Seriously.

Note: This week’s column brought to you 99.69% parenthesis-free!

At the risk of being a cranky old man before I’m 40, I want to gripe about a few words and phrases I hate—at least one of which I use all too often. It wouldn’t be “proactive” if I didn’t “dialogue” about suggestions for improvement.

1. Flow

   Example: “Your paragraph doesn’t flow. I don’t know; it just doesn’t flow.”

   What it seems to mean: “It lacks a je ne sais quoi.”

   Why it blows: You don’t want your banker saying, “That balance sheet has a funny feeling” or your pharmacist saying, “Take some of these jobbies until it starts to feel ‘off.’” Bookies should never say “flow.” Properly troubleshot, the absence of “flow” in writing can be traced to a handful of grammatical and syntactical no-nos. Left as “flow,” it sounds as if pixie-dust is missing, or ancient gods are left unappeased.

   What to say instead: Say, “Your paragraph suffers from inverted sentence perspective, misplaced modifiers, and an insolent disregard for proper pronoun reference.” If that’s true.

2. Environment

   Example: “I love the environment. I don’t really conserve energy, but I do feel guilty.”

   What it seems to mean: It means Nature, which according to a Robert Frost rhyme means either “Pretty Scenery” or “the Whole… Machinery.” It means whales and hydrogen and Kuala Lumpur and Tonka trucks left in the rain and how they all work or don’t, not to mention us and all we do. Which is to say it means everything, which is to say it means nothing. Why it blows: It’s impossible, or at least barbaric, to love an abstraction. Soil has a smell. Clean water refreshes. Who cares enough to act if “benthic environments contain high levels of pollutants?” But when a single order of bluefin sushi contains more mercury than you should eat in three weeks, assuming you like your nervous system, then you’re more likely care.

   What to say instead: “Atmosphere.” “Soil.” “Wabash River.” “Mercury. ” “What sushi used to taste like.”

3. Spirituality

   Example: “I’m not religious. I have my own spirituality.” What it seems to mean: “You can’t begin to fathom how deep I am. While most of you are hampered by having to deal with other people, I can contemplate my navel.” It might also mean: “Woo-woo.” Why it blows: It’s a nonsense trifecta, managing to convey breezy nothingness, pretention, and insipid condescension in a single vapid whoosh.

   What to say instead: “I have feelings and thoughts like every other human on this planet.” And while that doesn’t say much, at least it acknowledges the fact.

4. Webinar

   Example: “Rally round the monitor, comrades, and bask in the webinar’s carcinogenic glow.”

   What it seems to mean: A web seminar; a seminar conducted electronically.

   Why it blows: Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s me. But I feel dirty when I hear the word, like someone’s just sold me something I don’t need. Also, it makes me picture Spider-man in a submarine.

   What to say instead: Hmm, jeez, I’m fresh out of ideas. Or, wait… how about “web seminar?” Would that do?

5. Teachable Moment

   Example: “When Jane rehashed platitudinous drivel in class, it was a teachable moment.”

   What it seems to mean: “a moment” or “poignant” or “worth commenting on.”

   Why it blows: Every moment is teachable or not teachable, depending on the teacher and the student. My sitting and writing this is a teachable moment: I should teach myself to be more tolerant. If Jane rehashes platitudes, tell her, “Jane, that’s silly,” or “pipe down, Jane,” or “everyone laugh at Jane,” or “Jane, I think we’ve all heard that on Dr. Laura,” or “thank you, Bill O’Reilly.” What to say instead: Maybe you should come up with something on your own. This is one of those moments where I pause dramatically, and you nod dramatically in recognition. It’s a learnable moment. (Cue: violins.)