Showing posts with label OED. Show all posts
Showing posts with label OED. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 20, 2021

Happy 50th Birthday to these words!

 


I was 50 years old before I learned I was born the same year as the word “dipshit.”


It was like the world in 1963 took one long look at me and said, “Nope, moron, idiot and imbecile are insufficient. We need something truly loathsome yet oddly whimsical to describe this one. How about … dipshit!”


I guess I’m glad my folks named me Christopher.


I began sleuthing word birthdays about 15 years ago when I began a quest to coin a new word in the venerable Oxford English Dictionary, the first and last word on words.


I figured my shot at linguistic immortality would be easier if it involved writing one really memorable word instead of one entire book with upwards of 75,000 previously used words.


At the time I was paying $295 a year for computer access to the OED and its 730,000 — and counting! — words. By comparison, your standard old school door stop dictionary contains about 140,000. These are formidable numbers, especially when you consider the average American uses just 20,000 words.


Why would anyone pay $295-a-year for access to something so redundant and unnecessary?


For me, it was the word birthdays. OED notes the exact year words became words. I learned, for instance, that the word computer is 400 years old. Yes, before they became essential, computers were people capable of computing.


And, of course, I looked up all my favorite swear words.


I for many years compiled a list of words when they turned 50. I got away from it for two reasons. One, I was irrationally insulted to learn the OED linked my birthday to a word as coarse as dipshit:  “n. A stupid, inept, or contemptible person; an idiot.”


It was like paying for a hooker and having her joke about your genitals.


I imagine.


Plus I learned you didn’t need to pay OED $295 a year if you had one valid library card. I at the time had four. 


I know what you’re thinking …


“Dipshit!”


But I thought on this day of hope and new beginnings it would be fitting to revive (1553) a tradition (1637) as a way of saluting (1450) the inaugural (1689) festivities (1604).


Cheers (1915)! 



airhead — I prefer airheads to cementheads, but believe density is winning.


Amtrak — If I had my way, I’d take an annual family trip on the train. Just love it.


• Anti-racism — Just 50 years old. It’s sure given racism (1850) a head start.


Archie Bunker — “A man whose background, outlook, and behaviour are likened to those of the television character Archie Bunker, esp. a blue-collar worker having (and vehemently expressing) views considered ignorant or bigoted.”


B and D — Bondage and Discipline. Never heard of it. Not into it


biker bar


bong — Bong turns 50 … far out!


cock-blocker 


• Deadhead — Maybe my best line: “If fans of the band The Grateful Dead are called Deadheads, what does that make those of us who revere the book “Moby Dick?”


double album — This one warms my heart. Getting a great double album — “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” “Exile on Main Street” — was to me like becoming a father before I became a father.


• fart-catcher —“n. A servile assistant or follower; a lackey, a hanger-on.” Oh, how I wish my situation allowed for me to introduce someone as my fart catcher.


homophobe — I like what Morgan Freeman said: “It’s the wrong word. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re just an asshole.”


Jive — Seeing the word always makes me think of “Airplane!” the uproarious 1980 flick where Barbara Billingsley translates the jive of two-black passengers.


light beer -- "Keeping beer loving spouses svelte since 1971!"


multiplex — I fear these will go away next.


omnisexual — “Involving, relating to, or characterized by a desire to engage in sexual activity with everyone, or with all kinds of people; practising or tolerant of such activity. Also: sexual in all or many ways.” Sounds exhausting.


pimpmobile


• punk band


recycle bin — In what is to me one of life’s great ironies, most recycling bins are non-recyclable.


• solar farm


spoiler — I thought this was much younger. Like 1992 when “The Crying Game” premiered.


stoner — I love spending days with stoners right until you wake up the next morning and find them snoring on your couch.


stun gun — I wonder if the first ads boasted these non-lethal weapons would eliminate street crime.


username


weather woman — Ought to be a superhero.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Words & how the dildo got stuck in my head


I’m uncertain how I got the dildo stuck in my head, but I can assure you it didn’t enter through one of my ears. Heck, I know better to shove a cotton-tipped swab in there let alone a big honking dildo.

Blame the Oxford English Dictionary. That’s up in my head, too, and it’s way, way bigger (135 pounds) than your common love toy.

