Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

---

Genocide I have finally snapped! I have become so annoyed by lying halfwits misusing the word ‘genocide’ that I am going to spell out the true meaning of the word and why they are making complete fools of themselves every time they apply ‘genocide’ to the deaths of civilians in Gaza. I will try to explain this in short, simple words so that even the idiots who mouth off this word will finally understand that they are being stupid, and their use of ‘genocide’ is illiterate, ignorant, and an attempt to gerrymander the English language. The word ‘genocide’ was coined by Polish-born U.S. lawyer and linguist Raphael Lemkin in 1944 to label the attempt by the Nazis to completely wipe out the Jewish people in Europe. The Nazis called their mass slaughter of Jews ‘the Final Solution’—we now call it the holocaust. Six million Jewish men, women and children were slaughtered in those genocidal death camps. The ‘geno-’ part of the word ‘genocide’ comes from genus a Latin word meaning, in this context, ‘race.’ It labels the race of people into which one is born. The suffix ‘-cide’ comes from the Latin word suffix ‑cīdium meaning killing, slaying, murder. The deaths of tens of thousands of civilians in a warzone in Gaza during the fiercest of the fighting is completely and totally unlike the cold-blooded decision by the Nazis to attempt to slaughter an entire race of people—a commitment they pursued during the prolonged years of the Second World War. For a start, the Palestinians are not a race. They are group within the much larger Arabic race. Secondly, there are often (in fact, usually) severe civilian casualties in a warzone—think of the carpet-bombing of German cities by the RAF in WWII or the Tet Offensive in Vietnam. In both of those tens of thousands of civilians died. But they were not ‘genocide’—there was no attempt to slaughter an entire race of people, as happened with the Nazi pursuit of the Jews. In fact, many of the people who deliberately lie and call Gaza a ‘genocide’ would themselves happily see all Jews on the planet killed. It is largely people who have a genocidal mindset against the Jews who abuse our English language by deliberately and maliciously misapplying ‘genocide’ to the current situation in the Middle East. When they utter the word ‘genocide’ they brand themselves either an idiot or a liar. (Or, quite possibly, both.)

Grandparent Economy Emeritus Professor Gary Martin (formerly CEO of the Australian Institute of Management) appears to be the source of a new economic expression. As far as I can discover he is the person who coined the linguistic label ‘the Grandparent Economy.’ What does he mean by that? The phrase means that Grandparents are now making a significant economic contribution—especially in what is called the ‘care sector’ of the Australian economy. He quotes a national survey of 2,000 parents conducted last year which revealed that more than half of those parents surveyed rely on some form of grandparent care. The survey was conducted by Australian National University’s Centre for Social Research. What was uncovered was the amount of support to families now provided by grandparents—babysitting, then childcare (as the grandchildren get older), being part-time chauffers, after school supervisors and emergency carers. The term ‘the grandparent economy’, says Gary Martin, refers to the informal, unpaid care and support provided by grandparents that allows modern family life—and the broader economy—to keep functioning. I suppose the notion is that if grandparents look after the kids, that means there is money that parents don’t need to spend—or, possibly, simply do not have available to spend—and this keeps the wheels of the economy turning. (Which is a big shift for this current generation of grandparents—the grandparents of earlier generations did not do nearly so much!) So far, the expression ‘grandparent economy’ is not listed in any of the major dictionaries—not even in the online Urban Dictionary that is often ahead of the curve on new expressions. So, will it one day make it into the dictionaries? Has Gary Martin made a permanent contribution to the English language? We will have to wait and see. As I have explained so often it is usage that determines which new words make it into the dictionaries. So, if others see value in Gary Martin’s coinage, and take it up and start using it, then (and only then) will it make it into the big lists of the big dictionaries. Meanwhile, those of us who are grandparents will go on looking after our little grandchildren because they are just delightful little kids. And we’ll do that even though we find it exhausting! (When our own children were that age we were a lot younger!)

Vout-O-Reenee Today a particular example of nonsense words. In fact, a whole nonsense language invented by American musician and songwriter Bulee ‘Slim’ Gaillard—who (I am told) was one of the biggest names in the 1930s jazz scene. He called his signature jive language ‘Vout-O-Reenee’ or just ‘Vout. It has been described as an ‘exuberant, nonsensical and infectious.’ In 1946 he published Slim Gaillard’s Vout-O-Reenee Dictionary. The entry for ‘vout’ says ‘used as a word substitute or word ending’—which doesn’t really explain much. He used his distinctive language in some of the songs he wrote, such as “Flat Foot Floogie (with a Floy Floy” (a hit in 1938) and “Cement Mixer (Put-ti-put-ti) (a hit in 1946). You haven’t heard of them? Dear me, look at all that culture you’ve missed out on! Anyway, here are few entries from his dictionary:

Blink-o-roony—sleep

Burn-o-vouty—kitchen

Globe-o-vooty—the world

Ticket-tee—a watch

Reet—right

Tool-o-rooty—a fork

Mug-o-vout—your face

What’s the vout? —what’s the news?

