I know, yes, I'm joining in! It might be a little behind, but let me present my belatedly bloated Election Special of an update! It's been impossible to hide from it for the past month, and it's certainly not finished yet. When it comes to politics, it seems that I've been pipped to the post in responding to all the major issues. Nonetheless, I'll keep digging to answer the question that's really been playing on everyone's minds...
Think about it: where does the word "Tory" come from?
I'll use "Tory" today, and I'll be talking about the Conservatives, the big blue party who came out on top of the election (just). It's a nickname they always seem to have had, but have you ever stopped to think about where it came from? To help understand the roots properly and dramatically, I say we work backwards on this one.
Carry yourself to the 17th century, where the interesting bit of etymology kicks off. In fact, it was the name of the party at that time. In 1689, the "Tories" came into being as a party, upholding the traditional authority of church and state, and called themselves as such until 1886, when they became the Conservatives. To call them the "Tories", then, is almost to mock their willingness to cling to older ideals - the idea that their policies haven't changed since 1689.
On becoming the name of a party, the word "Tory" spread in use, but that's not to say it wasn't already there. In 1679, James, the Duke of York, was excluded from succession to the throne, on account of being a Roman Catholic. Those who came to his defence, suggesting that he should still be allowed to become king, were known as "Tories". Should we pursue this thought any longer, we'll find ourselves wrapped up in the complicated world of who should have really been king or queen at any given time, and did it matter at all. Forget that, it's a transitional phase for "Tory". Instead, think more about the roots of the word. It certainly didn't come from nowhere, and we haven't quite gotten to the bottom of it all yet.
Calling James, Duke of York, a complete baddie purely for his religion would be wrong nowadays, but it's important to know that he liked the Irish. For most people, it doesn't make a lot of difference either way, but it really does here. At the time, it was highly unpopular to disagree with his exclusion, so the politicians of the time bandied around with all sorts of Irish-based insults to call his followers. Their lowest point in the whole affair was "bogtrotters", but they eventually came to "Tory". How?
Them being the root of all the namecalling, "Tory" comes from the Irish. It's actually the anglicised version of "tóraidhe", but much easier to spell. To our English eyes, it doesn't look like much of an insult, but in Gaelic it means "the pursued" or "pursuer", both of which are to be used with contextually hostile intent. Thus, we arrive at the common translation of the time: "outlaw". It would have been quite the Gaelic insult for the "Tories" of the time, but they don't seem to have paid much attention.
"Tories" have been on the run for nearly 400 years, it seems! I hope that's been a little insightful for you. The Conservative nickname certainly does have quite the history, and it's a good reminder as to why you should always know a little about etymology before you accept any nickname. It could well stick as well as this one. Only one question remains - will you be calling them "Conservatives" or "Tories" now? For the sake of editorial neutrality, I'm saying nothing.
On a purely unprofessional note, read the first word of every paragraph...
TTFN
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Monday, 10 May 2010
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
That? Which? We Can Never Understand
I grovel at your feet! I apologise most 'umbly for my absence! Such is the nature of college that we can be buried under an avalanche within an instant. There was no time to cry for help, simply to dig through a mountain with that felt like a spoon. I'm here now, though, and that's what counts. Hope you haven't missed me too much (!).
Since I've been gone, I've had one little grammar rule bugging me in the back of my mind. It doesn't make much of a difference in terms of clarity on communication, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Namely, should I be using "that" or "which"? I know it's just a petty niggling, but it's very hard to get out of your head once it's in there. I'll give you an example...
"The money that he gave me was fake!"
"The money which he gave me was fake!"
Which of these is right? Maybe dealing with a forger isn't the best time to worry about details, but it's nice to know. To sort this out, let's start with "that". "That" is restricting, meaning that we'd use it to narrow down the things we're talking about. If we were talking about lots of money, some of which had been given to me by one man, then the first sentence works. "That" eliminates all talk of the rest of the money, and only focuses us on that particular pile.
"Which" is used to add meaning to something, and give a little more meaning to the sentence. To give it its proper name, it's a subordinating subjunctive, which basically means it starts a new clause. If we go back to the fake money example, imagine that these forgeries are the only money I could be talking about. Saying that they were given to me by a particular man is unnecessary, but it adds a little more information. It's the sort of thing a writer might use in a novel, just to add some extra subtle character. Let's reiterate this with some more examples...
"The tiger stood watching." - Basic sentence
"The tiger that had spots was actually a leopard." - Singling out an individual
"The tiger, which had been an outcast from birth, was actually a leopard." - There could only be one tiger/leopard to talk about in the first place, but the clause (in brackets) tells us more about it.
Think we're done? Wrong. As with every "rule" ever to exist, there's an exception. If "that" comes straight after a preposition ("on", "under", "within", etc.), then it becomes "which". Not that this is anything to fret over in everyday usage, because we all do it naturally by now. Still, I'm having fun with examples, so let's have another...
"The ice that he was stuck under was melting." - Works as a sentence, because it limits the ice we're talking about.
"The ice under which he was stuck was melting." - Also works, but because the preposition's in a different place we swap "that" for "which".
Got all that? Good, I expect a full essay by the end of the week. In all honesty, I doubt it'll ever matter if you slip up. After all, if you didn't know you were going wrong, who else will? All blog posts that are finished should be read and promptly ignored. This blog post, which has been finished by both writer and reader, is just one amongst many.
I'll leave it to you to work out if those last two sentences were accurate...
Since I've been gone, I've had one little grammar rule bugging me in the back of my mind. It doesn't make much of a difference in terms of clarity on communication, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Namely, should I be using "that" or "which"? I know it's just a petty niggling, but it's very hard to get out of your head once it's in there. I'll give you an example...
"The money that he gave me was fake!"
"The money which he gave me was fake!"
Which of these is right? Maybe dealing with a forger isn't the best time to worry about details, but it's nice to know. To sort this out, let's start with "that". "That" is restricting, meaning that we'd use it to narrow down the things we're talking about. If we were talking about lots of money, some of which had been given to me by one man, then the first sentence works. "That" eliminates all talk of the rest of the money, and only focuses us on that particular pile.
"Which" is used to add meaning to something, and give a little more meaning to the sentence. To give it its proper name, it's a subordinating subjunctive, which basically means it starts a new clause. If we go back to the fake money example, imagine that these forgeries are the only money I could be talking about. Saying that they were given to me by a particular man is unnecessary, but it adds a little more information. It's the sort of thing a writer might use in a novel, just to add some extra subtle character. Let's reiterate this with some more examples...
"The tiger stood watching." - Basic sentence
"The tiger that had spots was actually a leopard." - Singling out an individual
"The tiger, which had been an outcast from birth, was actually a leopard." - There could only be one tiger/leopard to talk about in the first place, but the clause (in brackets) tells us more about it.
Think we're done? Wrong. As with every "rule" ever to exist, there's an exception. If "that" comes straight after a preposition ("on", "under", "within", etc.), then it becomes "which". Not that this is anything to fret over in everyday usage, because we all do it naturally by now. Still, I'm having fun with examples, so let's have another...
"The ice that he was stuck under was melting." - Works as a sentence, because it limits the ice we're talking about.
"The ice under which he was stuck was melting." - Also works, but because the preposition's in a different place we swap "that" for "which".
Got all that? Good, I expect a full essay by the end of the week. In all honesty, I doubt it'll ever matter if you slip up. After all, if you didn't know you were going wrong, who else will? All blog posts that are finished should be read and promptly ignored. This blog post, which has been finished by both writer and reader, is just one amongst many.
I'll leave it to you to work out if those last two sentences were accurate...
Friday, 12 March 2010
It's Awwwright
Earlier today, I was asked about the origins of the word "O.K.", which I deemed to be no big deal. Think I'd had this one down for some time, I went into a very cocky spiel about how "O.K" way an abbreviation of an old president's nickname, which he used to sign documents presented to him. Thus, to "give something the O.K." would be to give it the president's signature, and give it the go ahead.
And that's that. Problem solved. Rather, that would have been problem solved, if curiosity and self-doubt hadn't gotten the better of me. I looked up "O.K" again, and lo and behold there were a ton of alternate roots. It turns out that nobody actually knows where it came from. It's a little embarrassing to have lost a word, but we're only human. Still, that hasn't stopped people guessing, and there are currently a handful of theories still supported by various academics. I'll leave it up to you to chose which one you prefer.
For our first theory, we can take a quick look at the Greek language, which is always a fun thing to do. In Greek, the phrase "Ola Kala" means "everything's ready", and some clever-clogs thinks they used the abbreviation of it. When it comes to explaining how "O.K." first became popular in America, not Greece, the reasoning goes that "O.K." was written on the side of seaworthy Greek ships or, if you prefer, that lots of Greek people worked on building railways in America. Strange, perhaps, but it stands.
Next up, there was a time in America when it was entertaining to deliberately misspell words, in some strange attempt to mock the illiterate. This was the 18th century, you understand, before they had telly. We all had to make our own entertainment back then. Here, it's claimed that "O.K" is the hilariously misspelled "Oll Korrect", or "All Correct". Hahahahaha. Anyway, that only allows the word to spread amongst the social elite, which would have had a big impact on its contagious use, which clearly didn't happen.
There are also those who say "O.K." is a word we've borrowed from another language, but even they can't agree with each other. The first group reckon it came from the Native American language Choctaw, and the specific word was "okeh". It's nice, but the pronunciation is a little off, and it's hard to see how it could have been so influential. For this one, I might just call coincidence (alright, I'm not going to leave you to your own opinions, I'm going to tag mine on too. Just deal with it).
The other lot who want to say "O.K." is a borrowed word generally go for African languages. Wolof and Bantu both have the word "waw-kay", and Mande uses "o ke". What with the slave trade and all (way to brush over history), these linguists think it's very likely these words would have made their way to America in this manner. Looking at how both they and the Native Americans can come up with similar word makes me suspicious though. If they can do it without relating the two, what's to say the American's didn't?
Lastly, we come back to the president. Martin Van Buren was known occasionally as "Old Kinderhook", and it did appear in slogans in public. See, it's more than just my bizarre little imagination that brought out that story. One guy who did a lot of research into "O.K.", Allen Walker Read, thought it stood up pretty well as a potential root. It helps to stay on the linguist's good side, y'know.
Ultimately, the two theories Read puts forward as most likely are the president's nickname and "Oll Korrect". He puts this downs to their meaning and documented usage, but he could still be wrong. It's anyone's guess, really. I like these two explanations, mind, because they account for "O.K." being an acronym, rather than just "okay". Otherwise, what do they stand for? Maybe it's a misspelling. Maybe I'm completely wrong. Only you can finish the story, dear reader, and do it as you will. It's all O.K. by me.
