March 13, 2002 9:10 a.m.

here’s no sense criticizing Alec Baldwin, really. And there’s hardly any sense in criticizing Hillary Clinton. But she is a senator, you know, and my senator to boot, so . . .

Sen. Clinton was speaking at a New York fundraiser the other day, and Baldwin was in attendance. During the Q&A, Baldwin rose and spoke of the two “catastrophes,” equally important, that had befallen the United States: Sept. 11 and the 2000 election. Would she please address the earlier catastrophe?

Now, no matter what you think of the 2000 election — and I think the Democrats (including those on benches) behaved far more scurrilously and lawlessly than the Republicans — to call that election and the terrorist attacks, which killed thousands of us and launched us into a worldwide war, twin catastrophes is an obscenity.

And, of course, Sen. Clinton let it pass, with no rebuke, no demurral, no remark — nothing. Some leader. As JFK (allegedly) sneered about Nixon, “No class.” (This is perhaps the liberals’ favorite line.)

Not that John Kennedy had a right to talk that way about Nixon, of course. In fact, I believe that Kennedy is one of the few people in recent American history with less class than Nixon. At least ol’ Milhous never . . . well, never mind. Fill in the blanks.

I wish Lloyd Bentsen would tell me “You’re no Jack Kennedy” — ’twould be one of the nicest things a Democrat ever said about me.

A statement the other day by the crack political analyst Charlie Cook reminded me of something unsettling about politics. He said — perfectly truthfully — “The economy is not working for the Democrats,” meaning that the economy is recovering from recession, which harms Democratic chances in November.

Look, I like politics — love politics — but when a recovering economy doesn’t “work” for a party, it leaves a queasy feeling in the stomach. Only in politics can the news “Things are getting better!” lead to cries of “Damn!”

Well, as we say in golf, every shot pleases somebody.

A reader flagged a typical item from one of the news services (Reuters). It’s a caption under a photo. Note the influence of language (and we will underline for convenience): “Thousands of right-wing party supporters demonstrate in Tel Aviv at Rabin Square on March 11, 2002, calling for Yasser Arafat and his Palestinian Authority to be toppled at a right-wing rally. [Do you have the idea that these are “right-wingers”? Reuters wouldn’t want you to miss the point.] Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon lifted Arafat’s three-month confinement to the West Bank city of Ramallah but kept up punishing military raids in the West Bank.”

Hmmm: Donald Rumsfeld calls such “punishing” raids self-defense — and he is right.

In his excellent column on Coach Bobby Knight, The Weekly Standard’s Jonathan Last linked to a real-live tape of Knight, chewing out his players in the lockerroom at halftime. Nothing in any movie — certainly not the recent and terribly lame Brian Dennehy movie — could even approximate the real, live Bobby.

It reminded me, so help me, of tapes of Arturo Toscanini, berating his own players in rehearsal. “Il Vecchio” sounds like Mussolini, times ten. Sounds like a crazed dictator — which, to a degree, he was.

Would Indiana U. have booted Toscanini too? Most certainly. The Old Man wouldn’t have lasted a second in modern America.

A reader in California heard the following sentence over the radio, almost driving off the road: “If you belong to a multicultural community, including female or handi-capable…”

“Handi-capable”: Makes “differently abled” sound honest. You heard it here first (and, one can hope, last).

The other day, I printed a letter from a reader who said that “homophobe” was one of the great lexical feats in recent political history: It was a nonsense word, meant only to intimidate, and to muzzle.

Another reader remembers a psychologist ranting on the radio about “people who fear that they worry about homosexuals because, deep down, they’re latent homosexuals. The psychologist practically shouted, ‘So, if I’m afraid of dogs, does that mean I’m a latent dog?’”

Look, I have no psychological, social, or political point to make — probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. Just found it amusing.

Another thing I shouldn’t mention: Was I the only one in the country who, on reading about Operation Anaconda, thought of Sir Mix-a-lot?

Never mind.

All right, you language nuts, you asked for it, you got it (Toyota). Something got started — in a big way — when I discussed “nauseated” and “nauseous.” I said that the distinction had been broken down. Similarly, I have about given up on “healthful”/“healthy,” “due to”/“owing to,” and “in behalf”/“on behalf.” I’m still trying to hang in there with “jealousy” and “envy,” but I get very little help. More and more people are speaking English: but it seems that we have fewer and fewer words, as speakers are simply wiping out the meaning of those words.

Let’s have a little fun, based on my (bulging) mailbag. I will go in no particular order. Let’s just play.

“If” and “whether.” I have to say I’ve pretty much given up on that one, too, along with the rest of the world. “If” has kicked “whether” all over the block. If “whether” were in the ascendancy, we could rewrite the Kipling poem to read, “Whether you can keep your head when all about you . . .” (I promise there’ll be fewer bad jokes as we go along.)

