Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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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.

Offence archaeology This is the practice of going through the social media history of a public figure to find offensive or embarrassing things they have said in the past. This expression “offence archaeology” was drawn to my attention by 2GB’s Luke Grant. Many millions of social media users at one time or another have posted something that someone, somewhere will be offended by. And, since the Internet is forever, you can bet an offense archaeologist is digging into it, particularly if you are a public figure. According to the Urban Dictionary this involves: “Examining the digital past of a contemporary public figure in order to unearth any statements that might be offensive to the ruling class. These offenses are best presented devoid of context or intent, which maximizes the potential for self-righteous virtue signalling among the people who are pretending to be outraged.” But offense archaeology isn’t reserved solely for celebrities. Anyone who has ever posted on social media is a potential target. The late Sir Roger Scruton was a distinguished English philosopher who specialized in traditionalist conservative views. He became a victim of offense archaeology after he was appointed to advise the Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government as the unpaid chairman of a new public body to champion beautiful buildings. The offense archaeologists—who are notably left-wing—began digging. Politically incorrect phrases were unearthed, torn from their original context, and passed around like a shame file. Sir Roger was also one of the most brilliant, articulate, and wide-ranging intellectual figures in the English-speaking world—a man of intelligence, sensitivity, and political courage. In the 1980s, he worked tirelessly and at great personal peril behind the Iron Curtain to help those fighting against the totalitarian jackboot of Communist tyranny. Which made his attackers appear ridiculous to everyone but themselves, but not, alas, any less virulent.” But where so many other victims of offense archaeology eventually apologize for past statements, Scruton did not, but he did resign from the body to which he was appointed. Offence archelogy wins again. That is the ugliness of the world we live in.

Swamped Demographer Bernard Salt once wrote a column for the magazine section of The Weekend Australian in which he lamented that the Australian language is being swamped by Americanisms. So, is the Australian language under threat? Salt claimed that he noticed changes to the Australian accent: “To my ear, the pronunciation of Melbourne has changed, and quite recently too. When I was a kid it was pronounced Mel-bun, whereas today to Mal-bun. Sydney has collapsed to Sinny, a shift that is being led, I think by the locals.” Both his observations are correct, but neither is new. They have both been around for a very long time. For twenty years (at least) people have been pointing out to me that Melburnians reverse “EL” and “AL” sounds. Clive Robertson complained to me many years ago that Melburnians collect CD el-bums not al-bums and that if “Ellen” married “Allan” in Melbourne everyone would be confused as to how to pronounce the couple’s names. As for Sinny—that was coined by Alistair Morrison (under his pen name of “Professor Afferbeck Lauder) back in 1965 for his book on Strine. These things are not new, and are well established parts of the Australian language. He also complained about the Americanised pronunciation of his own name from Bern-udd to Bern-ARD. Well, he may be right about that, and he has my sympathy. But Australians still spell “colour” with a “U” and (in general) our language is not being swamped by Americanisms. The truth is that American English is having an impact on every dialect of English around the world. As long ago as 1922 the great Henry Fowler complained about the American influence on English. But we not being swamped. Australians pick and choose which American expressions will be useful to them, and discard the rest. Despite the influence of American media we still have chemist shops not drug stores, and we still fill our cars with petrol not gas. Salt goes on to worry that “with the birth of AUKUS and the rotation of more American troops in the Top End, we will see a fuller integration of American and Australian culture.” He’s fears are unnecessary. In the 1960s huge numbers of American troops spent time in Sydney during the Vietnam war (on “R and R”—“rest and recreation”) and the result was the export of Australian expressions to American instead of the other way around. Bernard Salt simply does understand either the history or the strength of the Australian language. He writes: “For the better part of 200 years Australia projected British language, pronunciation and culture.” This is simply untrue. As Bruce Moore has shown in his book Speaking Our Language, and as I explain at length in my book The Story of Australian English our distinctive language came into existence surprisingly early. There is evidence that by the 18320s (only 50 years after the founding of the colony) the Australian language had its own distinctive accent and vocabulary. So, stop worrying Bernard—Aussie English is doing well, and is not being swamped by anyone!