TTFN
And that's that. Problem solved. Rather, that would have been problem solved, if curiosity and self-doubt hadn't gotten the better of me. I looked up "O.K" again, and lo and behold there were a ton of alternate roots. It turns out that nobody actually knows where it came from. It's a little embarrassing to have lost a word, but we're only human. Still, that hasn't stopped people guessing, and there are currently a handful of theories still supported by various academics. I'll leave it up to you to chose which one you prefer.
For our first theory, we can take a quick look at the Greek language, which is always a fun thing to do. In Greek, the phrase "Ola Kala" means "everything's ready", and some clever-clogs thinks they used the abbreviation of it. When it comes to explaining how "O.K." first became popular in America, not Greece, the reasoning goes that "O.K." was written on the side of seaworthy Greek ships or, if you prefer, that lots of Greek people worked on building railways in America. Strange, perhaps, but it stands.
Next up, there was a time in America when it was entertaining to deliberately misspell words, in some strange attempt to mock the illiterate. This was the 18th century, you understand, before they had telly. We all had to make our own entertainment back then. Here, it's claimed that "O.K" is the hilariously misspelled "Oll Korrect", or "All Correct". Hahahahaha. Anyway, that only allows the word to spread amongst the social elite, which would have had a big impact on its contagious use, which clearly didn't happen.
There are also those who say "O.K." is a word we've borrowed from another language, but even they can't agree with each other. The first group reckon it came from the Native American language Choctaw, and the specific word was "okeh". It's nice, but the pronunciation is a little off, and it's hard to see how it could have been so influential. For this one, I might just call coincidence (alright, I'm not going to leave you to your own opinions, I'm going to tag mine on too. Just deal with it).
The other lot who want to say "O.K." is a borrowed word generally go for African languages. Wolof and Bantu both have the word "waw-kay", and Mande uses "o ke". What with the slave trade and all (way to brush over history), these linguists think it's very likely these words would have made their way to America in this manner. Looking at how both they and the Native Americans can come up with similar word makes me suspicious though. If they can do it without relating the two, what's to say the American's didn't?
Lastly, we come back to the president. Martin Van Buren was known occasionally as "Old Kinderhook", and it did appear in slogans in public. See, it's more than just my bizarre little imagination that brought out that story. One guy who did a lot of research into "O.K.", Allen Walker Read, thought it stood up pretty well as a potential root. It helps to stay on the linguist's good side, y'know.
Ultimately, the two theories Read puts forward as most likely are the president's nickname and "Oll Korrect". He puts this downs to their meaning and documented usage, but he could still be wrong. It's anyone's guess, really. I like these two explanations, mind, because they account for "O.K." being an acronym, rather than just "okay". Otherwise, what do they stand for? Maybe it's a misspelling. Maybe I'm completely wrong. Only you can finish the story, dear reader, and do it as you will. It's all O.K. by me.
TTFN
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Meet the Glocals
Ok, so this is a bit rushed. I'm sorry. Some time in the middle of March, the OED should be adding some new words to their beloved dictionary, which gets people like me incredibly excited. I realised last night that I'd never commented on their inclusions from December, as they do them quarterly. So, I give you the highlights of the OED's December 2009 update. Have fun!
Blogosphere - That's right, I'm now writing this in a space recognised by the OED. Huzzah! This is an example of how thorough usage of a new word has to be before it's entered actually. This little baby's been with us since ol' 1999. Mind you, it might be a little outdated already. I wonder if "Twitterati" will find its way in?
Adultescent - Funny looking word, innit? That's because it's adolescence, but for adults. It refers to someone who's kept their teenage interests going much longer than most people. Oftentimes, you'd expect these sorts might be in the pop music industry, or in orbit around that area. I can't help but feel, sadly, that this is a word invented so society can avoid saying "people who need to grow up a bit". Not that the adultescents will notice, though, they're probably still in bed.
Conspiratorialist - So, how long did it take you to work out this was an American word? It's pretty much the same thing as a conspiracy theorist, except it sounds much more like a member of a cult, or something Bush would say. Actually, I've been noticing that with a lot of American nouns recently. Maybe it's worth looking into... maybe it's government mind control...
Glocalization - Now, this is an odd word. It means making something global and local. Doesn't make sense? I know, it confused me a bit, too. It's turning a world wide issue into a personal one. Example: "Climate change is destroying the ice caps!" could become "In 20 years, polar bears will live in your fridge!" See? Suddenly, it's a bit more pressing.
Taxflation - Yeah, there was always going to be one about money, wasn't there? It's all to do with paying more taxes as inflation makes you richer (remember the old days?). For such a serious matter, a word based on a play on sound ("taxflation" = "taxation") seems a little light-hearted to me. It's almost as if those people who play with money for a living are a tad careless...
Apartotel - Another one of these blended words. Place your bets on what it's a mix of! That's right, "apartment" and "hotel". In essence, a hotel room with self service, like an apartment. Interestingly enough, it started off life as a brand in Spain. It's a good bit of marketing, getting the name of the thing you deal in used as an everyday word.
-zilla - I've saved the best until last here. "-zilla" is a suffix, so you can use it at the end of most nouns, and make 'em mean something gargantuan, and comically over-sized, like what Godzilla was. The best example from the OED was a "thespzilla", an actor (thespian), so dominant and overbearing as to look stupid. "Bridezilla", by the way, even got a separate entry as its own word. I'll leave you to mull.
So these are some of the new words that entered the great compendium of the English language at the end of the naughties. Take a long, hard look, everyone. That's the past decade you could sum up right there.
Now, I've booked an apartotel, but my taxflation means I have to share it with an adultescent conspiratorialist I met in the blogosphere in my guise as a geekzilla. The room's in your garden, by the way, just to glocalize the situation.
TTFN
Blogosphere - That's right, I'm now writing this in a space recognised by the OED. Huzzah! This is an example of how thorough usage of a new word has to be before it's entered actually. This little baby's been with us since ol' 1999. Mind you, it might be a little outdated already. I wonder if "Twitterati" will find its way in?
Adultescent - Funny looking word, innit? That's because it's adolescence, but for adults. It refers to someone who's kept their teenage interests going much longer than most people. Oftentimes, you'd expect these sorts might be in the pop music industry, or in orbit around that area. I can't help but feel, sadly, that this is a word invented so society can avoid saying "people who need to grow up a bit". Not that the adultescents will notice, though, they're probably still in bed.
Conspiratorialist - So, how long did it take you to work out this was an American word? It's pretty much the same thing as a conspiracy theorist, except it sounds much more like a member of a cult, or something Bush would say. Actually, I've been noticing that with a lot of American nouns recently. Maybe it's worth looking into... maybe it's government mind control...
Glocalization - Now, this is an odd word. It means making something global and local. Doesn't make sense? I know, it confused me a bit, too. It's turning a world wide issue into a personal one. Example: "Climate change is destroying the ice caps!" could become "In 20 years, polar bears will live in your fridge!" See? Suddenly, it's a bit more pressing.
Taxflation - Yeah, there was always going to be one about money, wasn't there? It's all to do with paying more taxes as inflation makes you richer (remember the old days?). For such a serious matter, a word based on a play on sound ("taxflation" = "taxation") seems a little light-hearted to me. It's almost as if those people who play with money for a living are a tad careless...
Apartotel - Another one of these blended words. Place your bets on what it's a mix of! That's right, "apartment" and "hotel". In essence, a hotel room with self service, like an apartment. Interestingly enough, it started off life as a brand in Spain. It's a good bit of marketing, getting the name of the thing you deal in used as an everyday word.
-zilla - I've saved the best until last here. "-zilla" is a suffix, so you can use it at the end of most nouns, and make 'em mean something gargantuan, and comically over-sized, like what Godzilla was. The best example from the OED was a "thespzilla", an actor (thespian), so dominant and overbearing as to look stupid. "Bridezilla", by the way, even got a separate entry as its own word. I'll leave you to mull.
So these are some of the new words that entered the great compendium of the English language at the end of the naughties. Take a long, hard look, everyone. That's the past decade you could sum up right there.
Now, I've booked an apartotel, but my taxflation means I have to share it with an adultescent conspiratorialist I met in the blogosphere in my guise as a geekzilla. The room's in your garden, by the way, just to glocalize the situation.
TTFN
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Put Your Foot Down and Talk About Novelists
Once again, I 'umbly apologise for the lack of updating over the past week and a half. Sadly, this is the nature of coursework: it brings us all to our knees at some point. Nonetheless, it is our responsibility to rise above it, and to continue as normal. In this way, we march towards the misty dawn, hoping for a new post. What I'm trying to say is that I've found some interesting stuff, and I'd like you to read it.
Today's word is a common one. I'm certain you use it all the time, so there's little explaining to do in terms of its meaning. What I'm concerned with, however, are its roots. Often paraded as it may be, it's not well known where it came from. That's where I come in. Behold as we push away the cobwebs to find the history of...
"author"
I told you it was common. If I have to explain its meaning to you, I'm surprised you're able to even read this. Standard usage has come to have an "author" as an alternative word for a writer. That's no bad thing, but it has, and has had, other related meanings. Allow me to show you what I mean.
An "author" doesn't have to relate to a writer, and we still use it (although a little less often) in different ways. I could "author" a plan, or a design. In its simplest terms, the word "author" comes to look a lot more like a creator of anything. In fact, it's sometimes used to talk about THE Creator. The Big Cheese, the Man Upstairs - "Author" of the Universe.
If you look at the word for a minute or so, it's really not surprising that "author" and "authority" have the same root. Their relationship is a logical one: if the "author" is the creator of something, then the "authority" is the person or organisation maintaining it. If we start thinking in this sense, we can spread into verbs, you could "authorise" access to a vault, perhaps. If you're unlucky, the government of your country is "authoritarian". Play around with the sound a bit, and you'll find a bunch of new words.
Go on, give it a try. I can wait...
Now, if you've done this long enough, I bet you got pretty close to the word "authentic" at some point. Sounds similar, yes, but does it have the same origins? It half does, is my cheekily avoidant answer to my own question. Both "authentic" and "author" come from the Latin word "auctor" (I bet that came as a surprise...), but then they split. In the case of "authentic", there's a Greek word for original very similar to "auctor", and the two got confused and ultimately mixed together. "Authentic", then, comes from "authoritative" and "original", which is pretty much what it means. See, all language is a mess at the end of the day. Consider me the research equivalent of a dustpan and brush.
