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
Showing posts with label origins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label origins. Show all posts
Friday, 12 March 2010
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
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!
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.
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