Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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Vacuum This is a fairly ordinary word, you might think. And you’d be right. The word ‘vacuum’ is recorded in English from 1550 to mean, pretty much what we mean by it today—an empty space, especially a space empty of air, especially one from which the air has been artificially withdrawn.’ Which is how a vacuum cleaner works, isn’t it? It draws out the air and (in so doing) also sucks up the dust and cleans the floor. The word ‘vacuum’ is stolen straight from the Latin word for ‘empty’ without any changes. I remember when I first learned this word as a child I was delighted to discover a word with had two Us side-by-side. (I think I’m correct in saying no other words has this letter combination.) But why are we talking about this? Because one of the pioneers of robotic vacuum cleaners has filed for bankruptcy. Even if you don’t own one, I’m sure you’ve seen these little robotics vacuum cleaners on TV at some point. They tend to be small, round, very low devices that roll on their little wheels across the floor changing direction every time they bump into a piece of furniture. I take it that the way to use one of these things is to turn it on, and then turn in lose in a room while you are somewhere else. (You don’t want it bumping into your feet as you walk around.) In fact, the idea solution might be to turn it on and then leave the house for a while. Planning to go to a restaurant? Then turn on your robot vacuum to clean the place up in your absence. Anyway, all this comes up because the maker of the Roomba vacuum filed for bankruptcy this week. iRobot was founded in 1990 by M.I.T. researchers who invented the popular robotic household device in 2002. Roombas are designed to suck up dirt and debris as they move independently around a room, powered by rechargeable batteries. The company has struggled in recent years with competition from other robotic vacuum makers and customer concerns about data privacy. So, we can feel sorry for the engineers who invented this thing, if it is indeed their company that has gone belly up. At the same time I’d rather push our Dyson around the room myself because (a) I can be sure nothing has been missed, and (b) it will be much quicker than waiting for the little robot to fiddle around. And all of this grows out of a ‘vacuum’!

Exoplanet According to Dictionary.com an ‘exoplanet’ is a planet that revolves around some star other than our own sun. The word seems to have been coined in 1992. The ‘planet’ part is pretty obvious, and the prefix of ‘exo-’ comes from Greek and means ‘outside’ or ‘outside of’. So, and ‘exoplanet’ is outside of our solar system. Do any such planets exist? Well, I’m told there are heaps of them/. However, very few of them (again from what I read—I claim no scientific expertise) very few of them are ‘earth-like’ planets. The vast majority are what are classified as ‘gas giants.’ Jupiter and Saturn in our solar system are ‘gas giants.’ Dictionary.com has been reporting on this word recently because, they say, an ‘exoplanet’ in a solar system thirty-nine light years away is exciting some astronomers (not normally an over-excitable bunch, I would have thought. Apparently, initial studies of this ‘exoplanet’ offer ‘the exciting possibility that it might have an atmosphere and water.’ And those are things that are needed (said he, pointing out the obvious) to support life. Astronomers are said to be intrigued by this Earth-sized planet, which orbits the red dwarf star TRAPPIST-1e. What these boffins have done is to analyse images from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope found evidence of methane. Further study is needed to determine if the gas, which could indicate the presence of an atmosphere, came from the planet or its sun. Given that methane is a pretty foul-smelling gas (think rotten egg gas) so I wouldn’t get too excited just yet. But it does alert us to this word ‘exoplanet.’

New Year’s resolutions It’s now the 5th of January and I am assuming that by now you have broken all your New Year’s resolutions. Or am I being sceptical? At any rate for most people New Year resolutions (however well meant) tend not to last long. According to Wikipedia: ‘In a 2014 report, 35% of participants who failed their New Year's resolutions admitted they had unrealistic goals, 33% of participants did not keep track of their progress, and 23% forgot about them; the remaining respondents claimed they made too many resolutions.’ The great American dictionary the Merriam-Webster says that they define ‘New Year’s resolution’ as “a promise to do something differently in the new year.” By itself, the word ‘resolution’ refers to a promise to yourself that you will make a serious effort to do something that you should do. Our citations show evidence of people from the middle of the 17th century using the word ‘resolution’ in early January to refer to things they were pledging to change in the coming year. But the practice is much older than that. Most experts believe it had its origins in ancient pagan religions. Historians say that the ancient Babylonians began each New Year by making promises, or commitments, to their pagan gods. And from that ancient and superstitious beginning the notion spread and became more civilised and refined. In more recent years Methodists have used the watchnight service for the New Year as what they called a ‘Covenant Renewal Service’. This was devised by John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, for the purpose of the renewal of the Christian believer’s decision to follow Jesus Christ. Wesley's Directions for Renewing Our Covenant with God, first published in 1780. So there have been times when New Year’s resolutions were taken rather more seriously that today’s ‘I will run a half marathon this year’ or ‘I will lose five kilos this year.’  

