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The Battalion
Opinion
Spell-checker just one
of life's little surprises
I t's the little things
that make the day.
The postcard from a
former student.... The
unexpected wildflowers
around a roadway bend
.... The tune that elicits
memories of another
summer. ..
. . . and, among the
best of such gifts, unan
ticipated humor.
Humor me,
please
Sources of such humor abound for
me. Foreign travel and foreign visitors
are one unending supply. For instance, in
China I almost bought by mistake an
enormous bag of MSG. Luckily, the price
made me realize that the content wasn't
sugar. Otherwise, I would have suffered
quite some Chinese-restaurant headache.
I shared this story with a Chinese
friend, who told me one of her own: Dur
ing a visit to America, she needed some
lunch to eat at a noontime seminar. So,
she went to the store and bought a box
showing a piece of cake. During the sem
inar, she opened the box — and found not
the expected piece of cake, but cake mix.
Editing and paper-correcting supply
ample such humor as well. One student
recently wrote that AIDS could be spread
by "sexual contract." Last week I read
that a prominent person had been a "tex
tile magnet." The list could well continue
- but dwelling on such errors seems in
sensitive, and columnists who live in
glass houses shouldn't even toss pebbles.
One source of unexpected humor,
however, will not take offense. And
rarely will it tease me back. For the
source I refer to is inanimate. It's the
spell-checker on my word processor.
And it sometimes comes up with the
strangest things.
Spell-checker primer
For those unfamiliar with spell-check
ers, let me briefly explain how mine
works.
To summarize rather anthropomor-
phically: When I ask the spell-checker to
check a document in my word processor,
it reads through the document, compar
ing the words in the document with those
in a standard dictionary. When it finds a
word not in the dictionary, it flags the
word as a possible misspelling.
In addition to flagging the word, the
spell-checker offers possible corrections.
For example, if I omit one "r" from "em
barrassment," it shows me the proper
spelling. Or if by mistake I type "institu
tion," it offers as alternatives "institution"
and "incitation."
If, however, a misspelling corresponds
to the spelling of another word, the spell
checker does not catch the mistake. For
instance, if I type "to" instead of "too,"
the problem is not flagged. Thus, proof
reading still is needed — lest one risk the
plight of one colleague who discovered
too late that instead of "public health," he
had typed "pubic health."
My spell-checker does not recognize
non-standard or highly technical words.
Nor does it recognize most proper names.
On finding such words or names, it per
ceives them as possible misspellings and
proposes alternatives — some of them
funny or uncannily insightful.
Hooked on phonics
So, what wit and wisdom does the
spell-checker offer? Let me present some
examples from documents recently
checked.
I recently spell-checked a bibliogra
phy listing the book "The Elements of
Style" by Strunk and White. This book
urges readers to write concisely and is, ac
cordingly, small. On failing to find
"Strunk" in its dictionary, the spell-check
er offered the apt alternative "shrunk."
A letter to a fellow medical writer
elicited some other word play. This writ
er works for a company called Syntex,
and I addressed the letter to her there.
The spell-checker queried whether in
stead of "Syntex" I meant "syntax."
The list of titles and speakers for an
upcoming conference session also evoked
some snide humor. For "boomer" (as in
"baby boomer"), the spell-checker sug
gested "boozer," "bemire," and "bum
mer." And when I listed a speaker's insti
tution as "Baylor," the checker proposed
"bawler," "bewailer," and "biller."
"TAMU" did not fare much better.
Finding this abbreviation in some of my
memos, the spell-checker did suggest
some positive terms such as "team."
However, it also offered the alternatives
"tomb" and "tabu."
The spell-checker clearly dislikes such
jargon as "enrollees" and "invitees." For
"enrollees" it suggested substituting "un
ruliest," and to replace "invitees" it pro
posed "invades." Maybe it knew some
thing I didn't about the folks who were
enrolling or being invited.
Indeed, I should have consulted the
spell-checker before taking the job I held
in San Francisco. The spell-checker
would have warned me how stressful that
job would be. For when I typed my San
Francisco office's street name ("Parnas
sus"), the spell-checker asked whether I
meant "pernicious."
The spell-checker offers some insight
ful variants of people's names as well.
For fear of reprisal, I shall not share how
it responded to the names of Batt editors
Todd and Mack. But I will disclose that
on seeing my initials ("BG"), it proposed
the marvelous alternatives "bag" and
"bug" and "bs."
Such little surprises do make my
day —and tell me that it's time to end a
column.
Gastel (no, dear spell-checker, not "Pas
tel") is an associate professor of journalism
and of humanities in medicine.
Barbara
Gastel
M[ail
Call
Late review
far from the mainstream and too close to
the alternative for the Battalion to review?