“Loan” and “lend.” The way I was taught, you couldn’t “loan” anything but money. “Loan” — except for that instance — was a noun: “He lent me his wrench; he made a loan of his wrench.” But now you can loan more or less anything.

A reader writes to complain about “use” and “utilize.” He says: “People in the military seem to be incapable of saying ‘use’; they must say ‘utilize.’”

So when should you say “utilize”? Never, ever, ever (except in mockery). I realize that I have come out for keeping the language large, but here we must subtract: “Utilize” should be booted. It’s a nonsense word, wholly unnecessary and thoroughly annoying. I’d rather have “irregardless” (and “irregardless,” of course, has made it into the dictionary. I believe it started as a conflation of “irrespective” and “regardless”).

Certainly, “irregardless” was big in my area — the Great Lakes — as I was growing up. That reminds me: A reader writes to complain about those Americans who say “heighth” — who put a “th” on the end of “height,” as though it went with “length” and “width.” Well, in Michigan, a whole lot of us said “heighth,” and I accept it as a perfectly good Americanism. (Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock, and “heighth”!)

A lady from Raleigh complains about the popular phrase “I could care less,” meaning, of course, “I couldn’t care less.” This one, I would bet, has entered American speech for good — and all of us know that it means the opposite of what it says. That’s communication!

I particularly liked this note: “I avoid saying ‘forte,’ as in an area in which one excels. In oral communication, I always say ‘strength’ instead, since if I pronounce ‘forte’ correctly [with one syllable, exactly like “fort”], 90 percent of the audience won’t understand it, and if I pronounce it incorrectly [with two syllables, “fortay”], the other 10 percent will cringe, and lose respect for me.”

Ah, yes, the problem of the correctly pronounced word that the majority assumes is incorrectly pronounced. I have had this problem frequently. But before we leave “forte,” let me simply stress that we say it as though it derived from French, not Italian. (If you want to indicate a musical direction — which comes from Italian — say “fortay.”)

I happen to be one of the five or six people left in the world who pronounce “short-lived” and “long-lived” . . . dare I say “correctly”? Why not. The “i” is long, as in “life”; it is not short, as in the verb “live.” “Short-lived” means “having a short life,” sort of like “long-knived” means “characterized by long knives.” We’re just adding an “ed” to “life,” and changing the “f” to a “v,” as we must (“midwived”). When you see “short-lived,” think “life,” not “to live.”

Beware, though: If you pronounce these words correctly, people will look at you funny, and, worse, they will “correct” you, incorrectly.

Which leads to another reader complaint: “I feel badly.” I have said before, “I feel bad [about such and such],” and people have responded, “Don’t you mean you feel badly?” I’m always tempted to say, “No, my sense of touch is okay: I can tell oil from tacks from powder.” (This doesn’t win many friends.)

(And this reminds me of an anecdote from the language maven, William Safire. Someone he hadn’t seen in a long while said, “I’ve missed not seeing you.” Safire corrected: “Well, actually, you’ve missed seeing me.” The friend answered: “Maybe I was right the first time.”)

A reader writes:

“Will you please do something about ‘proactive’? In common usage, this has come to mean ‘the opposite of reactive.’ But ‘reactive’ already has an opposite: ‘active.’ I run into this trouble all the time because I’m a public-relations person and ‘reactive’ is a dirty word to us, but ‘active’ just doesn’t have enough oomph for an activity report or business plan.”

Sorry: I think that’s pretty much a lost cause (although “proactive” is indeed cringe-making).

As is: “impactful.” Oh, what a wretched word! I’m sort of a libertarian, but I think anyone who says “impactful” should be shot. (I must say, however, that I rather like the invention of words that ought to be. A beloved co-worker of mine used to say “scrutinous,” from “scrutiny,” as in, “The office manager is becoming much more scrutinous of our expense reports.”)

Another reader writes: “Can you do something about ‘enormity’ and ‘bigness’?” Yeah, I’ll try: If you want to describe the vastness of something, and want to make a noun out of “enormous,” go with “enormousness.” An “enormity,” however, should remain a great evil.

Another reader: “flammable” and “inflammable.” Synonyms forever.

Another: “insure” and “ensure.” This may be another loser, but I still like to use “insure” for Aetna and “ensure” for . . . “to make sure.” “Your hard work will ensure your success; you might want to talk to Mrs. Patterson down at State Farm about insuring it.”

Next, “infer” and “imply”: That is something to hold on to, and I would never imply otherwise (from which you can infer a certain conservatism).

(By the way, did you notice I wrote “on to” up there? Another old-fashioned nicety. If the verb, the expression, is “to hold on,” don’t join the “to” to “on.” Save the “onto” for something like, “Don’t throw your junk onto me.”)