See, I’m a word guy. Words fascinate me. I enjoy knowing where they came from and when they reached the point of critical mass and someone decided, well, enough people are using this word so we ought to explain it and stick it in a dictionary. 

The word “dictionary,” by the way, dates back to 1480 and means, “A book which explains or translates, usually in alphabetical order, the words of a language or languages, giving for each word its typical spelling and usage.”

A little verbose, isn’t it? But who can blame the dictionary for being, well, wordy.

Here’s another quibble: I contend if dictionary publishers were serious about their mission they’d call dictionaries, “definitionaries.”

But I still love them in spite of their occasional incompetence.

I mean, who am I to cast stones in that realm?

Anyhoo, I keep two of ‘em on my desk, a 150,000-word hard cover American Heritage, and a duct-taped paperback (75,000) I’ve held in my hands nearly once a week since 1979.

Guess what: They’re still not enough.

I need more. Bigger. Enhanced girth.

And, yes, we’re still talking dictionaries. We’ll get to the dildos.

But for true word sleuths, there’s nothing like the OED. It has the definitions of 600,000 words. My ardor for it is so all encompassing that one of my failed years — and I’m about oh-fer-25 in that regard — was devoted to trying to create a word and whoring it out so compellingly that word would earn OED recognition in record time.

At the time I was seized by the idea that the only thing easier than writing one book a year was writing just one word. And, yes, to emphasize my fecklessness, I even wrote a book proposal about my word: “Zeitgust! How Words Become Words & a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Dash at Dictionary Recognition.”

“Zeitgust! A contrived and deliberate act of trying to mass manipulate popular culture to an individual whim.”

So how come I have dildo on the brain?

Blame Jason Priestly. I saw the old “Beverly Hills 90210” actor making the rounds and instantly thought, “Dildo!”

Not prick, cock, pecker, wang, dork or dong.

Just “Dildo!”

Priestly starred in a well-crafted SNL skit, “The Life and Times of Johnny Hildo” from ’92 (cast: Hartman, Rock, Spade, Myers. Wow). The premise was Priestly was Hildo who in three acts is ridiculed for having a name that sounds like dildo.

Classmates, perspective dates, professors all thoughtlessly call Hildo, Dildo until he blows up: “It’s Hildo, damnit! Hildo!”

The shot cuts to a mock newspaper picture of Hildo under the headline, “Crazed Dildo Kills 7!”

He’s then shown being marched into a cell where he’s greeted by cell mate Kevin Nealon who extends a hand in friendship: “Hi Hildo. Nice to meet you.” Hildo is floored. Did someone just call him Hildo?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it,” says Nealon, who completes the introduction by saying, “My name is Larry …”
“Larry Bagina.”

And that’s why the sight of Priestly sent me scrambling for the on-line dictionary.

I had to know: how old is dildo?

Dildo is 421 years old!

This is bound to sound sexist, but I’d have thought the women folk in 1598 would have been too busy cooking for the men, cleaning for men and laying down on the straw for the 0.08 seconds it took to satisfy men. Too busy to enjoy what I’ve heard referred to as the external hard drive.

The idea that anyone back then had time for recreational sex while I guess there were still one or two dinosaurs roaming the neighborhood seems preposterous.

Who knew sex was fun before the 1960s?

Oh, and did you know the band Steely Dan took its name from a strap-on dildo in the William S. Burroughs book “Naked Lunch?”

Sorry for all these silly diversions. But once I get going about word origins I’m apt to get off on tangents.

And what story about dildos would be complete without a little getting off?


