murdering language – part 2

During our latest marathon skype call, my Righteous Ms. Al and I parsed the following statement:

“He was hard not to miss.”

I ask all of the language geniuses out there to wrap their brains around that one.

murdering language

There are times when I think, “there is probably a better word.”

Other times I hear a word and think, “that’s not what it means.”

And then, there are the moments I take pause and wonder, “Is that a real word?”

Please place all electronical devices… – Security at LAX 

Um.

No.

It isn’t.

Solution for 10.28.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for October 28, 2007:

Name something you might wear in the summer. The answer will have two words, with five letters in the first word and three letters in the second. Remove the next-to-last letter and read the result backward and you’ll get a word that means “blocks.”

Solution for 10.15.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for October 15, 2007:

Name a country in 11 letters that has an R in its name. Change the R to a K. Rearrange all the letters to name three makes of automobiles.

Solution for 10.7.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for October 7, 2007:

Name a well-known city in the United States, two words, 10 letters altogether. Add the letter A at the front, add the city’s two-letter state postal abbreviation at the end, the resulting 13-letter chain will be palindromic.

Solution for 9.30.07

NPR Sunday Puzzle Challenge for September 30, 2007:
Take the word “underachievement,” change one letter in it, and rearrange the result to get a famous actress, first and last name.

What actress is it?

Solution for 9.23.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for September 23, 2007:

Name something a football player wears, in eight letters. Rearrange the eight letters into two four-letter words associated with a fraud.

What words are these?

Solution for 9.2.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for September 2, 2007:

Rearrange the letters in CHARADES, to make two words that are synonyms.

What are they?

[Highlight between the lines for the answer]

______________________________

Race, Dash
______________________________

Simple, yet completely annoying!

Solution for 8.26.07

NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for August 26, 2007:

Name an event at which food is served (eight letters). Inside this word is the name of a food in four letters. Remove these four letters, and the remaining four letters, in order, will name another food.

What words are these?

[Highlight between the lines for the answer]

______________________________

clambake, lamb, cake
______________________________

At least, that’s the answer I came up with!

for all you big cheaters…

Solution for the Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle for August 12, 2007: Rearrange the letters of NITROGEN to get a familiar word everyone knows, that did not exist 10 years ago.

What is it?

_____________

RINGTONE

_____________

Are you happy now? (semi-colon close parenthesis)

the password is SOCIALIZE

One of the small highlights in my workaday is hearing corporate speak.  Now I know, this is definitely contradictory to much of what I’ve said in the past, but hear me out. After an extensive discourse with the Imperialist about potential inductees into the “Hall of Annoying Language,” I began to pay attention to the wit and wonder of my co-workers.

I would listen for who uses what word.  I would check how many times per conversation it might appear.  I would listen for correct usage.  I might add style points for multiple corporate-isms in one breath. Spotting the speak out in the wild has become a full on sport. Heck. If it was allowed, I might have invented the best drinking game ever.

In any case, the latest target in our endless smirkathon is “socialize:”

(v. w/ object) 1. to make social; make fit for life in companionship with others. 2. to make socialistic; establish or regulate according to the theories of socialism. 3. Education; to treat as a group activity; e.g., “to socialize spelling quizzes.” (v. w/o object) To associate or mingle sociably with others: e.g., “to socialize with one’s fellow workers.” [1]

(v. tr.) 1. To place under government or group ownership or control. 2. To make fit for companionship with others; make sociable. 3. To convert or adapt to the needs of society. (v. Int.) To take part in social activities.[2]

(v.) 1. take part in social activities; interact with others; “He never socializes with his colleagues”; “The old man hates to socialize” 2. train for a social environment; “The children must be properly socialized” 3. prepare for social life; “Children have to be socialized in school” 4. make conform to socialist ideas and philosophies; “Health care should be socialized!” [3]

Etymology: 1828, “to render social,” from social (adj.). Meaning “to be sociable, to mingle” is recorded from 1895. Socialization “process of making social” is from 1840.[4]

It’s a pretty straightforward word. When we socialize with out co-workers, it means happy hour. When we socialize our children, that means they will grow up to play well with other kids. When we socialize medicine, well, that’s still a pipe dream here in the States.

