Joel includes several Chapter excerpts from his book - here is one:
To see an example of the style of writing, here’s an excerpt:
I suppose I could blame it all on my poor sense of timing; after all, if I had arrived only a few seconds earlier or a few seconds later, it wouldn’t have happened. As it was, the precise moment I reached out to pound my fist on the front door of Apartment #12, the door opened.
All I can say is Newton got it right. With no mass to slow down my arm as it hurtled through the air toward the opening where the door had been, and with the person who had opened the door being in such a great hurry to go somewhere, we collided full force and landed in a heap just inside the entrance. There I was, sprawled on top of dear old Aunt Ruth.
After the initial surprise, she remarked, “I know you are glad to see me, but wouldn’t a simple handshake or a little kiss on the cheek be sufficient?”
“Oh, but you know how fond I am of you, my dear aunt.”
“Be as sweet talking as you’d like, but I am not leaving my furniture to you in my will.”
“How about just that nice little table in the kitchen?”
“No.”
“A foot stool?”
“No.”
“Cutting board?”
“No.”
“The pile of empty toilet paper tubes that you keep in your closet?”
“How did you know about those?”
“So where were you going, my dear aunt?” I inquired.
“Oh, the store down the street is giving away kites for free.”
“For free? You don’t have to join a club or give them your address or anything?”
“For free. The sign said, ‘No strings attached.’”
“How can you fly a kite without any string? You need string to fly a kite. At any rate, I was going to head to that store too.”
“Oh good,” said Aunt Ruth. “Can I accompany you?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“Wait, I’m asking you.”
“Aunt Ruth, do you know how to use ‘can’ and ‘may’ in a sentence?”
“Sure. Listen to this. I ate a can of beans last May.”
“No, not that kind of can and not that kind of may.”
“Oh, how’s this? May day, may day, the pilot is stuck in the can and I need someone to tell me how to land this plane.”
“Wow,” I remarked. “But no, that’s not what I meant either.”
“Then what did you mean, my dear but aggravating nephew?” she asked.
“Well, it’s like this,” I began. “It was a dark and stormy night.”
“Oh good, I love your stories,” she said, breaking into a big smile. “First, can I go make some popcorn?”
“May I?” I corrected her.
“Sure, be my guest,” she said, plopping down into her favorite comfy chair.
“No, I mean, you said, ‘Can I,’ and you should have said, ‘May I,’ in that sentence.”
“Why, oh Gargoyle of Grammar?” She was now frowning.
“Well, it’s like this. The word can is generally used to describe the ability to do something. I can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches ever. I can wiggle my ears. I can think of a word that rhymes with orange.”
She sat there staring at me, motionless.
“Aunt Ruth?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
She paused another moment before responding, “Oh, I was just going into one of those catatonic states. It always happens when you try to explain things to me. Besides, the last time you made grilled cheese sandwiches for me, you burned them. I had to scrape off all the black stuff. And you forgot to take the plastic wrap off the slice of cheese.”
I thought for a moment. “They wrap those things in plastic?” I asked. “No wonder I’ve always thought they were chewy. Anyway, may I continue?”
“I think I’d rather try that water torture thing.”
“This will be quick.”
“The only thing you can do quickly is to list all of your good qualities.”
I ignored that comment and continued. “The word may is generally used to ask permission to do something or to describe the possibility of something happening. May I shove bamboo shoots under your finger nails; it may rain tomorrow; if you mention me in your will, I may promise to never sing for you again.”
“Mister, you got yourself a deal,” she exclaimed.
“Okay Aunt Ruth, so do you think you’ve got it?”
“May I try?” she asked proudly.
“Yes you may,” I agreed.
“I can paddle a canoe and I can dance the can-can too; I may want to cross the street or I may just stay home and eat. I can outrun a black bear and I may buy some underwear; I may want to sleep in late or I can find someone to date.”
“Can you?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes I can,” she declared. “Further, I can kick a board in half and I can wrestle with a calf; I may jump out of a plane or I may take the train in Spain; I can count to ten in French and I can work a crescent wrench; I may eat some Gouda cheese or I may fly a kite in breeze.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “May I fly a kite with you?”
“Hey!” she exclaimed. “We can only fly a kite if we get a kite with string attached.”
We walked out the door, arm in arm, singing, “Let’s go fly a kite...”
In case you got lost in the laughter of the above chapter - it’s about the proper use of “CAN” and “MAY”.
Every chapter takes on one or more of the Grammatical Challenges which often overtake us without our being aware of the approaching nightmare....
The Table of Contents and the Index give you a ready search mechanism to track down the very little nasty nibbler of expertise in writing or speaking which you want to conquer - or want others to conquer!
Can I have the two minutes back I wasted reading that?
ping
I can love it, I may love it, I do love it! LOL!
Oy