More Banished Words We started yesterday on this year’s list of Banished Words from Lake Superior Stare University. We continue today with the top half of the list. The comments on the words (unless otherwise indicated) are from the lexicographers at LSSU:

6-7 (six seven):  The volume of submissions for this one could have taken up the whole list. (It is Yoof slang that I have explained several times, but I won’t have to again because it is sure to die very soon. KR)

Demure:  Often used in the phrase ‘very demure, very mindful,’ (with little real meaning. KR)

Cooked:  Parents and guardians led the charge on this one, with some feeling this isn’t enough. (It’s just a way of saying that something or someone is terrible—very negative. KR>)

Massive:  This word’s massive overuse has secured its place on this year’s list. 

Incentivize: In the longstanding effort to turn nouns into verbs, this is another culprit. What’s wrong with motivate?

Full stop: Like the American word ‘period’ an abrupt conversation stopper that helps no one.

Perfect: In America often heard during customer service interactions. (Always an absurd claim. KR)

Gift/gifted (as a verb): This was on the 1994 list, but it is included once again.. Another case of a noun being used as a verb.

My Bad: This one was first banished in 1998. It does not convey much meaning in the way of an apology.

Reach Out: First banished in 1994, this saying has strayed from the positive message it once intended to deliver. 

And that is probably enough banishing of words for the time being. But has your most irritating word made it to the list yet?

Banished words Every year at this time Lake Superior State University (in Michigan, USA) publishes its list of ‘banished words.’ They’ve been doing this for something like 50 years now, and every year their list contains the most irritating words that most of us would like to see the back of. Well, what annoying words get a ‘Banished Words’ gong this year? Here they are (with LSSU’s own explanations):

Cringe—while “cringe” once packed a punch, it has now overstayed its welcome. Overuse has dulled its impact, and ironically, using it might now cause the very reaction it describes.

Game changer—how many times can a game change before it is no longer recognizable? This phrase, often used to describe anything remotely innovative, is as tired as a well-worn cliché.

Era—unless you are Taylor Swift, it might be time to leave “era” behind. The term’s overuse has made every fleeting moment feel like it demands a historical marker.

Dropped—once edgy and cool, “dropped” has become more of a letdown. Whether it is an album, a trend, or a product, this term has fallen flat.

IYKYK—messaging slang for “if you know, you know.” Cryptic and exclusionary, this phrase offers little clarity or substance.

Sorry Not Sorry—a half-hearted apology masquerading as bold honesty, this phrase feels as disingenuous as it sounds.

Skibidi—this viral word may have resonated with a younger crowd, but for many it is just noise. (Note from Kel: this is just a nonsense expression that means nothing and is used by the young to confuse the not so young.)

100%—is it possible to be over-enthusiastic about retiring the phrase “100%”? Absolutely! Its overuse has left no room for nuance or doubt. (Note from Kel: this has been used instead of simply saying ‘yes’, and it has become an irritating synonym for simple agreement.)
Utilize—a classic offender, “utilize” proves that longer is not always better. Why complicate things when “use” works just fine?

Period—yes, we understand your point—no need to verbally punctuate it. Overuse has turned this into a period we are ready to end. (Note from Kel: this is used at the end of sentences to close the subject. In Australia we would be more likely to say, ‘full stop.’)

There you are the Top Ten set of Banished Words for the year. And in my humble opinion each of them richly deserves their place on the list!

Long arms Only since the horrible Bondi massacre have I come across the expression ‘long arms.’ We are told that the radical Islamist terrorists that day were using ‘long arms’ while police only had ‘side arms’ or ‘handguns.’ Perhaps you’d come across this one before, but I can’t recall ‘long arms’ being used in that way, as a contrast to revolvers or pistols. Such weapons have not (I think) been called the opposite (which would be ‘short arms’) but rather have usually been labelled ‘small arms’ or ‘side arms.’ So, I did a bit of digging. To my surprise I discovered that ‘long arms’ goes as far back as 1623 in English. And even before that there is a history of similar expressions in Latin and in French. Latin had armes longues and French had longues armes as earlier as 1532. What surprised me is that this expression existed before firearms were invented. The original definition was ‘Weapons having a relatively great length, reach, or range.’ In other words, the ‘long’ part of this term might refer not to the length of the weapon, but to its range. Under that principle, I suppose the English long bows that defeated the French at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415 might have counted as ‘long arms.’ But the Oxford goes on in its definition of ‘long arms’ to write that the expression especially applies to ‘firearms with long barrels, such as muskets or (later chiefly) rifles.’ Firearms were invented in China in the 13th century. They then appeared in the Middle East as muskets in the Ottoman Empire from the 15thcentury. Firearms also turn up in Europe in the 15th century. Given the great age of the expression it is, perhaps, surprising that it has not been used more widely. But I suspect it will be from now on (at least in in Australia). We have been told that New South Wales police will be issued with ‘long arms’ when providing protection at major public events. So, horrible as it may seem, ‘long arms’ has become part of the Australian language.

