Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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Reading party We wordies are usually also keen readers. And I have just discovered something called a ‘reading party.’ This, it turns out is quite different from a reading group—where everyone reads the same book, and then they gather to share their thoughts on that book. By contrast a reading party consists of everyone reading whichever book they are in the middle of at the moment, and they gather together to sit around in silence, and all read (their own books) at the same time. I have been alerted to this by a new study by the journal Social Psychology and Personality Science. They say that people enjoy almost any activity if they doing it company with others—even something as personal (and silent) as reading a book. At ‘reading parties’ there is no conversation (well, for a lot of the time anyway). Attendees simply gather to sit quietly and read side by side. I then tracked down a ‘Guide to Running a Reading Party.’ This says that everyone brings whatever book they’ve been reading. They suggest having some extra books available in case anyone finishes their book and wants to keep reading. And invite guests to bring a book or two that they’re ready to pass along, so everyone can leave the party with new reading material. They add that snacks are important, as are comfortable sitting arrangements (all in the same space). Conversation comes when there is a scheduled break in the reading—and then people can talk about either their books, or about anything they wish. You think this is an interesting new idea? Think again! The Oxford English Dictionary records the expression ‘reading party; from 1781! In a book published that year is the question, ‘Is there not to be a reading party here today?’ So there is nothing new under sun (see Ecclesiastes 1:9). And from 2007 the Oxford has a citation that says: ‘At Bear Creek Elementary in St. Petersburg, students in all grades were invited to a pyjama reading party.’ (What a good idea for kids! Would a ‘reading party; work for you children or grandchildren?) And to help escape from the daily whirl, there are now also mass reading parties called ‘reading rhythms’—a phenomenon born in New York City, which is turning the act of sitting down with a book into a collective ritual. One even pulled in 750 readers. The format is minimalist by design: bring a book, read in silence, chat if you feel like it, then read some more. In good weather it can be done in a suitable open-air setting. Mind you, sometimes they have taken over bars, office spaces or hotel lobbies (with the manager’s permission!). But if I was going to a ‘reading party’ I think I’d prefer the smaller, domestic version with friends. But what a good idea!

Coffee words 

If you are a tea person please be patient—I am a coffee person, and for all the other coffee people I have compiled a short list of coffee words. Or, rather, Dictionary.com has compiled the list, and I am delighted to share it with you. You’ll know the words, but do you know their history?

Espresso—is a strong coffee prepared by forcing steam under pressure, or boiling water, through ground dark-roast coffee beans. The word comes from the Italian caffè espresso, which roughly means pressed coffee. Though espresso is known for its strong, bitter flavour, contrary to popular belief it actually has less caffeine than a cup of drip coffee.

Ristretto—a ristretto shot uses the same amount of ground coffee as a regular espresso shot but half the water, resulting in a more intense flavour. It is distinct from a short shot, which is simply a smaller shot with the same concentration as traditional espresso.

Latte—is the Italian word for milk. The café au lait (“coffee with milk”) is the French equivalent made with equal parts milk and espresso.

Cappuccino—is equal parts espresso, steamed milk, and milk foam, topped with powdered cinnamon or powdered chocolate. Cappuccino is Italian for “Capuchin”, an order of monks, whose brown habit was thought to resemble the colour of this coffee.

Flat white—was invented in Australia (although New Zealanders also claim they invented it—just like our pavlova. The hide of the kiwis!) The flat white is basically a cappuccino, but without the distinctive foam. It’s known for its velvety texture and espresso-like taste.

Mocha— is essentially a latte with a layer of chocolate between the espresso and foam. It’s typically made with chocolate syrup or pieces of chocolate. 

Caffè macchiato—is a shot of espresso with a dollop of steamed milk on top. Because of that, it has a much stronger espresso taste than others in the “espresso with milk” drink family. The name comes from the Italian word macchiare, which means “to stain or spot.”. (Think of our word “immaculate’ and then think of the opposite!) So essentially, a caffè macchiato is a stained (or spotted) coffee

Long black— The long black is an espresso-based coffee created in Australia. Hot water is mixed with espresso or ristretto to create a flavourful, strong coffee that can be savoured longer than a traditional shot of espresso. (To be drunk without milk, of course.) 

Short black— Short Black is the same as a single shot of espresso. In Australia and New Zealand, you’d call it a Short Black, while in Europe and the United States, you’d call it an Espresso.

Turkish coffee—is very finely ground coffee brewed by boiling. The coffee grounds are left in the coffee when served. Coffee and water, usually with added sugar, is brought to the boil in a special pot called a cezve in Turkey. As soon as the mixture begins to froth, and before it boils over, it is taken off the heat.

Americano— is an espresso drink with hot water added to it. By topping it up with water, the espresso shot is diluted, and you end up with a drink that resembles a cup of filter coffee. (Which is the sort of coffee Americans most commonly drink.) Sometimes served with a very small splash of milk.

