Time Square (for Times Square)

I was browsing an old Vanity Fair the other day in the bathroom (fount of so much inspired thinking) when an article about the history of 42nd Street and Times Square caused me to wonder whether Time Square (without the s) might be a profitable typo. And indeed it was. There were a dozen examples of this in OhioLINK (one false positive, i.e., just the two words adjacent to each other; and one rather ambiguous one) and 289 in WorldCat. One of these in particular caught my eye. It occurred in the 710 field and was for an establishment called "Time Square Theatre" in New York City. When I checked the authority file, this DLC record indeed spelled it that way in the 110 field. For a second, I considered the fact that this could actually be the "correct" name, i.e., wrong in its original conception, but what it actually calls itself. (Or as the White Knight once explained to Alice in Through the Looking Glass with regard to a song known as "Haddocks' Eyes": there's the song, what the song is called, the name of the song, and what the name of the song is called! Or as annotator Martin Gardner puts it: "Carroll is distinguishing here among things, the names of things, and the names of names of things.") However, since there was no cross-reference for "Times Square" on the name authority record and no 670 field justification for the spelling "Time Square," I've determined that this is clearly what's called a typo and I will be notifying OCLC of this in due time by way of their "Authority Record Change Request" form.

(Speaking of bygone times, here's a picture of a "giant mailbox stamp selling booth in Times Square" with Assistant Postmaster Aquiline F. Weierich dispensing stamps from inside the booth. From Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Extremly (for Extremely)

When we all were very small (rub-a-dub-dub, three girls in a tub), my sisters and I would often take our nighttime bath together. I can still picture the youngest one, dripping on the mat, waiting impatiently for our mother to come in with a towel, and plaintively wailing, "I'm pitched! I'm pitched!" It took me a while to figure it out, but I finally realized why she put it like that. Extrapolating from the phrase "pitch black" or "pitch dark," she would sometimes say "pitch cold" (assuming that "pitch" must mean very, or extremely) and in her post-bath pinch would then simply shorten it to "pitched." It also brings to mind the idea of helping out or "pitching in" (it takes a family to take a bath); the imperious pitch of my little sister's voice; and the image of tiny tents (aka goose bumps) being pitched on one's shivering flesh. Today's typo is not an extremely common one, but let me pitch it to you this way: there was only one of these in OhioLINK, and 223 in WorldCat, though if you find some in your own catalog, you'll have a nice warm feeling once you get them all cleaned up.

(Jules Being Dried by His Mother, by Mary Cassatt, 1900, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Partcip* (for Particip*)

From the longing of an infant for its mother's breast, to the lifelong necessity for safe, clean drinking water—be it a gulp, a quaff, a belt, or a sip (there's hardly a smaller part than a sip)—the need to quench one's thirst is a truly universal one. And a participatory one to boot. Potable, as well as portable, water is shockingly hard to come by in many parts of the world, but the problem, at least according to some people, is rather easily solved. In this 2009 TED talk, Michael Pritchard discusses "the portable Lifesaver filter, which can make the most revolting water drinkable in seconds." While most of us decry global warming and the polluting of our lakes, streams, and oceans, we don't need to wait for some sort of global ecological miracle to occur before people in developing countries can start avoiding the dehydration caused by diarrhea, along with various other water-borne diseases. Water filtration or purification systems such as this one can make the difference between life and death. So take a sip from that cup of coffee on your desk, or the office water cooler over in the corner, and ponder how we might all do our part in helping to solve the world-wide water crisis. Then check out today's typo, which was found nine times in OhioLINK, and 576 times in WorldCat.

(Société Industrielle de Photographie (S.I.P.) postcard, 1900s, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Textural + Textual (For Textual or Textural)

