photo by gsol.
I wish I had a proofreader for all of my blog posts.
It drives me absolutely nuts to find errors after I’ve posted something. Usually they’re not obvious typos, or else spell check would have caught them. Just words that decide to become invisible at whim, others that like to rearrange themselves for fun, or the weirdness that happens when one ballsy word unexpectedly steps in for another. Why? I’m not smoking funny cigarettes, and I proof everything at least five times.
Now, it could be you’re all very polite, strapped for time, or smoking those aforementioned cigarettes, because thus far, you haven’t brought any of these errors to my attention (I wouldn’t mind, really). Okay, not something to obsess over. We all make mistakes. But I was thinking that people in food service really can’t afford to make mistakes. “Corned beef harsh” could be lethal. In fact, some mistakes could kill your appetite on the spot:
photo by Gunnar Geir Pétursson.
*Julia Child screaming*
A sense of humor helps, and slam poet, former teacher, and awesome teacher advocate, Taylor Mali, is all that and more. Thought you’d get a kick out of this poem. When you’re done reading it and watching Taylor in the video, send your copy editor and/or proofreader some chocolate.
The the impotence of proofreading
by Taylor Mali
Has this ever happened to you?
You work very horde on a paper for English clash
And then get a very glow raid (like a D or even a D=)
and all because you are the word¹s liverwurst spoiler.
Proofreading your peppers is a matter of the the utmost impotence.
This is a problem that affects manly, manly students.
I myself was such a bed spiller once upon a term
that my English teacher in my sophomoric year,
Mrs. Myth, said I would never get into a good colleague.
And that¹s all I wanted, just to get into a good colleague.
Not just anal community colleague,
because I wouldn¹t be happy at anal community colleague.
I needed a place that would offer me intellectual simulation,
I really need to be challenged, challenged menstrually.
I know this makes me sound like a stereo,
but I really wanted to go to an ivory legal colleague.
So I needed to improvement
or gone would be my dream of going to Harvard, Jail, or Prison
(in Prison, New Jersey).
So I got myself a spell checker
and figured I was on Sleazy Street.
(Rest is here.)
Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.