The Claremont Grammarians Return

As longtime readers might recall, last year I celebrated Independence Day in the local parade as part of a phony organization called the Claremont Grammarians. This year we weren't only reaccepted, but we were invited back. The most exciting piece of mail I've received in recent history is when the post officer delivered an envelope addressed to "The Claremont Grammarians." Heeee!

Though excitement to recreate this stellar parade experience brewed for more than a month, yet again we didn't even make an attempt to prepare anything until the day of the event. That morning, I awoke with an idea for a new slogan to shout to the crowd: "Double negatives are for pessimists." That was the motivation I needed to get trucking on this project.


We also had some last minute drama finding a bullhorn to more loudly spread our grammatical messages. Fortunately, two of the Grammarians' father is a physical education teacher and was able to provide us with not one, but five megaphones. With noise on our side, we were going to be as obnoxiously righteous as a teacher's red ink.



Once we had the signs taped up, Michael Michael led everyone in a beer chugging session so that we could string beer cans and drag them behind the trailer. Let no one say that the Grammarians are not a class act. After that, we proceeded to our spot in the line up. Sitting in the trailer, we had an amazing trip en route to the parade route. With our megaphones in hand, we chanted to passersby. Jessica hastily made a sign that urged fellow commuters to "Honk if you love grammar." Damn right we had the crowd honking.

Once we lined up, we were adjacent to a truckload of elementary school-aged cheerleaders. I don't recall which group spoke to the other first, but a long-lasting dialogue took place between the tiny cheerleaders and the Grammarians. The girls had literally two cheers, so we requested they do one about grammar, to which they obliged. We were so pleased that we performed one back for them. The cheerleaders liked this response, then gave us their same cheer back. And again. And again. The cheerleaders clearly just wanted attention and approval, which was cute, but at some point, much like a run-on sentence, you just want to cut it off.


At the last minute, our position in the line was altered. Behind us were those same damn humorless junior high cheerleaders from last year. The younger cheerleaders might have been repetitive and annoying, but at least they were cute and didn't openly loathe us. There was one bright spot amongst the junior high cheerleading troop - a lone girl, notably the one who looked least stereotypically like a cheerleader given her short, dark hair and glasses. She approached us just before we went into motion and cutely told us, "I just have to tell you guys, when I was in third grade, I was a grammar super hero for Halloween. My name was Comma Momma." Immediately, we erupted in cheers. When Comma Momma returned to her crew, they gathered around her, asking what she possibly had to say to us, clearly irritated.


Later in the route, Jessica led us in challenging the cheerleaders, who were trying to out yell us throughout the parade. Collectively, we screamed "We love grammar, yes we do, we love grammar, how 'bout you?!" The cheerleaders stared, but remained silent. We tried our chant again. Rather than responding to our cry, they returned to their hackneyed cheer as if we had said nothing. Naturally, we booed mercilessly. Sounds like they don't know how to cheer for anything without rehearsing it first. Occasionally, we would cheer wildly for Comma Momma, interrupting them mid-cheer, just to show who we loved. In hindsight, we might have been setting up this poor girl to be ostracized by her teammates by singling her out in such a way, but it's no big loss as she's probably too good to be friends with them anyway. (Of course, I am in a position to make that decision for her.) Anyway, those cheerleaders disliked us yet again, as evidenced by their exaggerated pouting. It excites me to no end that these preteens are going to go home and write in their diaries about those "annoying grammar assholes."


Everyone was so funny and engaging. New Grammarian Ben was a particular winner. The off-the-cuff remark that made me actually halt in its sheer hilarity was, "Don't forget to get a grammogram to help prevent semi-colon cancer."


Of course, the crowd's general reaction was still the best part. The crowd was composed of three main groups of people: those who understood it was a farce and laughed with us, those who respected grammar legitimately and applauded our efforts, and those who were just perplexed by our presence altogether. Fortunately, all three groups were equally fun to cater to, so it was a blast.


We did receive some mild heckling, usually from the 10-and-under crowd. Some kid told us we sucked, and Jessica shot him down with the "I can't understand you, you're using such bad grammar" retort. Another kid said we were "boring," so I wished her good luck getting into college with that attitude. My favorite shut down, however, was probably when a kid used his fingers to form the letter L on his forehead to indicate that the Grammarians were losers. "L is for learned! L is for learned!" I mocked until he scowled.

At one point, an elderly woman, a parade official, stopped us to inquire about the beer cans trailing our float. "Who drank those?" I panicked, fearing we would be ejected from the parade for public intoxication. "Someone... at... my... house..." I stuttered, trying to pass the buck. "Why would you drink those?" the official asked. "No, not us," I lied. "Okay, but why those?" the official repeated. It took a couple more back-and-forths before I realized that she was not upset at us having beer cans, but that it was that particular brand of beer, questioning our taste in Budweiser. Jocelyn explained it was because of the cans' red, white, and blue color scheme, which the official accepted and allowed us to proceed.

