Llady, I thought the multiple misspellings of “piece” were fucking hilarious, and I simply adore your gardening metaphor.

Language rules are destined to be imperfect, but they’re all we got to allow us to communicate intelligibly with each other.

I think this^ is a great summation. Even without formal language, we are able to communicate: a dog’s bark communicates plenty, even if it doesn’t have words or syntax. If I take aim and clock you in the noggin with a rock, I’ve said one thing; if I do so with an apple, perhaps something else (or perhaps not: even in undefined signs, messages can be mixed). But language rules make it possible to communicate efficiently and to communicate complex thoughts.

Take our friend Eugenio and me, for instance. (If you’re out there, Hi, Eu!) Eu and I are able to communicate in simple ways to each other, but because of his limited English skills and my non-existent Italian skills, we are just not able to communicate complex ideas. We are able to communicate simple ideas of like and dislike, give and take; we can communicate feeling and emotion; but with our current skill sets, Eu and I are just not able to sit back and confabulate on world affairs, poetry, and nuclear fusion.

But it’s not the rules themselves that give the language power; it’s the mutual agreement of them. In the small sense, what bars Eu and I from communicating is that I don’t know Italian; but in the larger sense, what keeps us from communicating is that I don’t know the system that lies behind the words that he uses. No matter how many nouns and verbs and adjectives in Italian I might learn and toss together haphazardly, I am not able to make those words convey anything more than simple thoughts to Eu because I am lacking in the knowledge of how it is that Eu understands and processes the message behind those words. It doesn’t matter if it’s Italian or English; he and I could come up with our very own Kelgenio language if we wanted. He and I would be perfectly capable of having a child’s level conversation in any of the above (well, him more so than me.) But what would make it possible for us to gab about the finer elements of Proust even in Kelgenio is the mutually agreed-upon method by which we put the individual words together into sentences. That’s how we would know that the idea that he emits into the air is the same idea that is received into my brain. That’s where rules come along.

As someone who does proofreading and copyediting, sure, I find it amusing or fun or irritating when rules are broken; everyone has their industry jokes and such. But I’m not interested in the rules for the rules’ sake: my interest in language rules is in their ability to help people communicate with each other. A brilliant idea is of no use to anyone if it is not conveyed to others, just like that thick, ripe tomato in your linguistic garden cannot be enjoyed or appreciated if it remains on the vine. I’m not a stickler for grammar because I’m anal retentive (honestly, you should see our apartment); I’m a stickler because to me the communication of ideas is as important as the ideas themselves. In terms of art, I have an interest in form as well as content, but in terms of just everyday conversation, I have an interest in making it as possible as possible for ideas to be exchanged.

Once that ability to have an exchange is possible, however — once those mutually agreed upon structures are in place — exceptions are what make keeps the language alive and growing. Rules make the language work, but exceptions give the language interest; that’s where play happens. That’s where innovation happens. Poets break meter in order to emphasize a particular point; musicians leave a chord unresolved to leave you hanging without that satisfaction of harmony. If you know how the rules work, you can figure out how break them in order to affect your audience in a particular way. But those deviations lose their power and purpose if there is no norm to compare them to. Chaos inside order is significant; chaos inside chaos is unremarkable. If everything is bold, nothing is bold.

If we’re going to be purists though I guess we could say the following:
Neither sufficiently weird foreigner leisurely seized heightened efficiencies.

Excellent “i before e after c” additions!

Neither sufficiently heightened foreigner leisurely seized their weirdly efficient veils.
I still don’t think their and veil contravene the rule, but leaving them out really does kill the plot.
If we’re going to be purists though I guess we could say the following:
Neither sufficiently weird foreigner leisurely seized heightened efficiencies.

i

First off, doesn’t the British government have better things to do as it limps through this global recession? Why fix, or rather throw out, what’s not broken?
I think any language rule that has no exceptions is not worth following. Plus, as you insinuated, this rule is mostly about exceptions. Everybody naturally puts the i before e. Even I do, and I can’t spell my way out of a paper bag without the help of spell check. It’s all the stuff that comes after “except” that matters. It’s not possible to list all the exceptions to an English spelling norm and still contain them in a pithy little rhyme.
The problem is that language, regardless of which one, is not governed by rules. Language is organic and ever evolving. It is both communal and individual. Language is complicated. What’s more, with the advent of mass communication, all this is intensified. The rules of language are human constructs used to try to give static order and mathematical precision to that which is fluid, dynamic and natural. Language rules are like gardening. I plant my tomatoes here, my beans there and my peppers over there. And they’re all in lovely rows. Them’s the rules. Then the dandelions, thistles and other plants we call weeds start popping up all over the place. Them’s the exceptions. But, in reality, they are the natural and correct things. It’s the plants in the rows that are the real exceptions. Language rules are destined to be imperfect, but they’re all we got to allow us to communicate intelligibly with each other.

Speaking of exceptions, how about this?
Neither sufficiently heightened foreigner leisurely seized their weirdly efficient veil peices.

I’m getting images of two high heeled tourists shopping aggressively in a Middle Eastern market place.

Wait a minute! Veil isn’t even an exception! It’s covered by the “or sounding like A as in neighbour or weigh” clause.

(Let’s not get started on the neighbour vs. neighbor debate. You can tackle that one another time.)