Hogmanay Did you celebrate “Hogmanay” last night? Lots of people with no Scottish background or blood are happy to sing “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight on December 31st and to call the whole New Year celebration “Hogmanay”—which is (as almost everyone seems to know) the Scottish word for the occasion. But what is “Hogmanay” and where does it come from? Oddly the word seems to have come in Middle Scottish from French. There is (or once was) a northern French dialect word which seems to come from a Middle French word for a gift—and that was earliest meaning and use of “Hogmanay” in Scotland. Although the Oxford says this use is now rare, in the earliest days “Hogmanay” meant: “a New Year's gift.” Mind you, it was not a lavish gift—it usually took the form of oatcakes, bread, or fruit. The earliest tradition says such modest gifts were either given to (or demanded by) children on the last day of the year. It’s first recorded in that sense in 1443. But by 1681 the word had transferred to the celebration of the last day of the year—the meaning it still has. The 1693 Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence contained one of the first mentions of the holiday in official church records. As for “Auld Lang Syne”—it comes from a poem by Robert Burns (written in 1788, published in 1796). The words “auld lang syne” literally mean “old long since”—but it’s a Scottish idiom that conveys the idea of “old times, fondly remembered.” That’s it. The celebration is over, the New Year has begun—and it will be full of words!

Unclubbable This is a quaint, and now clearly very dated, word. To be ‘unclubbable’ meant that a man so labelled was unsociable—literally, so unsociable as to be not suited to be a member of a club. Hence, ‘unclubbable.’ When I have come across it (in older books) is usually meant a man (and it always referred to a man) who would not fit into one of the famous gentlemen’s clubs of London—Whites or the Athenaeum or the Travellers or whatever. But it is rather older than that. It first appeared in the 1760s—not long after Dr Samuel Johnson’s legendary great dictionary appeared in 1755. Now Johnson was, himself, a very ‘clubbable’ man. His circle of friends was called The Club. But, unlike the later ‘gentlemen’s clubs’, they did not have their own premises—instead they always met in coffee shops. And based on the coincidence of those dates, the great American dictionary, the Merriam-Webster, offered the guess that the word ‘unclubbable’ was coined by the great Dr Johnson himself (and they may well be right). The first time the word appears in print seems to be in 1764 in the journals of the novelist Fanny Burney, where she writes: ‘Sir John was a most unclubbable man!’ It was a word that could be applied to anyone. One of my favourite Oxford philosophers is J. L. Austin. During the week he lived in his college rooms and taught and lectured. But at the weekends he left Oxford to spend his time with his wife and children on a small farm outside Oxford. This led to him be labelled ‘unclubbable.’ And when C. S. Lewis (in his younger years a highly ‘clubbable’ man) married Joy Davidman in 1956 his friends complained that he had become ‘unclubbable’ (because he wanted to spend time with his wife!) As I said—a quaint and now entirely dated word.

Hubris The word most common being applied these days to Anthony Albanese (and, indeed, to his whole government) is the word ‘hubris’—hence I have been asked to explain it. Well, ‘hubris’ comes from a Greek source and word and from the classical culture of Ancient Greece. Basically what ‘hubris’ means is ‘arrogance’ or ‘overweening pride and self-confidence’ (Merriam-Webster Dictionary). And that’s the charge being levelled against Albanese and his government—that they are arrogant and think they can get away with anything. This pride and arrogance comes from the fact that at this year’s federal election the Labor Party won government in a landslide. But that landslide mainly came from preference votes—since the Labor Party’s primary vote was close to one third of Australian voters. 

So, only one third of us gave Labor our first vote, but despite that they (supposedly) are now displaying ‘hubris’ as if they are so secure they will be in power for many years to come. 

The word ‘hubris’ is only recorded into English from 1884. But well before that it was a bit of ‘academic’ slang borrowed from Ancient Greek by all the classical scholars. In that ancient world of Greek mythology and all those ancient gods of the Greek pantheon, ‘hubris’ came to be defined as overweening presumption that leads a person to disregard the divinely fixed limits on human action in an ordered cosmos. The most-famous example of hubris in ancient Greece was the case of Meidias, who in 348 BC struck the great orator Demosthenes in the face when the latter was dressed in ceremonial robes and performing an official function. And when Labor ministers start blowing out their expense accounts it can (figuratively) be seen as a ‘slap in the face’ for those voters (and taxpayers) who end up funding all those expenses. Even more -- when they refuse a royal commission into the Bondi massacre (that all Australia wants) they sound as though they think they are above us all.

