Why would you call a blog ‘apostrophise’?
Why not? The existence of a word whose sole purpose is to describe the act of using an apostrophe appeals to everything I love about the irony of language and the people who use it.
The passion with which people defend apostrophe’s honour and rage against its misuse or neglect belies its practical redundancy. Logically, the demise of the apostrophe should barely raise more than a linguist’s eyelash. Yet, the tenacity with which we hold on to something that serves no logical purpose is what makes us so gloriously human.
I may laugh at my friend putting back a wine bottle because its label misuses an apostrophe, but deep down it reassures my humanity. For we are, despite how much we protest against it, at our core emotional, sentimental, silly beings. We love what we love and we do what we do. There is no reason, only rhyme. Our existence is fleeting. The universe vast and ancient. It takes an article of faith to believe we still matter. Because matter we do – intensely.
And the things we love matter, no matter how silly, sentimental or emotional. They matter because we love them. Personally, I feel no great connection to the apostrophe. I will not morn its passing. I will not fight for its right to exist. Most likely, I will barely notice as it fades away to obscurity. Yet, while I may not be able to understand why the apostrophe matters, I do recognise the sentiment behind what makes it matter.
Apostrophising without the apostrophe is what motivates the irrational justification for this blog.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.