Dawn culture Recently on Mammamia.com Emily Vernem and Holly Wainwright have complained (both jointly and individually) about the rise of what they call ‘dawn culture.’ Both are still young, and they complain that people their own age have stopped going out at night (rejecting invitations for drinks or for dinner) because their alarms now go off at the crack of dawn and they are out jogging or swimming by dawn’s early light. Emily writes, ‘Suddenly, all the people in my life who are roughly my age have decided that being a night owl is tragic, gross and deeply uncool.’ She goes on to complain, ‘It's completely derailed the rhythm of friendship. Gone are the spontaneous late-night walks, the deep 9pm debriefs, the joy of being messy after dark. Everything is now structured around a timetable that is clearly designed for people who run on sunlight and kale.’ And Holly Wainwright asks, ‘What time does your alarm go off in the morning?... For many, many, many people, that number is getting earlier, and earlier, thanks to something called Dawn Culture.’ That phrase ‘dawn culture’ is a new one, and is not yet in any of the major dictionaries. It’s not even in the online, hyper-hip Urban Dictionary. So this, folks, is at the cutting edge of language. If Emily and Holly’s phrase catches on it may become the freshest new thing, and by the end of the year might be up for a trendy Word of the Year award (which, as you know, can go to a phrase as well as a word). As for the complaint it names—well, I have some bad news for these youngsters: your friends are behaving like old people. Or, at least, like people much older than yourselves. As we age our body clock seems to change and we wake earlier and earlier. We just adjust to the new timetable our bodies set for us. We are up early having our first coffee of the day. We breakfast earlier. We do our chores earlier. And it seems to suit us just fine. At the end of the day we are happy to tumble into bed at 9:30 and be sound asleep by 10pm—ready to wake after seven hours sleep, to be up and at ‘em at five the next morning. We invented the ‘dawn culture! So, Emily and Holly—welcome to Old World!

Jewish lobby / Israel lobby As Australia continues to suffer from (and be anguished about) the evil of antisemitism a phrase (or two phrases if you count the two different versions) has emerged— ‘Jewish lobby’ (and the variant version is ‘Israel lobby’). So, what does this expression mean? And where does it come from? The earliest written use of ‘Jewish lobby’ I have been able to find in print comes from America from 1943—but it is undoubtedly older than that. This notorious expression is used pejoratively to allege disproportionate Jewish influence in politics and government, a variation of the old antisemitic lie about an ‘international Jewish conspiracy.’ In other words, this term ‘Jewish lobby’ (which, more or less overlaps with the phrase ‘Israel lobby) is the offensive claim that there is a lobby group that operates behind the scenes and pulls the strings controlling what is going on in a democracy. These are not nice things to talk about, but we have to honest and face the notions that can poison a society if they are not confronted. Many, many years ago I worked in radio a man who was a strong supporter of conspiracy theories. However, he was always secretive and mysterious about what lay behind the various so-called ‘conspiracies’ he talked about. Eventually he hinted that it was—the Jews! It turned out he had embraced full-on antisemitism. So, where does this come from? Almost certainly from a famous forgery called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion published in Russia in 1903. It claims to report the contents of so-called ‘secret documents and plans’ drawn up by Jewish leaders to take over the world banking system, and thus, the government of the whole world. This was not only (as I said) a forgery and deeply racist, but it was also always transparent nonsense. But Hitler believed it. Hitler even claimed that Jews were behind communism, and that all communism was a Jewish front organisation. So you can see how absurd this all becomes. Tragically, there have been some prominent Australians who have used this offensive expression ‘Jewish lobby’ (or its variant “Israel lobby’) in the not-too-distant past. We can only hope they are too ashamed to ever use such language again.

More new slang Today we continue with the examples of new slang unearthed by the lexicographers at the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. As I said yesterday, slang is the fastest changing and most ephemeral part of the English language—so these terms are likely to be hot for a few months, and then slowly fade away to nothing. But while they’re here, we an amuse ourselves by looking at what the young and the hip are saying. Here is part of the list:

Blue-pilled—the full slang term is ‘having taken the blue-pill’ means you are mindlessly accepting an illusion and ignoring reality. This was coined as the opposite of ‘red-pill’, so we need to start with that. The term ‘red-pill’ comes from the 1999 movie The Matrix where everyone lives in an illusion, but if you take the ‘red-pill’ you can see reality. Well, ‘blue-pill’ is the opposite—if you take the blue-pill you turn your back on reality and embrace the illusion. Hugh Marks, the Managing Director of the ABC, seems to have ‘taken the blue-pill’ since he joined the organization, as he now cannot see bias or lack of impartiality even when it’s staring him in the face!

