eating food with chopsticks for millennia. English speakers have been using idioms for centuries. Your mother may have been saying "my husband" for some decades now. There's nothing odd about those habits.

So, yes. Speaking natural English may be a little "strange" only when you do it for the first time.

If you don't feel comfortable using idioms maybe you should reevaluate your whole learning process because, the way I see it, the change from intermediate to advanced level can be defined as a transition from "grammatically correct English" into "natural English". And being natural involves some serious use of idiomatic expressions. So stop feeling weird and embrace what's real. The payoff is definitely worth the effort.

"Range" means "options"

Okay. Irrespective of how many times I've addressed this issue over the past few months, I still think that I haven't stressed it enough, but let me repeat it yet again. Breaking down the barrier that separates the intermediate and the advanced levels is no easy task. I get that. It depends on multiple elusive factors that seem to be irrelevant to most learners, but not to a teacher. And, of course, one of those factors is range. Yes... range, also known as, versatility.

Whenever we discuss people, for example, we tend to go down the easy road: "she is laid-back". Okay. "She is...". Nothing wrong with that, except it's far too simple and, let's face, from a grammatical point view, it doesn't really matter if you say "She's tall" or "She's obstreperous". Yes. Tall is A1 material. Obstreperous, though, is more unusual, but at the end of the day the structure is the same, isn't it?

A speaker shows range when they are able to successfully depart from the obvious structure (in this case she is) and use a whole different set of strategies. Consider these options:

• An adjective: she's perky
• A noun: he's a slacker
• An adjective + a noun: she's a glib politician
• An idiom: she has a reputation for being a loose cannon
• A phrase verb: he creeps me out
• A full sentence: he has been a loyal friend through thick and thin

If you use all of those, your description will not be boring or robotic. Remember that students at the intermediate level tend to describe people by rattling off lists of adjectives (She's smart, tall, dark-skinned and French), which is neither realistic nor particularly interesting.

As a sophisticated speaker, you're expected to resort to more varied strategies. So, be ready to ask yourself if you can choose between two similar options as in these cases:

In short, remember that having only one option is never a good sign. You can (and should) do better than that.

Collocations and structure

There are numberless reasons why a particular sentence might be considered to be indicative of an advanced level of English. Sometimes it's the sheer sophistication of the vocabulary. On other occasions it's the structure that makes the difference. Finally there's the old "web of factors" that somehow paints a picture of complexity which is impossible to achieve with the toolkit you get at the intermediate level. Today I'd like to share two sentences that illustrate some of those factors. The first one is the kind of sentence in which collocations are key:

At the very least the Bohemian Club is an opportunity for the world's movers and shakers to forge connections, build insider ties and spread policy information well away from the eyes and ears of the citizens whose interests they claim to represent.

If you pay close attention to it you will soon realize that the structure is quite simple. It actually mirrors the skeleton of this other less ambitious sentence:

In fact, this group is great for meeting people away from your parents

That's why I believe that the key to the first sentence is not really the structure but those nice collocations, which, of course, follow the time-honored "rule of three":  to forge/connections, to build/ties, to spread/information. If you are not impressed just imagine an Indonesian learner of Spanish saying something like this: Por lo menos, aquellas reuniones me permitieron entablar conversaciones, establecer contactos y forjar amistades. Come on, admit it. Wouldn't you be impressed?

The sentence below, though, represents a completely different type of "advanced sentence":

[Boris] Johnson agreed that Northern Ireland would remain subject to EU market rules and to erect a trade border down the Irish Sea to police them, angering pro-British unionists who object to Northern Ireland being treated differently than the rest of the United Kingdom

Yes. There are three interesting collocations (erect-border/ police-rules / anger-unionists), but I would argue that it's the words marked in bold type that really hold the sentence together and allowed the author to expand an otherwise simple sequence. Not the lexical input. So, there you go. You may display your advanced command of the language by resorting to many different strategies. Challenge yourself and don't settle for the B2 approach. That's the only way to break down the glass barrier that prevents you from entering C1 heaven.