A man in St. Louis says, “Jay, how about going after ‘co-conspirator’? It’s like the ad that says ‘regrow new hair.’” Well, I can defend “co-conspirator” this far: “Conspirators,” of course, are conspirators, conspiring together. But I can stomach “co-conspirator” as a way of saying “fellow conspirator” (which is vulnerable to the same charge): “Bill and Joe, in on the conspiracy together, were fellow conspirators, co-conspirators.” I find this a tolerable redundancy — but maybe I’m just numb.

Another reader says, “Please talk about ‘orient,’ ‘oriented,’ ‘orientation,’ and the bastard child that seems to be usurping all three, ‘orientated.’ ‘Report to the meeting, where you will be orientated on company operations.’” All I can say, in the spirit of Cris Rapp, is “ugh.”

Now, “Oriental” — that would be a hot discussion!

A lady gripes, “‘Virtually’ used to mean ‘nearly.’ It is coming to mean ‘just as good as’ or even ‘better than the original.’ Soon ‘virtual’ will literally mean ‘literal,’ and ‘literal’ will mean virtually everything.”

Well said.

“Less” and “fewer”? Yes, that ought to be fought for, insisted on. I remember I almost fell over when I saw a sign at a Washington, D.C., grocery store that said “15 Items or Fewer.” There was a store that cared!

(Did you notice that comma after “D.C.”? Unnegotiable.)

“Historic” and “historical”: The 1986 Masters, which Nicklaus won at age 46, was historic. Many years from now, it will certainly be historical, “having the character of history” (and it is “historical” even today, in a sense). Yefim Bronfman is a historic pianist, and Deborah Voigt is a historic singer, even though they’re not quite at mid career yet.

(Did you note that “a historic,” not “an historic”? That’s a “whole ’nother” discussion.)

“Jay, do something about the people who say, ‘If I would have . . .’ instead of ‘If I had . . .’!” Well, if only I had the power . . .

“If only I had been bold enough to talk to her, maybe she would have gone out with me.”

But here’s a more important one: “I would have loved to have been there.” What the speaker means, almost always, is, “I would have loved to be there” or “I would love to have been there.”

“I would have loved to have been there” has a very specific meaning: It means that, at the time, he would have loved to have been there — already; before that point in time. Rarely is that tense required.

A reader writes, “I just spent a weekend with a couple who substituted ‘I’ for ‘me’ incorrectly every single time they said it. It was painful.”

I’m fairly sure I remember a line from Strunk & White (I’m not going to bother to look it up): “‘Me’: Use it with confidence!” (and don’t utilize it). What folks usually do, uncertain about “I” and “me,” is go reflexively to the reflexive: “Joe, Bill, and myself were at the golf course. Danny invited Joe, Bill, and myself.”

Very common. Oh, for the populace that will use “me” with confidence!

“Have you noticed,” says an Impromptus-ite, “the incorrect use of ‘everyday’ for ‘every day’? It’s used this way — incorrectly — on the www.msn.com homepage: On the bottom, it says, ‘More Useful Everyday.’ It’s also the name of a Dave Matthews Band CD; in the song ‘Everyday’ they mean ‘each day.’ This is wrong.”

Yes: and one not to surrender on, for now.

“Anxious” and “eager”: another worthy cause (though I, too, am liable to use them interchangeably in casual conversation). To state the obvious, “anxious” comes from “anxiety,” and “eager” comes from “eagerness.” One is usually anxious to visit the dentist but eager to have some ice cream after.

Finally, let me share a letter from a fellow Michigander, who says, “I wanted to thank you for your regular observations on, as you put it in today’s Impromptus, ‘speech, slang, and regionalisms.’ It’s so pleasing to hear ‘Michiganisms’ in a national publication. [Hey, I’m just speaking standard English — standard Amurrican — here. ‘Michiganisms’ are English!] And, candidly, it never occurred to my Michigan head that the girl behind the counter would say anything but ‘For here or to go?’ [instead of the insufferable, unpatriotic, though nicely parallelistic “To stay or to go?”].

“One Michiganism, or perhaps Detroitism, that I have noticed is the habit of adding an ‘s’ to business names, e.g., ‘My dad worked at Ford’s for 35 years,’ ‘Mom went to the sale at Penny’s,’ and, of course, the now-ubiquitous ‘Meijer’s.’”

Actually, the reader has something slightly wrong: The classic Michigan locution is, “My dad worked out to Ford’s.” In fact, I believe “out to Ford’s” is in our state constitution.

Y’all, I am not inclined to entertain any more language nags, queries, or points. Been fun, but . . . there’s a war on.

And a quick word to those with their panties possibly in a twist: We’re not scolding or judging here, with this language stuff. We’re mainly having fun. We “could care less,” you see? (Not that language isn’t, in many ways, important.) So just chill.