So "authentic" wandered off down its own path of adventurous change and muddling, whilst "auctor" was still in use. As can be expected, it bumped into another similar word, but this time it was a local friendly Latin one: "augere", which kind of sounds the same a bit to a Latin scholar. Now, "augere" means "to grow", and when combined with a word meaning "authority", you get the beginnings of our modern "author".
It's the meaning behind that root which attracted me to looking into "author". If you really want to "author" something properly, you can't just be controlling and demanding. It takes a lot of care, and you have to actually grow the thing, it can't be forced. I know it's not the most pulse pounding adventure of a history, but maybe it's given you a little insight into the backstory of writing and creation - you have to let the creation do its own thing.
And so I authored this post, but I let it take me where it wanted to go.
TTFN
Today's word is a common one. I'm certain you use it all the time, so there's little explaining to do in terms of its meaning. What I'm concerned with, however, are its roots. Often paraded as it may be, it's not well known where it came from. That's where I come in. Behold as we push away the cobwebs to find the history of...
"author"
I told you it was common. If I have to explain its meaning to you, I'm surprised you're able to even read this. Standard usage has come to have an "author" as an alternative word for a writer. That's no bad thing, but it has, and has had, other related meanings. Allow me to show you what I mean.
An "author" doesn't have to relate to a writer, and we still use it (although a little less often) in different ways. I could "author" a plan, or a design. In its simplest terms, the word "author" comes to look a lot more like a creator of anything. In fact, it's sometimes used to talk about THE Creator. The Big Cheese, the Man Upstairs - "Author" of the Universe.
If you look at the word for a minute or so, it's really not surprising that "author" and "authority" have the same root. Their relationship is a logical one: if the "author" is the creator of something, then the "authority" is the person or organisation maintaining it. If we start thinking in this sense, we can spread into verbs, you could "authorise" access to a vault, perhaps. If you're unlucky, the government of your country is "authoritarian". Play around with the sound a bit, and you'll find a bunch of new words.
Go on, give it a try. I can wait...
Now, if you've done this long enough, I bet you got pretty close to the word "authentic" at some point. Sounds similar, yes, but does it have the same origins? It half does, is my cheekily avoidant answer to my own question. Both "authentic" and "author" come from the Latin word "auctor" (I bet that came as a surprise...), but then they split. In the case of "authentic", there's a Greek word for original very similar to "auctor", and the two got confused and ultimately mixed together. "Authentic", then, comes from "authoritative" and "original", which is pretty much what it means. See, all language is a mess at the end of the day. Consider me the research equivalent of a dustpan and brush.
So "authentic" wandered off down its own path of adventurous change and muddling, whilst "auctor" was still in use. As can be expected, it bumped into another similar word, but this time it was a local friendly Latin one: "augere", which kind of sounds the same a bit to a Latin scholar. Now, "augere" means "to grow", and when combined with a word meaning "authority", you get the beginnings of our modern "author".
It's the meaning behind that root which attracted me to looking into "author". If you really want to "author" something properly, you can't just be controlling and demanding. It takes a lot of care, and you have to actually grow the thing, it can't be forced. I know it's not the most pulse pounding adventure of a history, but maybe it's given you a little insight into the backstory of writing and creation - you have to let the creation do its own thing.
And so I authored this post, but I let it take me where it wanted to go.
TTFN
Monday, 22 February 2010
You Kids With Your Music
Since the beginning of America as we know it, the development of the culture spawning from one root has split distinctly in at least two very noticeable ways. The people who live on either side of the Atlantic pond have been subject to three hundred years of independence from each other, and that makes for two very different ways of living. The same goes for language. Everyone knows the basic spelling differences between Brits and Yanks, but it goes deeper than that. Sometimes, words can come to have completely different meanings from each other. Here's today's example...
"Punk"
Now, I'm assuming that the majority of people who get pestered into reading this are British, which will have an effect on how you go about interpreting "punk". No doubt Johnny Rotten comes to mind, along with leather jackets, mohawks and nose rings. For the average British reader, "punk" will forever be associated with the 70s music movement. To find out where this comes from, and how it differs in America, let's take a look at a different meaning.
Have you ever heard of "punk wood"? No, it's not some strange folk-punk acoustic crossover, no matter how awesome that would be. It actually refers to rotten wood that's good for nothing but being chopped down. Keen lumberjacks as they are, this means the word mostly belongs in the US, but it does get some use over here. What it shows us, though, is another root. "Punk" as used in "punk wood" is an adjective meaning rotten or worthless. This use appeared on its own at the same time. Owing to the nature of punk music, the connection with rottenness and laziness probably isn't a coincidence.
But "punk", although the music was present, came to have other meanings in America. This talk of worthlessness and devaluing is all very well, but that's not the only meaning "punk" had before The Clash. Way back when, and we're talking 16th century here, a "punk" could be used to mean a prostitute. Slightly different to the use we have today, but wait, because it gets even worse...
In America, there's a rather large and open tramp society. Within any community, you're bound to get different meanings for words. It seems here that it's come from the least reputable of those given above. A "punk" in this respect is a young boy who follows an older tramp, often by force, for sexual favours. I'm pretty sure there aren't many punk rockers who want anything to do with that sort of punk.
Disgusting as it may be, this isn't the only insulting use of "punk" found mostly in America. Alongside this meaning, there's evidence of "punk" used as a synonym for a gay man, probably dating from back when people were deluded in the belief that homosexuality is a lesser state of being. "Punk" is also used to describe cowards and weaklings. It's a far cry from anything The Sex Pistols would see themselves as, but they're in use nonetheless.
There we have it, readers. You may have had a clear idea of what a "punk" was in your mind, and I hope I've thoroughly mixed that up. It's interesting to see how an initial meaning of worthlessness or disgust can build such different meanings over time, as it shows that language changes according to the people who use it. If you live in a culture where you want to describe your music as dirty, you use a different word to someone else. Maybe language is "punk" to a certain extent, but that would depend on whether you come from York or New York.
TTFN
"Punk"
Now, I'm assuming that the majority of people who get pestered into reading this are British, which will have an effect on how you go about interpreting "punk". No doubt Johnny Rotten comes to mind, along with leather jackets, mohawks and nose rings. For the average British reader, "punk" will forever be associated with the 70s music movement. To find out where this comes from, and how it differs in America, let's take a look at a different meaning.
Have you ever heard of "punk wood"? No, it's not some strange folk-punk acoustic crossover, no matter how awesome that would be. It actually refers to rotten wood that's good for nothing but being chopped down. Keen lumberjacks as they are, this means the word mostly belongs in the US, but it does get some use over here. What it shows us, though, is another root. "Punk" as used in "punk wood" is an adjective meaning rotten or worthless. This use appeared on its own at the same time. Owing to the nature of punk music, the connection with rottenness and laziness probably isn't a coincidence.
But "punk", although the music was present, came to have other meanings in America. This talk of worthlessness and devaluing is all very well, but that's not the only meaning "punk" had before The Clash. Way back when, and we're talking 16th century here, a "punk" could be used to mean a prostitute. Slightly different to the use we have today, but wait, because it gets even worse...
In America, there's a rather large and open tramp society. Within any community, you're bound to get different meanings for words. It seems here that it's come from the least reputable of those given above. A "punk" in this respect is a young boy who follows an older tramp, often by force, for sexual favours. I'm pretty sure there aren't many punk rockers who want anything to do with that sort of punk.
Disgusting as it may be, this isn't the only insulting use of "punk" found mostly in America. Alongside this meaning, there's evidence of "punk" used as a synonym for a gay man, probably dating from back when people were deluded in the belief that homosexuality is a lesser state of being. "Punk" is also used to describe cowards and weaklings. It's a far cry from anything The Sex Pistols would see themselves as, but they're in use nonetheless.
There we have it, readers. You may have had a clear idea of what a "punk" was in your mind, and I hope I've thoroughly mixed that up. It's interesting to see how an initial meaning of worthlessness or disgust can build such different meanings over time, as it shows that language changes according to the people who use it. If you live in a culture where you want to describe your music as dirty, you use a different word to someone else. Maybe language is "punk" to a certain extent, but that would depend on whether you come from York or New York.
TTFN
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
In the News Today...
I've been away a bit, with little time to write or plan anything, but I did come across a charming news story today, regarding the good ol' English language. In this case, though, it's all about how it's getting in where it isn't invited. To understand what's going on, let's take a trip to Germany.
Imagine you're German, and you want to get on a train. When you get to the station, all of your signs are in English. If you've never learned to speak the thing, that's going to be pretty confusing. How's someone who doesn't use the language supposed to know what a service point is? At least, so goes the argument of Franz Aschenbrener, a retired head-teacher who'd had enough of "confusing English".
His point, to my mind, is a fair one. English is very much a foreign tongue in Germany, but it's easy to understand why the company's might have done it. What with history and industrialisation being on its side, English is widely regarded as the world's "business language". It's the language used to make deals, and to find a way of communicating between nations on opposite sides of the world. One day plenty of people have reasoned that Mandarin or Cantonese will take over, so get learning. In the meantime, speaking English to some degree is a very convenient thing indeed.
But that's not to say you should speak English. Useful as it may be for international purposes (not getting confused at a foreign train station being one), learning English certainly isn't compulsory for most walks of life. If you want to live and work in Germany, France, or anywhere else on Earth, why should you have to speak an unnecessary language fluently? It's too much hassle for most people, who'll just speak however they like.
In essence, this is one of the major reasons there is no "international language" as such. It's certainly been tried, and it's a topic that needs its own post or twenty, but the sad and simple truth is this: people don't go out of their way to learn a language. If something needs to change in the way they communicate, then it does so slowly and barely forcibly. That's how language works, it's fluid. If there's a big leap, from one language to another, people are bound to object.
That statement in itself is slightly flawed. Even the gradual change isn't always welcomed with open arms. I know for a fact that there are German linguists who are worried about "Denglish", the inextricable melding of the two languages, with speakers adopting pre-existing English words as opposed to new German ones, ultimately resulting in the extinction of German. In France, they have the Acadamie de Francais to decide what can and can't go into the French dictionary. Not that this has any impact on the real world, of course. They can shout from their ivory towers all they like, but too few people listen to change a thing.
What surprises me about this story is the lack of integration. Surely it would have made sense to put the signs in German perhaps with English underneath? That solves a lots of problems, in my mind. I'll give you an example of their English (or rather American) phrases: "kiss-and-ride", or "park-and-ride", to you and me. Now, nobody should expect anyone to make sense of phrases like that in a second language. Imagine if someone took it literally! The place would be littered with spotty 13 year old boys looking to get lucky!