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Friday, August 14, 2015

My new favorite word: Abbey-lubber


My $295 on-line subscription to the Oxford English Dictionary is maybe my favorite indulgence. I revel in word origins, obscure definitions and saucy quotes from heroes like Twain, Churchill and Dorothy Parker.
And I love having the OED’s word of the day zipped straight to my in-box.
It is through that feature I’ve stumbled upon words like cwtch, honeyfuggle, ballyhooly and rumgumption. I click save and vow to maneuver these lexicogical delights into my daily conversation.
Alas, my noble intentions exceed my acuity. 
Because the very moment after I’ve read the definitions is the very moment I begin to forget them. Gone. Just like that.
What the heck is a honeyfuggle? (it’s a deception).
Does rumgumption involve an innate fearlessness about ordering rum? (no, it means shrewdness).
It’s probably for the best. Nobody likes a smarty pants. 
And who knows what would happen if I told the old neighbor lady she has a nice, tidy cwtch and she is unaware the Old English word referred a cubbyhole and is more familiar with the word’s more pornographic derivations.
Why, she’d beat the holy ballyhooly (Hell, derived from the raucous Irish village of the same name) out of me.
That’s why I was delighted yesterday when the word of the day was one I’ll never forget.
The only problem is finding an appropriate opportunity to deploy it.
The word is “abbey-lubber.”
It is from 1528 and is defined as a “derogatory term for a monk living in idleness and self-indulgence.”
I guess I never heard the word before because it’s been surpassed by a more modern derivative.
Blogger!
I’ve, of course, heard of landlubbers, a salty sailor’s contemptuous word for those who dwell on terra firma. You’d think there’d have to be ocean lubbers, too, or maybe they disappeared in 1966 when “McHale’s Navy” sunk.
It wasn’t until I saw abbey-lubber that I realized lubber was so limber.
It turns out lubber describes any big clumsy, stupid fellow who wallows in idleness.
So there can be bar-lubbers, office-lubbers, toll booth-lubbers. In fact, there’s lubbers everywhere you look.
I just never thought they’d be in our abbeys, too.
Monk seems a rather sedentary calling. My understanding of abbey life, shallow as it is, leads me to believe it is mostly free of frenzy.
I don’t think they even allow ping pong.
So how do you differentiate an abbey-lubber from an industrious monk. Does one have an anatomical six pack, the other a hops-based one? 
I guess the most famous monk is Friar Tuck, the jovial companion of Robin Hood. He is depicted as having a mere halo of hair and always with a prosperous gut — more abbey-blubber than abbey-lubber.
That means the second most famous monk, to me, would be “Monk.”
The Tony Shalhoub show ran on USA Network from 2002-2009 and featured Shalhoub playing eccentric detective Adrian Monk.
I remember Val and I enjoying the show, but not so much we’d devote any of our TV-lubbing to repeated viewing.
So I may never encounter a true abbey-lubber, but you can bet you’re going to see me applying lubber any time I see it lazily rearing its sleepy bed head.
Because true lubbers aren’t don’t just reside in our monastic abbeys.
They’re in our bowling alleys, our taverns and strolling through our shopping malls.
And in just two weeks they’ll be plunked in front of our nation’s TVs enjoying the kickoff of the 2015 NFL season.
Are you ready for some lubbing?
I say don’t shun our national urge to lub. I say embrace it.
Start this weekend by doing absolute nothing. Summer’s almost over. Enjoy a picnic. Watch some baseball. Lay on your back in the grass and stare up at the clouds.
There’s a little bit of lubber in all of us.
This is America.
Lub it or leave it.

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Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Happy 50th birthday to these words (including two whopper profanities)


One of these days I’m going to revive my word history book proposal. The book is, “ZEITGUST! How Words Become Words and a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Dash at Dictionary Recognition.”

It’d be about the history of words, the introduction of the 60 or so words I’ve coined, and a series of daft stunts I’d pull off to try and insinuate my own coined words — particularly “zeitgust” — into popular usage.

The project drew enthusiastic interest but like so many of my other book proposals fell flat. Remember, the self-published crayons book that is becoming so popular with so many was rejected by more than 100 publishers with one, saying, “We like the book, we think it’s funny, but how are we going to sell a self-help book by a guy who seems incapable of ever even helping himself?”

So “Zeitgust” never stood a chance.

It’s too bad because zeitgust is a great play on zeitgeist that means: A contrived and deliberate act of trying to mass manipulate popular culture to an individual whim.

This all goes a back four or five years ago when, as part of the zeitgust book proposal, I became an on-line subscriber to the Oxford English Dictionary. It’s hard to justify a $295 yearly splurge on a dictionary you can’t even hold, but I just love the way it enriches my communications. 

Not only does the OED word-of-the-day feature supercharge my vocabulary, it’s the only dictionary that allows us word sleuths to find out the exact history and meaning of words.