Complex relative sentences

Complex relative sentences. I already addressed this topic in a video I posted some months ago. Still, I feel it may be necessary to remind you all of a rather necessary addition to your skill set, which can "raise your game" whenever you need to produce formal, technical or academic texts.

To speakers of Romance languages, English relative sentences pose an irresistible temptation: the sequence "preposition + relative pronoun". A subject such as the person with whom I'm going out is grammatically impeccable, but is often frowned upon in the early stages of language learning. Why? Well, because day-to-day language overwhelmingly favors a different syntax, namely the person I'm going out with. Regardless what old timey grammar books or even native speakers will have you believe, the truth is with whom sounds quite formal.

That said, it is also true that sometimes we don't really have much of a choice. So, the sequence "preposition + relative pronoun" becomes the only realistic option we have. Consider these two sentences:

• Past the housing problem hung a gorgeous poster showing a cliff, along whose summit rode a man on a chesnut horse with a rifle slung over his shoulder

• At once, too, he would curse heaven for having failed to endow him at birth with literary talent, without which, of course, no one could so much as dream of acquiring a massolit membership card.

I take it you have noticed the unequivocally literary vibe of those two complex sentences. I know. You may relay the same message by dispensing with the relative clause (the part that starts with the text in bold type) and simply starting a new sentence. Is that truly elegant, though? The answer is a resounding no.

So, there you go. After years of trying to master those dangling prepositions you are told that your first impulse (the "Romance language" approach) can actually be correct. Feel free to use sequences like these:

• That's a prophecy the meaning of which is forever out of reach
• The circumstances under which this phenomenon might occur
• Finally, I would like to thank Michael Leigh without whose support we would not have managed to come this far

You're welcome.

Egalitarian language

So here we are again. March 8. International Women's Day. What can we say that's remotely new and relevant to a course of English as a Foreign Language? Nothing I haven't said a hundred times before. Still, allow me to reiterate some platitudes.

When it comes to discussing languages and gender issues, I believe something must be distinctly understood. Every language is, in essence, a set of conventions. So any given tongue is whatever its speakers want it to be. And the choices that every era makes tend to mirror the standards of that specific time in history. It, therefore, follows that a society in which religion played a dominant role should include a lot of religious references. Just consider the realm of greetings and think of the words adieu in French and adiós in Spanish. They both mean "to god". They are not alone. In English, we can use these two expressions to bid someone farewell:

• goodbye, which is basically a hurried version of "god be with you"
• godspeed, a (now old-fashioned) salutation which means "may God cause you to prosper"

So, does the use of those words make you religious? I hardly think so. Many "secular" speakers still say Oh my god! even if they don't believe in any sort of deity. The word is simply part of the history of the language. For similar reasons, many non-sexist speakers may still use words which are (at least etymologically) slightly sexist. Take the adjective hysteric, for example. It obviously refers to a woman's uterus. Yes. The Greek term hysteria means exactly that: "womb", "uterus". The rationale behind that term is that only women can be overemotional and unstable. I know. It's kind of toe-curling. Yet, we find a parallel case in the verb manhandle, which means "to treat someone roughly". The assumption is that only men do that, not women. The word, by the way, was first used in 1851, not the Middle Ages (when man simply meant person). So it is, technically, "etymologically sexist".

All that said, it stands to reason that an egalitarian society should reflect that particular ethos in its very language. Therefore the English which is spoken now should be less discriminatory than it used to be. So let's forget "etymological sexism" and think of everyday language usage.