I was shocked when I read the music
review of Temple of the Dog's album. I
quote, "Temple of the Dog's self-titled de
but album has hit the record stores . . . ."
Actually, that album was released in
April of 1991. Yes, 1991 — over a year
ago. I can understand reviewing albums
a few months after they have been re
leased but over a year later? Come on!
While Temple of the Dog is far from old
news, I would think that the Battalion
would like to keep its readers as up-to-
date on music as it does on other news.
On second thought maybe not.
As a long-time resident of the area
and reader of the Battalion, I see a trend
by this paper to review music that could
debatably be termed "alternative." If the
Battalion is attempting to educate its
readers on alternative music, PLEASE, re
view newer releases like the Lemonheads,
Juliana Hatfield (of Blake Babies fame), or
the Flaming Lips. Or are those bands too
Jennifer Forster
Trinity University '95
Editor's note: Temple of the Dog's album
first appeared in 1991, but it was re-edited
and re-released this year.
Have an opinion?
Express it!
The Battalion is interested in hearing
from its readers. All letters are welcome.
Letters must be signed and must
include classification, address and daytime
phone number for verification purposes.
They should be 250 words or less.
Anonymous letters will not be published.
The Battalion reserves the right to edit
all letters for length, style and accuracy.
There is no guarantee a letter will appear.
Letters may be brought to The Battalion at
013 Reed McDonald, sent to Campus Mail
Stop 1111 or faxed to 845-2647.
Thursday, July 30, 1992
Page 5
Softball just a GAME, dammit!
Stacy
Feducia
(Cue the Olympic
theme music.)
■Ith the
Olympic
spirit in the
air and the tingle of
cute commercials fea
turing drooling ba
bies as future
Olympic hopefuls on
TV, I took it upon
myself to participate
in the thrill of victor)'
and the agony of de-
feat by partaking in
my first experience
with organized sports since I played
kickball in K-5 through fifth grade: I
played softball.
Actually, T didn't partake in this
spectacle of sporting splendor voluntari
ly. I was ordered, not exactly invited, to
play by the venerable captain of our Bat
talion softball team, "The Muckrakers,"
not because of any inherent athletic abil
ity on my part, but because we were a
day late and a girl short, and they didn'r
want to be stuck with a "ghost out" fo'
not having enough estrogen on the co-
rec team.
Granted, I am not an athletic person.
I make no pretensions to athletic en
deavor. I play football from the arm
chair with remote control in hand. I wa
ter-ski with the grace of a pregnant cow.
And if the U.S. Olympic team relied on
me to "bring home the gold" in the plat
form diving competition, I and my extra
five of flab from Italy would bear close
resemblance to a satellite re-entering the
atmosphere. Put it this way, when I was
in K-5 waiting to play kickball at recess,
they put me in right field because most
K~5ers can't kick that far.
But T think I have a good attitude
about this. I have accepted my athletic
short-comings and have rechanneled
my efforts into aerobic walking and syn
chronized swimming — and I realize
above and beyond all else that softball is
JUST a game.
Let's face it kids: the outcome of the
"offensive onslaughts" (a new sports
cliche coined by our Sports Editor/ soft-
ball captain Doug Foster) on the intra
mural fields will NOT bring us fame,
fortune, fan clubs and multi-million dol
lar sporting goods endorsements.
Softball is JUST a game. It is not an
Olympic event. It will never result in a
gold medal round — or even in a Dream
Team that features professional players
with their own line of sporting goods
apparel. The only way most softball
players will ever see or design their own
line of sporting goods apparel is if the
clothes come equipped with an extra
few inches at the waist to accommodate
beer guts.
Softball is JUST a game. In the
Olympics, broadcast journalist bozos
who have limited vocabularies which
encompass the words "tight" and
"nailed" approach athletes after they
have just won the gold medal and ask
"How do you feel?" In softball, this
phenomenon — fortunately for us —
just does not occur. If it did, we'd prob
ably reply with, "How do you think I
feel, stupid? I just won the game! Now
get that camera out of my face! Tm go
ing to Duddley's to celebrate!"
So if intramurals aren't the
Olympics, and we aren't in the majors
making seven million dollars, why is it
that so many people are compelled to
take these games so seriously? Why
pout yourself into a tizzy and throw
your bat on the ground and drop-kick
your glove, just because you overthrew
the ball — or in my case, because you
caught the ball and were too busy cele
brating the catch to realize that your op
ponent was scoring a run and you need
ed to be throwing the ball home instead
of doing the "acknowledgement wave."
I kid you not. It really happened. Such
is why our esteemed team captain
moved me from first base to right field.
