I must confess, I was pleased with yesterday's post, so much that I re-read it this morning. Yes, sometimes I do that. Do you ever glance at your reflection in a store window? Alright then.

So then I saw the typo. Don't bother, I took care of it. But oh, how I hate the typo. Not a Blockbuster kind of hatred, but more a deep soulfully sad kind of hatred, a wretched hatred.

Typographical error. That's not even the right word for it, according to this helpful definition. What's the right word for a mistake that occurs when you are editing with the "cut" and "paste" functions, and you accidentally leave in a whole chunk of words that don't belong in the newly constructed sentence? Or when you just omit a word altogether?

No matter. I despise all of it, because I despise lack of clarity in thinking, almost as much as I despise hyper-rational lack of wonderment in thinking.

Speaking of wonderment, which is close to "wondering," I recall the first really funny post here at Sand in the Gears, a mockery of an actress who misused a couple of words in her narcissistic monologue (if you click the link you have to scroll down, to the one entitled "Mousse Musing"). There's got to be a word for that kind of mistake too, when you mean to write "desert" and instead give us "dessert." A word other than "stupid," I mean.

That in turn reminds me of a student I had at a large major university which will remain nameless because, frankly, I don't like giving them any free publicity on my website. It was for an introductory American government class, and I required each of my students to write three short papers over the course of the semester. This guy's first paper included the phrase "variable plethora." What he meant to say, of course, was "veritable plethora," which, like "dovetails nicely," is an expression that should never, ever be used again except in mockery, like now. So not only was he trying to use a hackneyed phrase where all he meant was, "a lot," or, "a whole bunch," he was getting it wrong. Instead of a "literal plethora" (and don't get me started on the misuses of that word), he used a phrase that means "a plethora that kind of changes from day to day, like, you know, one day you might have too much bread and apples and stuff, and then, like, the next day you might have, I don't know, way too many Fig Newtons."

So I corrected his error, because I actually read my students' papers. Not to be catty, of course, because everybody reads his students' papers. Then, a month later, he writes a paper on a completely different topic, and there is that phrase again: "variable plethora." So I wrote a more strongly worded note.

Next month, another paper, same bloody phrase. My mind kept trying to conjure up exactly what a variable plethora must look like. I noticed that one definition of "plethora" is an excess of blood in an organ. That wasn't a helpful visual, trust me, the thought of some strange new disease causing one's organs to randomly swell up unexpectedly, as if one is a balloon in the hands of malevolent toddler.

Yes, I have an imagination. It's what fuels this site. Give thanks.

So, once again, I wrote a strongly worded note about the importance of reading the notes on one's paper when one is fortunate enough to have an instructor who actually reads papers and provides editorial suggestions. Not to imply, once again, that every instructor doesn't read his students' papers. I even knocked off a few points, and put my strongly worded note in red ink next to his lowered grade. The two dovetailed nicely, if I may, if you will, so to speak, as it were.

Final exam time. Blue books, because Tony requires essays. Yes, I'm cruel that way. My students leave understanding what "bicameral" means (and no, it's not the camel with two humps), and how to write a little better. It's my contribution to society.

You know what's coming, don't you? That's the sign of a good storyteller, you know, when you know what's coming next, and you keep reading anyway because the getting there is just so delicious. Anyway, you are right. He used the phrase again. Variable plethora. So I knocked off some points, and wrote an even stronger note on his exam, which I'm sure he didn't read.

He was a reasonably intelligent student, by the way. I suspect he's working at a law firm somewhere now, mystifying his colleagues with memos about the "variable plethora" of new clients that await if they expand into medical malpractice, or the "variable plethora" of new rulings in employment law.

Or, perhaps he's working in one of these places.

In any event, we can sum up with the observation that it's a wonderment that English-speaking peoples came to dominate the globe. Unless, perhaps, people who speak other languages have the same problem. But that's literally a question for another time, because I've already written a plethora, which dovetails nicely -- if you think about it -- with my theme, don't you argue?