That is, perhaps, the modern notion of ‘hubris.'

Souped up I want to pay a tribute to Michael Quinion, who, for many years, has been in the business of explaining the meaning (and origin) of familiar words and phrases—especially those that are a bit mysterious when you think about them. I met Michael when he toured Australia some years ago—a delightful man. He ran a wonderful website called Worldwide Words. He has (sadly) retired from putting out newsletters and updating the website, but the website is still available (here’s the link: Welcome!), and contains a treasure store of wonderful wordie information. For example, when someone says that their car has been ‘souped up’ they mean they’ve improved its performance—but where does the expression come from? Here's Michael’s explanation: ‘Souped-up must at root derive from super, as in supercharger. This term for a device to increase the pressure of the fuel-air mixture in an engine to improve its performance is known from 1919. Versions of the device had been invented much earlier, but the term was created to refer to one developed for aero engines by Sanford A Moss of General Electric in 1918. However, there’s almost certainly a connection with the foodstuff, which would account for the shift in spelling. Soup has at times been a slang term applied to several murky liquids. If you’re a fan of American detective stories, you may know soup as a term for the nitro-glycerine that was employed in safe-cracking, a slang term widely used in newspaper reports of criminal activity from about 1900 onwards (it was called soup because it was extracted from dynamite by immersing the sticks in boiling water). And it was recorded in Webster’s Dictionary in 1911 that soup was “any material injected into a horse with a view to changing its speed or temperament”. It seems that supercharger combined with the racing and criminal senses of soup to make souped-up.’ Fascinating! He’s good isn’t he? If you ever come across a book with the name Michael Quinion on the spine, grab it! It will be a real winner.

Wild and woolly I’ve been asked for the origin of the expression ‘wild and woolly.’ According to the Oxford English Dictionary it means ‘barbarous and lacking in culture.’ This is American in origin (does that surprise you?), and the story is that it comes from the days of the American wild west on account of its primitive and uncivilized character. Which is all well and good as far as it goes. And that certainly explains the ‘wild’—but where does the ‘woolly’ come from? The answer is (according to the Phrase Finder website) the Californian Gold Rush era of the 1850s. A US publication The Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review and Church Register of 1855, included a reference to the ‘wild and woolly-haired Negrillo’ which is almost there. The first example the website provides of the precise phrase in print is in the Missouri newspaper The Sedalia Daily Democrat, December 1875 in a story about someone called William Palmer, of South Bend, Indiana, who was a murderer. It says ‘Bill always was one of the “wild and woolly” kind...’ And the fact that they put the phrase in quotation marks indicates that it was still a new (and unfamiliar) phrase. The Oxfordquotes from a book called Rangers and Pioneers of Texas (from 1884)—and here’s the quote: ‘Occasionally, in some Western village, you will hear a voice ring out on the night air “Wild and woolly” and then you may expect a few shots from a revolver. It is a cowboy out on a little spree.’ It’s not entirely clear (at least to me) where the ‘woolly’ part comes in, but America’s pioneering cowboy days are the source of the expression. One final thought—there is a suggestion that during cold nights on the prairie cowboys would wear jackets made of lamb’s wool, and it may be that the prevalence of these jackets contributed to the phrase. It’s a possibility.

Boxing Day How have you survived your Christmas? Yes, I know we are all inclined to eat too much—even though we know we will still be eating cold turkey and cold Christmas pudding for the next week. And some people will also drink too much. The less said about that, the better. As for the Boxing Day is concerned, for many Australians it might be labelled ‘The Day of Recovery’—with hopes that the children will be fully occupied by their new toys, and won’t bother the grown ups too much. For most Aussie Boxing Day means the Boxing Day test begins at the MCG . And then there the start of the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race—the ‘blue water classic’ as the commentators usual call it. But what about the day itself? Where does the name come from? Why is the day after Christmas associated with the pugilistic sport? Why does this day step into the boxing ring? Well, the answer, of course, is that it doesn’t. A reader wants to know why the day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. And the answer is not all that mysterious: on that day (December 26th) boxes were distributed. Of course, there’s a little more to it than that. Traditionally in England the first week-day after Christmas-day was observed as a holiday and post-men, errand-boys, and servants of various kinds would be given what was called a “Christmas-box”. In other words, it was a gratuity to thank them for their service over the previous year. I remember when I was a boy that we used to leave out a bottle of beer for the garbo on the garbage collection day before Christmas – same idea really. Among the better off, there was also the custom of boxing up left over Christmas food and distributing it to the poor on the day after Christmas Day. From all such generous and charitable activities comes the label Boxing Day.