Madly, our little do-bees will never leave well enough alone.  They socialize processes: “Now that we have a new payroll system, we will need to socialize it with the staff.” They socialize documents: “The meeting minutes should be socialized with the attendees.” They socialize email: “The welcome email from Triple G should be socialized with management.”

In our hive, people love to socialize. Not with each other, mind you.  Heaven forbid!

I’m not sure who the wordsmith was who decided that “socialized” would be the catch-all word of the moment.  Probably someone in HR.  I think that I was out of that circle.  Perhaps with a bit of socialization…

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[1] “socialize.” Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 17 Aug. 2007.

[2] “socialize.” The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004. 17 Aug. 2007.

[3] “socialize.” WordNet® 3.0. Princeton University. 17 Aug. 2007.

[4] “socialize.” Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. 17 Aug. 2007.

the password is MELANCHOLY

“What’s the word I’m looking for?”

Some might say a picture is worth a thousand words. Perhaps, but try finding a single word with the same exchange rate. For all things, there is a perfect word. It is the one that captures a moment, a description, a feeling, in that oh so elegant way. It is the one word that makes your companion sigh, “exactly.”

It’s my little game in life to find those lovely brass tacks. I love having the right word at the right moment. It isn’t about being a walking dictionary. It’s more like being a walking thesaurus. It’s being able to distill time down to its purest form without sacrificing meaning. In truth, it’s better fun than quite a few things.

Then again, there are times when I am completely off. By off, I don’t mean those senior moments when words escape me. Who cares about those? A good night’s sleep, a shot of caffeine, and I am right as rain. By off, I am not talking about when I used dearth instead of abundance. Obviously, I had no idea what the word meant, nor did I realize the complete irony of my error. No, my dear friends. I am talking about those moments when I utter a word that would only draw the unbelievably accurate pronouncement: “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

You see, in all of the time I had been using the word “melancholy,” I had thought that it meant something slightly different. My definition had a bit of romance, a bit of hope, a bit of something else. Rather, I find it to be a bummer of a word, with a kind of gross etymology:

(n.) 1. Sadness or depression of the spirits; gloom. 2. Pensive reflection or contemplation. (adj.) 1. Affected with or marked by depression of the spirits; sad. 2. Tending to promote sadness or gloom. 3. Pensive; thoughtful. [1]

(adj.) 1. Characterized by or causing or expressing sadness; “growing more melancholy every hour”; “her melancholic smile”; “we acquainted him with the melancholy truth” 2. Grave or even gloomy in character; “solemn and mournful music”; “a suit of somber black”; “a somber mood” (n.)1. A feeling of thoughtful sadness 2. A constitutional tendency to be gloomy and depressed 3. A humor that was once believed to be secreted by the kidneys or spleen and to cause sadness and melancholy. [2]

Etymology: c.1303, “condition characterized by sullenness, gloom, irritability,” from O.Fr. melancholie, from L.L. melancholia, from Gk. melankholia “sadness,” lit. “black bile,” from melas (gen. melanos) “black” (see melanin) + khole “bile” (see Chloe). Medieval physiology attributed depression to excess of “black bile,” a secretion of the spleen and one of the body’s four “humors.” Adj. sense of “sullen, gloomy” is from 1526; sense of “deplorable” (of a fact or state of things) is from 1710. [3]

While not a glaring misstep, it’s enough to kill the romance of the word. In truth, I was probably looking for either bittersweet, or perhaps wistful, and not the humor brought about by the excess secretion of black bile.

As I bang my head with the Roget’s, so continues my quest for the perfect word.

baci

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[1] “melancholy.” The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004. 23 Jun. 2007.

[2] “melancholy.” Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 23 Jun. 2007.

[3] “melancholy.” Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. 23 Jun. 2007.

the new corporate speak for yup…

After a week of driving myself into the ground, I did what any self-respecting gal would do.

I ran away from home.