Did you recognise your favourite there? I so, you are now a fully informed coffee drinker! 

AI I have written before about ‘AI’—so-called ‘Artificial Intelligence.’ My complaint, as a wordie, is that it is misnamed. It has been given the wrong label. Whatever it is, it is no sort of ‘intelligence’—because intelligence requires consciousness; it requires consciously understanding the information being processed. Anything short of that is not ‘intelligence.’ However clever it looks, and however useful it may be, it is just very fast, very capacious, number crunching. It is not ‘thinking’—it is not ‘intelligence.’ And now I have found an IT expert who agrees with me. Matthew Webster writes the ‘Digital Life’ column for The Oldie magazine. He says that there are these absurd claims that we are seeing the birth of semi-human intelligence. He says, ‘No, we aren’t—at least not intelligence as humans know it.’ So, if it’s not ‘Artificial Intelligence’, what is it? Matthew Webster says that the proper name for this ‘AI’ process is ‘Machine Learning.’ But it wouldn’t seem like as much fun if we went around calling it ‘ML’ would it? And calling it what it is (‘Machine Learning’) makes us realise its limitations. Here’s how Matthew Webster explains it: ‘The technology behind AI is impressive without doubt, but strip it bare and it’s fairly simple. It makes possible the reading, sifting and searching of gigantic amounts of information in a flash.’ So, that’s what it's actually doing! Not thinking, just processing. It is so fast that it’s very impressive—but that’s all its doing. As Webster says it is just ‘regurgitating what it has read in accordance with its instructions from you.’ Emily Bender is Professor of Linguistics (ah, ha—she’s a wordie like us) at the University of Washington. Emily is an expert in how computers model language, and she compares what ‘AI’ machines do to an intelligent octopus eavesdropping on human conversation. It may be able to pick up patterns and trends but will never understand meaning or intent. You see—processing, not really thinking. Mind you, I have to admit this battle is lost. The expressions ‘AI’ and ‘Artificial Intelligence’ are now so deeply entrenched that we will not be able to cast them out of our language (and into the outer darkness where they belong). But you and I, at least, can know that every time we see ‘AI’ in the news, all it really is, is ‘Machine Learning.’ It is very fast, very impressive processing—but it understands nothing! One day this truth will finally dawn on people—that ‘AI’ is nothing but a machine!

To a T If something fits you (or suits you) perfectly and exactly then it fits you (or suits you) ‘to a T.’ This is sometimes spelled ‘to a tee’—but (as will become clear as we go on) I think ‘to a T’ is correct. The Oxford English Dictionary traces this expression back to 1693. And that early date means that some of the suggestions as to where this comes from simply cannot be correct. One proposal is that it comes from the T-square—that measuring implement used by draftsmen, designer and architect. Because the T-square facilitates exactness this, some suggest, may be the source of ‘to a T.’ The problem is that the name ‘T-square; is not found in the English language until 1785. That’s 92 years too late to be the source of ‘to a T.’ Another suggestion is that it might come from a T shirt—since one that fits you, and compliments you appearance, suits you ‘to a T.’ But this also falls into a time gap hole—in fact, a much bigger gap this time, since the expression ‘T shirt’ is first recorded in English in 1912 (119 years too late to be the source of ‘to a T’). What about golf? Could the origin be from the start of a golf game ‘to a tee’? The problem here is that all the earliest citations that have been found don’t have that spelling—they all have ‘to a T.’ The muddle of writing it as ‘to a tee’ seems to be a much later invention. The Oxford folk also mention that ‘it has also been suggested that it referred to the proper completion of a t by crossing it’ before dismissing this one as well (but we are getting closer!) Then the Oxford says that in ‘to a ‘T’ the ‘T’ is the first initial letter in a word—specifically in the ‘tittle.’ This word ‘tittle’ means ‘a dot or other small mark used in writing or printing.’ We are familiar these days with this only in the combined expression ‘every jot and tittle’—meaning ‘every little bit.’ And both parts of that refer to small marks on paper—a ‘tittle’ is the dot over the lower-case letter ‘I’ and a ‘jot’ is the cross-bar on the letter ‘t’. So, if something fits you (or suits you) to the last little dot, then it fits you (or suits you) ‘to a T.’