You have an obligation to try and be sensitive to language transformation. If only because what feels "inappropriate" is usually "unacceptable". And I'm not talking about the dreaded PC culture, which started out fine but and has been known to defeat its purpose in some respects. No. I'm referring to forms of expression that simply feel out of step with the times. The sentence somebody has left his umbrella, for example, sounds dated and inaccurate to me. My reaction here is not political or ideological at all. It's simply practical. Why should I assume that the person who left the umbrella in question is a man? Likewise, the phrase the man in the street, (meaning an average person) also feels sexist and dated. I personally refuse to use it because it doesn't make much sense to me. Times change and so does language use. And if you're still not convinced, consider this last example.

Upon setting foot on the Moon (1969) Neil Armstrong famously uttered the line "a small step for a man a giant leap for mankind". Granted, the wordplay man/mankind may have been inspired, but many of us feel that humankind, a word coined in 1560 by the way, would have aged better. I know. I know. It's not fair to pass judgment on past events by using present-day criteria. The 1960s were different. Back then, a female astronaut stepping onto the surface of the Mars would have seemed preposterous. Yet, that's exactly what the Netflix series Away (2020) presents in its first season finale. Watching that scene doesn't strike me as artificial or contrived in any shape or form. Today's zeitgeist is simply quite different from that of 50 years ago and our word choices should also describe that reality.

As English learners you should all be sensitive to the times you're living in and be ready to make appropriate choices. Speakers are now establishing the expressions that will be standard in the future. I am aware that foreign students don't exactly have a horse in this race. They are expected to listen and follow suit. Still, certain novelties should not surprise them because we know from experience that some changes can happen from top to bottom. Remember the ill-fated pronoun thon? It was suggested as a gender-neutral alternative to he and she in 1858. Needless to say, it didn't catch on. Why? Well, speakers rejected it. That's why. Is it going to be embraced by those who claim to be "woke" (to use the parlance of our times)? Only time will tell. Nevertheless we should not forget that dramatic changes do occur from time to time. At the end of the 19th century thou was still used as a pronoun for the second person singular. Then came you and English grammar was forever changed. Still, for now I think we ought to stick to what is standard. In a situation in which gender is irrelevant or simply unknown... what are you going to say? Someone left his or her umbrella? Someone left their umbrella? Someone left an umbrella? Just remember that your choice may help change the future.

Topicalization

Today I'd like to say a thing or two about the question of topicalization, which is still a little problem area for many learners. First off, let me clarify that linguists understand two slightly different concepts by that term.

The word topicalization can refer to the act of placing information at the front of the sentence in order to establish the topic of what a speaker is going to say/write. Consider this headline:

In impoverished Syldavia, king's new palace an eyesore for some

What is the topic of the sentence? What this sentence about? Is it about the financial situation of the kingdom of Syldavia? The design of the new palace? Is it about what some Syldavians think of the royal palace? I would argue that the syntax doesn't make it all too clear. It is true that by fronting the adverbial phrase ("in impoverished Syldavia") we highlight one specific piece of information, namely, where the infamous building is located (also its financial precariousness). So, okay... the writer has stressed one element, most likely the thematic element in the phrase.

However, I don't want to address that kind of topicalization, but rather the one that allows us to establish a topic in an explicit manner.

So picture yourself in a job interview. Even if the "main topic" of the conversation is obvious, it is undeniable that a number of areas/aspects are going to be discussed: qualifications, benefits, salary, availability, etc. How do you signal what you're exactly referring to when you talk? You need an expression that helps you introduce or establish a (sub)topic, something that basically says: "I'm talking about money". Of course, you want to say that "Now I am going to talk about money". So... how should you express that idea?

It's actually quite simple. You just need the English equivalent of the Japanese "wa" particle. What is that? Well, it is a syllable that is customarily used to clarify the subject matter of a sentence, which is why in Japanese the question Where is John?, for example, sounds like this: John wa, doko desu ka? A rough literal translation would be: Regarding John, where is he?

Wouldn't it be nice to have such an efficient little particle in English? It would, indeed, but you don't need to dream about it because the English language does have an analogous particle. I refer here to the suffix "-wise". Yes. That little add-on (which we find, for instance, in the word otherwise) does the exact same job. Interestingly enough, it is a productive morpheme in some expressions, such as money-wise meaning in terms of money. Similar examples abound: weather-wise, health-wise, family-wise, personality-wise, etc. The bad news is that it cannot be bandied about just like an article or a modal verb. In other words, its use is rather limited. So, what do we do?

I can tell what you should not do. Many learners tend to resort to a small array of unidiomatic options. Let's assume they want to discuss the feasibility of a project. They'll start a sentence by using something like about its feasibility or talking about its feasibility. Ouch! Those are not exactly great choices, particularly in light of the many natural alternatives that the English language has to offer. Check these out:

• In terms of its feasibility
• As far as its feasibility goes
• Regarding its feasibility
• With regard to its feasibility
• With respect to its feasibility
• As for its feasibility
• On the question of its feasibility
• As to its feasibility

Should I go on? Alright. You get the idea. So, whenever you need to tackle a facet of a problem or address an aspect of a debate, make sure you establish the topic appropriately. As you can see, options are not exactly in short supply.

Choose your imagery

Today I'll jump right into a very practical issue: the imagery that idioms conjure up.

We know that idioms are a staple of the advanced level. We also know that idioms are, basically, "ready-made language". They've been around for as long as most people can remember and, if you don't like them, well, there's not much one can do about it. I suppose you can create your own expressions, but if you're the only speaker using them, they are not going to be of much use unless you convince thousands of people to work them into their daily conversations.

As a sophisticated learner, though, you can choose the kind of imagery you resort to, so that you may decide what you want the listener/reader to "see". I use the verb "see" deliberately because, whether you like it or not, when you speak you are often "painting". By using references to images, you plant mental pictures in your interlocutor's head. I don't know about you, but whenever someone mentions the proverbial "bull in a china shop" I can't help picturing the said bull wreaking havoc in the said store. Of course, other expressions paint no picture whatsoever. At least not in my mind. So, how can we create different "visualizations" (let's call them that)? And, more importantly, why is that relevant to your English?

In order to find out, we'll consider a common enough reference: causes and effects (i.e. events and their consequences) and see how we refer to them. Alright. We deal with that every single day, don't we? For the sake of clarity, we can state that, sometimes, one event has ONE consequence, which can be either pleasant or unpleasant. Thus, when you take a medicine, for instance, you may expect two basic outcomes:

• Scenario A: The medicine cures you and you feel good.
• Scenario B: The medicine cures you, but your left eye will not stop twitching.

The second scenario presents what we call a side effect. Okay. Here's the rub: when I hear those two words (side effect) I don't picture anything in particular. It's not like the aforementioned bull breaking valuable objects in an enclosed space. That is not what this post is about, though. As a matter of fact, what I would like you to consider is rather the opposite: the case in which an idiom manages to make a listener "visualize" a scene.

So let's look at a more specific case of causes and effects. Let's discuss the case in which ONE event causes SEVERAL events to happen not simultaneously but one after another. How do you refer to that phenomenon? Here you have some options:

Do you see what I'm getting at, here? Roughly speaking, those expressions convey the same basic meaning ("sorta, kinda..."), but offer different nuances and, therefore, paint different pictures. Check out this sentence:

We had a chance meeting and it all snowballed from there.

This may well be said by someone who refers to a project which started after a casual conversation and got increasingly big. For all we know, it may have gone on to become a worldwide sensation. Okay. Do you see the difference between that image (the snowball rolling down a mountain) and the one you "see" when someone mentions an event that sent shock waves through the country? The little snowball versus the impact of an earthquake or an explosion. Now compare those two different types of consequences with the ripples on the surface of a lake (implicit in the abovementioned ripple effect). You can't seriously tell me that they elicit the same response from your listener.