Words have certain textures, formed by the consonants, vowels, syllables, and stresses they comprise, and are used to weave together all sorts of texts. Textiles would seem to have a certain story arc as well: a warp and a weft, a colorful background, a bold beginning, and a tight tying-up of threads at the end. Due perhaps to this similarity in both meaning and sound, the words textual and textural, much like tortuous and torturous, are very often confused. (Wonderfully enough too, in this regard, I just learned that one meaning of the word webster is a woman who weaves!) My sister once needled me for being "tactile defensive" simply because I chafe at stiff collars and pointless cuffs, wasteful waistbands and hawing hems, all fibers unnatural and un-soft, and of course those horrid little name tags that come welded onto practically any new article of clothing you buy. (They're like a literal pain in the neck to me.) When it comes to abrasive fabrics, however, whether worsted or not, wool is the absolute worst, in my admittedly thin-skinned opinion. Sort of like the opposite of The Princess and the Pea: no matter how many layers I pile on beneath it, I can still feel its itchy, scratchy, prickly there-ness up on top. In any case, and regardless of which fibers you might cotton to, don't be sheepish today and shy away from this combined typo, found nine times in OhioLINK and 84 times in WorldCat. (Be especially careful to rule out any false positives—that is, records that contain both words correctly spelled.)

(Textile crafts for sale at Palenque, Chiapas, Mexico, 17 April 2011, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Propet* (for Prospect*, Property, etc.)

Folks of all types keep pets of all stripes, and dogs are arguably the most popular of these in the good old U.S. of A. There once was a time when gay Americans were not legally allowed to adopt, but fortunately those days are (partially now, at least) behind us. Unwanted children, as well as abandoned animals, may now be adopted (in many states) by any prospective parent, if otherwise qualified, regardless of sexual orientation. And when it comes to canines, some would even say that gay people make the best dog owners of all. Though we often speak of "owning" pets, many would regard that as a meaningless misnomer and often feel closer to their pets than they do to their own family or friends. Animals—these animals, anyway—are not property. As Groucho Marx once put it: "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." If you are pro-pet (or even if you're not) and it's not too dark to read right now, please sniff around a bit for our typo of the day, which was dug up 42 times in OhioLINK, and 782 times in WorldCat.

(At the Capital Pride parade near Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C., June 9, 2012, Washington Animal Rescue League brings along some of their most ardent supporters. From Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Luxenbourg* (for Luxembourg*)

While studying up on RDA and FRBR, I noticed a language note for Luxembourgish. Along with French and German, Luxembourgish is one of three official languages spoken in Luxembourg. It's a sort of High German dialect employed by approximately 400,000 people worldwide, and the one native speakers refer to as the "language of the heart." I really don't know very much about the place, but it sounds rather nice, if this shining beacon of a war memorial is any indication. It was created by the artist Claus Citro, a leader in the avant-garde Luxembourg Secession movement of artists in the early twentieth century. My new favorite word in Luxembourgish is "Firwat," which is translated as "Why?" To an Anglo-American ear and eye, it looks like it might be pronounced "For what?" (it's actually more like "feer vat"), which is what I suspect many catalogers are secretly asking themselves about FRBR/RDA. LOL. (For a crew that eschews abbreviations, this one has certainly contributed its own memorable ingredients to the alphabet soup which are library acronyms. Although I kinda like WEMI. Firwat it's worth.) In any event, we found four cases of today's typo in OhioLINK, and 281 in WorldCat. And since there were no names in the OCLC authority file (personal, corporate, or geographic) starting with Luxenbourg*, it's a pretty good bet that virtually all of them are typos for Luxembourg*, and not merely Luxembourg-ish.

(Gëlle Fra, the Golden Lady, World War I Memorial in Luxembourg City, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Preceed* (for Preced* or Proceed*)

Sometimes I feel big, see,

And sometimes I feel small,

Sometimes I feel adamant,

And sometimes not at all.

Seeds come with the seasons,

Though cede they not an inch,

A plante is often preferable,

But sedes do in a pinch.

C's also short for century,

A neat one hundred years,

While not a grade to celebrate,

It hardly leads to tears.

The C is round and curvy, but

Musicians like them sharp,

Just like the giant instrument

We all know as the harp....

Hey, I could go on all day here, probably, so let me just add that C is the third letter of the English alphabet, and the first letter of my own first name. Although my parents-to-be played around a bit with other possibilities (Alice? Rebecca?), I was actually sort of pre-C'd by default. Each of us being the eldest in our families, my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and I all carry some form of Carol in our names. Let's proceed now to precede (don't even get me started on supersede) and point out that there were an amazing 233 cases of today's typo in OhioLINK, and "too many records found for your search" in WorldCat. Please intercede on its behalf and see that it's spelled as it should be.

(Latin letter C, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid