So, why would you start a sentence with ‘so’?

So I just wanted to see if I could begin a sentence with the word “so” for no good reason, and apparently I can (although it felt, like, weird?).

A little background on the word “so.” It’s both an adverb and a conjunction, and it’s probably used more as the latter rather than the former. In the simplest terms, it means “therefore,” or “and for this reason.” As in, “I had a bad cough, so I went to the doctor.” It also means “in order that,” as in “They whispered so no one could hear.”

As you can see from the examples, “so” connects things. However, this doesn’t mean it can never begin a sentence. For example: “Why are you getting dressed?” “So I can leave the house without getting arrested.” It’s still connecting two thoughts, even if they belong to two people.

You've heard people say that, I'm sure — kids mostly, but not, like, exclusively?

It’s happening everywhere on the streets and in local stores, in TV dramas and sitcoms, in movies, in commercials, even in news shows and political speeches. Educated people, government officials, people my age, even my own flesh and blood!

I can’t confirm that using “so” like this is Valspeak, but I can’t imagine that it didn’t originate in California. What, you don’t know what Valspeak is? It’s “Valleyspeak,” an American social dialect that originated in the San Fernando Valley.

As with other California weirdnesses, Valspeak has spread across the entire United States and is making incursions into other English-speaking countries. It’s characterized by sentences punctuated with question marks rather than commas and periods.

You know, like “So I’m not going to school today? because I’m not, like, feeling too great? like, I’m like coming down with something?”

Oh, yes — and the word “like” too. You’ve heard this, I’m sure. I like kids, mostly, but not, like, exclusively?

Having been born in Brooklyn, I can hardly make fun of regional dialects or accents. Living among Southerners now since 1976, I dare not make fun of them. Regional dialects are not unique to the U.S., though.

In Germany, children are taught “Hochdeutsch” in school — high-German — but it’s not spoken on a daily basis everywhere.

My father’s brother married a woman from Swabia, or the Schwabenland region of Bavaria, and many Germans find Swabian German difficult to understand. Same with Plattdeutsch, which is also known as “low German.”

I hear so many people beginning sentences with “so” so often now that it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. It sure did at one time, though. When I first started hearing it, I’d go “Huh?” and wonder if I missed something.

I’m sure I don’t have any weird linguistic affectations myself, nor do I have a noticeable accent.

Some people say they hear faint vestiges of Long Island in my speech, but New Yorkers I know say I sound like a Southerner.

Can both be true?

Well, I did grow up closer to Long Island’s south shore, where people say “Youse awl.”

Maybe that ’splains it.

It feels like the same year to me

We just celebrated the arrival of a new year and bid a fond farewell to the old one (or good riddance, if we didn’t remember it fondly). This is something we do without fail every year about this time. People do crazy things on New Year’s Eve — cram Times Square by the tens of thousands in sub-freezing weather to watch a ball drop, drink so much at a party that cost a fortune that they don’t remember the party the next morning.

Well, some people think bungee-jumping from the middle of the Verrazano Bridge is fun too, but not me. Not that I never partied in my day, but more often than not I’ve treated the transition from year old to year new as just another night of sleep. And you know what? Invariably the first morning of the new year feels exactly like the last morning of the old one.

For instance, think back to Dec. 31, 2014. Remember the weather? It was partly cloudy and the temperature was in the 40s. And remember what it was the next day, Jan. 1, 2015? Partly cloudy, with temps in the 40s. Not much difference, was there?

It’s true that you probably don’t go to work on New Year’s Day, but many people also don’t go to work on Sundays and other holidays. Or if you’re like me, you never go to work at all anymore, so not much difference. (Writing this column doesn’t count as work.)

Logically the new year should begin on the winter solstice, but I know they’d say that wouldn’t work because solstice never falls at exactly the same time each year — not that it would bother me. There are science-types out there who can explain why solstice doesn’t stay put, but I’m not one of them — and I don’t feel like looking it up. Although I might if wondering about it suddenly starts keeping me awake at night.

So midnight Dec. 31 was arbitrarily chosen to be the last day of the year — by a pope named Gregory XIII way back in the 1500s — and it stuck. He’s not the Gregory responsible for the chants we all know and love — the first Pope Gregory gets the credit for those — so if Gregory XIII was a party animal, he didn’t leave any musical clues.

Manufacturers of streamers, confetti, silly hats, lamp shades and champagne love New Year’s Eve parties, of course. So do the makers of Alka Seltzer and Tabasco sauce. Hotels and night clubs do a bang-up business on the last night of the year too. Cops probably aren’t crazy about New Year’s Eve, since many of them are on duty, on the lookout for pickled drivers. You have to wonder when those who protect and serve get to celebrate.

I don’t want to close without mentioning that in a few days I’ll be celebrating a birthday — just like I did last year. See what I mean? Same-old, same-old.