Truly advanced imagery may revolve around more complex elaborate semiotic relationships. For instance, you may first resort to a black swan event and then, somehow, manage to refer to a big stone which falls into the water. First you present a swan in a lake and then you add the ripples that disturb its stillness. Isn't that nice? I'm afraid that's the sort of stuff that we expect from an accomplished writer or a poet (or a language teacher), not necessarily from a C1/C2 student.

All kinds of wrong: eggcorns, mondegreens and malaphors

As learners, you have a small advantage over native speakers. You are not customarily exposed to certain nonstandard expressions. Therefore there are plenty of mistakes you are simply unlikely to commit. Consider these sentences:

• Ain't got a problem
• I like them sneakers

Granted. By and large, English learners and native English speakers tend to make different kinds of mistakes. Sometimes, though, we can find an unexpected overlap. An inexperienced English student, for instance, may use the infamous double negative. For different reasons, (emphasis, register, dialect, lack of formal education) some native speakers may commit the very same "mistake". Just watch the first 30 seconds of this glorious cover of I don't need no doctor, the Ray Charles classic.

Another example: some native users might mess up conditional sentences in a way that should strike a chord with any teacher who has ever taught B2 level: If I would have known that before... This happens because native speakers also fall victim to an old danger: bad references. It stands to reason that speakers whose parents don't have a good grasp on conditionals should perpetrate the aforementioned "crime".

So, what happens when you hear a native speaker use what we can safely call "objectionable English"? (and I don't mean "colorful language" or "taboo vocabulary" here, but plain ungrammatical sentences, nonwords or suspicious idioms.) What do you do then? What happens when you hear two conflicting phrases? For instance: I feel good and I feel well.

A stuffy by-the-book teacher will typically correct the perceived "error"... and s/he will be plain wrong. They will be quick to point out that you ought to say "I feel well". However, that correction would fail to acknowledge a well-established phrase in the English language. Are you going to critize the likes of James Brown and Nina Simone? I don't think so. As an experienced teacher, I can tell you that both are "okay". "I feel well" simply sounds a bit formal whereas "I feel good" has a friendly, colloquial ring to it. I would not say the same about similar structures. The sentence "the negotiation went quite good" grates on my ears. I'm afraid it's a no-no.

Nonetheless, sometimes you'll come across pairs of expressions that cannot be explained away like I just did. That tends to happen when the error does not hinge on grammar rules or lexical precision, but rather on a concept that somehow feels "off". So-called malaphors represent that very scenario.

Malaphors

Malaphors or mixaphors (I love these two blend-words!) present an amusing way of mixing concepts. (When they are not uttered as a phrase but used as an extended rhetorical device, they are typically called "mixed metaphors"). Check out this sentence:

All at once, he was alone in this noisy hive with no place to roost

The "he" in that sentence is simultaneously compared to a bee and a rooster. Isn't that bizarre? Indeed, it is. In point of fact, that's a textbook case of mixed metaphors. Likewise, we should not juxtapose conflicting idioms. Let's assume that you want to characterize someone as a truly original thinker. You can conceivably say something like this: 

This girl really pushes the envelop and blazes the trail.

Both idioms exist (and have the very same meaning), but, clearly the mental picture suggested by that sentence is odd: someone handling a (paper?) envelop while setting a path on fire. I doubt you can do both things at the same time. Anyhow, this wouldn't be an example of two mixed metaphors but rather a prime example of confusing imagery. I don't think I need to explain why something like that should be avoided.

In any event, the reason this happens is that, oftentimes, language learners tend to store/remember just the core "idea" within a particular expression and then build a sentence around that basic notion. Well, native speakers sometimes do the exact same thing. Indeed. Let's say a native speaker is vaguely familiar with two separate idioms:

• Every cloud has a silver lining
• To have a silver spoon in one's mouth

There is a chance that they may get confused in someone's head. This person might end up using a hybrid expression that takes a bit of both phrases: "every cloud is born with a silver spoon in its mouth" (!)