And so on. You get the general idea. You just take any word and add ‘o-roony’ too it and you’re talking his language. Which is very cool-o-roony! As for Slim Gaillard himself, there was more to him than his nonsense language. He played piano, guitar, vibraphone, and tenor saxophone. Wikipedia says that in addition to English, he spoke five languages (Spanish, German, Greek, Arabic and Armenian) with varying degrees of fluency. In the 1960s and 1970s, he acted in films—sometimes as himself—and also appeared in bit parts in television series. And he was famous for his comic ‘scat singing’ using his own constructed language. Gaillard died of cancer in London on February 26, 1991. His unique and varied career spanned nearly six decades.

More wind words Picking up on our words for winds theme from yesterday: some winds don’t just have a meteorological label, but their own proper name. Here are some examples:

Brickfielder—a Sydney wind that was hot, dry and dusty. It was southerly wind that blew over the city from the direction of ‘Brickfield Hill.’ Never heard of it? Well that name seems to have died these days, but in the early days of the colony there was a quarry there, where clay was minded and turned into bricks in a huge overm at the southern end of George Street, more or less where Sydney’s World Trade Centre now stands. When I was a boy the Anthony Horderns department store was there, and they still used ‘Brickfield Hill’ as their street address. And since that’s the direction the wind blew from, it got that name.

Southerly buster—an abrupt southerly wind change in New South Wales and Victoria. Typically occurring on hot days bringing a cool change at the end of a blistering few days. 

Fremantle doctor—a cool breeze on a hot day blowing into Perth from the direction of Fremantle. For those of us in the eastern states we used to hear about this on broadcasts of test cricket, when the commentators would welcome the relief brought by the ‘Fremantle doctor’ (called ‘doctor’ because ‘it did you good’). 

November witch—is an Arctic air mass that sweeps across the Great Lakes in North America during November (the ‘month of storms’). Clearly not a popular wind, known for screeching furiously.

Haboob—a strong desert wind that creates large sandstorms across the Sahara.

Simoon—is another Saharan wind: a brief wind often only lasting twenty minutes or so, but which is scorching hot and filled with dust.

Sirocco—this starts in the Sahara but doesn’t stop there. Instead it blows across the Mediterranean (picking up moisture and become more humid as it does so) until it reaches Southern Europe where its combination of heat and humidity is generally unwelcome.

The Hawk—Chicago is known as the windy city, and this is one of its winds. Chicagoans call the cold wind that blows off Lake Michigan ‘The Hawk’ or ‘Hawkins.’ No one knows why.

And I think we have now named quite enough winds for the time being. Although (I should add) if you know of a colourful wind with its own name that I have missed, please get in touch and let me know.

Wind words Is it just me, or has the weather seemed highly volatile over the past couple of months? We’ve had a summer filled with scorching hot days, sudden cold turns, buckets of rain and the sort of wild winds that the Ancient Mariner used to complain about. And it’s the wind I want to focus on for a moment. So, let’s take a look at the words for winds:

Breeze—a gentle or light wind, from a Spanish word briza which originally meant a cool wind from the north, but since such winds were usually gentle and light the word changed in that direction when it bobbed up in English (from 1589)

Gale—the weather bureau seems to delight in threatening us with ‘gale force winds’ (the definition says, ‘a wind of considerable strength’). It turns up around 1547, but (says the Oxford) it is ‘of obscure origin’—although it may come from a Scandinavian word that meant ‘mad, furious’ (which sort of makes sense).

Cyclone—from the Greek word for a circle, because they spin (very fast!) in a circular motion. This was coined by English sea captain Henry Piddington in 1848.

Gust—we are often told with glee by the forecasters that there will be ‘gusts’ of up to (pick a number—something dangerous). ‘Gust’ is recorded from 1594 to mean ‘a sudden violent rush or blast of wind’ and seems to come from an Old Norse source word meaning ‘to gush or pour.’