Aussie ghosts There is an old English tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas Eve. It is out of that famous tradition that Charles Dickens classic ghost story A Christmas Carol was born. Well, this is Christmas Eve—so do I have any ghost stories for you? Yes, a few. First, there’s ‘Berrima’s Headless Ghost’: Lucretia Dunkley was hanged at Berrima Jail (in the southern highlands of NSW) on 22 October 1842. She’d been found guilty of the murder of a wealthy farmer and of stealing 500 gold sovereigns from his corpse. After the hanging the head was removed from the corpse for scientific examination. For decades afterwards eyewitnesses claimed to have seen her headless spectre, late at night, roaming through the pine trees in front of the jail. However, when the pine trees were cut down the apparition ceased its appearances. Then there’s the “Bishop’s Palace Ghost’: The first man appointed as Anglican bishop of Northwest Australia was Gerard Trower. Holding the post from 1910-27, he lived in a modest bungalow in Broome jokingly known as “the Bishop’s Palace.” One still, moonlit night Bishop Trower awoke to find a ghostly figure walking through the French windows into his bedroom. Dressed in the robes of a Jewish rabbi the figure lingered for a moment and then vanished. From the description locals identified the spectre as the ghost of a Jewish pearl buyer named Davis who died in 1912 when his ship, the Koombana, sank in a storm. Davis had previously lived in the bungalow occupied by the bishop, and locals believed his ghost had returned to search for pearls he had hidden in the house. Then we come across the ‘Bungaribee House Ghost’: Bungaribee House was built in 1827 for Colonel John Campbell (Secretary to the Governor of NSW) in the outer Sydney suburb of Doonside. It was demolished in 1957. While it stood, so the legend says, it was the scene of hauntings by a murdered convict. Moving on, according to tradition the ghost of the explorer Robert O’Hara Burke walks at Innamincka Crossing in Central Australia. According to the legend it whines with the wind around the old pub at Innamincka, and groans like an old iron gate near where he died. Finally, there’s the ‘Corroboree Rocks Ghost’: One of those rare apparitions that is prepared to pose for a photograph. The snapshot in question was taken in May 1956 by a Presbyterian minister (Rev. R. S. Blance) at Corroboree Rock west of Alice Springs. The developed photograph showed “the ghostly figure of a man wearing a night-shirt and a balaclava with his hands clasped in prayer.” Sadly the ghost has declined to appear in any further photographs since his one and only appearance in 1956. And that’s quite enough ghosts for one Christmas!

Pudding Christmas is close, so this is a good time for all of us who love our Christmas pudding to look at the history of the word ‘pudding.’ And a very weird history it turns out to be. These days ‘pudding’ means that wonderful, sweet, rich, dark pudding that you pour brandy custard over as dessert at the end of your Christmas feast. In fact, in the English use the word ‘pudding’ to mean ‘dessert’—any dessert. But that’s not where the word started. Originally (and we’re talking back in the 1200s here) the word ‘pudding’ mean something rather like the Scottish haggis—meat and cereal stuffed inside the stomach of a pig or sheep or some other animal, and then boiled. (I’ve eaten haggis in Scotland and found it delicious!) In some ways, there was not a lot of difference between the contents of a ‘pudding’ and a ‘sausage’ in the early days. This similarity survives in the expression ‘black pudding’ for a ‘a large sausage made of blood and suet, sometimes with flour or oatmeal’ (Oxford). So, how did we get from that to our delightful Christmas pudding that we enjoy today? The linking factor seems to be boiling or steaming. Any bunch of ingredients that could be minced or ground or stuffed together and then boiled or steamed came to be called a ‘pudding.’ By the 1500s a ‘pudding’ could be either a sweet or savoury dish (‘made’ says the Oxford, ‘with flour, milk etc.). The Oxford goes on to explain that the earliest use of ‘pudding’ apparently involved the boiling of the mixture in a bag or cloth (called a pudding-bag or pudding-cloth), and this (of course) is still sometimes done. In fact, boiling in a bag was how my late mother-in-law made her magnificent Christmas puddings. But then the term ‘pudding’ was extended, so that its meaning and application became quite varied. The Oxford concludes that ‘in modern use “pudding’ refers almost exclusively to sweet dishes…,’ with the obvious exception of things such as ‘black pudding.’ Mind you, there is also ‘Yorkshire pudding’ which is a puffy bread dish made from a batter of eggs, flour, and milk that is baked in meat drippings. And the Americans even have something they call ‘hasty pudding’ which is (it appears) a porridge of oatmeal or flour boiled in water. This is getting stranger and stranger—whatever porridge is, it is not pudding! The safest thing to do is to forget about the rest, and just focus on a wonderful Christmas pudding. (Yes, please!)