Those two expressions clearly refer to completely different realities. One alludes to the notion of seeing the bright side of a negative situation. The second one refers to inherited money. Yet, as the video above suggests, a native speaker might only remember "the silver element", which can be enough for him or her to mix up both expressions and produce an utterly ludicrous phrase. Okay. I must confess, I've never heard anyone utter the sentence "every cloud has a silver spoon in its mouth, but I have definitely heard people (native speakers) say "Don't worry, we'll burn that bridge when we get there." Again, this is obviously a hilarious combination of two different idioms:

• We'll cross that bridge when we get there
• To burn one's bridges

Trust competent speakers

Why do I bother to mention all this? Because you should be very careful who you trust. A native speaker is usually a pretty good reference, but they are by no means infallible sources of linguistic advice. Also, remember that sometimes educated speakers choose to use an incorrect phrase deliberately, for comic effect or simply because they want to adapt to a specific situation. At the advanced level you should be able to identify a speaker's attitude or tone so you can decide whether a given nonstandard phrase is a mistake or a joke.

Needless to say, we can always come across a native speaker who might not have a good handle on certain idioms. Just like a Spaniard may say "estoy entre la espalda y la pared "(roughly translated: "I'm between the lock and a hard place"), a Canadian English speaker can also make an analogous mistake. What can I say? Some speakers are more competent than others. So, you know what to do. Make sure that the language user you choose to imitate knows what they're doing. Otherwise you may find yourself "screwing your foot in it."

________________

N.B. To those of you that have watched the video above: I have definitely heard people say "butt naked" more often than I have "buck naked." But the truth is that both expressions are quite common. Should you be curious, you can read this informative article which sheds some light on the actual usage of those two phrases. By the way, in case you are wondering, I always say "buck naked", but, then again, that is my personal choice.

N.B2. Yes. Yes. You don't "screw your foot in it". Either you "put your foot in it" or you simply "screw up".

Competent speakers

Lately I have realized a recurring phenomenon amongst my students. Whenever I mention the fact that a particular structure or expression can be used in two or three different ways, I observe a distinct knee-jerk reaction. Invariably, some student will ask me: "So, which one is correct?" That's when I reply that "there is no correct expression." At this some of my students look utterly flummoxed. How is that possible? How can a word have two different plural forms? Of course, there is a number of reasons why this can happen: different registers, regularization processes, dialectal divergence, etc.

Even when there is an evidently "correct" (i.e. standard) form and an "incorrect" (i.e. nonstandard) version, things are not necessarily black and white. Thus Bill Withers, the author of the soul classic Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone, would not have uttered the sentence "ain't no doubt in my mind" during a TV interview. Most likely he would have said "there is no doubt in my mind." The same speaker that uses a "correct" verb form in the interview chooses the "incorrect" one for the song. So there's that.

Then we come up against another problem. Something that is "incorrect" today may be "correct" tomorrow. Yes... I could get really technical and discuss the concept of diachronical continuum, but, for the sake of clarity, let's just say that language transformation is a slow process and changes do not occur overnight. That explains how it is perfectly possible for different options to be available at the same time. Whatever non-linguists tell you, the truth is that, before a linguistic novelty (i.e. a new/modified expression) becomes established, it coexists with the older form for a few decades or even generations. That phenomenon is called linguistic variation. Of course, at first, the "novelty" is deemed to be an outright mistake. With the passage of time, though, the "wrong" expression starts to feel rather "normal". Eventually, the "correct" one sounds dated and is abandoned. That's how changes take place. Therefore sentences such as "I'm seeing", "I'm hearing" or even "I'm loving it", which were frowned upon in the 1980s, are gradually becoming acceptable now. Is it okay to say "I'm loving this book"? Well... it depends.