It was off to LBI for me. What ensued was a weekend of companionship, crying, commiseration, and crafting. I napped on the beach and went hard at work on that long over-due suntan. By Sunday, I was more whole than I had been in quite some time. That was, until it happened.

Somewhere around Exit 148, the Professor and I were deep involved in a conversation about class size, students, and next semester’s course load. I asked the Professor what the expectations were for mid-term deliverables. At that point, I needed to duck the spit take of Diet Coke bursting through the Professor’s lips.

“Expectations for mid-term deliverables?!”

Was that me?! Who talks like that? The Professor called me out, tout de suite. Between my horror and the Professor’s amusement, we figured something out. Since my personal world has been a bit of a wreck, I tossed myself into work. By doing such, I destroyed completely my natural cadence of speech. In part, it’s because I’ve been hanging with way too many Brits. For another, my NYC verbal stylings have been blossoming like tulips in spring.

But for all of these reasons, the greatest culprit is the language of Corporate America. In a land where so many things are unacceptable, where granularity and accountability are king, and where transparency will save the day, I can’t seem to carry on a normal conversation. Not for not trying. The only way I’ve found where I might protect the joy I find in words is to openly validate the kooky.

You see, gentle readers. For all of the street, NYC, hipster, B.S. coding that I’ve been injecting into my adult conversations, I have but one touchstone. My one very special saving grace. That’s right. In this place, the land of my childhood, amongst the voices of home, within throngs of my peeps, I cling to the verbal cues of my new digs. I sing the language that is purely Chicago. Therein, my dear friends, lies my crowning achievement. I have overwhelmed my colleagues, friends, and cubical partners with my use of two words that are unapologetically, unabashedly middle America.

I have infected these jaded New Yorkers with the kooky. From the cosmopolitan continental, to the beaten Bushwick brother, to the sullen Staten Islander, and the angry Astorian, I got them all.

There is little more satisfying than hearing these hardened drawls accidentally uttering my favorite four syllables:

OKIE DOKEY!

Coming to a corporate cube near you.

corporations as a foreign language…

From a corporate America perspective, I have been a bit out of the loopy. Not that it is that difficult to jump right into, but I will admit as readily as the next gal. I am a bit behind on the jargon. Take comfort, dear hearts. I was not completely lost. There will always be the gems that won’t die, no matter how much they should.

“Out of the box” is one. I think that Miss Boom Boom said it best: “If you actually use the term ‘out of the box,’ it could actually be considered ironic.” For those of you still inside the box, that means that the tired phrase is so overused, it is the box. In any case, paper cut to the eye. Fortunately, I have only heard that wretched phrase once since I started at the new gig. Unfortunately, I have only been there since Monday, but hey.

Some of the jargon comes right back, no matter how hard I tried to avoid this distress. The one phrase that sets me on nails is “speak to that.” You know how it works: “There is no milk left in this container. I am not sure who left it in the fridge, but I am sure that Mr. Generic can speak to that.” Speak to that. Is that even correct English? Every time I hear that phrase, I keep thinking, I am not sure why he will speak to that. A milk carton won’t answer back. Speak to that. No. I don’t think it will ever sound right. Chime in Al?

Not saying that I am an expert, or even an enthusiastic amateur on the language we call English. I will say this. Corporate America has a language all its own. It reminds me of when I see little kids dress up in their mothers’s clothes. They will start with the dress, then the shoes, then put on as much of mom’s jewelry as their tiny arms can handle. Then the hat. Always the hat.

It seems that the machine is like that with language. I can just hear the collective wheels spinning: Here is an obscure word. We should try to use it as much as possible. People will think we are wicked smart. While I am sure that there is an honest way to say what we are trying to say, let’s try it this way. Let’s novate. Much better. That is fun to say! What a fait accompli! Even Todd says so, and verbiage is of Todd’s core competencies. I am sure that it won’t negatively impact our bottom line. In any case, let’s brain dump on this. I will get back to you by end of day. I will have to speak with control to make sure that it is within the appropriate processes, but either way, I will better speak to that by our 3:30 call. If I can’t find you, I will just leave a sticky.