Serif The typefaces we are most familiar with on our computers are divided into two principle categories— ‘serif’ and ‘sans-serif.’ This column you are reading now was written in my computer in ‘Times New Roman’—although by the time it reaches the computer screen on my website or in the newsletter you receive it has become a ‘sans-serif’ typeface. We think of ‘serif’ typefaces as having those curls and twists, and the ‘sans-serif’ as being much squarer and straight up and down. The word ‘serif’ is recorded in English from 1785, and when it first appeared it meant cross-strokes, or finishing strokes, at the end of a principal stroke of a letter. The Oxford has explanatory note, in which they say that small end or cross-strokes were first used by ancient stonecutters to define the limits of the chiselled principal strokes of Roman letters more clearly, and were later added by pen to written texts to give weight and clarity to the ends of the strokes. However, the word serif itself (in its various forms) apparently only came into use as a technical term to describe these finishing strokes with the advent of early modern type-setting; it was subsequently applied to the similar cross-strokes on handwritten letters. The word itself seems to come from a Dutch source word meaning a line, a stroke, or a mark. According to recent news reports US Secretary of State Marco Rubio has criticized earlier proposals that all State Department documents appear in a ‘sans-serif’ font, rather than a ‘serif’ font. He said the proposal was ‘radical’—so I take it that he doesn’t life ‘sans-serif’ fonts? Or that he really like the little curly bits in ‘serif’ fonts? And the word ‘sans-serif’ is just the word ‘serif’ with the French word for ‘without’ (sans) tacked on to the front. I must admit I can’t see the point of making a fuss about such things. As long as it’s clear and I can read it I don’t care what font it appears in!

Reflection Today has been declared a ‘Day of Reflection’ for the victims and the families touched by the Bondi massacre. I’m sure out local church will do something special along those lines this morning—and there will be a public event at Bondi later this morning. The word ‘reflection’ has been part of the English language since around 1398. It came into English from a Middle French word, behind which stands a post-classical Latin source word. The Classic Latin word reflectere is there somewhere in background. The core concept in all these words is that of ‘folding back’ or ‘bending back’ or ‘turning back.’ The flexion part of the word means bending or turning, while the prefix ‘re-’ means ‘again’ or ‘back again.’ This is why we talk about a mirror’s ‘reflection’—because it sends the image it catches ‘back again.’ By the 17th century the French source word had come to mean ‘reflective thought’ or ‘meditating.’ We live in an age that has been taught to believe that the best way to meditate is to empty your mind—to think of nothing. But this is a mistake. Mediation really means to think about, and focus on, something in particular. The great Christians mystics through the ages have understood this, and have taught in their writings how to meditate on (for example) the love of God. Well, it’s t his kind of ‘reflective thinking’ that today is meant to be about. Used as a word for mental activity the Oxford English Dictionary says that ‘reflection’ means ‘The action or process of thinking carefully or deeply about a particular subject, typically involving influence from one's past life and experiences; contemplation, deep or serious thought or consideration, esp. of a spiritual nature.’ I’ll be speaking a few words in our church this morning, and I think I’ll say that this awful event is a reminder that we live in a broken world—the horrors in the headlines reflect the horrors in history. And that is why we need to turn to a source of strength and love above and beyond ourselves. But may I encourage you to take this ‘Day of Reflection’ as an opportunity to feel for the victims—and to feel for our beloved country that never wants to see this kind of hatred again.

Radical Islam One expression Peta Credlin asked me to explain this week was ‘radical Islam.’ And here’s my explanation. The adjective ‘radical’ comes from a Latin source word radix meaning ‘root’ or ‘roots.’ So when a movement is ‘radical’ what it is doing is (literally) going back to its roots. Which is what the Wahabi movement in Islam did on the Arabian peninsular as long ago as the 1700s. This is a movement in Sunni Islam that came to be centred in Saudi Arabia (especially in the holy cities of Mecca and Medina). One of the things that grew out of this ‘radical’ return to roots was a further movement that focussed on the life of Mohammad the founder of Islam. And Mohammad was a strikingly different founder from the founders of the other major religions. In contrast with Budda. Confucius, Jesus or Moses Mohammad was a military man—he led armies into battle and executed his enemies. If you see that history as your ‘roots’ to which you should return then it is also possible to misunderstand how such a history should be applied in the 21stcentury. In this way ‘radical Islam’ came to see itself not as engaged in a purely spiritual battle, but rather a literal battle—in which it must engage and slaughter the enemy. This is the sort of thinking that gave rise to ‘radical Islamists’ flying aircraft into the Twin Towers in New York on September 11, 2001. There were two other hijacked aircraft that day—one flew into the Pentagon, and the other was crashed by passengers before it could reach its target. The same ‘radical Islamism’ gave rise to the wave international terrorist attacks that followed on from that day of slaughter—in Paris, in London and around the world. And that is why ‘radical Islamist’ terrorists shoot and murder Jewish families on Bondi Beach. 

