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Lex maniac

“Investigating changes in American English vocabulary over the last 50 years”

Tag Archives: NASA

July 12, 2020 failure is not an option

failure is not an option

(1980’s | “we have to get this right,” “we can’t afford to fail, lose, etc.,” “we have no choice”)

This expression remains forceful despite its evident falsehood. As long as Murphy’s Law holds sway, very few prospects are so free of defect that failure is impossible. “Failure is not an option” runs directly counter to that earliest of childhood maxims — everybody makes mistakes — which turns out to be one of the only reliable absolutes we have. If enough people screw up, any enterprise can misfire, and it usually takes only a small percentage of the personnel to bring on downfall. Of course, naïve logic is not all there is. The phrase is effective because it reminds everyone that we really might fall short, and we really, really don’t want to. That’s why the phrasing is crucial; if you say “there’s no way we can fail,” the staff will slack off.

The main thrust of the phrase is inspirational — a signal to all involved that they must exert every effort. The sports cliché “must-win game (or situation)” is quite similar. It’s also a bit like “you can do this” as we use it now, which has replaced “you can do it.” (It is more distantly related to “everything on the table.”) If the boss can convince you, or you can convince yourself, that no other outcome is tolerable, you will do what’s necessary to bring home the prize. The phrase may bear a hint of “no holds barred.” Sometimes it’s no more than false bravado. It would be interesting to figure out how many times a military campaign, business initiative, athletic team, or curriculum has failed after the brass said, “Failure is not an option.” If it’s intended as an incantation to ward off disaster, it doesn’t work a lot of the time.

This expression is one of a small number that have roared into popular consciousness from the movies: “Apollo 13” (1995), a fictionalized account of the safe landing of a badly damaged lunar capsule carrying three astronauts. According to Wikipedia, the exact phrase was invented in the nineties, derived from a longer utterance of a NASA flight controller named Jerry Bostick by screenwriter Bill Broyles, who knew a winner when he encountered it. That is not to say that the full phrase had never appeared before; I found examples as far back as the late eighties, but not very many. The film must take credit for popularizing if not introducing it. Bill Clinton soon picked it up; thereafter it became more common. It is still around today, beloved of all who would sound resolute. But there’s no getting around the fatuity (or futility, if you prefer) of the phrase understood literally. “The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley,” said the poet, and sounding resolute doesn’t change that.

Lovely Liz from Queens scores again; she is by far the all-time leader in expressions nominated. Let’s not always see the same hands.

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October 29, 2017 lesson learned

lesson learned

(2000’s? | bureaucratese? | “I’ve learned my lesson,” “I’ll do better next time,” “I get the point”)

Now available as a pronouncement. Used to punctuate a conversation, it seems to come out of bureaucracy, especially the technological or military variety. NASA and the U.S. Army both have “Lessons Learned” databases that record and disseminate even quite small and apparently insignificant, but reliable, bits of practice gleaned mostly from previous failures. A lesson learned is something you ignore at your peril. They are empirical, and thus may soon become best practices. They could have to do with anything from peeling potatoes to preventing malfunctions in electrical circuitry to choosing material that will withstand re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere. In everyday journalism, lessons learned follow from disasters, such as a big hurricane, fast-moving computer virus, or financial crash. The phrase is often used by individuals, of course; even then, it has a peremptory tone, carrying a firm note of finality with more than an overtone of “never again.” The emphatic final syllable contributes to that, as in “promise kept,” “problem solved,” or even “slam dunk” (a spondee). Ending the utterance with extra oomph has a way of stopping the conversation. I haven’t heard “lesson learned” used jokingly much; it has retained its force and magnitude so far. That can change quickly. If some comedian picks it up as a tagline, we’ll start saying it in all sorts of trivial contexts.

The phrase “lesson learned” is intended to convey rue or determination. The actual lesson you learn is what we now call the takeaway, another new expression. “Takeaway” is not as portentous as “lesson learned,” but the two are closely related, with little daylight between them. Lessons learned are painful somehow, as the new normal is worse than what came before, even though there’s nothing in the wording of either phrase that requires that it be so. Here’s a little rhyme to help you remember:

Experience is a teacher,
But here’s what makes me burn.
It’s always teaching me the things
I do not care to learn.