I know this is an ill-planned post, but it needed it. Who ever owns the German railway lines needs to appreciate the difficulties in communicating to locals as wells as tourists, is what I think I'm trying to say. If they're going to put those signs up in one foreign language, let's make it Esperanto, and try to push the thing forward, most certainly a musing for another post.
Happy Pancake Tuesday,
TTFN
Imagine you're German, and you want to get on a train. When you get to the station, all of your signs are in English. If you've never learned to speak the thing, that's going to be pretty confusing. How's someone who doesn't use the language supposed to know what a service point is? At least, so goes the argument of Franz Aschenbrener, a retired head-teacher who'd had enough of "confusing English".
His point, to my mind, is a fair one. English is very much a foreign tongue in Germany, but it's easy to understand why the company's might have done it. What with history and industrialisation being on its side, English is widely regarded as the world's "business language". It's the language used to make deals, and to find a way of communicating between nations on opposite sides of the world. One day plenty of people have reasoned that Mandarin or Cantonese will take over, so get learning. In the meantime, speaking English to some degree is a very convenient thing indeed.
But that's not to say you should speak English. Useful as it may be for international purposes (not getting confused at a foreign train station being one), learning English certainly isn't compulsory for most walks of life. If you want to live and work in Germany, France, or anywhere else on Earth, why should you have to speak an unnecessary language fluently? It's too much hassle for most people, who'll just speak however they like.
In essence, this is one of the major reasons there is no "international language" as such. It's certainly been tried, and it's a topic that needs its own post or twenty, but the sad and simple truth is this: people don't go out of their way to learn a language. If something needs to change in the way they communicate, then it does so slowly and barely forcibly. That's how language works, it's fluid. If there's a big leap, from one language to another, people are bound to object.
That statement in itself is slightly flawed. Even the gradual change isn't always welcomed with open arms. I know for a fact that there are German linguists who are worried about "Denglish", the inextricable melding of the two languages, with speakers adopting pre-existing English words as opposed to new German ones, ultimately resulting in the extinction of German. In France, they have the Acadamie de Francais to decide what can and can't go into the French dictionary. Not that this has any impact on the real world, of course. They can shout from their ivory towers all they like, but too few people listen to change a thing.
What surprises me about this story is the lack of integration. Surely it would have made sense to put the signs in German perhaps with English underneath? That solves a lots of problems, in my mind. I'll give you an example of their English (or rather American) phrases: "kiss-and-ride", or "park-and-ride", to you and me. Now, nobody should expect anyone to make sense of phrases like that in a second language. Imagine if someone took it literally! The place would be littered with spotty 13 year old boys looking to get lucky!
I know this is an ill-planned post, but it needed it. Who ever owns the German railway lines needs to appreciate the difficulties in communicating to locals as wells as tourists, is what I think I'm trying to say. If they're going to put those signs up in one foreign language, let's make it Esperanto, and try to push the thing forward, most certainly a musing for another post.
Happy Pancake Tuesday,
TTFN
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
I Know the Answer, What's the Question?
I note that I've been neglecting my duty of exploring and explaining proverbs and phrases recently, and I'm back with an absolute cracker. As the title might suggest, it's easier to talk about the origins of this phrase than it is to talk about what it actually means, yet we use it all the time. After today, though, you'll be able to work out whether it's being used properly. Get ready to have your brain tickled, because here comes...
"It's the exception that proves the rule."
See? It's a very common little saying, I'm sure you'll agree. I'd put good money on you having used it before. However, should I ask you what it means, would you be able to tell me? You might have an idea in your head, and there's more than one answer you could give. Let's have a little look, and see what's going on here.
At first glance, your reply might be that the statement doesn't make any sense. After all, you can't have exceptions in a rule, can you? If you do, you certainly haven't proven the rule. On the contrary, you might as well throw the whole supposed rule in the bin. Well, don't be so hasty. If you've ever thought to talk about it with a learned English teacher (and I'm under the impression that there are a few reading this), you'd probably get an answer like this:
The problem here lies in our understanding of the word "prove". Naturally, we take it to mean something like "show for certain". That's blameless enough, it's pretty much the only common use we have for it. There is, unfortunately for you, a lesser known use of "prove". Yes, it can also be used as "to test/trial something". A "proving ground" is a place where you test yourself, not a place where you make yourself certain. If you do want proof you exist, read some Descartes. "The proof of the pudding is in the eating" means that we can only test a pudding by scoffing. It's easy to see how you might have thought otherwise, but you know better now.
Now, that's a very nice answer, and it deals with most of the problems with our original phrase. Luvverly. Alternatively, it has been argued that it isn't the word "prove" we're messing up with, it's "exception".
This is the brain busting bit, so bear with me. In this instance, "exception" doesn't mean that the rule has been broken or tested, but simply ignored. I'll try an example. To begin with, we need a rule:
"I'm usually at college in the week."
Bingo. Now, imagine that I make the claim "I don't have to go to college this week", and it happens to be true. Here, we're not putting the rule to test. I'm not trying to fight against the college, this is simply an irregularity. In the same way, it isn't proving that the rule's true or false, it's doing something else. By being this kind of "exception", it's demonstrating that there is a rule, and that it's simply being ignored. I suppose you have to consider a "rule" as something that doesn't have to apply. It's not a law. I could skip college whenever I wanted, the only downside being that my teachers probably wouldn't appreciate the *cough* artistic symbolism in my actions.
I'm going to keep this post relatively short, then, so I don't have to put a health warning at the top. By all means, read through it again, get confused, and leave a comment to query me. To sign off, you'll notice I haven't gone into the origins of the phrase, which is a kind of self-imposed rule for posts I set myself when I started. Does this, as an exception, prove that rule? I'm not sure myself any more...
TTFN
(P.S. It first came to to be of note English in the 17th century in a legal document, but with very similar phrases being used a hundred years previously. I couldn't help myself!)
"It's the exception that proves the rule."
See? It's a very common little saying, I'm sure you'll agree. I'd put good money on you having used it before. However, should I ask you what it means, would you be able to tell me? You might have an idea in your head, and there's more than one answer you could give. Let's have a little look, and see what's going on here.
At first glance, your reply might be that the statement doesn't make any sense. After all, you can't have exceptions in a rule, can you? If you do, you certainly haven't proven the rule. On the contrary, you might as well throw the whole supposed rule in the bin. Well, don't be so hasty. If you've ever thought to talk about it with a learned English teacher (and I'm under the impression that there are a few reading this), you'd probably get an answer like this:
The problem here lies in our understanding of the word "prove". Naturally, we take it to mean something like "show for certain". That's blameless enough, it's pretty much the only common use we have for it. There is, unfortunately for you, a lesser known use of "prove". Yes, it can also be used as "to test/trial something". A "proving ground" is a place where you test yourself, not a place where you make yourself certain. If you do want proof you exist, read some Descartes. "The proof of the pudding is in the eating" means that we can only test a pudding by scoffing. It's easy to see how you might have thought otherwise, but you know better now.
Now, that's a very nice answer, and it deals with most of the problems with our original phrase. Luvverly. Alternatively, it has been argued that it isn't the word "prove" we're messing up with, it's "exception".
This is the brain busting bit, so bear with me. In this instance, "exception" doesn't mean that the rule has been broken or tested, but simply ignored. I'll try an example. To begin with, we need a rule:
"I'm usually at college in the week."
Bingo. Now, imagine that I make the claim "I don't have to go to college this week", and it happens to be true. Here, we're not putting the rule to test. I'm not trying to fight against the college, this is simply an irregularity. In the same way, it isn't proving that the rule's true or false, it's doing something else. By being this kind of "exception", it's demonstrating that there is a rule, and that it's simply being ignored. I suppose you have to consider a "rule" as something that doesn't have to apply. It's not a law. I could skip college whenever I wanted, the only downside being that my teachers probably wouldn't appreciate the *cough* artistic symbolism in my actions.
I'm going to keep this post relatively short, then, so I don't have to put a health warning at the top. By all means, read through it again, get confused, and leave a comment to query me. To sign off, you'll notice I haven't gone into the origins of the phrase, which is a kind of self-imposed rule for posts I set myself when I started. Does this, as an exception, prove that rule? I'm not sure myself any more...
TTFN
(P.S. It first came to to be of note English in the 17th century in a legal document, but with very similar phrases being used a hundred years previously. I couldn't help myself!)
Monday, 8 February 2010
From Guts to The Vatican in 9 Paragraphs
Being busy, this post may be a little shorter than others, for which I can only apologise. However, I hope its content is pleasing, and maybe a tad educational. Recently, I've started to pick up on the kinds of people who're actually reading this, and I'm aiming at the target accordingly. I live to serve, readers.
The subject of today's blog (I thought about using the word "lecture", but deemed it off-putting and academically stuffy) is, once again, a single word. It came into my head whilst I was walking the dog, as so many things do. Thing is, I already knew where this word came from pretty well, so I thought it would make a neat little post. When it came to double checking my knowledge, however, I found a much larger expanse of words from the same root than I had previously known. Exciting stuff. So, I hasten to present you with:
"Pontificate"
It's a verb, and a nice one at that. If I told you that it's mostly used to express something with an air of pomposity and self importance, I doubt you'd be surprised. It even looks self-important. Maybe that's because we rarely see other words like it in English these days, making it stand out and look special, like when your favourite band do a cover of a song completely out of their style, and it works beautifully. If it looks a little uncommon, then where do we get it from?
The bit that stands out, to most people, would be the "pont". It doesn't refer to the archaic "pont", which is used as a noun for bridge, and gives us the lovely looking adjective "pontal". Nor does it refer to Pontefract, the place a certain style of cake comes from. No, we usually see this particular "pont" in English as "ponti-", if we see it at all. That's because it's from a Latin word (the most interesting ones usually are), seen in full as "pontifex".
[Just a little edit: the "pont" in "pontifex" probably came from the word for bridge, and "fex" is most likely from "facere", to make. That would make a "pontifex" a "bridgebuilder". Nice thought, considering the next paragraph.]
Now, the classical scholar will be able to tell you all about how a pontifex was a priest who worked in the temples, and so on. Personally, I prefer the role of the "haruspex", which we used to translate as "gut-gazer", but that doesn't seem to have caught on. Unfortunately, the pontifex didn't spend much time looking at the entrails of dead birds, but was a bit more of a vicar-figure. That's no coincidence, as you may have worked out by now. If we see "pontifex" at all these days, it's in "Pontifex Maximus", another name for the Pope. In order not to see this as all high and mighty, just translate as "Big Bishop".