Typhoon—is not a word our weather forecasters use, but it means a violent storm or tempest and seems to come from an Urdu word (Persian and Arabic) with much the same meaning.

Hurricane—should, strictly speaking, only be applied to violent windstorms in the West Indies, but mentally lazy people apply to any such storm north of the equator (south of the equator it’s a cyclone—same thing really). The word seems to come from an Old Spanish source word (and turned up in English from 1555).

Mistral—is another wind word we don’t use here, and a good thing too since it sounds most unpleasant: ‘A strong, cold, north-westerly wind blowing through the Rhône valley and southern France into the Mediterranean, mainly in winter.’

On top of which some winds around the world have their own names. We’ll look at those tomorrow.

Corporate jargon One of the richest sources of new words these days is in the corridors of power of the big corporations. There are times when they seem to speak in nothing but jargon. Of course, often the point of jargon is two-fold: (1) it works as a kind of shorthand to label people/things quickly, and (2) using it shows who’s inside the circle of knowledge and who’s not. Here a sample of this sort of corporate gobbledygook:

Acqui-hiring—buying an entire business to get the services of one genius who works there.

AI-washing—exaggerating the important of AI in a company’s operations to make it look more valuable.

App sprawl—the proliferation of apps for everything which, instead of helping, makes everything more complex and inefficient. 

Brainbuffering—brain freeze caused by too much information (coined by Patrick Hosking).

Cockroach—a large, corporate borrower that fails to repay its (often very large) loans.

CPA—Continuous Partial Attention—dividing your attention between the people around you and two or more screens that you are monitoring at the same time.

Disassembly—the word applied to a Space X rocket that explodes on launch.

Drip pricing—adding extra fees halfway through or at the end of an online transaction.

Headroom—the extra level of capitalisation that stops investors from panicking. 

Henry— (an acronym) High Earner, Not Rich Yet

Lily-padding—young employees who jump from job to job (from the behaviour of frogs).

Panican—a word coined by Donald Trump for people who panic.

Paraduct— (a play on ‘paradox’) a product contained in a package that requires the product to get the package open (E.g. a pair of scissors in a package that requires a pair of scissors to open it).

Passengers—those staff members who avoid work by using AI to perform their tasks (coined by the Harvard Business Review)

Sputnik moment—when a massive, unexpected shock rocks the market (based on the shock to the world when Russia launched Sputnik—the first satellite—in 1957).

It can’t be easy being a top corporate executive these days!! What all of these jargon expressions do it replace real thinking. Which explains why a lot of our big companies behave the way they do!

“wiki-” words There are a bunch of sites on the internet that include the affix ‘wiki-’ in their name—Wikipedia, Wiktionary, Wikimedia Commons, Wikihow, Mediawiki and I’m sure there are many others. But before I tell you more I should explain what ‘wiki’ means. The Oxford says wiki means: ‘A type of web page designed so that its content can be edited by anyone who accesses it, using a simplified markup language.’ And the other dictionaries say pretty much the same thing in other words: ‘a website that allows visitors to make changes, contributions, or corrections’ (Merriam-Webster); ‘a website that allows anyone visiting it to change or add to the material in it’ (Collins) and so on. And the word is recorded from 1995. That’s what it means, but where does it come from? Well, it comes from the name that the internet had from the beginning—World Wide Web. This turns up in web addresses in the form of the ‘www’ bit at the beginning of an address. And from very early in its life the World Wide Web (the ‘www’) had various nicknames. The one I remember is the ‘wibbly wobbly web.’ This didn’t catch on (probably because it contains more syllables, and takes longer to say, than the original). This word ‘wiki’ was another that arose out of the ‘www’ (world wide web) phrase. Another early nickname was ‘WikiWikiWeb’—and in addition, this was the name given to the very first website that allow visitors to make additions or alterations. So, why was ‘WikiWikiWeb’ chosen? For two reasons: (1) it captured the ‘www’ initials, and (2) it was based on a Hawaiian expression ‘wikiwiki’ which meant ‘very quick.’ Apparently in Hawaiian ‘wiki’ means ‘quick’ while ‘wikiwiki’ means ‘very quick.’ That’s the real source. Much later people claimed that it was an acronym from ‘What I Know Is’. But like most such invented acronyms this is just an urban myth (a bit of folk etymology) invented long after the real coinage of the name. So, that’s the answer—a blend of www and the Hawaiian word for ‘quick.’ (Another nagging little puzzle solved.)