There’s the rub Today I continue my tribute to the talented Michael Quinion (that I started yesterday). From his wonderful website Word Wide Words (here’s the link:  Welcome! ) comes this explanation of the odd phrase ‘there’s the rub.’ When we are discussing something that turns out to have a bad side to it (perhaps on outcome we don’t really want) we might grunt in disappoint: ‘Yes, there’s the rub.” In fact, good old Shakespeare used it in exactly this way in Hamlet’s famous ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy. When he speculates that death will be just like falling asleep he says, ‘To sleep — perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub!’ So, it’s not new. But old or new it is odd. Here’s Michael’s explanation of where it comes from: ‘The origin is the ancient game of bowls (which Americans may know as lawn bowling; nothing to do with tenpin bowling). A rub is some fault in the surface of the green that stops a bowl or diverts it from its intended direction. The term is recorded first a few years before Shakespeare’s time and is still in use. It appears, too, in golf, in the expression rub of the green, which refers to an accident that stops a ball in play — hitting an obstacle or a bystander perhaps — and for which no relief is allowed under the rules. It later became a broader term for an abstract impediment or hindrance. The Oxford English Dictionary has its first example from Thomas Nashe’s The First Part of Pasquil’s Apology of 1590: “Some small rubs, as I hear, have been cast in my way to hinder my coming forth, but they shall not profit.” Rub of the green is also used figuratively, but in the sense of something that’s just bad luck and can’t be helped; an example is in James Elroy’s Clandestine: “I’m a deputy district attorney, for the city of Los Angeles. We have the same employer. I would rather be a deputy public defender, but that’s the rub of the green, as Dad would say.”’ There you are—absolutely first-class Wordie stuff!

Antisemitism This is a word I have written on in the past (more than once, in fact)—but clearly it’s a word we need to look at again, since in the aftermath of the Bondi mass murder by Islamic terrorists the Albanese government is being told it has failed to tackled ‘antisemitism’ in Australia. The Oxford lists the first appearance of ‘antisemitism’ in English as occurring in 1880—which it did. In that year it was used widely in Germany, and from German newspapers made its way into English. In 1880 it was used to label the vitriolic attacks on Jews coming from the pen of a German politician, journalist and editor Willhelm Marr—and he labelled Jews as ‘Semites.’ When he was being verbally violent against ‘Semites’ (Jews) it made sense to label his attacks as ‘antisemitism.’ But the word had actually be coined in Germany a century earlier as part of an academic dispute. It was coined by Moravian historian Moritz Steinschneider to label French philosopher Ernest Renan's offensive and false ideas about how ‘Semitic races’ were inferior to ‘Aryan races’ (the poisonous notion that would later drive Hitler’s Nazis as they pursued their evil aims in the Holocaust). But it remained, as I say, a German word, until 1880. So how should it be defined? The International Holocaust Alliance uses this definition: “Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.” Jillian Segal, in her report to the Albanese government on antisemitism, says the government should adopt this definition. Which is excellent. But it’s too long. As a wordsmith who believes that brevity and clarity are what work in language, I think we can boil the International Holocaust Alliance definition down to just two words: ‘Jew hatred.’ That’s what should be banned!

Slop At the big American dictionary, the Merriam-Webster, the team has announced their word of the year for 20225—it is ’slop.’ They say this word ‘slop’ now refers to low-quality digital content, often produced in large quantities by AI (artificial intelligence), encompassing absurd videos, fake news, and junky AI-written books. Merriam-Webster's president, Greg Barlow, highlighted that the word illustrates public fascination, annoyance, and concern regarding AI-generated material. Other significant words considered on the short list for 2025 included ‘6-7’, ‘performative’, ‘gerrymander’, ‘touch grass’, ‘conclave’, and ‘tariffs. That short list mostly makes sense. ‘6-7’ was the Word of the Year choice by Dictionary.com—and I’ve explained it more than once in these columns and on both radio and television. The word ‘gerrymander’ also makes sense since there has been a battle over what they call ‘re-districting’ in America (meaning, redrawing electoral boundaries)—with the accusation being made is that’s what’s going on is ‘gerrymandering’ (again a word I have explained several times in the past). As for ‘tariff’—that is clearly a Trump word and much in the news. Of course, for us Aussies we know that our own Macquarie Dictionary got in first and picked ‘AI slop’ as its Word of the Year, while the Merriam-Webster team have settled on the shorter version (just ‘slop’ on its own), but it’s still the case that they weren’t first! However, I should note that when two major dictionaries choose words that record the uselessness of AI then we all need to stop treating AI as anything serious. It’s just super-fast computing based on huge language data bases. It’s not only not intelligent, it’s not very smart! And we all have to stop taking AI seriously.