We find ourselves now talking about a religious word, where "to pontificate" pretty much means to talk like the Pope. In that case, it's really not hard to see why it might be a little pompous. The Vatican doesn't do humility. But, before I offend around a billion potential readers, I'll creep back to what I said at the beginning of the post. There are lots of variations on this "ponti-" business. Oh, yes. You thought you could only relate to the Pope by listening to what he has to say? Think again.
Although lots of these "ponti-" words are a little out of use these days, it seems that we love inventing and using them at one time or another. If you want to make something seem high-handed, you can "pontify" it. If you support the Pope in one way or another, then you can proudly call yourself a "pontifician". If, on the other hand, you like to "pontificate" regularly, you're a "pontificator". There are many more, but my favourite is your grand demeanour, or "pontificality". They abound our language's history, mixing religion and public opinion, and isn't it beautiful?
Having written all this, I've just thought of an alternate reason why "pontificate" might seem as pompous as it does. It sounds an awful lot like "ponce" which, sadly seems to bear no etymological relationship. I leave the choice between the two in your capable hands, dear readers, lest I pontify my narrative.
TTFN.
The subject of today's blog (I thought about using the word "lecture", but deemed it off-putting and academically stuffy) is, once again, a single word. It came into my head whilst I was walking the dog, as so many things do. Thing is, I already knew where this word came from pretty well, so I thought it would make a neat little post. When it came to double checking my knowledge, however, I found a much larger expanse of words from the same root than I had previously known. Exciting stuff. So, I hasten to present you with:
"Pontificate"
It's a verb, and a nice one at that. If I told you that it's mostly used to express something with an air of pomposity and self importance, I doubt you'd be surprised. It even looks self-important. Maybe that's because we rarely see other words like it in English these days, making it stand out and look special, like when your favourite band do a cover of a song completely out of their style, and it works beautifully. If it looks a little uncommon, then where do we get it from?
The bit that stands out, to most people, would be the "pont". It doesn't refer to the archaic "pont", which is used as a noun for bridge, and gives us the lovely looking adjective "pontal". Nor does it refer to Pontefract, the place a certain style of cake comes from. No, we usually see this particular "pont" in English as "ponti-", if we see it at all. That's because it's from a Latin word (the most interesting ones usually are), seen in full as "pontifex".
[Just a little edit: the "pont" in "pontifex" probably came from the word for bridge, and "fex" is most likely from "facere", to make. That would make a "pontifex" a "bridgebuilder". Nice thought, considering the next paragraph.]
Now, the classical scholar will be able to tell you all about how a pontifex was a priest who worked in the temples, and so on. Personally, I prefer the role of the "haruspex", which we used to translate as "gut-gazer", but that doesn't seem to have caught on. Unfortunately, the pontifex didn't spend much time looking at the entrails of dead birds, but was a bit more of a vicar-figure. That's no coincidence, as you may have worked out by now. If we see "pontifex" at all these days, it's in "Pontifex Maximus", another name for the Pope. In order not to see this as all high and mighty, just translate as "Big Bishop".
We find ourselves now talking about a religious word, where "to pontificate" pretty much means to talk like the Pope. In that case, it's really not hard to see why it might be a little pompous. The Vatican doesn't do humility. But, before I offend around a billion potential readers, I'll creep back to what I said at the beginning of the post. There are lots of variations on this "ponti-" business. Oh, yes. You thought you could only relate to the Pope by listening to what he has to say? Think again.
Although lots of these "ponti-" words are a little out of use these days, it seems that we love inventing and using them at one time or another. If you want to make something seem high-handed, you can "pontify" it. If you support the Pope in one way or another, then you can proudly call yourself a "pontifician". If, on the other hand, you like to "pontificate" regularly, you're a "pontificator". There are many more, but my favourite is your grand demeanour, or "pontificality". They abound our language's history, mixing religion and public opinion, and isn't it beautiful?
Having written all this, I've just thought of an alternate reason why "pontificate" might seem as pompous as it does. It sounds an awful lot like "ponce" which, sadly seems to bear no etymological relationship. I leave the choice between the two in your capable hands, dear readers, lest I pontify my narrative.
TTFN.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
A Most Humble Apology
Dear readers, I must apologise. I've been in London town the past few days, stranded without internet access. Thus, the blog has been desolate, frightened and alone in the ever expanding ether of the internet. More importantly, there's been nothing new for anyone to read on here, which fills me with more shame than a puppy on a damp carpet. So, in order to try to make up for my inexcusable tardiness, I present you with this post. After all, some of you may want to consider me worthless after my absence and I have to perfect word you can use to do so...
"floccinaucinihilipilification"
Yup, that's right. There's no typo here, it's all one word. Is it new? No, it's from the 18th century. Is it a real word? Yup. How the hell do you pronounce it? flok-ki-naw-ki-nahy-hil-uh-pil-uh-fi-kay-shun, or something similar. It means to deem some of little or no value, which means you can also make it into a verb by saying "floccinaucinihilipilificate". But where does such a beautifully complicated word come from?
To answer that, start by looking at the word, and breaking it up into little tiny bits. "Flocci", "nauci", "nihili", and "pili" all come from Latin words which mean "nothing". Well, I say that, but "flocci" comes from "floccus" which means a bit of wool, and "pili" is the plural of "pilus", which means hair, but both are used to suggest a quantity so small it's not worth bothering with. It's a lovely notion, because it leaves you with "not worth it - nothing - nothing - not worth it - fication", in a literal sense.
So we've got a gratuitously long word based almost entirely in Latin. Clearly, it's too long for practical use, and so we need to find some jokers trained in the classics, if we're to find those responsible for this word. Because we're looking at around the first half of the 1700s, they'll be childish, Latin-speaking (i.e. rich), and probably quite influential, seeing as how it got in to the very first Oxford English Dictionary. Where, then, could such a word have come in to this world except for Eton College?
It's generally agreed that "floccinaucinihilipilification" is the invention of some Eton boys, although we can't say exactly when, because they wouldn't have been writing it down much, unless they wanted to explain it to their tutors, and by "explain to" I mean "get thrashed by". We do, fortunately, have a letter from 1741 by a chap named Shenstone where he says,
"I loved him for nothing so much as his flocci-nauci-nihili-pili-fication of money"
Clearly he was up on his Eton lingo, because he managed to get the spelling right (try it without looking at any other copy, it's a nightmare!). I'm also told that the composition of the Latin grammar in the word is typically Etonian, but I wouldn't know, not being made of money or scholarships.
Nowadays, "floccinaucinihilipilification" sees little use, except when people are trying to find examples of long words, or just plain showing off. I remember finding it by luck when my sister claimed she could spell out any word I cared to mention, and I opened the dictionary on its entry (the fun we have!). There was, though, an American senator in 1999 who used "floccinaucinihilipilification" in a speech he gave to congress, but I suspect he was just being a show-off with big words.
I say that like it's a bad thing, but that's what it's there for. "Floccinaucinihilipilification" exists purely to be an overly complicated word. It's a schoolboy joke, it's fiendishly hard to spell, and it makes you look clever. Just mentioning it is over the top, let alone trying to put it into context. So, I won't complain over its use. I never would, actually. If I ever got that, in full, in a text, it would make my day. So, what say you? Shall we carry on what those bally boys of Eton started 270 years ago? If people are going to moan about English getting dumber, let's prove them wrong! Let us floccinaucinihilipilificate their claims!
TTFN!
"floccinaucinihilipilification"
Yup, that's right. There's no typo here, it's all one word. Is it new? No, it's from the 18th century. Is it a real word? Yup. How the hell do you pronounce it? flok-ki-naw-ki-nahy-hil-uh-pil-uh-fi-kay-shun, or something similar. It means to deem some of little or no value, which means you can also make it into a verb by saying "floccinaucinihilipilificate". But where does such a beautifully complicated word come from?
To answer that, start by looking at the word, and breaking it up into little tiny bits. "Flocci", "nauci", "nihili", and "pili" all come from Latin words which mean "nothing". Well, I say that, but "flocci" comes from "floccus" which means a bit of wool, and "pili" is the plural of "pilus", which means hair, but both are used to suggest a quantity so small it's not worth bothering with. It's a lovely notion, because it leaves you with "not worth it - nothing - nothing - not worth it - fication", in a literal sense.
So we've got a gratuitously long word based almost entirely in Latin. Clearly, it's too long for practical use, and so we need to find some jokers trained in the classics, if we're to find those responsible for this word. Because we're looking at around the first half of the 1700s, they'll be childish, Latin-speaking (i.e. rich), and probably quite influential, seeing as how it got in to the very first Oxford English Dictionary. Where, then, could such a word have come in to this world except for Eton College?
It's generally agreed that "floccinaucinihilipilification" is the invention of some Eton boys, although we can't say exactly when, because they wouldn't have been writing it down much, unless they wanted to explain it to their tutors, and by "explain to" I mean "get thrashed by". We do, fortunately, have a letter from 1741 by a chap named Shenstone where he says,
"I loved him for nothing so much as his flocci-nauci-nihili-pili-fication of money"
Clearly he was up on his Eton lingo, because he managed to get the spelling right (try it without looking at any other copy, it's a nightmare!). I'm also told that the composition of the Latin grammar in the word is typically Etonian, but I wouldn't know, not being made of money or scholarships.
Nowadays, "floccinaucinihilipilification" sees little use, except when people are trying to find examples of long words, or just plain showing off. I remember finding it by luck when my sister claimed she could spell out any word I cared to mention, and I opened the dictionary on its entry (the fun we have!). There was, though, an American senator in 1999 who used "floccinaucinihilipilification" in a speech he gave to congress, but I suspect he was just being a show-off with big words.
I say that like it's a bad thing, but that's what it's there for. "Floccinaucinihilipilification" exists purely to be an overly complicated word. It's a schoolboy joke, it's fiendishly hard to spell, and it makes you look clever. Just mentioning it is over the top, let alone trying to put it into context. So, I won't complain over its use. I never would, actually. If I ever got that, in full, in a text, it would make my day. So, what say you? Shall we carry on what those bally boys of Eton started 270 years ago? If people are going to moan about English getting dumber, let's prove them wrong! Let us floccinaucinihilipilificate their claims!
TTFN!
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
iPhone Compatible, By the Way
I'm down with the kids, I know what's happening, and I can most certainly keep it real. I stay on the raw edge of things, typing in my comfy chair listening to my folk rock. Yeah. Ok, maybe not, but what I can do is things with words. So, I'm going to keep myself updated as to the oddities we get around us today, and that starts here.