As one supplicant asked on Stack Exchange, why not “learned lesson”? Partly because it invites confusion with “learned” (two syllables), which is used before the noun, but you see that fine old scholarly term less and less. There’s something about fixed word pairs where the adjective follows the noun. I remember how weird it sounded when Bill Clinton used the expression “date certain.” What is this, the Middle Ages? (He was actually speaking legalese at the time, which accounts for the medieval flavor.) “Siege Perilous,” “retort courteous,” “paradise lost,” “penny saved.” (Does “code red” fit the pattern? I can’t decide.) The past participle doing duty as an adjective adds a dash of verb flavor, a hint of resolute action. More generally, the noun-adjective construction is probably a remnant of the baneful French influence on English (particularly in matters of law), but it does lend an elusive, poetic quality, striking the ear and compelling attention.

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November 21, 2014 not in a good way

not in a good way

(1990’s | “sounds good, but isn’t,” “it doesn’t work,” “not what you might expect,” “ineffectively”)

The interesting thing about this expression is what it doesn’t mean. “Way” is a very common word in English, one we use in all sorts of ways (there I go again). So let’s pause over a few. “In the worst way.” On the surface, it sounds like they ought to be directly related, but they are not. “In the worst way” means, or meant, “acutely” or “intensely.” “He wants to go to Paris in the worst way” is to say he wants to go very, very badly. But “He wants to go to Paris, but not in a good way” would mean something else — his motives or interests are disagreeable somehow and better not dwelt on. It might be mistaken for the older “in a bad way,” which refers specifically to one’s health or condition. It is used in that way now and then, particularly in British English (the emphasis falls on “not” rather than “good way”), but in American it follows a description of some kind and alerts the listener that something is amiss. It might even sound to the unwary like “badly” or “poorly,” taking “in a . . . way” as an adverb equivalent: “not in a good way” = “not well” = “badly.” The reason it doesn’t mean that is that we don’t process “well” as we would an “-ly” adverb like “glibly” = “in a glib way.” Not that all “-ly” adverbs work the same way by any means. It is not unusual for the phrase to follow a conjunction: “and,” “but,” or “though.”

It is generally used with at least a faintly ironic or mocking tone, but it doesn’t have to be. Occasionally “not in a good way” intensifies a clearly negative trait, as in this example from Ron Rosenbaum of the New York Observer (1999): “‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ is an incoherent work of art. And not in a good way.” Most of the time, though, the phrase imparts a deliberate twist. The writer edges up to the punch line by preparing the reader for a compliment or favorable result, then yanks it away. Here are two examples from the early 1990’s:

“The earnings gap between men and women did narrow a bit between 1989 and 1990 — but not in a good way” (American Demographics, December 1991). Not that women earned more; men earned less.

“‘That was breathtaking, and not in a good way,’ said Jim Mizell, a former assistant launch director for NASA” (on an aborted launch of the space shuttle Endeavour in 1994). A terrifyingly close call.

Classic instances. It is vaguely analogous to the more abrupt “Not!” made famous by “Wayne’s World,” but it isn’t used the same way — it’s at least as much elaboration as retraction. “Not!” is invariably snide or mean; “not in a good way” need not be. But it generally pulls the rug out from under something that pretends to be sitting pretty. A few adjectives culled from the press that fit the expression well: famous, eccentric, tiring, fearless, speechless. Note that each of these, when followed by “not in a good way,” has a much pithier equivalent: notorious (or infamous), crazy (or willful), tedious (or draining), reckless (or foolhardy), aghast (or mortified). More than one, in fact. I suspect this small sample points up a larger truth, namely that “not in a good way,” while it might draw a quick laugh, makes our language flabbier and weaker over the long haul.

This phrase is a displaced echo of one current in my youth that may or may not still be part of the vocabulary, “funny ha-ha or funny strange?” The question acknowledges the two-edged nature of calling something “funny” and demands a resolution. Does he make you laugh, or cross the street? “Not in a good way” obviates the question. Let the auditor, or reader, beware.

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