The Australian Language A while back I had an amiable disagreement with one of the regular correspondents on this website. Jim tried to persuade me that there is no such thing as ‘the Australian Language.’ He wrote: ‘People talk about “the Australian language” as if there was such a thing. Pressed, they'll point to the use of Aboriginal words to describe Australian subjects. Perhaps they’ll point to convict slang, or words like “strollout” to account for some matter of current interest. But a language is an ecology, not a geography.’ Jim’s mistake is to imagine that unless a language is a totally foreign language then it’s not another language at all. However, that is not how language works. A language as rich, as global, as complex as English is (in fact) a collection of different linguistic strands called ‘dialects.’ David Crystal, the great lexicographer, wrote a history called The Story of Englishes—because that’s what exists… a collection of related languages, with shared components, and a common history, but each its own distinctive linguistic identity. For example, the form of English spoken in Singapore is called ‘Singlish’ (I have a very good little Singlish dictionary on my shelves). In India there is a variety of English called ‘Hinglish.’ And in the United States they have their own distinctive linguistic identity called ‘the American language’—a title bestowed by the great H. L. Mencken in his definitive 1919 book called The American Language. The great Sidney J. Baker did something similar for our own distinctive dialect with his book The Australian Language (1966). When British novelist Philip Hensher was reviewing Tim Winton’s novel Breath in the British weekly The Spectator he wrote: ‘Australian English must be the most consistently inventive and creative arm of the language.’ And then he added: ‘I would rather be shipwrecked with a good dictionary of Australian slang than with any other reference work.’ Linguist Michael Quinion, in his review of Gerry Wilkes’s A Dictionary of Australian Colloquialisms, describes Aussie English as ‘a colloquial language unlike any other’. This is because, he writes, Aussie English is influenced by ‘the cant and slang of criminal transportees … the dialect of immigrants’ home areas … contact with many Aboriginal languages … a characteristically sardonic sense of humour and an enviable ability to turn a phrase in a moment’. So, we can conclude that the Australian language is as bright as a box of budgies and as strong as a Mallee bull.

Dirty Politics This is a brand-new little dictionary that many might find intriguing. It comes from the editors of Australia’s own Macquarie Dictionary and is called Dirty Politics with the sub-title of ‘the A-Z of trickery, treachery and other tasty treats.’ In the foreword Sammy J writes: ‘Civics education is waning in Australia, but I dare say that if the Department of Education boffins were brave enough to insert the words “jeffed”, “woketard” and “ratf---k" into the national curriculum we’d suddenly have a whole generation of young people freshly engaged in the history of privatization, culture wars and bilateral relations.’ Perhaps. But I suspect the real problem is that there no history of any sort of civics education in Australia. Not in the past and not now. There has never (to the best of my knowledge) ever been a course that taught about the Australian constitution, the complex relationship between the states and the federal government, and the various houses of our different governments. I’m happy to be proved wrong, but it seems to me that Australians were just supposed to absorb (through their skin?) how the system worked by the time they were old enough to vote. Well this book, Dirty Politics, won’t fill that gap. But it is a handy guide to how our politicians talk—and what the (sometimes alarming) things they say reveal about how their brains work. This book will tell you why a government official will be delighted to find a ‘hollow log’ what a ‘head nodder’ does on the evening news on television, the power wielded by the ‘kitchen cabinet’ and why its always dangerous to ‘poke the dragon.’ Most of the expressions have direct relevance to Australia, although some (such a ‘pork barrelling’) that began in America have made their way here, there are others (such as ‘mugwump’) that still don’t make much sense outside the United States. Not all the terms it defines are current language. For instance, it defines ‘pink’ as meaning ‘a person with moderately left-wing or radical political opinions.’ But it strikes me that this expression died out some time ago. I well remember hearing the late, great Eric Baume attack people for being ‘pink’ (a safe thing to do, since calling someone an out-and-out communist was, at the time, legally defamatory). But that was a while ago. However, if you’d like to know the significance of phrases such as ‘nothing to see here’ and ‘know where the bodies are buried’ this is the book for you (and for probably for all political junkies!)