The thing I want to look at today is a prefix. For those of you who don't know, that's a thing that can go at the beginning of a word to change its meaning, like UNhappy or DEcompression. I need you to understand the jargon before I blow it out of the water. Y'see, the prefix one that applies specifically to concrete nouns (that's actual things you can touch), as opposed to abstract nouns and verbs. As a result, I'm in two minds as to whether it's really a proper prefix. Even the Oxford English Dictionary has yet to comment. No matter, we shall be the first! Together! So, our topic is this:
"i-"
Ok, so you can go to the OED and look up some versions of "i-" that are already in there. Those aren't the ones I'm talking about, though. No, mine refer to words like iPod and iplayer. That "i-" has yet to get its own definition, though I've no doubt it's work in progress (they're like linguistic ninjas, I swear).
The root of this prefix (let's just call it that) can probably be traced to the iPod, the iMac, the iPhone, that sort of thing. Apple products. If it were confined to a marketing brand, we could leave it at that. Once upon a time, that's all it was, and of little importance. Nowadays, if we take a closer look, we can see it's getting bigger.
Kids, go talk to your grandparents. Ask them what life was like in the early days of the internet. They'll go on about things you won't have heard about, like "dial-up" and "Internet Explorer". Ignore those bits, and see if you can draw any jargon from the depths of their knowledge. Chances are, the nitty-gritty bits will have the prefix "e-". You still use it for email, if you still use that slow stuff, as opposed to Twitter (oh yeah, check the lingo!). It stands for electronic, electronic mail, and was pretty common. But where's it gone?
Nowadays, in what we here call Web.2.0, we've got the "iplayer" and similar complicated programs, not just HTML. Shouldn't that be "eplayer"? What's happened? Well, when it comes to technical wizardry, especially in the realms of film and music, who do we turn to for our portable devices? Cassettes? Hah!
Here's where I stand on the matter: Apple have a monopoly. It's like those years before big consoles, where we only had Nintendo. Then Sony crept in, and the analogy breaks. My point, though, is that they have such an influence, that their products are synonymous with the market they fill. Anyone else, like the BBC, who wants to get in on the act, doesn't stand a chance unless they look as cool (!) as Apple, so they've started using the same sort of language. Easy peasy, really.
It won't last. The iPod won't always be the cool thing. Some other company will take over, and the things they say will be gospel (my current guess is with 3D companies). Then everyone will start to follow them, and it'll go on forever. Maybe that's why there's no OED entry. Maybe they reckon it's just a fad, too.
There ya go, folks, a little bit of history for our generation. These are the words we have, so enjoy them while they last. It's nice knowing where they come from, and I look forward to witnessing the next lot step up to the podium!
TTFN!
The thing I want to look at today is a prefix. For those of you who don't know, that's a thing that can go at the beginning of a word to change its meaning, like UNhappy or DEcompression. I need you to understand the jargon before I blow it out of the water. Y'see, the prefix one that applies specifically to concrete nouns (that's actual things you can touch), as opposed to abstract nouns and verbs. As a result, I'm in two minds as to whether it's really a proper prefix. Even the Oxford English Dictionary has yet to comment. No matter, we shall be the first! Together! So, our topic is this:
"i-"
Ok, so you can go to the OED and look up some versions of "i-" that are already in there. Those aren't the ones I'm talking about, though. No, mine refer to words like iPod and iplayer. That "i-" has yet to get its own definition, though I've no doubt it's work in progress (they're like linguistic ninjas, I swear).
The root of this prefix (let's just call it that) can probably be traced to the iPod, the iMac, the iPhone, that sort of thing. Apple products. If it were confined to a marketing brand, we could leave it at that. Once upon a time, that's all it was, and of little importance. Nowadays, if we take a closer look, we can see it's getting bigger.
Kids, go talk to your grandparents. Ask them what life was like in the early days of the internet. They'll go on about things you won't have heard about, like "dial-up" and "Internet Explorer". Ignore those bits, and see if you can draw any jargon from the depths of their knowledge. Chances are, the nitty-gritty bits will have the prefix "e-". You still use it for email, if you still use that slow stuff, as opposed to Twitter (oh yeah, check the lingo!). It stands for electronic, electronic mail, and was pretty common. But where's it gone?
Nowadays, in what we here call Web.2.0, we've got the "iplayer" and similar complicated programs, not just HTML. Shouldn't that be "eplayer"? What's happened? Well, when it comes to technical wizardry, especially in the realms of film and music, who do we turn to for our portable devices? Cassettes? Hah!
Here's where I stand on the matter: Apple have a monopoly. It's like those years before big consoles, where we only had Nintendo. Then Sony crept in, and the analogy breaks. My point, though, is that they have such an influence, that their products are synonymous with the market they fill. Anyone else, like the BBC, who wants to get in on the act, doesn't stand a chance unless they look as cool (!) as Apple, so they've started using the same sort of language. Easy peasy, really.
It won't last. The iPod won't always be the cool thing. Some other company will take over, and the things they say will be gospel (my current guess is with 3D companies). Then everyone will start to follow them, and it'll go on forever. Maybe that's why there's no OED entry. Maybe they reckon it's just a fad, too.
There ya go, folks, a little bit of history for our generation. These are the words we have, so enjoy them while they last. It's nice knowing where they come from, and I look forward to witnessing the next lot step up to the podium!
TTFN!
Monday, 25 January 2010
It's Kind of a Mix...
Evening, ever expanding readership (I know you're out there, I can name three of you)!
Like most folk, I like to read the newspaper. Like more folk, I like to cut to the chase and grab the bit with the crossword in. Because I loyally follow a particular mostly unbiased newspaper owned by a media tyrant, I've become acquainted worryingly well with the layout of my crossword section. Imagine my delight and surprise, then, when it was announced several months ago that a chap would be writing each Monday with some informed pedantry concerning the English Language. Huzzah!
The next week, I grabbed the paper with glee, and flicked to the page I had anticipated. Horror! This fellow, this protector of the our Mother Tongue, had got it all wrong! This wasn't commentary on linguistics, this was a stubborn middle-aged man going on about the decline of language, and how we're not supposed to use split infinitives and the like (don't even get me STARTED!).
Peeved, I endured, and still do. However, a mistake he made a few months ago has re-entered my brain for reasons I will never know. No matter, though, for it allows me to vent my proverbial spleen, and enlighten the boys and girls who so frequent the internet. My point, darling reader, is that the Pedant (as he calls himself) was against this word:
"Meld"
You may have seen it, you may have used it. You may have rolled in the glorious sound of its delightful diphthong. You may, of course, have never used it. If not, don't blame yourself. However, its meaning should become clear immediately. It is, as far as I know, a combination of "melt" and "blend", serving to scintillate the senses with an almost onomatopoeic new verb.
"Oh no!" Cries the Pedant, "That's not the meaning of "meld" at all! Don't you silly children know? It's a German [he even got that wrong, it's Dutch in this sense] word used in canasta, and it's still used as such, gerroff my language! Shoo!" What's worse is that this is hardly an exaggeration. Well, Pedant, this may not be the largest audience ever (I'd be surprised if half of them were still interested after I used the word diphthong), but it's there, and I'll used it. Behold, the reasons why the Pedant is foolish in his humble opinion:
1) Words have more than one meaning each. Everyone knows this, it happens all the time, yet it's conveniently for gotten here for a good ol' bit of conservative change-hating. Remember my article on "cool"? Where's the outcry? Where's the fury? If there was any, it was lost in the awesome popularity of Miles Davies' trumpet, that's where.
2) "Meld" in this oh-so-despised form isn't even a neologism, as the Pedant would have you believe. No, indeed. The truth of the matter (and I'm going by the OED itself on this one) is that this usage dates back to 1936. That's right, 74 years ago, D.T. Lutes put "meld" in a cookbook, and got the ball rolling. To add insult to injury, the very paper the Pedant works for used the word in the fifties. THE FIFTIES. And again on my birthday in '73! Hahahaha! No further questions, yer 'onour.
I could go on. I could talk about how the refusal to accept new words would drastically alter the Pedant's life. I could go on about the pointlessness of his style of pedantry, from the point of view of a language-lover. I could but I won't. If I did, the whole thing would become as petty two silly little kids squabbling over who ate the most bugs.
Thus, I put it to the jury that you shouldn't believe what you read in the papers. People can be wrong. More to the point, there's nothing wrong with new words, changes in meaning, or coming to the same word via a different route. It's glorious, it's expansive, and it's intellectually stimulating. So, I urge you, put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and write. Write all those lovely words floating in your head and meld them with reality.
TTFN
Like most folk, I like to read the newspaper. Like more folk, I like to cut to the chase and grab the bit with the crossword in. Because I loyally follow a particular mostly unbiased newspaper owned by a media tyrant, I've become acquainted worryingly well with the layout of my crossword section. Imagine my delight and surprise, then, when it was announced several months ago that a chap would be writing each Monday with some informed pedantry concerning the English Language. Huzzah!
The next week, I grabbed the paper with glee, and flicked to the page I had anticipated. Horror! This fellow, this protector of the our Mother Tongue, had got it all wrong! This wasn't commentary on linguistics, this was a stubborn middle-aged man going on about the decline of language, and how we're not supposed to use split infinitives and the like (don't even get me STARTED!).
Peeved, I endured, and still do. However, a mistake he made a few months ago has re-entered my brain for reasons I will never know. No matter, though, for it allows me to vent my proverbial spleen, and enlighten the boys and girls who so frequent the internet. My point, darling reader, is that the Pedant (as he calls himself) was against this word:
"Meld"
You may have seen it, you may have used it. You may have rolled in the glorious sound of its delightful diphthong. You may, of course, have never used it. If not, don't blame yourself. However, its meaning should become clear immediately. It is, as far as I know, a combination of "melt" and "blend", serving to scintillate the senses with an almost onomatopoeic new verb.
"Oh no!" Cries the Pedant, "That's not the meaning of "meld" at all! Don't you silly children know? It's a German [he even got that wrong, it's Dutch in this sense] word used in canasta, and it's still used as such, gerroff my language! Shoo!" What's worse is that this is hardly an exaggeration. Well, Pedant, this may not be the largest audience ever (I'd be surprised if half of them were still interested after I used the word diphthong), but it's there, and I'll used it. Behold, the reasons why the Pedant is foolish in his humble opinion:
1) Words have more than one meaning each. Everyone knows this, it happens all the time, yet it's conveniently for gotten here for a good ol' bit of conservative change-hating. Remember my article on "cool"? Where's the outcry? Where's the fury? If there was any, it was lost in the awesome popularity of Miles Davies' trumpet, that's where.