Borg—according to the experts this means a gallon jug of water where some of the water has been replaced by vodka with a dash of fruit flavouring added. (Sounds perfectly revolting to me!) This supposed comes from American college campuses from undergraduate drinking games. ‘Borg’ is said to be an acronym from ‘black out rage gallon.’ But ‘borg’ (short for ‘cyborg’) has an earlier meaning—as the robotic villains in many Star Trek episodes. They were famous for their cry of ‘Resistance is futile!’ Perhaps when urged to take part in these college drinking games resistance was futile?

Bougee—also spelled bougie, is a way of describing something or someone as fancy, luxurious, or high class. Apparently it can either be a compliment or can be used disparagingly—depending on the context. It is a corruption of ‘bourgeois.’ 

Braggadocious—meaning a boastful, swaggering braggart (the type none of us like). Probably a combination of ‘braggard’ and ‘atrocious.’ Supposedly made famous by a 2003 hit song ‘Milkshake.’ (Having never heard the song, I’ll take their word for that.)

Brain rot—meaning the rubbish that people keep staring at mindlessly on their little screens. The construction of the expression is obvious, and it is said to have become popular around 2023-24.

Bruzz—is the latest spelling (and the latest pronunciation) of ‘brothers.’ As you know that word is abbreviated as ‘bros’ and now that abbreviation has been turned into this pronunciation (and new spelling as used in texts and emails).

But if we keep looking at weird new slang we are sure to lose our minds, so tomorrow back to real words!

New slang The master lexicographers at the Merriam-Webster Dictionary have recently released a list of new (or fairly newish) slang terms. Slang is the fastest changing and most ephemeral part of the English language—so these terms are likely to be hot for a few months, and then slowly fade away to nothing. But some of them can be fun while they’re here (even if us wiser heads never use them!). Here is part of their list:

Ate (and left no crumbs)—means someone had done a job perfectly, or at least so well it couldn’t be improved on. As in “The press agent got such good coverage that she clearly ate and left not crumbs.” Sometimes shortened to just ‘ate.’ Said to have originated in the New York Ballroom scene (whatever that is!) in the 2010s.

Aura farming—means the art of trying very hard to look cool and stylish. This means working on (‘farming’) your image (your ‘aura’). 

Baddie—we used to think this meant the villains in the movies, well, not anymore: ‘baddie’ now means someone (usually, apparently, a woman) who is stylish and attractive. It seems to come from a time in the later 2010s when ‘bad’ was being used to mean ‘good’ (a locution generally thought to have been either generated or made popular by Michael Jackson).

Based—is being used to mean someone who doesn’t care about other people’s opinions. So it is, I suppose, a rough equivalent of self-confidence. Perhaps it comes from the notion of someone have a strong ‘base’ of self-confidence.

Bed rotting—means staying in bed all day. (For someone who is well but just lazy this is a horrible notion!) It seems to have been around only since 2025.

Bet—is now being used to mean ‘sure’ or ‘definitely.’ As in ‘As the economy slows down the rich just get richer, right? Ok, bet.’ This one began in Black American slang in the 1980s as an abbreviation of ‘I bet you!’ (So it’s related to the old gambling notion.)

Bloatware—is used as a critical label to describe unwanted pre-installed computer software. The older meaning of ‘bloated’ is ‘swollen’ so I guess that was employed in coining this one (which happened in the early 1990s). Clearly it’s a variation on the old expression ‘software’ meaning computer progrms. It’s yet another example of tech driving our language (not always in good directions!)

More bits of new slang tomorrow.