Mankeeping This strikes me as a very silly new word—but perhaps that’s because I’m a man. It doesn’t yet appear in any of the major dictionaries, but the Collins Dictionary includes it in its list of ‘new word suggestions’ (which means one or more readers have proposed ‘mankeeping’ but the dictionary editors are not yet sure whether to include it). Of course it is already listed in the hyper-hip online Uban Dictionary, which says that ‘mankeeping’ means: ‘When a woman bears the emotional weight of a heterosexual relationship with little if any return.’ The Urban Dictionary’s entry is only dated from July of this year, so that suggests this is a very new word. The Collins Dictionary’s ‘new word’ department adds a bit more information: ‘Mankeeping refers to the emotional and social labour that straight women often take on in their relationships with straight men, most specifically around social connections.’ And they go on to cite an article that appeared in Vogue magazine entitled ‘What is Mankeeping?’ Mind you, there is a suggestion that ‘mankeeping’ may have started as an academic word in sociology departments. Which explains a lot. Has any good thing ever come out of a sociology department? Some writers claim the word was coined by two Stanford University psychologists Angela Ferrara and Dylan P Vegara (who clearly had too much time on their hands!). They say that ‘mankeeping’ is yet another example of gender inequality. They claimed that men never have D and Ms (‘deep and meaningful’) relationships with each other, and so are dependant on the woman in their life for their emotional support. Really? A lot of blokes (in my experience) aren’t bothered by D and Ms or by any navel gazing ‘emotional support.’ All blokes want to do is to get on with it. There are tasks to be tackled, jobs to be done, responsibilities to be shouldered—so, just get on with it! And these same blokes will patiently put up with hours of their women talking about the ups, downs, ins and outs of their female relationships. Blokes don’t need ‘keeping.’ So as I said at the start, I think this is just a silly new expression. But then, I am a mere male, so what would I know?

Authorpreneur I have lost count of the number of times someone has said to me, ‘I’ve written a book, how can I get it published?’ My response is always to say that writing a book is easy, getting it published is hard—and there is no surefire way of doing that. In fact, the only thing I can tell them to do is go into bookshops and look for other books that resemble what they have written, then try contacting the publisher of those similar books. But, of course, some publishers will only accept submissions from agents, and some won’t consider manuscripts they haven’t commissioned. But now the digital world may be changing all that, and ushering in the age of the ‘authorpreneur.’ This is a very new word (not yet listed in the Oxford) which is, to tell the truth, also a very ugly new word—a portmanteau word putting together ‘author’ and ‘entrepreneur.’ Pamela Howarth, writing in The Oldie magazine says that this clumsy neologism names ‘the mindset and practice of a new breed of writers.’ She says that the digital revolution has produced an explosion of self-publishing. So instead of a desperate search to find a traditional publisher for your book, you can now use Publisher or Word software to set your manuscript up in a readable format (and perhaps design a front ‘jacket’—or first page.) Then you upload it onto a site such as Amazon’s free Kindle Direct and create an ebook and print-on-demand paperback. Then, of course, you need to find a way to promote your book and create a market for it. So it becomes a combination of creative writing and running a small business. There is, I am told, a book that tells you how to go about this—Authorpreneur: Build the Brand, Business and Lifestyle You Deserve by Jesse Tevelow. (He does, by the way, stress that the quality of writing is vital!) Pamela Howarth suggests that this approach works best for people who are writing books in a particular genre—romance, science fiction, thrillers, horror, historical or whatever. The elephant in the room is—will you find readers? Perhaps you need to create your own website to promote your book (or books) and use social media and anything else you can think of. It appears that you have to serious about the business side and engage in relentless self-promotion. My latest book (Sherlock Holmes:5-Minute Mysteries) has been published by small, but traditional, publishing house (Belanger Books) and is available from Amazon—so I have never tried any of this stuff. But it is intriguing, isn’t it? And it gives the English language a brand-new word— ‘authorpreneur.’

Bibliotherapy This is (as far as I can tell) still a newish word (at least in terms of popularity)—but the idea that it expresses certainly appeals to me. A recent article in USA Today by Clare Mulroy used this word to talk about our need for comfort in this chaotic world. She writes: ‘In a fast-paced and interconnected world, many of us are feeling overwhelmed by our phones and social media, climate change and politics.’ My solution, of course, is to never go on social media, and to stop ‘dooming scrolling’ on your phone. 

But, hey, what would I know? Clare Mulroy goes on to define ‘bibliotherapy’ as ‘a practice some therapists use to help clients work through issues using literature as the tool.’ The Oxford English Dictionary says that ‘bibliotherapy’ has been around since at least 1914. 

It first appeared that year in a publication called Pennsylvania Library Notesin which is the following explanation: ‘The librarian's science might be termed bibliotherapy.’ 

In her article Clare Mulroy goes on the recommend eight ‘comfort’ books. These are books, she says, that ‘feel like a hug.’ Many of the titles she recommends I am unfamiliar with. 

However, she does include James Herriot’s wonderful book All Creatures Great and Small—and I agree that this is a book that is a good as a hug. A real comfort book. That’s a good start to our ‘bibliotherapy.’ What can we add to it? Alexander McCall Smith’s books in his ‘Number One Ladies Detective Agency’ series are, I think, comfort books. So far there are 23 books in the series, so lots of comfort there. The series features Precious Ramotswe, and the stories are set in Botswana. Doesn’t sound very comforting? Believe me it is. Go to your local library and give of the books in the series a try. I also think there are classics that can be read as comfort books. Anything by Jane Austen, for a start. 

