What Happens in Vagueness Stays in Vagueness
The decline and fall of American English, and stuff
I recently watched a television program in which a woman described a baby squirrel that she had found in her yard. â€œAnd he was like, you know, â€˜Helloooo, what are you looking at?â€™ and stuff, and Iâ€™m like, you know, â€˜Can I, like, pick you up?,â€™ and he goes, like, â€˜Brrrp brrrp brrrp,â€™ and Iâ€™m like, you know, â€˜Whoa, that is so wow!â€™ â€ She rambled on, speaking in self-quotations, sound effects, and other vocabulary substitutes, punctuating her sentences with facial tics and lateral eye shifts. All the while, however, she never said anything specific about her encounter with the squirrel.
Uh-oh. It was a classic case of Vagueness, the linguistic virus that infected spoken language in the late twentieth century. Squirrel Woman sounded like a high school junior, but she appeared to be in her mid-forties, old enough to have been an early carrier of the contagion. She might even have been a college intern in the days when Vagueness emerged from the shadows of slang and mounted an all-out assault on American English.
My acquaintance with Vagueness began in the 1980s, that distant decade when Edward I. Koch was mayor of New York and I was writing his speeches. The mayorâ€™s speechwriting staff was small, and I welcomed the chance to hire an intern. Applications arrived from NYU, Columbia, Pace, and the senior colleges of the City University of New York. I interviewed four or five candidates and was happily surprised. The students were articulate and well informed on civic affairs. Their writing samples were excellent. The young woman whom I selected was easy to train and a pleasure to work with. Everything went so well that I hired interns at every opportunity.
Then came 1985.
The first applicant was a young man from NYU. During the interview, he spiked his replies so heavily with â€œlikeâ€ that I mentioned his frequent use of the word. He seemed confused by my comment and replied, â€œWell . . . like . . . yeah.â€ Now, nobody likes a grammar prig. Allâ€™s fair in love and language, and the American lingo is in constant motion. â€œYou should,â€ for example, has been replaced by â€œyou need to.â€ â€œNoâ€ has faded into â€œnot really.â€ â€œI saidâ€ is now â€œI went.â€ As for â€œyouâ€™re welcome,â€ thatâ€™s long since become â€œno problem.â€ Even nasal passages are affected by fashion. Quack-talking, the rasping tones preferred by many young women today, used to be considered a misfortune.
In 1985, I thought of â€œlikeâ€ as a trite survivor of the hippie sixties. By itself, a little slang would not have disqualified the junior from NYU. But I was surprised to hear antique argot from a communications major looking for work in a speechwriting office, where job applicants would normally showcase their language skills. I was even more surprised when the next three candidates also laced their conversation with â€œlike.â€ Most troubling was a puzzling drop in the quality of their writing samples. It took six tries, but eventually I found a student every bit as good as his predecessors. Then came 1986…