Preventive Vs Preventative It’s possible to get into serious linguistic arguments about this pair of words. I used to work with a radio producer who insisted that the longer version (‘preventative’) was ‘Simply wrong!’ So, was she right? Is one version wrong and the other right? And what about meaning? Another colleague I worked with years ago once claimed they had subtle differences in meaning. He claimed the shorter version (‘preventive’) could only be used in medical contexts, while the longer version should be used in every other context. Again, was he right? Well (spoiler alert)—no, both those objections are wrong. The simple truth is that ‘preventive’ and ‘preventative’ are exact synonyms—with precisely the same meaning. Both are adjectives used to describe things that are meant to prevent an occurrence. And either can be used in any context. What about the objection that one is wrong and they other right? Again—that is not the case. Both are correct English words, listed in all the major dictionaries, and both are centuries old. Both are over 400 years old, and ‘preventive’ is only slightly older than ‘preventative.’ ‘Preventive’ is recorded from around 1626 and the longer version ‘preventative’ from about 30 years later, from around 1655. So, there’s not a lot in it. How come we have two versions? That’s a good question, and the experts seem unsure, so I’ll give you my guess. ‘Preventive’ was coined first (as an adjective formed from the verb ‘to prevent’) with the obvious meaning. But (and here I am guessing) there were enough speakers of the English language who found it an awkward word to say and so added the extra syllable to make it more euphonious. (The longer version has a rhythm to it that the shorter version lacks.) Is that what happened? Well, it might be. There is a similar story with another word that comes in two versions: ‘orientate’ and ‘orientated.’ Both words mean ‘aligned in a certain direction’ (originally it meant ‘towards the east’ but now it means any set direction.’) ‘To orient’ is earlier, and the later version ‘to orientate’ probably arose (in this case) as a back formation from ‘orientation’—but both are correct and both have exactly the same meaning. The Americans regard the longer version ‘orientate’ as wrong—but, they are wrong. Both are equally acceptable. And today in British (and Australian) English the longer version is more common. Well now, have I settled any linguistic disputes for you? Probably not. These arguments will go on forever!

Yuck This is my follow up on yesterday’s discussion of ‘grot’—because my seven-year-old grandson says that anything that is ‘yuck’ is ‘grot.’ So having dealt with with ‘grot’ we turn our focus on ‘yuck.’ In fact, one of my grandson’s favourite picture books (which he has loved ever since he was little boy) is called Yuck Said the Yak. In the story a boy named Alfie offers a visiting yak a range of tasty foods (from apples and cheese to chocolate cake) to each of which the yak says (loudly) ‘Yuck!’ The yak then explains that yaks eat grass and offers to share his grass with Alfie, to which Alfie responds ‘Yuck!’ If you are ever looking for a children’s picture book for a small child, this one will work for most kids from about three-years-old and upwards. But let’s get back to the word ‘yuck.’ This is another 20th century word—first recorded from around 1966. The Oxford suggests that ‘yuck’ may be related to two other American slang terms,. The first is ‘yecch’ (often spelled with extra letters for emphasis, as ‘yecch!’ or even ‘yecchhhh!’) I have never heard this spoken aloud and I think I have only ever encountered it in a caption or speech balloon in American comics. It’s an expressing of disgust or revolt and so its meaning is very close to ‘yuck.’ The other American slang term is the verb ‘to yuck’ which means (or meant back in the mid-20th century) ‘to vomit.’ We’ve never used the word in that way here in Australia. We have our own slang for vomit— ‘chunder’ or ‘technicolour yawn’ but not ‘to yuck.’ Both of ‘to vomit’ and ‘yech’  are labelled by the Oxford as ‘imitative or expressive’ formations. In other words, they were coined to sound like, or to suggest by the way the sound, what they were naming. Hence the word under our microscope here ‘yuck’ meaning ‘an expression of strong distaste or disgust.’ Which is exactly how my grandson uses it. You and I have both complained on occasion of the American influence on our language. It’s certainly there, but not (in my view) as much or as badly as some people fear. And this might be something we’ve picked up from the yanks that was worth picking up—a simple and expressive word.