And the rambling, slow-moving, historical novels by Sir Walter Scott I also find a comfort. But that may just be a matter of taste. C. S. Lewis used to say that any children's books that cannot be re-read with pleasure as an adult are not good books. And he certainly re-read some classic children’s books when he was an academic at Oxford and then Cambridge. 

High on the list of such books would be The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. 

Who can’t find comfort and relaxation spending time with Mole and Ratty ‘just messing about in boats.’ I’m sure there are many, many others that just don’t occur to me on the spur of the moment. But there you are—when life is getting a little bleak, try some ‘bibliotherapy.’ 

(PS: I also recommend Georges Simenon’s Maigret novels, and Rex Stour’s Nero Wolfe novels.)

Schrödinger's Cat A reader (Helen) has written to me about the expression ‘Schrödinger's Cat’. That compound expression captures an intriguing idea—but one that many people struggle to understand. It was coined in 1935 by German physicist Erwin Schrödinger in response to an article on quantum physics written Albert Eistein (and others). Quantum physics is full of strange ideas that us non-scientists can never quite grasp. For instance, there is Heisenberg’s ‘indeterminacy principle’ which says that it in sub-atomic physics to is possible to know the position of a sub-atomic particle, or to know the velocity at which it is moving, but not both. This is because of the ‘measurement problem’—which seems to me (as far as I can work it out) that when a scientist starts using instruments to measure sub-atomic particles it changes them—making it impossible to know (to measure) where the particles were, or how fast they were travelling, before the scientists started measuring. (Are you following me so far? If not, have a cup of coffee, and then come back and pick up the thread later.) It seems to boil down to the realisation that in dealing with such minute things as sub-atomic particles there is stuff that not only we don’t know, but that, given the nature of matter, we can’t know. Hence ‘indeterminacy.’ Well, Schrödinger tried to expose this as farcical (at least I think that’s what he was up to) by transferring ‘indeterminacy’ from the minute, sub-atomic level, to the substantial physical level. He created a thought experiment in which a cat was shut in a steel box with a flask of poison, a microscopic amount of nuclear material and a Geiger counter. If the Geiger counter detects the decay of a single atom it will shatter the flask and kill the cat. So, there you are, looking at this sealed steel box, so tell me—is the cat dead or alive? That’s the problem of Schrödinger’s cat. Schrödinger said that if you opened the box the cat would be either dead or alive; but until the box is opened the cat has a theoretical state of being both dead andalive. There may be a more scientifically accurate way to summarise his thought experiment in just a few words—but that’s as close as I can get. And the expression now has a life outside of physics. If a politician is proposing trying a policy and is asked if it will make life better or worse for people, if he were honest he might say: ‘It’s like Schrödinger’s cat. We can’t know.’ (If there is a scientifically minded reader and can provide a shorter and clearer explanation—please send it in!)

Newly added Every so often the major dictionaries come out with lists of words that have just been added to their big books; and I like to keep you up to date with these lists—they often show us where the English language is heading. This time it is the turn of the Cambridge Dictionary to release their ‘newly added’ list. And it’s a big one—6,000 new additions in all. No, I won’t try to list all of them! But here’s a small selection:

Tradwife—short for “traditional wife,” is used to describe a social media trend where some women embrace conventional domestic roles, sparking ongoing debate over gender norms.

Skibidi—a word made viral by the YouTube series Skibidi Toilet, has also been added. The term is described as having multiple meanings, ranging from “cool” to “bad,” or, in many cases, no meaning at all. (Part of the ‘Algo’ language I reported on yesterday.)

Delulu—short for delusional, as “believing things that are not real or true, usually because you choose to.” You want to believe that renewables can power a developed economy? Go right ahead—but your belief might be a touch delulu.

Lewk—a stylised spelling of “look” used to describe an unusual or impressive outfit, popularised by RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Broligarchy—another blended term, merging “bro” (that is, “brother”) and “oligarchy”, it means a “small group of men, especially men owning or involved in a technology business, who are extremely rich and powerful, and who have or want political influence.”

Mouse jiggler—refers to a device or software that simulates computer activity to prevent screens from going idle. Particularly useful for remote workers hoping to give the appearance of sitting at their computers when they are actually out in the kitchen making coffee.

Inspo—short for “inspiration,”

Forever chemical—a term for long-lasting man-made substances that remain in the environment and have been linked to health and environmental risks.

Is this really where the English language is headed? And bear in mind there are 5, 992 more of these! Enough is enough!