2) "Meld" in this oh-so-despised form isn't even a neologism, as the Pedant would have you believe. No, indeed. The truth of the matter (and I'm going by the OED itself on this one) is that this usage dates back to 1936. That's right, 74 years ago, D.T. Lutes put "meld" in a cookbook, and got the ball rolling. To add insult to injury, the very paper the Pedant works for used the word in the fifties. THE FIFTIES. And again on my birthday in '73! Hahahaha! No further questions, yer 'onour.
I could go on. I could talk about how the refusal to accept new words would drastically alter the Pedant's life. I could go on about the pointlessness of his style of pedantry, from the point of view of a language-lover. I could but I won't. If I did, the whole thing would become as petty two silly little kids squabbling over who ate the most bugs.
Thus, I put it to the jury that you shouldn't believe what you read in the papers. People can be wrong. More to the point, there's nothing wrong with new words, changes in meaning, or coming to the same word via a different route. It's glorious, it's expansive, and it's intellectually stimulating. So, I urge you, put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and write. Write all those lovely words floating in your head and meld them with reality.
TTFN
Friday, 22 January 2010
What's in a Name...
Well, it seems my current rambling style seems to take up quite a bit of cyberspace, and cutting it down to one word really hasn't helped. At the suggestion of my peers, then, I've decided to start doing a little name-trawling, digging up what I can about the roots of the things I shout across rooms to those I know. Without delay, I present you with the only logical choice for my beginning...
"Rebecca"
It's a wonderful name, is it not? Most delightfully concise when shortened to "Becky", but never "Becca". Perhaps there are reasons for this set deep in the aesthetic structure of the two words, or perhaps I've been conditioned over quite some time to NEVER use the latter over the former. EVER. Bias aside, mind, once I started digging, the name got interesting.
The name, y'see, is Hebrew in origin, which is a great place to get your name from. After all, the noble "Matthew"'s of history have all trodden the same path. It is well worn. It is sturdy. It is mine. Bias really, really aside, it does make it an old name. So old, in fact, that there are Rebeccas (or Rebekkas) in the Bible itself. If you're the sort who cares for these things, she's the wife of Issac, who's the son of Abraham (but, good Christian schoolkids as we were, we knew that anyway...).
The fact we can pinpoint one language of origin so neatly means we can, and will, find the meaning very quickly. On the face of it, Rebecca might have an unusual meaning, but we can soon get to the bottom of that, right? Before we can do that, we need to know what it is: to tie firmly. Now, some very clever people who've studied more Ancient Hebrew than I have reckon this equates to "Rope with a noose". Grim? Think again.
Naturally, your first thought's going to be of hangings, but that's not the case at all. In fact, the current reasoning is quite new. Until recently, lots of people thought that the rope referred to snagging men in a lasso, a rope of love, that sort of thing. Convenient as that would have been for me, it makes it a very unlikely contender for the name of one of the Bible's Good Girls. "What then", you cry, "is the current theory, oh mighty man of words?"
Because of all this biblical malarkey, some of these clever and well-practiced language chappies now reckon the rope and noose refer to leading cows about, and herding. "What?" You (especially if you're Becky) shout, "That's a weird thing for such a popular and awesome name to have come from!" Well, it is, if we take it literally, but that's never fun to do in these situations. What seems to be the interpretation of this image is one of guidance, of herding, and control. We're given the image of confused little animals being shown where to go, looked after, and comforted by something greater than they are (this isn't just my interpretation, seriously!). We get a person who knows what they're doing, and sees the bigger picture. Not some whore using a rope to catch men. Ew.
To finish this post, Rebecca means, if we're being direct, Tied Up. Nobody, though, looks at their name literally. What Rebecca really means is Security, Comfort, and Kindness. Now, dear reader(s), go and snuggle up by the fire.
If your name's not Becky or any variant therein, please feel free to request an audience with the Wordy Wookie, and I'll do all I can to turn your name into an exciting (!) blog post. That'll be something to tell the grandchildren about.
TTFN.
"Rebecca"
It's a wonderful name, is it not? Most delightfully concise when shortened to "Becky", but never "Becca". Perhaps there are reasons for this set deep in the aesthetic structure of the two words, or perhaps I've been conditioned over quite some time to NEVER use the latter over the former. EVER. Bias aside, mind, once I started digging, the name got interesting.
The name, y'see, is Hebrew in origin, which is a great place to get your name from. After all, the noble "Matthew"'s of history have all trodden the same path. It is well worn. It is sturdy. It is mine. Bias really, really aside, it does make it an old name. So old, in fact, that there are Rebeccas (or Rebekkas) in the Bible itself. If you're the sort who cares for these things, she's the wife of Issac, who's the son of Abraham (but, good Christian schoolkids as we were, we knew that anyway...).
The fact we can pinpoint one language of origin so neatly means we can, and will, find the meaning very quickly. On the face of it, Rebecca might have an unusual meaning, but we can soon get to the bottom of that, right? Before we can do that, we need to know what it is: to tie firmly. Now, some very clever people who've studied more Ancient Hebrew than I have reckon this equates to "Rope with a noose". Grim? Think again.
Naturally, your first thought's going to be of hangings, but that's not the case at all. In fact, the current reasoning is quite new. Until recently, lots of people thought that the rope referred to snagging men in a lasso, a rope of love, that sort of thing. Convenient as that would have been for me, it makes it a very unlikely contender for the name of one of the Bible's Good Girls. "What then", you cry, "is the current theory, oh mighty man of words?"
Because of all this biblical malarkey, some of these clever and well-practiced language chappies now reckon the rope and noose refer to leading cows about, and herding. "What?" You (especially if you're Becky) shout, "That's a weird thing for such a popular and awesome name to have come from!" Well, it is, if we take it literally, but that's never fun to do in these situations. What seems to be the interpretation of this image is one of guidance, of herding, and control. We're given the image of confused little animals being shown where to go, looked after, and comforted by something greater than they are (this isn't just my interpretation, seriously!). We get a person who knows what they're doing, and sees the bigger picture. Not some whore using a rope to catch men. Ew.
To finish this post, Rebecca means, if we're being direct, Tied Up. Nobody, though, looks at their name literally. What Rebecca really means is Security, Comfort, and Kindness. Now, dear reader(s), go and snuggle up by the fire.
If your name's not Becky or any variant therein, please feel free to request an audience with the Wordy Wookie, and I'll do all I can to turn your name into an exciting (!) blog post. That'll be something to tell the grandchildren about.
TTFN.
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Groovy, man...
This post is a half requested one, and by that I mean it came up in conversation with a friend, and I didn't have a clue what to say. Fearing for my life, I ran away to learn all I could, but the discussion had moved on over that weekend... Anyway, what I have decided to do with this new-found pretty knowledge is to pass it on to those who have strayed onto the internet, that it may save their bacon too one day. Enjoy.
Unlike the other posts I've made, there's no proverbs here. Rather, I've taken something a little shorter, but just as interesting: one word. That's right, one word. Naturally, that's going to make this ramble a little shorter than the other, but hey, let's not run a marathon every time we go jogging. So without further ado, I shove a word in your face and tell you to love it. That word, ladies and gentlemen, is...
"Cool"
Yeah, that's right dude. Far out. It's so in the ether, I put some Jazz on just to help write all this up. Bear in mind that I'm only going to yack about the slang way we use "cool", and that's a little more relevant than you might have thought. Most of us have embarrassing (and hopefully distant) relatives who go on about Jazz, and how it invented modern music, etc etc. The point here is, you guessed it, it's also responsible for the word "cool" in its modern sense.
It was none other than Miles Davies, the man himself, who gave the world "Cool Jazz" in that swinging year 1949. In this sub-genre, the styles and rhythms are even more relaxed than usual, which in turn sounds relaxed, if a little of an acquired taste... Love it or hate it, it's there. An influential chap like Miles could pluck a word, change it's meaning, and make it stick.
If nothing else, we can at least see how closely linked the new and old meanings of "cool" are. They both have an secondary meaning in their use, implying that everything's just right. A "cool day" certainly doesn't have gale-force winds, bush fire, and nor is anyone stuck under a foot of snow. You can't complain about a "cool day", really. If it's "cool", it's good, regardless of which version we're looking at.
Once we've gotten over the Jazz stage, which is still in use, we get the kids on the street involved. As anyone who owns tweed clothes and leather armchairs will tell you, where there's kids, there's trouble. Sad to say, this lot do nothing to change that elitist snobbery. At some point in the 50's, the gangs of America decided to take "cool" and use it to describe a truce in a gang war. You'll note that I'm not giving it a date here, and for good reason. See, the media first used the phrase in '58, and I'd put good money on it having been used for a lot longer. It's usually a few years before these things get noticed by out-of-touch journalists. There's a nice example, the last one I have for "cool" in this sense also describes gang-fighters as "gang-bangers", but that WAS 1993...
At this point, I take a moment to look at the word "cool" as we've just looked at it, with gangs and what, and isn't it ominous? It sounds to me like letting a machine gun cool down: just because it isn't being used now doesn't mean it won't spit lead in your face later. It's volatile, and most definitely not permanent. I'm not going to push the analogy any further, you can do that if you so wish.
Which brings us bang up to date with our modern use of the word cool, which started in the 60s, and has remained as a staple of our day to day language ever since. I'm sure I don't need to explain it's meaning to your here, oh inevitably popular reader. If I do, I think you need to spend a little less time on blogs like this. We like it because it's down the middle. It's not tense, but it's not reckless. It's not strict, yet it hasn't completely let go. It's just.. cool, ya know?
I'm pretty sure that's an exhaustive account of a single word. It's not the oldest, the prettiest, the most significant, or the most life-changing, but what would we do without it? Its meaning's still in flux, as far as I can see, so who knows what it might mean fifty years from now. Whatever, man. At least we know where it came from.
Chill out for now.
Unlike the other posts I've made, there's no proverbs here. Rather, I've taken something a little shorter, but just as interesting: one word. That's right, one word. Naturally, that's going to make this ramble a little shorter than the other, but hey, let's not run a marathon every time we go jogging. So without further ado, I shove a word in your face and tell you to love it. That word, ladies and gentlemen, is...
"Cool"
Yeah, that's right dude. Far out. It's so in the ether, I put some Jazz on just to help write all this up. Bear in mind that I'm only going to yack about the slang way we use "cool", and that's a little more relevant than you might have thought. Most of us have embarrassing (and hopefully distant) relatives who go on about Jazz, and how it invented modern music, etc etc. The point here is, you guessed it, it's also responsible for the word "cool" in its modern sense.
It was none other than Miles Davies, the man himself, who gave the world "Cool Jazz" in that swinging year 1949. In this sub-genre, the styles and rhythms are even more relaxed than usual, which in turn sounds relaxed, if a little of an acquired taste... Love it or hate it, it's there. An influential chap like Miles could pluck a word, change it's meaning, and make it stick.