Grot My seven-year-old grandson pointed at a mess and said, ‘That’s grotty!’—which started me thinking about this word ‘grot.’ It’s recorded only from around 1970, so it’s not that old. ‘Grot’ can mean ‘rubbish, dirt and grime’ in general, or it can mean ‘a person who is unpleasant, dirty or ugly’ (Oxford). But the adjectival form of the word, ‘grotty’, is a little older—being recorded from 1964—so that must be the source. As for the origin of the word, well, without checking any of the expert sources my best guess would have said that ‘grot’ was a portmanteau word—blending ‘greasy’ with ‘rotten,’ That would certainly give us the meaning we’re familiar with, wouldn’t it? However, the great Oxford insists that ‘grotty’ is a shortened form of ‘grotesque.’ Now, I’ll take their word for it, after all they are the experts. But it does look a little puzzling to me—because ‘grotty’ and ‘grotesque’ have fairly different meanings. ‘Grotesque’ came into English from French (well, you can tell that from looking at the spelling of the word, can’t you?) These days ‘grotesque’ is used to mean that something is unpleasant or unattractive especially in a way that shocks you, or is frightening. I’ve seen the word used in advertising horror movies. When the experts look backwards at the sources, and the history, of ‘grotesque’ they say it might have originally meant something like ‘painting appropriate to grottoes.’ The Oxford has an explanatory note saying that ‘grotto’ was ‘the popular name in Rome for the chambers of ancient buildings which had been revealed by excavations, and which contained those mural paintings that were the typical examples of “grotesque”.’ So, they say the word history (possibly) begins with paintings in ‘grottoes’ that were unattractive (or even ugly) in some way to late Romans; in the 20thcentury this was clipped down to ‘grotty’ and then clipped again into ‘grot.’ Well, I suppose that must be how it happened. Anyway, for my seven-year-old grandson ‘grot’ just means anything that’s ‘yuck’—which is a whole other word, and another story. And I might just investigate that a little, tomorrow.

“Hopium” and “Copium” Sometimes words are invented just because people wish there were such words—and (I suppose) wish that what they name actually existed. This appears to be the case when it comes to these new words ‘hopium’ and ‘copium.’ Both words are to be found in the Colins Dictionary—one of the authoritative dictionaries of the English-speaking world—so these words must have appeared in print often enough to catch the eye of the lexicographers. The Collins people say that ‘hopium’ means, ‘a substance said to have been ingested by those who maintain an unrealistically optimistic outlook.’ The dictionary says that ‘hopium’ is a humorous blend of ‘hope’ and ‘opium.’ There was a newspaper column with the headline: ‘Hopium helps you forget several unpleasant facts.’ The column by John Kass and appeared in the Chicago Tribuneof July 30, 2008. I remember being told once that optimists have an unrealistic view of the world but tend to live happier lives; while pessimists have a much more realistic view of the world but tend, on the whole, to be more miserable. Such seems to support the fanciful notion that the optimists in this life are the people who take a little white ‘hopium’ tablet every day with their morning coffee. Then there’s the related word ‘copium.’ This one is in the Merriam-Webster as well as the Collins, and is a similar word with a related meaning. ‘Copium’ we are told, means, ‘a substance said to have been ingested by those who remain unduly optimistic in the face of defeat or disappointment.’ In other words, they are coping far too well. These are the people whose coping mechanism is firing on all cylinders. Coping mechanism, by the way, is a complex noun that is in the great Oxford English Dictionary recorded from as long ago as 1941. Mind you, ‘coping mechanism’ is a bit of psycho-babble, a bit therapy flatulence of dubious value. But this imaginary preparation ‘copium’ if it was available at the local chemist (and listed on the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme) would be genuinely useful. Ah, well, we can hope (or, at least, those of us taking the ‘hopium’ can!)

Australophile Speaking on his show on Sky New Andrew Bolt said that what Australia needs are more leaders who love this country. I agreed with him, and I coined a new word to say exactly that. The word is ‘Australophile’. The first part of the word clearly comes from our national name ‘Australia’, while the suffix (‘-phile’) comes from the Greek word for love (or one of four Greek words for love) ‘philos.’ The ancient Greeks had (as I mentioned) four words for love: eros, philos, storge, and agape. ‘Eros’ was their word for romantic love (no, not for sex—for romantic love, think of hearts and flowers, Mills and Boon novelettes, love songs and so on); philos, (the one we are using here, was their word for the love of friends and friendship); storge (pronounced ‘stor-gee’ or ‘stor-gay’ with a hard G sound) was family love (the love that binds mother and child, that binds siblings together and so on); while the last ‘agape’ was the gracious love of generosity (loving the unlovely or the very difficult to love, pronounced ‘agg-apay’ with a hard G sound). Out of those (‘philos’) is the one that the English language has chosen to ‘form nouns and adjectives with the sense of loving the person or thing denoted by the first element’ (Oxford English Dictionary). When Aussies get together for a barbecue today, or go to the beach, and have Australian flags on their T-shirts or beach towels it is because they are ‘Australophiles.’ These are people who love this place—love the landscape, the bush, the sweeping horizons, the startling beauty, the gum trees, the call of the kookaburra, our strange (and sometimes deadly!) wildlife, and the friendly, sunburnt people who live here. These are people who love our national story—the arrival of civilisation in the form of a bunch of convicts and their gaolers but gave rise to a great democracy. When Andrew Bolt says we need more leaders who share our love he makes a lot of sense. It is hard to believe that Anthony Albanese, with his grim, unhappy face, really loves this place the way we do. But we do! So happy Australia Day fellow Australophile!