Algo We all know there is a vocabulary of special (newly coined) words used online by the geek community. That language now has a name— ‘algo.’ (This is an abbreviation of ‘algorithm’—since everything online seems run on one algorithm or other.) This abbreviation is not yet recorded in the magisterial Oxford English Dictionary, but it is found in the online hyper-hip Urban Dictionary. Because so many social media sites these days have automatic algorithms running which will block the use of certain words, this ‘algo’ community invents its own words, often closely related, to use instead. So, because of the number of sites that will block the word ‘sex’ this group use (in its place) the word ‘seggs.’ Again the Urban Dictionary has multiple listings for this word—most of which explain the word ‘seggs’ just as I have done. But there is one (intentionally) funny entry that says the ‘seggs’ is ‘When a man has sex and gets eggs cooked for him by his partner the following morning.’ One of the most common of these ‘algo’ words is ‘skibidi’ which the media noticed when it was used in the senate by a senator trying hard to sound hip. The problem is that with ‘skibidi’ this is almost impossible—because ‘skibidi’ means nothing. That is to say, it has no specific meaning, it is just tossed around as a useful word to fill the space. One writer says its used to start conversations—or to end a conversation that has ‘brain rot.’ And there are apparently a lot of jokes about ‘skibidi toilet.’ So, never try to sound cool by using this word. Other ‘algo’ words are a bit more obvious. ‘Cooked’ means ‘exhausted.’ ‘Doomer’ means ‘a pessimist.’ And ‘unalive’ is used to avoid ‘dead’—another word that many social media sites automatically ban. So if you want to refer to a suicide, or a killing, on those sites, it seems that if you write ‘unalive’ on your blog you will get away with it. (Mind you, why have these sites not woken up to this yet?) So, what are we to make of ‘algo’? Nothing. Nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, and it will wither up and die (sorry, become ‘unalive’) as other, newer, cooler, words are coined. So you and I can ignore ‘algo’ completely. (That’s a relief!)

Japanese walking We live in an exercise obsessed world. There are gyms in every suburb these days, many of them open 24-hours a day (in case some exercised obsessed member needs to dash in for a workout on the machines at three in the morning). And part of that obsession is in making sure you are doing enough walking every day. My guess is that we have all heard that we are supposed to do 10,000 steps a day. Mind you, that number always looks suspiciously neat to me, so I assume there is no science behind it, just this obsession to get us on our feet and moving all the time. There are, as you know, ways of keeping track of the number of your steps (with a counter on your ankle or an app on your phone). Well, it appears that the ‘10,000 steps a day’ plan is now old fashioned—and has been replaced by this new term ‘Japanese walking.’ You’ll understand my interest is in the new expression (just arrived in the English language) rather than in the actual exercise (although I am quite happy to sit in the front room of my home watching you doing your ‘Japanese walking’ up and down the street). So, what does ‘Japanese walking’ mean? I am told that to do ‘Japanese walking’ you (a) walk fast for three minutes, then (b) walk slow for three minutes, then (c) repeat this pattern five times, giving you 30 minutes of ‘Japanese walking’ in all.  Apparently, ‘Japanese walking’ has gone viral on Tik Tok. But why are the Japanese being blamed for this fad? Well, apparently what is now being called ‘Japanese walking’ was invented nearly 20 years ago by researchers led by Dr. Hiroshi Nose and Dr. Shizue Maskuki, both professors at the Shinshu University Graduate School of Medicine in Matsumoto, Japan. They called their new form of exercise ‘Interval Walking Training’ (or IWT)—which is a bit of a mouthful, so you can understand how (at least here in the west) it has the catchier title of ‘Japanese walking.’ What are the benefits? Well researchers claim that doing ‘Japanese walking’ results in significant increases in aerobic capacity, heart health and thigh strength compared to the continuous walking group. So, is ‘Japanese walking’ a health breakthrough? Or just the latest fad? 

Well-fired One of the expressions listed as ‘recently added’ on the Oxford English Dictionary website is this compound term ‘well-fired.’ When I first glanced at it I wondered what it might mean? Does it meaning sacking that really irritating (and quite useless) member of the team? We might like to say that such a person is ‘well-fired’ when they are given their marching orders and told to go. But then I started to investigate. It turns out that the ‘firing’ in this expression does refer not to sacking, but to heat. That started me thinking about pottery. I know that potters refer to their clay pots as being ‘fired’ in the kiln, and, if this was properly done, we might say the pots were ‘well-fired’ (that is, the temperature was exactly right, and the pots were in the kiln for exactly the right amount of time). But this doesn’t seem to be quite right either. It seems that ‘well-fired’ did eventually come to mean ceramics (and that’s the meaning it often has today)—but that is not what ‘well-fired’ originally meant. During the early centuries of its work in our language it seems that almost anything that could treated with fire, could then (if the job was done well) be said to be ‘well-fired.’ There are examples of it being used of malt (described, in 1664, as ‘straw-dried, well-fired malt) of barrels or casks which (it seems) had to be fired once they had been shaped. But more recently (from around 1898 onwards) ‘well-fired’ has been used mainly in bakeries. It is something that can be said of bread or pastries. The Scots especially (so we are told) will describe bread rolls that are baked until brown and crusty on top as ‘well-fired.’ The Scottish Daily Mail as recently as 2023 described what it thought was a good breakfast in these words: ‘with good, Scots beef or pork sausages.., a few well-fired morning rolls and some chopped and sauteed onion, you can serve up hot dogs worthy of celebration in verse.’ (Or is that meant to be lunch? I’m not sure.) So, at the risk of irritating both the potters and the ceramic artists, as I read the evidence, these days the expression ‘well-fired’ belongs mainly to the bakers.