Welcome back, me.

the password is PETTIFOGGER

As much as it pains me to admit, reading the Patrick O’Brian series does not make one knowledgeable in the language of bygone days. So, when introduced to “pettifog, or pettifoggery” by Mr. B.H. McTease of Chicago, I must claim ignorance.

After a bit of research, I have discovered a few things that I love about this word. The first, of no real consequence, is that “pettifog” is a back-formation of “pettifogger.” In the same way that “googling oneself” is based on Google, such is the case. Back-formation.

Funnily, there is no infamous Mr. Pettifogger. Rather, it is rumored that it is based on an old Bavarian family called the Fuggers. In Deutschland, their name became synonymous with scheming, duplicity, monopolistic practices, and an excellent handling of large sums of cash. They were also well known for their patronage to the arts. In any case, their riches declined with the Hapsburg empire though their legacy lives on.

Aside: There is an anecdote in one of the POB novels, though I can’t seem to remember which one, where Aubrey and Maturin are eating dinner with a few others of the naval line. Another captain at the table starts going on and on about wanting to find a reliable banker. “Another Fugger. ” Aubrey completely mishears and hilarity ensues! A riot! Genius! Um… maybe you had to be there.

Back to the pettifogger:

(n.) 1. A petty, quibbling, unscrupulous lawyer. 2. One who quibbles over trivia. [Probably petty + obsolete fogger, pettifogger.] [1]

(v) (used w/o object), -fogged, -fog·ging, 1. To bicker or quibble over trifles or unimportant matters. 2. To carry on a petty, shifty, or unethical law business. 3. To practice chicanery of any sort. [2]

Etymology: 1564, from petty (q.v.), the second element possibly from obs. Du. focker, from Flem. focken “to cheat,” or from cognate M.E. fugger, from Fugger the renowned family of merchants and financiers of 15c.-16c. Augsburg. In Ger., Flem. and Du., the name became a word for “monopolist, rich man, usurer.” [3]

In short, a pettifogger is a mere shadow of the monopolist one could be with a little more effort. And the word sounded so charming!

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[1] “pettifogger” The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004.

[2] “pettifogger.” Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 03 May. 2007.

[3] “pettifogger.” Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. 03 May. 2007.

foiled by smatt read

For the most part, the Sunday puzzle is a fun challenge. While I usually solve it before Thursday, it is definitely down to the wire on some [1]. This week?

Totally grasping at straws.

For some reason, the only answer I could think of was “jade plant.” Plant, as in Robert Plant, and Jade, as in Ms. Jade of Beat Club Records.

Like I said, a stretch. I am sure that when I hear the correct answer, I will feel suitably mortified. In any case, if anyone’s figured it out, please correct me. I am festering in my wrongitude.

In the meantime, I’ll just be over here shaking an angry fist at Will Shortz. At least, that is, until I get my lapel pin. Sigh.

EDIT:  ARGH!  Who feels dumb now?!  Not only was I not even close, but the answer was so obvious!  PETTY CASH!  argh.

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[1] For some reason, most of the people selected to play the Sunday Puzzle with Will and Leanne will say something like “Oh, I got the answer to the puzzle right away. I solved it on the way home from brunch.” Almost every dang one of them. Just once, I would love to hear, “You know, I did a Google search, and read every single entry on Greek gods in Wikipedia, until I realized that the answer was a Roman god. By that point, I was just using my mad search engine skills until the answer jumped out at me. Even then, I wasn’t too sure, but I figured, hey you wouldn’t pick me unless I was right. So here I am. Oh crap, you’re going to make me do anagrams?!” A girl can dream.

the password is BOONDOGGLE

Mr. Math of NJ asks, “Do you know the word boondoggle?” Well by golly Mr. Math. When you put it like that, I am not really sure. Like hornswoggle and arsy-versy, I never really gave it too much thought.