But that's OK. In right field, I can
still do the "acknowledgement wave"
on the far chance that someone hits it
my way, and I actually catch it and, us
ing my "girl-throwing arm," hurl the
ball into the infield. And if I miss the
catch, I can sport the "I meant to do
that" grin and run like the aerobic-walk
ing fool that I am to go pick the ball up.
And even better, I can still have fun!
Because it's not how you win or lose
or even how you play the game. It's
how you do the "acknowledgement
wave" when you catch the ball, and
how you spend the money from the $50
million dollar contract that the sporting
goods company makes you sign.
Take me out to the ball game — and
at least enjoy it while you're there.
You heard it here first.
P.S. The preceding column was
written Wednesday afternoon, pre-
Muckrakers playoff game. After a
valiant effort by an estrogen (and
testosterone)-short team, the seven
dedicated Muckrakers (Doug, Mack,
Jason, Don, Nick, Carrie and myself)
held the number one-seeded team to a
9-6 margin, Though we were outscored,
we still played a hell of a game.
Feducia is a senior English and history
major and a columnist for The Battalion, as
well as a hell of a right fielder.
not m 'cmiu’cms
Upper class works to divide masses
M r. LoBaido
paints a very
bleak portrait
of the future for white
Americans. He would
have you believe that
the unclean,' non-white
races have somehow
seized the reins of au
thority and instituted
reverse discriminatory programs to grind
the noble honky underfoot. Aided by
feminists who refuse to carry babies to
term and homosexuals who stick their
you-know-whats you-know-where, these
undesirable elements of our society
threaten to crush the white man out of ex
istence.
The circle is closing fast, and the
honkies must revolt now against the
tyranny of diversity lest their seed be lost
in a contaminated gene pool. Yeah, right.
Let me paint a different picture — no.
I'll show you a photograph, a photograph
of the country I live in. First of all, the
government is an institutionalized
monopoly of power by the upper classes
designed primarily to protect the proper
ty and livelihood of the upper class and
secondarily to keep the lower classes in
their place.
Yes, we have elections and our candi
dates reflect the absurdity of the situation.
If, by some miracle, my black, brown and
red brothers get registered and can afford
the time and potential lost wages to vote,
they get to choose which wealthy white
man is going to keep them in poverty for
the next four years — God Bless America!
Mr. LoBaido, you need not break out
your camouflage outfit and survivalist
gear yet. I think the white man can sur
vive a little bit longer just by continuing
to cling tightly to neophobic, conservative
policies. You can even get some of the
brothers on your side, provided you
brainwash them enough. Clarence Uncle
Thomas is a fine example of how you can
turn a black man into a woman-subjugat
ing, law-and-order, traditional-American-
family-value-man who acts just as white
as the real thing. All you need to do to
ward off the unclean hordes different
from you is to continue to give them sub
standard housing, lousy education and
occasional government handouts to keep
them dependent and subservient.
Keep the masses splintered and turn
them against each other and they will
never pose a threat to you. With homo
sexuals threatening masculinity and femi
nists threatening the family structure
(whatever that is), rich honkies have all
the tools they need to keep the diverse
ones tearing at each other in sheer para
noia. The political system is happily
geared in such a way as to allow only
those above a certain economic level to
seek political office with any chance of
success. As you said, "It is not race or
gender that matters most — it's ideolo
gy." More specifically, it is economics
that matters most. As long as our rigged
system keeps most minorities living in
poverty and corrupts any who manage to
climb up through business, the alpha
male honky need never worry about hy
phenated Americans and moral degener
ates threatening his settled way of life.
You may breathe a sigh of relief, Mr.
LoBaido, for the moment. It seems that
you and your like will reign supreme for
a while longer if you play your cards
right. Using the tools of economics, hys
teria and deception, honkies are going to
do all right for themselves so long as the
unclean, inferior races remain in the dark.
The feminist problem is trickier, but
not insurmountable. As long as our male-
dominated society continues to view
women as objects of beauty who are to be
impregnated and slapped around if they
get out of line, they won't be able to
threaten your rule either. Homosexuals
are easier to take care of. Simply attack
them with religious traditionalism and
beat them silly now and then and people
will go on seeing them as less than hu
man. In short, the "Master Race" will
prevail through a return to strong family
values and the expansionist policies that
made this country great.
But let's face reality for a moment,
shall we? How long is it going to be be
fore word gets around to the masses that
they are being exploited by corrupt white
men who don't give a shit about them?
How will they react to this information?
As much as I hate to succumb to mean
spiritedness, I hope they blow your smug
honky asses straight to hell.
Elwell is a junior philosophy major.
GUEST
COLUMN
Kenneth W,
Elwell