Bellicose Looking around the world at the moment this is the word that seems to apply. This word ‘bellicose’ came into English in the mid-1400s and means ‘inclined to war or fighting; warlike.’ Behind it is a Latin word bellicōsus with exactly the same meaning (behind it are words such as bellator meaning ‘warrior’, bellum‘war’, and bellatorius ‘aggressive’). It is certainly the case that Russia is ‘bellicose’ in its treatment of Ukraine, China is ‘bellicose’ in its threats towards Taiwan, and in the Middle East Iran is ‘bellicose’ towards just about everyone. But the word can be used without actual gunfire. These days it’s quite often used metaphorically to label an attitude or an action that aggressive in some way. For example, in the United States when the Trump administration was accused of having the failed the people on cost of living issues (or ‘affordability’ as they always say there) President Donald Trump fired back. The New York Times ran a headline that said ‘A Bellicose Trump Points Fingers in Defending His Record on the Economy.’ As a result the people at the Merriam-Webster Dictionary report that ‘bellicose’ became a highly looked-up word on their website. They go on to say that ‘while it can be used figuratively, (it) often describes an attitude that hopes for actual war. The word is generally applied to nations and their leaders. In the 20th century, it was commonly used to describe such figures as Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm, Italy’s Benito Mussolini, and Japan’s General Tojo, leaders who believed their countries had everything to gain by starting wars.’ Does ‘bellicose’ ever apply (figuratively) to Australian politics? Perhaps it does. When Tony Abbott took on the failing Rudd-Gillard-Rudd government he was a strikingly effective opposition leader—as he took the battle for ideas right up to them. And the same could be said for any really effective opposition leader. While those in government tend to be most ‘bellicose’ when they are being defensive—such as Scott Morrison during major bushfires (‘I don’t hold a hose’) or Anthony Albanese defending his failure to tackle antisemitism. But it is definitely a word of our time.

Black arm band history My Christmas present from my wife this year is Tony Abbot’s new book about Australian history. The book is simply called Australia: A History—and it sets out to tell the story of Australia ‘from convict colony to a great democracy.’ 

The reviews I’ve read have heaped praise on the book (and I found it to be a great book: well written and a wonderful read)—and what makes it interesting is Tony Abbot’s goal of providing a counterbalance to what is called ‘the back arm band’ view of Australian history. 

The expression ‘the black arm band view of history’ appears to have been coined by distinguished Australian historian Geoffrey Blainey in 1993. It was popularised a decade later by Prime Minister John Howard. The expression comes from the frequent habit of wearing a black arm band as an expression of mourning. So Blainey’s phrase targets those who mourn about Australian history. In his words this view represents the ‘swing of the pendulum from a position that had been too favourable to an opposite extreme that is decidedly jaundiced and “gloomy”.’ We should bear this view in mind every time there are anti-Australia Day protests (as there are every year). These protests seem to embrace the ‘black arm band’ mentality that Australian history is horrible from beginning to end and is something to mourn (that there is nothing to celebrate). It is the view that all Australians should be ashamed of all of Australian history. The alternative view is that what arrived in Australia on 26 January 1788 was Western Civilisation: courts and the rule of law, a written language (which Australia lacked until then), education, medicine, engineering and so on. John Harris’ book about the history of Christian missions to aboriginal people is called Wish We’d Done Better. This title probably sums up the view of many Australians about Australian history—a balanced view that celebrates the good stuff while still wishing that the people of those earlier days had done better.

Words with two UUs Yesterday I reported my delight, as a child, in discovering the word ‘vacuum’ because of the two UUs in the middle. I suggested that ‘vacuum’ is the only word in the English language to contain two adjacent UUs in this way. My suggestion has been challenged by a reader who has sent me a website article which claims that the ‘Merriam Webster Dictionary lists fifty-four (54) words containing the occurrence of “uu” in their spelling.’ Really? I find that an extraordinary claim—so let’s see what evidence this article produces. It starts by referring to the Latin origin of the two UUs in ‘vacuum’ (which I also referred to yesterday). In Latin ‘vacuus’ meant ‘empty’—and one way we can talk about someone who is not very clever is to say that they are ‘vacuus’. If that were true that would give us a second word in English that has the two UUs side by side. But it’s not true. In English the word is spelled ‘vacuous’ and recorded in the Oxford from the 1650s. Two hundred years later it took on the meaning of ‘unintelligent; empty of ideas.’ So let’s go back to the article and see if the writer can produce anymore of this two UUs words. Well, there is the Latin word ‘continuum’ (meaning a continuous body or thing) and I have to grant this one. So there are at least two words in English with the digraph of UU. But 54? I’m still not persuaded. The article suggests the word ‘ambiguus’ (which means ‘different possible meanings’). But there is no such word as ‘ambiguus’—at least, not in English: it’s a Latin word, and the English equivalent is ‘ambiguous.’ And that is what happens when Latin words with this digraph UU are borrowed into English. It is routine for English to convert the UU spelling into the ‘-uous’ spelling. So that one move, I suggest, disposes of most of those so-called ’54 words’ containing UU. Only in Latin, not in English. But there is one more—the Polynesian item of clothing called a ‘muumuu’. And I’ll grant that one. It was originally a Hawaiian word that was borrowed into English in 1888. But 54? I’m still not convinced.

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.