Abscond If you think the behaviour of some Australian politicians can sometimes be a little odd, spare some sympathy for our American cousins—because at the moment a group of their politicians are behaving in a way that is close to being completely looney. It all started in Texas, where Governor Greg Abbott decided to re-draw the maps of Congressional districts (they call this ‘re-districting’ in the US). The Democrat members of the Texas state house decided they were opposed to his bill to do this. But they didn’t have the numbers to block it, so, instead, they decided to ‘abscond.’ Making this word peak among words being looked-up online at the great American dictionary the Merriam-Webster. ‘Abscond’ is an old word, first recorded in the English language around 1586. It came from a classical Latin source word via French (most of our Latinate bits of English came to us via French, after William the Conqueror and his Norman knights took over England). The Latin word abscondere meant to hide or conceal. This gave rise to an almost identical French word with the same meaning, which, in turn, came into English. But then in the next century (from around 1626) it no longer meant just hiding anything, it came to meaning ‘hiding oneself’ (‘to flee into hiding’ as the Oxford says). And this is what the Democrat members of the Texas state house have done. Their reason was to deny Governor Abbott a ‘quorum’in the house, so that a vote on his bill could not be held. ‘Quorum’ is yet another word that came to us from Latin via French, and it means ‘the smallest number of people who must be present at a meeting so that official votes can be taken’ (Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English). If you don’t have a quorum then a vote is not legally binding. So that was the purpose of their absconding. Still, it is rather weird (isn’t it?) for elected representatives to refuse to take their seats in a parliament, and flee to another state so they can’t be found? They claim they are trying to prevent a ‘gerrymander’ (a word I explained back on the 6th of this month). However, it appears that gerrymanders are normal and common in American politics (Democrat states are full of gerrymanders)—which makes the whole protest look a little bit pointless. But all this does make our politics look rather tame by comparison, doesn’t it?

Snark words Yesterday we talked about Lewis Carroll’s wonderful, invented words in his Alice books, today we turn our attention to his long, nonsense poem The Hunting of the Snark. The story is told in eight ‘fits’ (rather than chapters) and records an expedition to locate that rare animal ‘the snark.’ Although rare, and hard to find, the elusive ‘snark’ gets his own entry in the Oxford English Dictionary where it is defined as ‘an imaginary animal’—but it has a wider use. The long expedition to hunt the ‘snark’ is a completely useless waste of time—and they never do find the snark! Which means we can describe the sort of wasteful nonsense politicians spend taxpayers’ money on a ‘snark hunting.’ In the poem the only map the snark hunters have is a map that shows not a ‘vestige of land’—it only shows the sea. Consequently it is a sheet of blue paper and quite useless for the purposes of navigating. And throughout their whole, pointless hunt they are warned of the danger of the ‘boojum’—another of Lewis Carroll’s invented word. Meeting a ‘boojum’ it seems can be fatal—it can cause you to ‘suddenly vanish away.’ And ‘boojum’ is another word that has made its way into the pages of the big dictionary, where the Oxford defines it as meaning: ‘any imaginary malevolent creature or monster.’ There are those who would say that ‘climate change’ is a ‘boojum’—it is entirely imaginary, and pictured by those who fear it as some sort of monster. Mind you, the word ‘boojum’ also has another meaning—it can be ‘an object of pursuit which proves to be illusory or impossible to attain’ which would make ‘net zero’ a ‘boojum’ since it will never be attained. After eight long chapters (or fits) The Hunting of the Snark comes to an unhappy end, when one of the hunters (the Baker) finally meets with a snark he ‘softly and suddenly vanished away.’ Why? Because ‘the Snark was a Boojum, you see.’ And what I have noticed is the connection between so many nonsense words and the world of politics. Why might that be, I wonder?