Newspeak The word “newspeak” was coined by George Orwell in his novel “Nineteen Eighty-Four” published way back in 1949. Orwell used the expression to label the repressive propaganda language being forced on the subdued population in his dystopian novel. A reader of my website drew my attention to this word as his way of describing Google’s recently introduced updated rules for its Google docs platform encouraging what it calls more “inclusive” language. This includes saying that the pronouns “he” and “she” are transphobic and an expression such as “blind date” discriminates against people with disabilities. I replied on my website that such heavy-handed attempts at controlling language normally fail, because language is a democratic institution in which the users of the language determine what words they will use when they speak or write. But, can such attempts at language control ever work? Can a form of “newspeak” ever be imposed? The answer is that for “newspeak” to work it needs two things (both present in Orwell’s novel): (a) a cowed population, and (b) a totalitarian ruling class. Well, cancel culture and the abusive social media of the Woke suggest we have a totalitarian ruling class waiting the wings, completely intolerant of any disagreement. And there are major corporations that are cowering in fear and giving in to them. I guess if anyone is going to resist an imposed “newspeak” it will have to be us!

“Nuclear” versus “nucular” Talking to John Stanley on 2GB, 4BC, 2CC and the Nine Radio Network this issue came up of the pronunciation of “nuclear” (yet again! 

This one irritates everyone, and I am often asked about it). Of, course, the only correct pronunciation is newk-LEE-ah. If you’re irritated every time anyone pronounces the word 'nuclear' as newk-YOU-lar, you’ll be depressed to learn that this is listed as an alternative pronunciation the Merriam-Webster Dictionary--and has been since 1961. To everyone who protests the Merriam-Webster people sends out a defensive 400-word letter arguing that they don’t list newk-YOU-lar as an acceptable alternative--just as an alternative, meaning it’s “a pronunciation variant that occurs in educated speech but is considered by some to be questionable or unacceptable.” They go on to say they do this because of the widespread use of newk-YOU-lar among educated speakers including scientists, lawyers, professors, congressmen, US cabinet members, and four presidents: Eisenhower, Carter, Clinton and Bush. My experience is that people who say newk-YOU-lar do so because they’re simply unable to wrap their tongue around newk-LEE-ah and so resort to making it a parallel with words like 'circular' and 'spectacular.' I've told the story before of a colleague I worked with (a radio newsreader) who constantly made this mistake, and try as I might, I just couldn't train him to get the syllables around the right way. But even allowing for that, there are politicians whose job it is to talk about this subject, and why they don't make a mighty effort to get this one right! (At the very least they'd stop irritating those of us who care about our language!)

Moon words I noticed recently that the moon is full (or just about full) making our back deck shine with brilliant light in the middle of the night. At the same time a recent word newsletter from Collins Dictionary is full of “moon words”—so this seems like the right time to share them with you… although I must warn you, some of them are a bit weird. A good example of a weird word is “apocynthian”—which is the point at which a spacecraft in lunar orbit is farthest from the moon: a word most of us are not going to need to use often, I would have thought. But if it does crop up, here’s how to pronounce it—appoh-SIN-thian. It comes from Cynthia, the Latin goddess of the moon (there’s something else we’ve learned) with the prefix apo- meaning “away.” Much easier to work out is “earthrise”—which works just like our familiar “sunrise.” It’s when (for an astronaut standing on the moon, or a spacecraft orbiting the moon) the earth “rises” over the visible horizon. A more interesting word is “plenilunar” which means “a full moon”—bringing us more or less back to where this ramble began. So you could, I suppose, call a night on which a full moon was expected a “plenilunar” night. But according to the Oxford English Dictionary it can also be used metaphorically, so that anything that resembles a full moon can be called “plenilunar.” I guess that means that the late comedian Benny Hill had a “plenilunar” face—as round as a full moon. (You see the sort of stuff you get when the moonlight wakes me up in the middle of the night!)

