Every time I watch an awards show, I’m always disappointed that the thank-yous are serious. Never will I have the pleasure of hearing Judi Dench stand before millions of people and say, “I’d like to thank the Prince of Darkness.” Never will the world experience the thrill of hearing Sidney Poitier thank all his “eastside homie and gangstas, yo.”
Now I know why.
Despite my unrelenting urge to make a joke out of everything, I’m forced to acknowledge that thank-yous are serious business. For example, my agent, Laurie Abkemeier, went above and beyond the call of duty, helping to make this a much better book than it was the first time she laid eyes on it. Thank you, Laurie.
Penguin editor David Cashion gave this little book and me what amounts to our big break—and he did it based on a book proposal that included bathroom humor. His talent and insight improved the book immensely. Thank you, David. All the editors and copy editors at Penguin who worked on this book deserve credit and thanks for saving me from what would most certainly have been some truly embarrassing mistakes. Thank you, people whose names I don’t know and who for that reason probably never get the thanks they deserve.
Then there are Tony Dodero and S. J. Cahn, the Times Community News editors who didn’t scrutinize my credentials too closely when I asked them if I could write a grammar column. Thank you, Tony and S. J.
Then there are all the friends and loved ones whose cheers and encouragement stayed in my head like background music the entire time I was writing this book. They include Stephanie Diani, Jessica Garrison, Donna Stallings, Jeannie Wallace, Bill Mikulak, Kimberly Dickens, Elizabeth Reday, Nancy McCabe, Mallory King, Pat and Ed Averi, and my sisters Diane Cribb and Jennifer Savage. My sister Melanie Sorli was a little farther away, but never far from my mind.
Then there’s Dr. Marisa di Pietro, whose profound influence can’t be put into words.
Then there’s the Starbucks in Studio City, where the electricity I used for my laptop and the water I used in the bathroom surely cost the management more than I spent on coffee.
Then there’s Donald Basse, who proves that some grammar sticklers can be both endearing and infectious in their love of the language. Thank you, Don. (Bet you didn’t expect to see your name here, huh?) Then there’s Deanna George, who taught me some stuff about Angelenos, and Heather “I’m No Grammarian” Hodson, who taught me the word “grammarian.”
Last but most, there’s Ted Averi, whose loving support and encouragement are rivaled only by his superb editor’s instincts and willingness to tell me what I need to hear instead of just what I want to hear. Thank you, Ted.
Thank you, everybody.