Alice’s words Recently Anu Garg (he of ‘A Word A Day’ fame) recently ran a week of ‘Alice words’—words that feature in Lewis Carroll’s two classic children’s books Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass. Lewis Carroll (real name Charles Dodgson, 1832-1898) was an Oxford academic, an expert in mathematics and formal logic, and his wonderful nonsense stories are filled with verbal inventions that can delight adults (and probably go right over the heads of the children we are reading to!) A lot of his words were nonsense words that he simply invented out of his extraordinary imagination. 

So much so that I thought he had invented the word ‘beamish’.This turns up in Alice Through the Looking Glass in the poem about the ‘Jabbberwocky’ which contains the line ‘Come to my arms, my beamish boy!’ But it turns out that ‘beamish’ is a real word, not a Carroll invention. Mind you, the Oxford says it is both very old (from 1530) and very rare, but still a real word meaning ‘shining brightly, radiant.’ It comes from ‘beam’ as in ‘a beam of light’—so that makes sense. Which is more than can be said for Lewis Carroll’s own inventions. 

For example, the word ‘frabjous’ meaning something delightful. Lewis seems to have put this together out of bits of the words ‘fabulous’ and ‘joyous.’ I rather like it as a word. I wonder if you or I could ever work this into our conversation? ‘What did you think of that movie last night?’ It was frabjous!’ That might be fun to do! In fact, the whole ‘Jabberwocky’ poem is worth reading—it is a delight for those who enjoy playing with language (Google it). And, as it happens, ‘jabberwocky’ has now entered our language as a real word with its own meaning. 

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland first appeared in print in 1865. Forty years later, in 1905, ‘jabberwocky’ turned up as a word on its own and earned a place in the Oxford English Dictionary—where it is said to mean: ‘meaningless language’ or ‘nonsensical behaviour’; as in ‘the Prime Minister’s answer was a load of jabberwocky.’ Useful word! As well as the Alice books there are some wonderful Lewis Carroll’s verbal inventions in his long, nonsense poem The Hunting of the Snark—and I’ll report on some of those tomorrow.

Dagwood sandwich I keep seeing so-called ‘gourmet ‘burgers that look to be so huge I can’t imagine anyone having a mouth large enough to get around them and take a bite. However, such massive concoctions have a precedent in the legendary ‘Dagwood sandwich.’ You may remember that Dagwood Bumstead was the male half of the Blondie comic strip family created by American cartoonist Chick Young. Although Chic Young died in 1973 the ’Blondie’ comic strip (and with it Dagwood and his giant sandwiches) continues, with other cartoonists at the drawing board, to this day. The comic strip began in 1930, so Dagwood has been with us now for 95 years. Dagwood is famous for concocting tall, multilayered sandwiches topped with an olive on a toothpick, and the term ‘Dagwood sandwiches’ entered out language a long time ago. Dagwood often made these sandwiches late at night. He filled his tall, multilayered sandwiches with a variety of meats, cheeses and condiments.  The Ohio Deli and Restaurant ran a Dagwood Challenge in 2008. The challenge was to eat a 2-1⁄2-pound Dagwood sandwich, plus a full pound of French fries, within 30 minutes. Adam Richman successfully ate the sandwich and fries in just 20 minutes. His prize was a commemorative T-shirt. (Perhaps giving us the famous saying: ‘Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.’) That’s the ‘Dagwood’ part of the ‘Dagwood sandwich’—what about the ‘sandwich’ part? You probably the know the story: the word comes from John Montagu, the 4thEarl of Sandwich (1718-1792). When he was sitting with his friends playing cards he asked a servant to give him sliced beef in between slices of bread—a meal he could hold in one hand—so that he could keep on playing cards. And the sandwich was born. Now, as well as the Dagwood (and perhaps inspired by Dagwood), there are many famous sandwiches. For instance, there’s the BLT—consisting of bacon, lettuce and tomato. Then there’s the Club Sandwich—chicken, fried bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise often served with a third slice of bread in the middle dividing up the chicken layer from the bacon layer (a very Dagwood thing to do). The Americans also have exotic creations such as the Denver sandwich (in which the filling is an omelette) and the Cuban sandwich (developed in Tampa, Florida, despite the name, with a filling of ham, roasted pork, Swiss cheese, pickles, mustard, and salami). It appears that Dagwood Bumstead has a lot to answer for!