Hoon The Oxford English Dictionary records hoon as Australian and New Zealand slang for a show-off with limited intelligence adding “origin unknown”. Hoon is most often applied to young male drivers who are more interested in attracting attention than in being cautious. Sid Baker, in The Australian Language suggests hoon might be a contraction from the houyhnhnms (the anthropomorphic horses in Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels). The problem with this idea is that the horses are civilised, it’s their human slaves, the yahoos, who are the dills. Hoon might be of New Zealand origin, since New Zealand has many other related expressions: hoonish, hoon bin, hoon chaser, hoondom, hoonery, hoon it up and so on. It’s often been suggested that hoon is a contraction of “hooligan” or, perhaps, a combination of “hooligan” and “goon”. Another proposal is that it’s rhyming slang for “baboon”; while yet another suggestion is that it’s based on “buffoon”. All are possibilities. A more unusual suggestion is that huhn is German for “chicken” and thus a hoon might originally have meant someone running around like a headless chicken. And there is, apparently, another (very similar) German word for an ancient mythical race of clumsy giants. Lots of possible sources for hoon – no certainties! 

Attack In New South Wales there have been four shark attacks in 48 hours. Former Prime Minister Tony Abbott says it's time for a shark cull. But the Chris Minns government is refusing to do that. Marine experts and conservationists are insisting we stop using the word 'attack' with respect to sharks, declaring that the majestic predatory fish has been unfairly stigmatized as deliberate killers. Instead, officials have suggested that violent run-ins with sharks be dubbed with more neutral words — such as “interactions.” “‘Shark attack’ is a lie,” said University of Sydney language researcher Christopher Pepin-Neff, who argued that a majority of what people call ‘attacks’ are merely nips and minor injuries from smaller sharks. Well, language researcher or not Pepin-Neff has got this wrong. A 'playful nip' from a small bull shark can take the leg off a swimmer! So, let's look at the word 'attack.' This word “attack” has been part of the English language since at least 1576 and is borrowed from an old Middle French word. The core meaning of “attack” (both the verb which came first and the noun) is “aggressive action.” What these people are trying to do is hide the fact that sharks are aggressive. When someone on a surfboard loses an arm, it is an insult to call it a “bite” or a “nip”. When sharks bite or nip, they are testing to see if what they are biting on might make a nice lunch. It is the nature of sharks to be aggressive. On top of which, a significant number of the shark attacks being reported around Australia are not from smaller sharks but from Great Whites or Bull Sharks. A mere “nip” from Great White when you are swimming will mean you either lose your leg or your life—because the “nipping” action of a powerful shark is an aggressive action. Sharks are predatory by nature, which is why the victims of shark attacks are traumatised by the experience (if they survive it, that is). It is an insult to such shark attack victims to pretend that they were not attacked. This sort of playing with words is dangerous—it is minimising human suffering and preferring sharks over people. That is why it is a misuse of the English language to call it anything other than a “shark attack.” 

“Mis” / “Dis”—information In the confusing world we live it can be helpful to spell out the difference between “misinformation” and “disinformation.” Basically, the difference is this—“disinformation” is a lie, it is straight-out falsehood invented and spread in order to deceive people; “misinformation”, on the other hand is a falsehood repeated by someone who believes it, it is someone passing on information they have heard, not knowing it to be a lie. Here is a simple example. The bushfires of 2019-2020 were called “unprecedented.” They were not. There were many earlier bushfires that were far worse. To take just one example, the “Black Saturday” bushfires in Victoria in 2009 were far worse: they killed 173 people (in 2019-20 bushfires 34 people died). Now 2009 was only ten years before 2019—you would expect journalists to either remember or at least check the newspaper files. This appears not to have happened. Instead, news report after news report kept repeating this false, untrue word of “unprecedented.” How can that happen? It happened mainly because people kept on repeating a falsehood on the mistaken assumption that it was true. That is “misinformation”—passing on something false which the person who repeats it mistakenly believes to be true. But is started somewhere. Someone, somewhere, invented this falsehood—invented this lie. That is “disinformation.” That is deliberately trying to mislead, and deceive. For what it’s worth, here’s my theory: “misinformation” is far more common than “disinformation.” Most people unthinkingly, and uncritically, just repeat what they’ve heard. They don’t check the facts, they just repeat the fiction. So, when false, or distorted, or misleading or deceptive information is flying around the world it’s source is likely to be 1% malice and 99% stupidity.