A Google search yields 931,000 hits, while a similar news search will introduce stories about “Homeland Security Boondoggle,” “Federal Boondoggle,” and “Boon or Boondoggle.” So does it mean something like SNAFU? Well, not quite:

(n.) 1. An unnecessary or wasteful project or activity. 2. a. A braided leather cord worn as a decoration especially by Boy Scouts. 2. b. A cord of braided leather, fabric, or plastic strips made by a child as a project to keep busy. 3. (intr.v.) To waste time or money on a boondoggle. [Coined by Robert H. Link (died 1957), American scoutmaster.] [1]

(n.) 1. work of little or no value done merely to look busy (v.) 2. Do useless, wasteful, or trivial work[2]

Etymology: 1935, Amer.Eng., of uncertain origin, popularized during the New Deal as a contemptuous word for make-work projects for the unemployed. Said to have been a pioneer word for “gadget.”[3]

So in a nutshell, a boondoggle is something to keep the kids occupied while the adults are off doing naughty things. It’s like Fox News for scouts.

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[1] “boondoggle.” The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004. 13 Mar. 2007.
[2] “boondoggle.” WordNet® 2.1. Princeton University. 13 Mar. 2007.
[3] “boondoggle.” Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. 13 Mar. 2007.

february 15th is a great day…

Though it is the shortest month, February feels like an eternity. It is a gaping maw in my sports world. I can’t seem to get myself interested in the NBA, there is no madness until March, and try as I might, I can’t seem to invest myself in the progress of the Devils until Spring.

The sky is dismal, life is cold, and the snow just looks like slush. It is a bleak February, indeed. Yet through all this, a small ray of hope breaks through the grey misery. It is a promise of green, warmth, happiness, and cheers. It is the incantation for weekends and friends and barbecues and cold beer all found in four magical words:

Pitchers and catchers report.

the password is SPUMY

For those of you in the know, I am sure that you will all agree when I say that Gmail rocks.

Best.

Web Mail.

Ever.

But every now and again, it does confuse me. You see, there is an unobtrusive banner that sits along the top that has relevant advertising and the like. My most recent banner?

Dictionary.com’s word of the day is yeasty. Okay, ew. But really, my favorite part: “spumy, like yeast.” Yup, that’s what I was just thinking. Spumy?

(adj) covered with or resembling small bubbles as from being agitated by beating or heating; “the bubbling candy mixture”; “a cup of foaming cocoa”; “frothy milkshakes”; “frothy waves”; “spumy surf” [syn: bubbling] [1]

Not the first adjective that comes to mind when describing yeast, Mr. Princeton University. And more to the point, if anyone were to serve me cocoa that they happily describe as spumy, I would probably throw it back in their face. Spumy. yeech.

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[1] “spumy.” WordNet® 2.1. Princeton University. 22 Jan. 2007.

the password is SPATCHCOCK

During a late dinner at the Golden Apple, I learned a new word, “spatchcock.” Like most of us, I was appalled that this word would be used to describe a method of food preparation, let alone the preparation of my Greek Chicken dinner. After much snickering and questioning, Nora surmised that perhaps the meaning is derived from the act of flattening a chicken with a spatula. Good guess, sort of:

(n) 1. a fowl that has been dressed and split open for grilling.(v) (used with object) 2. to prepare and roast (a fowl) in this manner. 3. to insert or interpolate, esp. in a forced or incongruous manner: “Additional information has been spatchcocked into the occasional random footnote.” [Origin: 1775–85; appar. alter. of spitchcock; popular interpretation as shortening of dispatch cock is prob. specious] [1]

n. A fowl split open and grilled after being killed, plucked, and dressed in a summary fashion. Originated in Irish use, later chiefly Anglo-Indian. [2]

The word might be over 200 years old, and it still sounds ridiculous. Nora and I have decided to co-opt this word and use it as it should be: (n)1. idiot (v)2. acting in the manner of a spatchcock. For example:

Bryan Sanchez is a spatchcock.

When introducing my best friend to my boyfriend, I spatchcocked and forgot her name.

Much better, wouldn’t you say?

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[1] “spatchcock.” Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.0.1). Random House, Inc. 17 Dec. 2006.
[2] “spatchcock.” Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd edition 1989