Ain’t over till the fat lady sings Although this expression was born in America, it is now quite common in Australia. Perhaps it’s sports commentators who are most likely to say ‘It ain’t over till the fat lady sings’—meaning that although one team is well ahead, it’s not the end of the game yet, and anything could still happen. In fact, the expression appears to have burst before the public in the arena of sports commentators. It was a sports commentary column in the Dallas Morning News in 1976 when this phrase first appeared in print. In that article it was a slightly longer phrase: ‘The opera ain’t over till the fat lady sings.’ This is a very Wagnerian image. In some of Wagner’s massively over dramatized operas the buxom and (often) overweight soprano gets to sing a final aria before everyone dies and the opera is over. So that may be the origin of the image, and the colloquial saying. But there is something slightly surprising about this, isn’t there? How many sports commentators do you think go to the opera? If your answer is ‘not a lot’ you are probably on the money. It’s hard to imagine the sports commentary brigade being enthusiastic fans of Wagnerian opera. But, hey, I might be wrong! Maybe they all hum ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ in the shower? On the other hand, they may have picked up this notion from cartoons of operas, in which Brunhilde is depicted as a fat soprano wearing armour and a helmet with horns. At any rate, later in that same year the line appeared in The Yale Book of Quotations, and it has been around ever since. But I have to warn you that there is second theory as to where this expression comes from. This theory says the full version of this line is ‘Church ain’t over till the fat lady sings.’ In this case what is being imagined is one of those big Southern churches where church is not over until the choir sings the bit, rousing final anthem—including the overweight doctor’s wife who sings a solo part: ‘It’s ain’t over till the fat lady sings.’ So there you are, you have been given two possible sources for the expression—take your pick!

Decimated A reader of this column, Noel, wants to know whether the media is using ‘decimated’ correctly, when a commentor calls on Hamas to be ‘decimated’ and means ‘totally destroyed’? The answer to Noel’s question is: Yes and No—and that (obviously) needs a bit of explanation. ‘Decimated’ (which can be used as a verb or as an adjective) is recorded as part of the English language from 1591. From the beginning it had the meaning of ‘to kill, destroy, or remove one in every ten of’ (Oxford English Dictionary). You can see the ‘ten’ component if you look at the word—the first syllable ‘dec-’ comes from the Latin word for ‘ten’ which also gives us decimal numbers and so on. The word comes from a practice of the Roman army in the days of the Roman Empire. If a platoon of soldiers did the wrong thing (perhaps they fled in the face of the enemy, or whatever) the punishment would be that their commanding officer would select one tenth of the platoon by lot—and then kill them. It was that sort of army. Well, I suppose that one way of keeping the troops in order! But the point being made by that Oxford definition, is that to be ‘decimated’ means ‘to reduce by a tenth’ NOT ‘to reduce to a tenth.’ That is the origin of the word. So if a town in north Queensland is completely destroyed by a cyclone it is just wrong to say that the town has been ‘decimated.’ Or is it? The truth is that usage changes over time. And for a very long time now in conversational English it has been normal to use ‘decimated’ to mean ‘destroyed.’ We can’t ignore how common and widespread this usage is, and we must admit that this is now how many (lor perhaps most?) English language users think of ‘decimate.’ If so, the meaning has changed. It now means: ‘to reduce drastically or severely; to destroy, ruin, devastate’ (Oxford English Dictionary). This new meaning has been recorded since around 1600—so it’s no recent innovation. The Oxford adds this usage note: ‘This use has sometimes been criticized on etymological grounds, but is now the most usual sense in standard English.’ Hence my reply to Noel’s question—Yes and No!

Evil Following the decision by Anthony Albanese to recognise the state of Palestine (based on discussions with Mahmood Abbas of Fattah) has fired up a reader, Aaron, who says he feels saddened and embarrassed by his government over this decision. Then he goes on to say, ‘It looks like the triumph of evil—with the radical Islamist extremists having won what they want.’ And having made this comment Aaron then asks me to explain the origin of this word ‘evil.’ Well, leaving aside Aaron’s phrase of ‘the triumph of evil’ for the moment, let’s see what we can find about this word he uses— ‘evil.’ The first thing to say is that it is very old. As old as the English language. So this goes back to the days when the Anglo Saxons were speaking Old English—well over a thousand years ago. The Oxford English Dictionary says that ‘evil’ is ‘a word inherited from Germanic’—Old English being one of the Germanic family of languages. Our modern form of the word descends from a Middle English construction evel—although there are older, differently constructed versions of the same word. The definition has not changed over the long years that this word ‘evil’ has been part of the language—it just means ‘the antithesis of good; morally depraved, bad, wicked, vicious.’ Which certainly covers the jihad supporting terrorists of radical Islamism. The Oxford then goes on to add an explanatory note: ‘In Old English, as in all the other early Germanic languages except Scandinavian, this word is the most comprehensive adjectival expression of disapproval, dislike, or disparagement. In modern colloquial English it is little used, such currency as it has being due to literary influence. In quite familiar speech the adjective is commonly superseded by bad.’ So the editors of the Oxford think that Aaron has chosen a quaint, old-fashioned way of expressing his disapproval. In modern English they suggest that it would be common to say that a decision to recognise the (as yet undefined) Palestinian state is a ‘bad’ decision, and Aaron is reaching back into the past to call it an ‘evil’ one. What do you think? Do you agree with Aaron’s word? Or do you think he is over-reacting?