Locked and loaded President Donald Trump is encouraging the protestors in Iran to continue taking to the streets and voicing their anger at the repressive regime of the mullahs. He has also said he is prepared to take action to support them, although exactly what action is unclear. The expression Trump used was that he is ‘locked and loaded’ and ready to come to the aid of the protestors. Which raises the question—what exactly does ‘locked and loaded mean, and where does it come from? The meaning, it turns out, is fairly straight forward—it is related (as you have probably already worked out) to firearms. The Oxford English Dictionary says that ‘locked and loaded’ means ‘To prepare a firearm for firing by pulling back and ‘locking’ the bolt and loading the ammunition.’ Although it can also be used figuratively to mean, ‘to ready oneself for action or confrontation.’ So, ‘locked and loaded’ refers to a firearm that has a round in the chamber and the safety catch-off, meaning it’s ready to fire. The earliest appearance in print that the experts at the Oxford has been able to find is from a piece in the New York Times in November of 1940. That piece quotes a firing range officer booming through his microphone the order ‘lock and load.’ Two thoughts on this: first, I find this surprisingly early, I would have expected the expression to be of much more recent coinage; and second as a non-gun person it always looks backwards to me. Surely, you load the gun and then lock it (in the firing position)? But, as I say, I’m a non-gun person so what would I know. The next citation in the Oxford is from 1983, so perhaps it was coined early but caught on much later? The first time I can ever remember hearing it, it was spoken by Mister Data in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. At any rate, is it clearly now part of conversational English, and is (most probably) used most often in a figurative sense, rather than with reference to literal firearms. Let’s hope that’s how Trump used it!

Like The Economist ran an article about the overuse of the irritating word “like”, except that—strangely—the magazine didn’t seem all that irritated. The article made the point that “like” is used by the younger generation as what is called a “discourse particle.” That means it just a small bit of language used to hold a sentence together. Which is fair enough. But it is the way it’s used that can become annoying. The so-called “Valley Girls” from the San Fernando Valley in California are supposed to have started the craze by saying such things as “It’s like five miles away…” or “He’s like a consultant…” These are vague and pointless uses of the discourse particle. Sometimes “like” is used to introduce a quote. That gives us such deathless prose as “She was like ‘You can’t do that, and I’m like “Yes, I can.’” This is not normal English construction. (That use of “like” was popularised in Australia by the character of Kylie Mole played by Mary-Anne Fahey on the Comedy Company show.) This use of “like” is sometimes thought to go back to the Beatnik era of the late 1950s and early 60s—the days when Maynard G. Krebbs, played by Bob Denver on The Doby Gillies Show, was saying things along the line of “Like, wow, man.” We all of us use some discourse particles from time to time such as “so”, “but”, “then” and others. The problem with like is that it appears to be like the only discourse particle this younger generation knows and so it is like used over and over and over again. I suspect they’ll grow out of it as they grow older.

Part and parcel A reader has asked me for the origin of the expression part and parcel. Well, this is an odd sort of tautology, not uncommon in English—a double expression where both words mean much the same thing. “Parcel” means the sort of thing the post office delivers (called a “package” in the US)—and it just means a quantity of something. So you could have a “parcel” of land, for example. “Part” serves a very similar purpose, it helps us to talk about a quantity of something—e.g. the quantity of something that we have is not the whole of the toilet roll, it’s just what’s left, a “part” of the toilet roll. The Oxford defines part and parcel as meaning: “An integral part of a larger whole”—and with this meaning it’s been around since 1463. So there’s nothing new about this. Michael Quinion, on his World Wide Words website explains the expression like this: “part and parcel is a tautology, since both words in effect mean the same thing. English loves this kind of doublet: nooks and crannies, hale and hearty, safe and sound, rack and ruin, dribs and drabs. Many derive from the ancient legal practice of including words of closely similar meaning to make sure that the sense covers all eventualities: aid and abet, fit and proper, all and sundry. Part and parcel is a member of this second group — it appeared in legal records during the sixteenth century. We use it to emphasise that the thing being spoken about is an essential and integral feature or element of a whole.” To which I would add that the reason it has survived for so long is because the English language seems to like these groups of words that have either alliteration (starting with the same letter) or rhyme. The sounds and the rhythms must just appeal to the ears of English speakers, because so many phrases built on that sort of construction have survived as part of our language for so long. So, there you are, an old expression, and a good one.