Real or Really?

An article in today’s Los Angeles Times describes a house for sale in the lovely Rolling Hills area of the city where zoning laws allow only one-story homes. The owner found a way around this restriction by building an additional five stories underground.

The sub-headline states, “Rolling Hills limits homes to one story above ground, so one man went real deep.”

Really? “Real deep”? “Deep” is an adjective. “Real” is an adjective. It means “true” or “genuine.” Only an adverb can modify (give information about) an adjective. The Times writer needed “really.”

In case you might be interested in buying this house with ocean views, it has 50,000 square feet on eight acres, with nine bedrooms, 25 bathrooms, a guest house, a 10,000 square foot hammam (a Turkish- style bath), an olive grove so you can produce your own oil, three-foot- thick walls, secret passages, and a five-story underground tennis court that doubles as a ballroom, complete with ceiling-to-floor murals, a balcony and columns. Because Rolling Hills prohibits night lighting, what was the owner to do but build this court underground to U.S. Open specifications?

Price: $53 million. Step right up. Really.

I am between computers for today, so I’m writing on my iPad. This post might look odd. Really odd.

Clichés

Clichés.

Are You Notorious?

Every day I check the obituaries (just to make sure my name isn’t there).  I often read about fascinating lives.  Sometimes, however, I read things that make me laugh—usually caused by a grammar, punctuation or usage error.  Here is the first sentence of a recent find:

“Dr. [X] was a doctor who practiced medicine for the joy of helping others, not for the money or notoriety.”

You know what “notoriety” means, right?  Yes, it means “famous,” but always in a pejorative sense.  It is a synonym for “infamous.”  OJ Simpson is notorious.  Osama bin Laden is notorious.  Benedict Arnold is notorious.  Chances are this doctor would not have wanted to be notorious under any circumstances.

Perhaps I should start an editing service for people writing obituaries for their relatives.  Before they send them in to the newspapers, they could run them by me to make sure they don’t say anything that will make readers laugh or groan.  I could call it “Your Last Letter.”

Or maybe I should just stick to corporate editing.