Words of foreign origin

In Spain we find the case of "real classical Latin" and what I call "Spanish Latin". Established Spanish writers will use the expression in flagrante, which happens to be the classical formula used by the Romans (the full phrase being in flagrante delicto). However, the prestigious Diccionario de la Real Academia sanctions the use of the corrupt form in fraganti. Notice that erroneous first syllable: "fra". For reasons that need not be described, in Spain the word underwent a shocking transformation. Is "fraganti" classical Latin? I'm afraid it's not.  It's dog Latin. The difference between flagrante and fraganti reminds me of that kid I met in the US, whose name was Grabiel. Yes. Grabiel. The kid insisted that his name was not Gabriel but GRAbiel. An obvious mistake had been made (unsurprisingly, his parents happened to be uneducated immigrants), but of course nobody made him change his name. In a similar way, "incorrect" Latin expressions made their way into the Spanish (a grosso modo, de motu propio, etc.) and have managed to stay in the language, because most people were okay with them.

Why do I mention all this? Because an ancient tongue is kind of swampy terrain and different modern languages adapt loanwords in different ways. That's why we find Latin words with two possible plurals in English. Take a word that I used above: the technical term "continuum". What is its plural? Continuums or continua? If you get ahold of a copy of The Power of Babel (2001) and turn to page 81 you will see that Professor John McWhorter uses continua. So is continua is the correct plural?

Let me think. My favorite dictionary, the one and only Merriam Webster, also accepts the regularized version continuums. So, again... which one is "correct"? The answer is both and, since we find this trend across the board, there's hardly any need to panic. Sometimes several alternatives are grammatical.

Foreign plurals

What I just explained is not an isolated example. As a matter of fact, in the case of foreign plurals we usually tend to find two options. The Italian word paparazzo only has one acceptable plural: paparazzi, but Hebrew terms such as kibutz and goy can take both the original plural (kibutzim and goyim) and the regularized versions (kibutzes and goys). The same thing is true for certain Latin words: ultimatum and curriculum offer two plurals. Nevertheless, that is not the case of other Latin terms. Alumnus and bacterium, for example, only accept the "original" plurals, namely, alumni and bacteria. Don't ask me why. I don't make the rules. Ultimately, whenever you have two options, using one form or the other boils down to a choice. That's when the concept of style comes into play. I'll say it again. Not grammatical correctness but... style.

Style

Ask yourself: Do you say stupidest or the most stupid? Do you say if an astronaut takes his or her cat? or do you say their cat? Do you say the majority of people thinks or the majority of people think? The by-the-book correct expression is, of course, thinks (since the head of the noun phrase is majority), but the ad sensum use calls for "think" because it's the people (a plural noun) that do the thinking. In the first paragraph of this post I wrote "there is a number of reasons...". Well, that is my choice. Someone else could have chosen "there are a number of reasons". I know. I know. Some grammar sticklers will tell you that only the first one is correct and many teachers will mark the second option wrong. That said, there are solid reasons to justify either choice.

Not anything goes

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that obviously ungrammatical sentences can be justified on the grounds of "personal style". As is the case of so-called eggcorns and malaprops, a mistake is a mistake (even though languages are chock-full of embarrassing blunders that then go on to become official). Case in point: I abhor an atrocity like "I was literally petrified". Really. It makes my skin crawl (not literally), but I can accept that some speakers spell "chock-full" like me (with a hyphen) while others favor "chockfull" (without the hyphen). As far as I'm concerned both are acceptable and that's fine.

So, at this point you may be wondering... "What do I do if I'm not sure what to say?" If you want my advice: follow competent speakers and make sure you imitate expressions that are in reputable use. By "competent speakers" I refer to writers like Ian McEwan or Joyce Carol Oates, intellectuals like Steven Pinker or Sam Harris, actors like Stephen Fry or Emma Thompson... They are all exceedingly eloquent speakers whose mastery in English I definitely look up to. Dictionaries can also be helpful, of course.

Every now and then it is okay to be persnickety in terms of grammatical correctness but don't push it. Most of the times, things are not black or white. Indeed, there are many shades of "gray" or... wait a second. Is it "gray", with an A, or should I spell it "grey" with an E?