Thursday, September 02, 2004
Comma Chameleon
The meeting went great, thanks for asking. Today I’m back to a full day of desk-jockey joy, but with a fresh new perspective I can only attribute to the fourth consecutive day of Karma week here at the Chucklehut. In honor of that auspicious occasion, here’s a story about the littlest karma of all.
I was in the shower, thinking about a document I’d edited that day, my suggestion that an Oxford comma be added, defending my position to myself, thinking of the role of punctuation as a road sign toward effective comprehension, and the serial comma as a semiotic setmaker, providing critical discriminatory insight in extreme cases; but even where confusion would be unlikely, it places things in an anticipatable order, an order the mind expects (and perception, as we all know, is primarily the modification of an anticipation, or as Dow Mossman wrote in The Stones of Summer, “We only hear the stories we’re ready to hear,” which is really just a rip-off of the Grateful Dead’s line from Eyes of the World: “Sometimes the songs that we hear are the songs that we know..."); even if the errant editor’s eye catches on it and lingers, disapproving, including that comma is still the right thing to do - it is supposed to catch you and make you linger; why is everybody in such an all-fired rush anyway; just because some lists are clear enough without a final serial comma, that’s no reason to omit it, just as you should still stop at a stopsign when you’re the only car around - it’s the way the world is organized, the structure of reality that lets us all participate in it, meaningfully, intelligently - that’s why I want that comma there: because without it life itself, and our place in it, our very relationship to it, would crumble and collapse....
I was getting worked up into quite a lather, there in the shower with the cool foggy dusk rolling by outside the window. I took a deep breath and gave myself a thorough rinsing off, conceived a different response to the imagined impertinence of an objection to my punctuation: “You may have a point. I’m not married to the comma. But, for what it’s worth, I had a reason to suggest it.” I turned off the water and stepped out into the humid air, blotted myself with a fresh towel. I was surprised how strongly I’d felt about that comma. I hoped that, when my suggestions were discussed, it wouldn’t come to fisticuffs. I need to stay positive. I need to maintain good comma karma.
What a lovely story, Dan. Never before has man’s struggle with punctuation been rendered in such cosmic terms. You need outside interests. Or so I imagine you saying, but I can’t be troubled with that. Instead, I’ve been troubled with this: last week I went to a conference where I met a number of people in person who had only previously known me (but known me pretty well) as a voice on the telephone. One of these was a rather high-powered CEO of a large organization we help to fund; I’ve had more than a few heated conversations with him about their structure and service-tracking in the past but he’d subsequently written to my boss to tell her good things about me. When he walked up and introduced himself to me neither of us had much time for pleasantries but he did make sure to tell me “You look just like you’re supposed to.” He wouldn’t elaborate. I’ve decided to take it as a compliment and move on. Resembling our true essence is, after all, at the heart of karma, is it not? Eh? Eh? Is that the sound of a mirror reflecting itself, or of the lotus seed taking root in the stagnant muck? Or of a comma, pausing between epochs? Or just snoring? Snoring? Snoring. Okay, forget it then. See ya tomorrow. Bring a semi-colon - we’ll have some party games.