In addition to "Double negatives are for pessimists!", we added a few new slogans to our arsenal. "You should NEVER generalize!" "Would you rather use a comma or be in a coma?" "Punctuate or perish!" "All nouns are proper!"


This year, we made our float more interactive, with far more audience participation.
"What's your favorite part of speech?" I'd scream. Though most people would freeze up or just laugh, someone would feel bold enough to say something like "Adverb." The grammarians would then cheer and chant "Adverb! Adverb!" and then we'd offer up a friendly tip, "Remember, adverbs often end with -ly." One person responded to our query with "subject." I clarified that that's a part of a sentence, but cheered eir on anyway, asking a follow-up question, "What always follows the subject?" After a long pause where we received a sea of puzzled expressions, I finally helped, "Did I hear predicate?" I didn't hear predicate, but moving at a thrilling pace of about a mile per hour, we had to wrap it up somehow. At another point on the route, we inquire about a favorite part of speech and an older man firmly shouts, "Verb." I follow up with "Action or linking?" "Action!" comes a response, equally as firm. "Action," I affirm, excited. "We know what this guy's into!" That was the point I probably saw the most sour faces and stifled laughter, having regrettably made an off-color implication.


Another terrific grammatical call-and-respond was to ask the crowd "Who has a favorite grammar rule?" The first answer from the parade-goers was "I before E except after C." In unison, the dozen of us on the trailer screamed this rule several times. "I before E except after C! I before E except after C! I before E except after C! I before E except after C! I before E except after C! I before E except after C!" This interaction was a big hit, because the suggester would generally get really excited that the Claremont Grammarians deemed their rule worthy of being hammered to the entire audience. It would always make me smile, as well, since it demonstrated that there were some actual grammatical smarties in the crowd. I've never been so excited to shout with my friends instructions about dangling modifiers or "DON'T SPLIT INFINITIVES! DON'T SPLIT INFINITIVES! DON'T SPLIT INFINITIVES! DON'T SPLIT INFINITIVES!" When one person responded to our request for grammar rules, ey said, "No unidentified antecedents." Now, I vaguely remembered that this rule existed, but I couldn't explain it if asked. I took a deep breath before leading the Grammarians in this chant, afraid that some of the less grammatical astute might not know what we were saying. (That's not a judgment, but there's no test required to be part of the group - in fact, we had someone jump on and join us part way through the parade.) We did it though, screaming, "NO UNIDENTIFIED ANTECEDENTS! NO UNIDENTIFIED ANTECEDENTS!" Afterwards, some Grammarians shook their heads and whispered, "What does that one mean?" At least we screamed it confidently.


We also got people to flash gang grammar signs. "If you think punctuation is patriotic, throw up a comma!" We'd toss up our arms and cup our hands to form a comma and watch as various people in the crowd performed the motion back for us. Nothing is cuter than senior citizens earnestly creating commas with their wrinkled hands as a sign of solidarity.


We also had fun using our bodies to create punctuation marks. It was pretty easy to do a backslash. An exclamation point required just straightening yourself, while a question mark involved curving your arms over your head. "Ampersand!" someone called out, leaving us contorting ourselves into an awkward mess.


On the float, Allison had a long, firm stick which she frequently banged against the rail to emphasize our grammar cries adding to the hilarity. When she swung what she called her "grammar stick" (different than a grammar wand), she looked maniacal. Several times on our magical journey, I would address our adoring fans with the despicably ungrammatical "y'all," which prompted Allison to beat me with her grammar stick. I don't blame her though, y'all, because I deserved it.


At any rate, we had another successful, grammatically correct spin around town, yet again being one of the highlights of my year. Heck, this year, we even made the local paper, The Daily Bulletin:

CLAREMONT'S JULY Fourth parade is always a lot of fun, especially those entries that really let their freak flag fly.

In Wednesday's parade, the Friends of the Field Station, who support an ever-controversial patch of earth in Claremont stocked with native plants - the place being a hardy perennial of Claremont causes - walked with protest-style signs bearing such mottos as "Wild Cucumber," "Native Bees" and "Toyon."

The Friends led onlookers in a chant: "Two-four-six-eight, what do we appreciate? Field Station!"

The Sirens of Shimmy consisted of two lightly clad belly dancers, who shook enticingly as they made their way down Indian Hill Boulevard behind a man in an Egyptian headdress.

The Claremont Grammarians rode by in a flatbed truck. I couldn't make out what the spokesgrammarian was shouting through his bullhorn, but I liked the signs on the truck's sides with such tongue-in-cheek admonishments as "Fragments Fragment Families," "Don't Use Contractions" and "Comparisons Are as Bad as Terrorists."

One of the parade's best laughs was, I'm afraid, unintentional. One float bore a sign explaining that riders were "Saluting Claermont's Centennial!"

Better let the Grammarians proofread next year's floats.

Please note that the cheerleaders weren't mentioned. (Though I am embarrassed that the shimmying sirens snagged a mention before us.) Just between you and me, having read the paper before, I think the Grammarians need to proofread The Daily Bulletin as well. All the same, we love the shout out. We love you, too, Claremont. Just watch those dangling modifiers, you hear?