If nothing else, we can at least see how closely linked the new and old meanings of "cool" are. They both have an secondary meaning in their use, implying that everything's just right. A "cool day" certainly doesn't have gale-force winds, bush fire, and nor is anyone stuck under a foot of snow. You can't complain about a "cool day", really. If it's "cool", it's good, regardless of which version we're looking at.
Once we've gotten over the Jazz stage, which is still in use, we get the kids on the street involved. As anyone who owns tweed clothes and leather armchairs will tell you, where there's kids, there's trouble. Sad to say, this lot do nothing to change that elitist snobbery. At some point in the 50's, the gangs of America decided to take "cool" and use it to describe a truce in a gang war. You'll note that I'm not giving it a date here, and for good reason. See, the media first used the phrase in '58, and I'd put good money on it having been used for a lot longer. It's usually a few years before these things get noticed by out-of-touch journalists. There's a nice example, the last one I have for "cool" in this sense also describes gang-fighters as "gang-bangers", but that WAS 1993...
At this point, I take a moment to look at the word "cool" as we've just looked at it, with gangs and what, and isn't it ominous? It sounds to me like letting a machine gun cool down: just because it isn't being used now doesn't mean it won't spit lead in your face later. It's volatile, and most definitely not permanent. I'm not going to push the analogy any further, you can do that if you so wish.
Which brings us bang up to date with our modern use of the word cool, which started in the 60s, and has remained as a staple of our day to day language ever since. I'm sure I don't need to explain it's meaning to your here, oh inevitably popular reader. If I do, I think you need to spend a little less time on blogs like this. We like it because it's down the middle. It's not tense, but it's not reckless. It's not strict, yet it hasn't completely let go. It's just.. cool, ya know?
I'm pretty sure that's an exhaustive account of a single word. It's not the oldest, the prettiest, the most significant, or the most life-changing, but what would we do without it? Its meaning's still in flux, as far as I can see, so who knows what it might mean fifty years from now. Whatever, man. At least we know where it came from.
Chill out for now.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
This is a Clog Blog
When trying to decided what to do this next blog entry on (because I AM going to keep this up!), I stumbled upon a beautiful little proverb I'd never heard before. I'll admit it doesn't make much sense the first time around, but I liked it and it won't take too long to read/write about. Take a look...
"From clogs to clogs is only three generations"
Now, when I first read that, I went down completely the wrong track. I started wondering if it meant a pair of clogs are supposed to last through to your grandchildren, or something. So, if you were about to prudently invest in a set of wooden soles, you're not alone (but don't because that's not what it means!).
If we want to understand this turn of phrase, it's best to go back to its roots. Although it's believed to have originally come from Lancashire, the earliest related phrase (and I'm excluding some stuff by Dryden because it's too tenuous) comes from a book called Scottish Proverbs by a J. Kelly, dated at 1721. Here, Kelly documents the phrase...
"The Father buys, the Son biggs, his Grandchild sells, and his Son thiggs."
And there you have it. What, that doesn't make sense? Sigh... "biggs" means "builds" and "thiggs" means "begs". Eeeeeveryone knows THAT, right? Anyway, once you've got the lingo down, the whole mystery behind the clogs wears away like well-used shoes. It's summed up in the 7th installment of the 4th series of Notes and Queries in 1871 thus...
"However rich a poor man may eventually become, his grandson will certainly fall back into poverty and 'clogs'"
That, by the by, is the same place that tells us it's a proverb from Lancashire, even though it was published in its other form in Scottish Proverbs exactly 150 years before. Even Dryden (if we are to include him from even earlier) came from Northhamptonshire, so maybe they got to Lancashire as an average between the two.
"But is there anything we can look at in the language, here?" I hear you/my hedonistic internal voice cry. Well, calm down, dear reader/worrying uncontrolled persona. It might not be the best for that sort of analysis, but we can give it a go. If anything, the "clogs" make the sentence. There is another version of the proverb which used "shirtsleeves" instead, and was supposedly invented by Carnegie (that's the late 19th century), despite there being no record of it in his literature. I suppose that was an attempt to bring the phrase up to date, but "clogs" still clip-clopped alongside the newer alternative. There's something in the bluntness of that monosyllabic bit if onomatopoeia that really breathes life into the sentence. If you like, it's the sound I imagine comes into the grandson's head as his financial world clogs to the ground around him ("clog" is now a verb. Spread the word!). It's not much, but it's something to think about.
So, that's pretty much it for today, but there's one last thing here to distract you. How accurate is this saying, do you reckon? Yes, modern royalty and such might be an exception, where they can sit smugly behind the walls of tradition, but what about the rest of us? It occurred to me that the Great Depression happened about 90 years ago, when my great-granddad, if he hadn't disappeared in a sodden Ypres, would have been in his thirties. From then on in, the piggy bank's been building back up, until we get to the grand-kids. What have we done? Look around you, and buy some shares in Sanita. Together, we can bring back clogs (they should be grateful. I bet not every clog company gets free advertising like this...).
"From clogs to clogs is only three generations"
Now, when I first read that, I went down completely the wrong track. I started wondering if it meant a pair of clogs are supposed to last through to your grandchildren, or something. So, if you were about to prudently invest in a set of wooden soles, you're not alone (but don't because that's not what it means!).
If we want to understand this turn of phrase, it's best to go back to its roots. Although it's believed to have originally come from Lancashire, the earliest related phrase (and I'm excluding some stuff by Dryden because it's too tenuous) comes from a book called Scottish Proverbs by a J. Kelly, dated at 1721. Here, Kelly documents the phrase...
"The Father buys, the Son biggs, his Grandchild sells, and his Son thiggs."
And there you have it. What, that doesn't make sense? Sigh... "biggs" means "builds" and "thiggs" means "begs". Eeeeeveryone knows THAT, right? Anyway, once you've got the lingo down, the whole mystery behind the clogs wears away like well-used shoes. It's summed up in the 7th installment of the 4th series of Notes and Queries in 1871 thus...
"However rich a poor man may eventually become, his grandson will certainly fall back into poverty and 'clogs'"
That, by the by, is the same place that tells us it's a proverb from Lancashire, even though it was published in its other form in Scottish Proverbs exactly 150 years before. Even Dryden (if we are to include him from even earlier) came from Northhamptonshire, so maybe they got to Lancashire as an average between the two.
"But is there anything we can look at in the language, here?" I hear you/my hedonistic internal voice cry. Well, calm down, dear reader/worrying uncontrolled persona. It might not be the best for that sort of analysis, but we can give it a go. If anything, the "clogs" make the sentence. There is another version of the proverb which used "shirtsleeves" instead, and was supposedly invented by Carnegie (that's the late 19th century), despite there being no record of it in his literature. I suppose that was an attempt to bring the phrase up to date, but "clogs" still clip-clopped alongside the newer alternative. There's something in the bluntness of that monosyllabic bit if onomatopoeia that really breathes life into the sentence. If you like, it's the sound I imagine comes into the grandson's head as his financial world clogs to the ground around him ("clog" is now a verb. Spread the word!). It's not much, but it's something to think about.
So, that's pretty much it for today, but there's one last thing here to distract you. How accurate is this saying, do you reckon? Yes, modern royalty and such might be an exception, where they can sit smugly behind the walls of tradition, but what about the rest of us? It occurred to me that the Great Depression happened about 90 years ago, when my great-granddad, if he hadn't disappeared in a sodden Ypres, would have been in his thirties. From then on in, the piggy bank's been building back up, until we get to the grand-kids. What have we done? Look around you, and buy some shares in Sanita. Together, we can bring back clogs (they should be grateful. I bet not every clog company gets free advertising like this...).
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Macavity Had Better Watch Out...
I’ve created a blog, and I’m already scared of it. What’s the point? What can I do? I started to think like a marketing consultant, luring parents towards some ghastly Pokemon rip-off their kids will hate when they bring it home for them. In short: Why should anyone visit this blog?
Whilst I fret about this, I’ve come up with a little idea. As often as I can (because I’m too busy/lazy/forgetful to make a promise to do this daily), I’m going to try and make a specific kind of update. Here, I’m going to take a word or a proverb, and dissect it in my own way. If it works, it stays. Simple.
So, without further ado, we begin with a well known (and rather ironic) phrase…
“Curiosity killed the cat”
Meaning: You shouldn’t poke your nose in too much.
It’s one of those idioms that gets kicked around a lot, and I felt it was worth taking a moment to look into. The first recorded use goes all the way back to Shakespeare himself, who used the line “Though care killed the cat, thou hast enough mettle to kill care” in Much Ado About Nothing. So the phrase number amongst the bajillion million other things Shakeyspeare gave to English, or at least made popular.
Having kicked around in society for three hundred years, “Care killed the cat” had relatively frequent use in other works, ensuring its survival. The phrase we use, where “curiosity” takes the place of “care”, came about in the early 20th century. This was probably to avoid the confusion “care” might have caused some readers. In case you hadn’t picked up on it, it’s supposed to be read as in “take care”, not “I care about which Z-list celebrities are shoved in a house together for weeks on end”.
Actually, it was used in the second sense, and by Agatha Christie, mistress of mystery. In fact, she’s known to have used “curiosity” in the first sense, and “care” for the lavish fuzzy feeling, but still with a dead kitten at the end of it all. That takes us on another route of exploration: why does this cat have to die?
The fact the phrase was used by Agatha gives us a big fat clue. It’s excessively ominous, for example…
Poirot: Do you know where my keys are?
Miss Marple: Curiosity killed the cat.
Immediately, we get suspicious. Surely Miss Marple knows or she doesn’t, so why hide behind such a strange line? Try this example…
Poirot: Where’s John? I haven’t seen him for weeks…
Miss Marple: Curiosity killed the cat.
SHE DID IT! It’s soooo obvious! It’s evasive, it’s unusual, and it’s really rather threatening. The death of the cat seems to be a forewarning for Poirot, suggesting Miss Marple will kill him too if he keeps going. The alliteration helps, too. “K” is one of the shorter sounds we make when we speak. You can’t hold it, it’s naturally short. In four words, we get it three times. That’s a lot of emphasis on cutting things short. If you see where I’m coming from, it looks like Miss Marple’s really trying to tell Poirot to shove it, and quick.
There we have it, everything you’ll ever need to know and more about curiosity killing cats. From 1598 through to Poirot and Miss Marple’s investigations, it’s been lurking in our literature for quite some time. I hope this sort of thing has an audience out there, and I’ll gladly keep this up if it does.
Until then, beware those in possession of dark-sounding idioms…
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