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.
Monday, 8 February 2010
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!
Monday, 1 February 2010
And Now, Without Referencing Monty Python Once...
I've not been well today, it's sad to report. Indeed, I had a headache which made me as "sick as a parrot". Except... well, it didn't. With the phrase in my head, I decided to poke around to find some origins for it, and came up with more than one surprise. Take a look at this, because I reckon you'll all have found something else to say...
The first job is to find the oldest form we can of our phrase, which is actually "sick as a dog". I'm informed that it dates back to 1705, although I'm unable to confirm the source. This, however, seems reasonable enough to me, and I'm not particularly bothered as to which disease-ridden street animal started the whole thing off in the first place. Dogs, though haven't been treated well in our literary history ("gone to the dogs", "in the dog house", "dog tired"), so I wouldn't be surprised if there were scruffy mutts involved in the process somewhere.
Once I'd got that far, I kept poking my nose about. Strangely, the American internet-goers (I've no idea if there are any reading this yet, but I'd like confirmation on the things I say about y'all) had never heard of this particular idiom, and were baffled by the meaning. Now, it might be a little hasty, but an idiom from 1705 not used across the pond? I'd call that a British origin. "Sick as a parrot" keeps very much to this trend.
We've all watched sports on the telly, and we've all enjoyed watching an old commentator getting too excited by the action on the pitch. It's in the heat of the moment, that tantalising moment in which glory is won and hopes dashed, that "sick as a parrot" is said to have been born. The commentator, with "over the moon" already firmly under the increasing girth of his belt, needs an antonym, an opposite. So comes "sick as a parrot", a phrase ready-made for moments of bitter disappointment and utter trouncing.
I should point out, if you ever intend to use the phrase, that it's rarely used outside of a sporty or light-hearted sense. I take no responsibility for angry relatives at a funeral, when you describe the passing of a loved one as making you feel "sick as a parrot". It's too jovial. Pull your socks up.
Continuing as usual, I thought I'd dive a little deeper into the pool of language (don't worry, there's always a lifeguard at hand). The uneducated man takes the phrase to have its roots at face value, considering the "parrot" in question to be "sick". This, however, is clearly... hang on... Psittacosis? Never heard of it. "Parrot disease"? That's right, folks, there's a disease out there notorious for being passed to humans by their evil avian overlords. Maybe being sick as a parrot has a connection. Coincidence? I think not...
So there you have it. Turns out I wasn't "sick as a parrot", after all. That said, I know people out there who use the phrase as such, so perhaps one day... but who am I, oh reader, to change the course of language? As you were, but bear what I have written in mind!
TTFN
The first job is to find the oldest form we can of our phrase, which is actually "sick as a dog". I'm informed that it dates back to 1705, although I'm unable to confirm the source. This, however, seems reasonable enough to me, and I'm not particularly bothered as to which disease-ridden street animal started the whole thing off in the first place. Dogs, though haven't been treated well in our literary history ("gone to the dogs", "in the dog house", "dog tired"), so I wouldn't be surprised if there were scruffy mutts involved in the process somewhere.
Once I'd got that far, I kept poking my nose about. Strangely, the American internet-goers (I've no idea if there are any reading this yet, but I'd like confirmation on the things I say about y'all) had never heard of this particular idiom, and were baffled by the meaning. Now, it might be a little hasty, but an idiom from 1705 not used across the pond? I'd call that a British origin. "Sick as a parrot" keeps very much to this trend.
We've all watched sports on the telly, and we've all enjoyed watching an old commentator getting too excited by the action on the pitch. It's in the heat of the moment, that tantalising moment in which glory is won and hopes dashed, that "sick as a parrot" is said to have been born. The commentator, with "over the moon" already firmly under the increasing girth of his belt, needs an antonym, an opposite. So comes "sick as a parrot", a phrase ready-made for moments of bitter disappointment and utter trouncing.
I should point out, if you ever intend to use the phrase, that it's rarely used outside of a sporty or light-hearted sense. I take no responsibility for angry relatives at a funeral, when you describe the passing of a loved one as making you feel "sick as a parrot". It's too jovial. Pull your socks up.
Continuing as usual, I thought I'd dive a little deeper into the pool of language (don't worry, there's always a lifeguard at hand). The uneducated man takes the phrase to have its roots at face value, considering the "parrot" in question to be "sick". This, however, is clearly... hang on... Psittacosis? Never heard of it. "Parrot disease"? That's right, folks, there's a disease out there notorious for being passed to humans by their evil avian overlords. Maybe being sick as a parrot has a connection. Coincidence? I think not...
So there you have it. Turns out I wasn't "sick as a parrot", after all. That said, I know people out there who use the phrase as such, so perhaps one day... but who am I, oh reader, to change the course of language? As you were, but bear what I have written in mind!
TTFN
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