See, OED posts the exact year each word was deemed a word by the institution’s august editors. It is their intention to document every single word ever uttered

It doesn’t mean that’s the exact moment the word was coined, but it was when editors decided it had sufficient mass that it deserved publication among the 600,000 other words. By comparison, my desk-buster bound American Heritage Dictionary has a measly155,000 words.

I decided to make this 50th-birthday-for-words an annual feature when I discovered that the word “dipshit” was born the same year as I, which I’m choosing to consider a complete coincidence.

I’ll remember 1965 as the year two of the biggest swear words were born. That in itself tells you something about the era in which they were birthed.

I’d encourage word lovers to go back to previous years linked below. Lots of fascinating word origins from 50 years ago highlight how the culture was changing and many of the word origins don’t necessarily mean what you think.

bada-bing — This is the transcription of a sound made in an Italian comedy that morphed into something associated with Italian-American drama. “Bada-Boom! Bada-Bing!” is what Sonny Corleone says in “Godfather” when he shows Michael how to assassinate a rival. Then, likely with the line as inspiration, it was the name of Silvio Dante’s  Jersey strip where Tony Soprano and his gang planned so much of their felonious mischief.

biohazard — Ah, such simpler times were 1965. Say the word biohazard back then and people were scratching their heads. Today, biohazards are as much a part of the nightly news as water main breaks and weather reports.

bogart — I love when names become verbs and this is the name of one of our favorite actors. The definition is to force, coerce, bully or intimidate, just like Humphrey Bogart. Val and I love Bogie. It’s now famous from “Easy Rider” and the ’68 song that pleads we don’t bogart that joint. With marijuana becoming legal all around the country, there’s very little bogarting going on anywhere.

bong — Another counter-culture entry. The primary definition of “bong” used to refer to the deep resonant sound of a bell. No more. OED cites this 1975 “High Times” quote: “One hit of this weed produces creeping nirvana when smoked in a bong.” 

bubble wrap — Ah, who can resist the lure of the bubble wrap? There’s a hilarious “Curb Your Enthusiasm” involving Larry David, bubble wrap, and homicidal rapper named Crazy-Eyed Killer.

chartbuster — Words like this make me nostalgic for days when DJs were just as important as the music they played. It’s an era that pre-dates even me.

clunky — meaning stupid or inferior. One of the things I love about the lordly OED is it isn’t afraid to frolic in pop culture. The first usage entry here is from “My Three Sons.” “I can’t ask Mary Lou to do a clunky thing like that!” It doesn’t say whether that was Chip, Ernie or Robbie, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Uncle Charlie.

clusterfuck — Original meaning: “A sexual orgy. Also, “Mongolian clusterfuck.” I’m sorry the military in Vietnam corrupted this word because, to me, a clusterfuck always sounded like a great time. Score an invitation to a good clusterfuck and you’d circle the date on your calendar, get your haircut and maybe make a noodle salad to bring in case anyone gets hungry. Now, thanks to our misadventures in Vietnam, no one wants to go to a clusterfuck. That’s just FUBAR.

computeritis — The excessive use of computers. My question is: Who had computers back in 1965? This is an affliction that must have stricken just a handful of NASA engineers addicted to a beta version of the old Pong game. Today, it’s hard to find anyone who isn’t tethered to something computer like. I think we need a new word.

de-escalation — Words like this popping up tell me how Vietnam was coming to a boil. People were starting to look for ways to get the hell out of the quagmire. It was becoming a real clusterfuck.

Disneyfy — The word is considered a pejorative today, by me at least. I love Disney, of course, but I don’t like it when Disneyfication escapes the borders of Disney.

dooky — I know Green Day in 1994 released an album named “Dookey” that wasn’t crap, from what I understand. OED says the word meaning excrement is slang derived from doo-doo. But I never hear dooky used in that way. I like it.

fact check — Vietnam, Civil Rights, the Soviet menace, journalists were being asked to tackle a lot of important issues 50 years ago. How did they respond to ensure they were worthy of a skeptical public’s trust? They begin hiring what were called “fact checkers.” Today, it seems our fact checkers are among the first to go. I guess that means journalism and the world in general are a lot more stable these days.

free fire — Another war word that shows how much Vietnam was in the news. 

