Cute and beyond

While cleaning out a computer directory tonight I ran across this little essay, which I pass on for what it's worth.

CUTE AND BEYOND

A writer I know classifies preciousness in writing as “cute,” “cutesy,” and “cutesy-poo.”

“Cute” might pass on rare occasions, but “cutesy” never. Anyone committing “cutesy-poo” should have to listen to 24 hours of Christmas carols by Alvin and the Chipmunks. We are in a region here beyond the writer who is simply trying to be funny and falling short. No writer ever aimed at cute and beyond — it’s a pure gift, from a vengeful God.

Let’s suppose the intention is to explain something in simple terms to an audience the writer suspects of being dim-witted. The writer is vaguely conscious of being dull, talking down, or otherwise offending, and tries to conceal this beneath a mask of jocularity. An example [by an imagined writer who has just made a point by using a snide comparison to Leonardo DeCaprio]: “Now before all you ladies go looking for rocks to throw at me, I’ll promise never again to say anything even a teensy-weensy bit unkind about dear Leonardo. My bad, slap, slap.”

That’s offensive in more ways than I want to think about. I’m not looking for a rock. I’m looking for my Alvin and the Chipmunks record.