grunge — “A general term of disparagement for someone or something that is repugnant, odious, unpleasant or dull.” It was first used to describe a specific type of music way back in 1972 or about when Kurt Cobain was 5 years old. Incidentally, Cobain, who killed himself in ’94, would have turned 48 on Friday.

headcase — “A person whose behavior is violent and unpredictable; markedly eccentric.” A Mr. P. Townsend gets a nod with the illustrative OED line, “My name is Bill, and I’m a headcase. They practice making up on my face.” Know the song? It’s the Who’s “I’m a Boy.” I love that song.

jet lag — In 1965, traveling by jets wasn’t all that common. It is today. Still, most of us don’t travel by jet enough to experience that sort of fatigue. We instead have life lag.

log in — I’m always amazed that common computer words of today where around when computers were so uncommon.

Lose lose — I might be mistaken, but this seems to me to have a concept that came about because of the nuclear politics of the Cold War. Lose lose seems right out of Dr. Strangelove.

minidress — Risqué styles and hemlines on the rise in the mid-‘60s? Shocking!

moby — Did you know this is Brit slang for mobile phone? I didn’t. In fact, the more common usage is American slang for “large, great, impressive.” I didn’t know that either. But I like it! Short for Moby Dick, that legendary largeness is a cool word I’m going to try and start using, as well as become. Yes, my ambition is to one day be more moby, less dick.

mockumentary — I guess my favorite mockumentary is “Best in Show” about the dog show lovers or, of course, “Spinal Tap.” I’m not a big fan of the genre because it often comes across as mean-spirited to people who don’t really have it coming. 

motherfucker — I’m Facebook friends with author Greg Olear who a few years back wrote a great book called “fathermucker.” That still makes me chuckle, as do my recollections of Olear’s book. I have to think motherfucker’s been around a lot longer than 50 years and that prissy OED editors were just being proper English by omitting it for so long. And, of course, they blame the word on the brothers. “Esp. in African-American usage: used (chiefly in optative subjunctive and with no subject expressed) to express emphatic rejection, hatred, dismissal, etc., of a person or thing.” I tell my daughters there are no bad words, there are only bad times to say some words. That’s a bit of lie. I wouldn’t want them saying this word in public — unless it was part of a really motherfuckin’ funny.

multi-task — I’m so opposed to multitasking that I refuse to walk and chew gum at the same time. Multi-tasking is a curse upon our quality of life. Watching a good movie with multitasks is nigh impossible. They’re always missing a subtle glance or look. 

OD — Of course, there are some things that anger me more than multitasking. ODing is one of them. Oh, to have lived in the days when ODing was so uncommon there were no words for it.

overclass — “A privileged, wealthy, or powerful section of society.” Why did this word disappear? I love it. It’s seems very nimble, too. I’m going to try and use it in the blog right away.

parajournalism — “Journalism which is concerned with issues other than the reporting of factual information; journalism which treats subjects in a subjective, imaginative, creative, or personal way, or which engages with matters of speculation or opinion.” Fifty years ago and this needed to be defined for the very first time; 50 years later, and all journalism seems parajournalistic. Brian Williams is fighting to retain his parajournalistic credibility. 

puckerooed — “Useless broken, finished.” Another great word due for a soulful revival. This one originates in New Zealand. OED quote is just as colorful. Try and say it with Kiwi accent: “I come to see if you’ve got a spare shovel. Mine’s puckerooed and I got a cow in the drain.” Don’t you just hate it when that happens?

segregationist — Our Jim Crow racists didn’t consider themselves segregationists. No, this is a lawyer word. It shows, to me, how Civil Rights laws were playing out in the court with such frequency that the nomenclature of the movement was finally seeping into public consciousness.

Shake ’n’ Bake — Yes, the term referring to the food is now 50. That means enough of the world was eating S&B to make it worthy of mention. I like to think the Rodell family alone made it so. Every Wednesday night it was Dad’s turn to cook and every Wednesday night we shook, we baked. Can’t stand it today.

smart ass — I mentioned how “dipshit” was born the same year as I. So it makes sense that “smart ass” became well known enough for dictionary inclusion right about the time I began to speak.

space walk — Whatever happened to the glory days of space exploration? I dread the day “moon walk” turns 50 because I fear the first reference will involve Michael Jackson.

toodles — I have trouble bringing myself to say it, but it’s very cheerful goodbye. It sounds British to me, but OED blames US.

zamboni — All hail, Frank Zamboni (1901-1988)! There had to be a ton of stories about the Eureka, Utah, native and his death and you had to figure one of the most popular mechanical devices on earth was named after a man, but this is the first I’d seen it. I’m going to try and remember to blog about this later on some day when I’m stuck for a fun topic. Who doesn’t love a zamboni? Not me!

That’s enough word play for today. I’m all puckerooed.

Toodles!



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Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Of mallbergs, fenderdung & made-up winter words


I gently corrected my 13-year-old when she mistook some common fenderdung for a mallberg.

We were coming from a Sunday afternoon showing of “The Lego Movie,” which I didn’t like nearly as much as all the giddy critics. Still, I was in a fine mood. I love seeing even crappy matinees with the family.

And my mood further improved when Josie used one of my pet words to describe the big gunky chunks of ugly frozen slush hanging from all four of my Saturn’s wheel wells.

“Ooh! Look, Lucy! Here’s some great mallberg,” she said to her little sister before beginning to ferociously kick at my car’s rear fender the way a surprised mule kicks at a farmer when it senses the farmer is about to attempt something proctological.

I couldn’t complain. She was only doing what she’s seen me do a thousand times.

My lone rebuke dealt with vocabulary, not violence.

“That’s not a mallberg. It’s fenderdung.”

Of the more than 200 words I’ve coined to explain things for which there are no words, that mallberg and fenderdung haven’t caught on surprises me the most.

Everyone who lives where it snows should know the meaning and usage of these two great words. Because in winters like this one, we’re besieged with mallbergs and fenderdung.

We here in Western Pennsylvania and throughout most of the country are long past any romantic feelings concerning our voluminous snows.

Christmas snows prompt poetry; post-holiday ones profanity.

That’s what makes fenderdung such a great seasonal word. Every vehicle that drives out on a simple mission for milk comes home loaded with four wheel wells of gloppy fenderdung accumulated from the drive.

But what I guess you could call a bumper crop of fenderdung is upsetting to anyone who parks a nice car in a cozy garage. Because once the car is parked in an enclosed space, the temperature differential causes the fenderdung to separate from the vehicle and drop with a thud to the garage floor like a load of elephant poop. It’s a terrible mush of cinders and slush.

Now, I haven’t cared about my 7-year-old (117,898 miles) car’s condition for about four years. Sometimes I kick it just for the joyful hell of it.

But I know the precise sweet spots on the car fenders where if I give a kick as much as 6 pounds of fenderdung per wheel will come crashing down. Whoosh!

My daughters are unaware of the sweet spots and just kick the car as hard as they can because it’s fun. I’d instruct them about the difference, but am fearful they’d begin doing the same to me so I just let them wail away at will.

So that’s fenderdung.

Mallbergs are something completely different.

Mallbergs are the man-made snow mountains in every commercial parking lot where a plow guy is contracted to clear the big snows before shoppers arrive.

You may have seen them at work.

The driver starts at one far end of the empty parking lot and with the plow down races as much as a quarter of a mile pushing all the snow into a gargantuan pile clear at the other end. After several rows, the peaks of these concentrated snow piles can reach as high as 20 feet.

And you have -- voila -- mallberg!

They’re so big I’m surprised shopping malls haven’t begun using them for alpine sports.

The remnants of some of these mighty mallbergs endure clear through June.

It is my dream to one day be given exclusive rights to a story about a couple who emerges from a vehicle that had been accidentally buried deep within a massive mallberg during a storm so fierce the driver was unaware of his tragic misdeed.

Someone attentive might spot a bit of bumper protruding from the pile in the March thaw. They might hear tapping from inside the mallberg.

It would be one of the greatest survivor stories of all time.

I’d write a bestselling book about their experience and how they survived for four months in the tomblike mallberg. It’d be cool too if the woman gave birth during the ordeal to a son they named Mallcolm.

It would be an international sensation that would surely get the word mallberg indelibly inscribed in the public’s consciousness.

Of course, there’d be doubters. They’d say it was a hoax. A fraud. A humbug.

I can live with that.

Just don’t anyone call it a load of fenderdung.



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