A healthy portion of my reading and viewing interest involves British ones, (or UK, since I like a good go at Scottish stories), and while I can mostly figure out context, there are times when the chosen vernacular requires clarification.
As a subscriber to Dictionary. com (you should if you haven’t yet–it’s a must for bonafide Word Nerds) I daily get delivered, warm and fresh, new ways to look at words. Recently the focus for the day was how some words look the same but are either pronounced differently or mean something differently depending which country the story hails from. Viva la difference UK and USA.
Some choice examples: American (Big Apple) British (Big Ben)
football=soccer
cotton candy=candyfloss
apartment=flat
french fries=chips
cookie=biscuit
cell phone=mobile
parking lot=car park
awesome=brilliant
Should the next time you read a PD James or tune in for a BBC show and if what the characters say leave you flummoxed, it’s hoped that you’ll be more on the uptake from getting the low down.
It’s amazing how we can go in life not realizing there are specific words for everyday aspects. For instance, there are succinct terms for certain body parts that we might be totally oblivious even exist.
So–how many do you know?
1. philtrum: that little dip above your upper lip underneath your nose
2. lunula: the half moon at the bottom of your nail
3. glabella: the space between your eyes
4. canthus: the place where your upper and lower eyelids touch
5. columella: the strip of skin between your nostrils
6. purlicue: the skin fold between your thumb and index finger
7. tragus: the bump that is near your ear opening
8. uvula: the part that hangs at the back of your throat
9. gnathion: the point of the chin
10. nasion: the dip between the eyes above the nose
11. axilla: the term for armpit
12. sternum: the bone in the middle of your chest
13. zygoma: the term for your cheekbone
14. hallux: the term for your big toe
15. pinna: the outer shell of your ear
How did you do? Maybe you did better than me.
I knew “philtrum” from my university days of studying speech therapy as a possible career (which I did not pursue), “uvula”–same class, and “sternum” from taking CPR.
Now how does one work these into a conversation without sounding like a med student?
Perhaps:
“The wind blew fiercely across her zygoma and nipped her pinna, causing her to long for the cheery fireside awaiting her at home.”
Or:
“Already late for his appointment, Phillip angrily kicked the flat tire of his Mazda pickup truck immediately rendering a pain to his hallux.”
Doubtful:
“Watching the 747 taxi down the runaway, Alice closed her eyes at this final farewell, with a tear barely contained within her canthus.”
I’m almost adjusted to the annual switcheroo, although that shock and surprise of darkness descending at 4:30 pm and waking up at 6 am and thinking it must be the middle of the night because it is so depressingly dark never has become something I’ve grown used to over my lifetime of turning the clocks back one hour in the fall.
Whew-a paragraph of quiet rant. Thank you for allowing that. I do feel better.
With time on my mind, I thought I would dedicate this month’s Word Nerd post to words that reflect time. Ready?
At least one full page!
How are you coping with the time change. You are excused if you are from Hawaii or Arizona.
Your search for that precise descriptor has ended with this batch of discovered words. I must admit I am familiar with “twaddle” and have come across “quidnunc” no doubt due to those old English mystery novels from the forties that I favor.
kyoodle: to bark or yelp noisily or foolishly
gloze: to explain away
twaddle: silly, tedious talk or writing
otiose: serving no practical purpose or result
recondite: relating to, or dealing with something little known or obscure
parlous: full of danger or uncertainty
drouk: to drench
elucubrate: to produce (something) by long and intensive effort
opprobrium: harsh criticism or censure
quidnunc: person who seeks to know all the latest news or gossip
I need to find a way to work “kyoodle” into a conversation.
Which three letter word sports the current title of having the most definitions?
A. lie
B. set
C. run
Lie?
Sorry—only two : to tell something that is untrue or to assume a horizontal position.
I’m not lying about not taking word knowledge lying down
Set?
Previously the champ, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED—THE leading dictionary) tagged it with 200 meanings, starting with the expected “put or lay something down” and then running on for another 32 pages with various meaning. Speaking of run—
Run?
Congratulations on this pick as the OED folk have determined that this little word carries a whopping 645 definitions. Impressive, right?
Here’s a sample (taken from RD.com)
When you run a fever, for example, those three letters have a very different meaning than when you run a bath to treat it, or when your bathwater subsequently runs over and drenches your cotton bath runner, forcing you to run out to the store and buy a new one. There, you run up a bill of $85 because besides a rug and some cold medicine, you also need some thread to fix the run in your stockings and some tissue for your runny nose and a carton of milk because you’ve run through your supply at home, and all this makes dread run through your soul because your value-club membership runs out at the end of the month and you’ve already run over your budget on last week’s grocery run when you ran over a nail in the parking lot and now your car won’t even run properly because whatever idiot runs that Walmart apparently lets his custodial staff run amok and you know you’re letting your inner monologue run on and on but, gosh—you’d do things differently if you ran the world. (And breathe). Maybe you should run for office.
And I have run the course on this post. Until next time.
Winter was fairly mellow until two weeks ago when late snows inundated our landscape. Finally the temps are rising from single digits to the almost balmy days of 40 degrees. I am more than ready to say “Until next year!” to winter. As the rains begin to erase the abundance of white snow to reveal hints of spring around the corner I have pulled up a batch of appropriate words to sign off my least favorite season.
Apricity: the warmth of the sun in winter–I am known to park my lounger in the open garage, curl up in a blanket over my winter togs and nap in the sun.
Psithurism: rustling or whispering sound–such as the wind in the trees; oh those wintry storms that send shivers of snow down from branches when I walk under them.
Hiemal: of or relating to winter—look for this one when the weather person is trying to be above the norm in describing how cold it is.
Subnivean: situated or occurring under the snow–like the snow shovel I forgot to put away the last time I cleared the driveway.
Brabble: noisy, quarrelsome chatter–as in a Super Bowl Sunday living room gathering
Psychrophilic: thriving at a relatively low temperature—as in all those juncos and chickadees that flock into my front yard foraging for the bird seed we toss out.
Skijoring: a winter sport in which a person wearing skis is drawn over snow or ice by a horse or vehicle—family home movies show my dad towing my mom behind our ‘57 Chevy down the snowy streets (disclaimer: of course we wouldn’t do this today).
Sitzmark: a depression left in the snow by a skier falling backward—yup, just like it sounds.
Brumation: a state or condition of sluggishness, inactivity, or torpor exhibited by reptiles (such as snakes or lizards) during winter or extended periods of low temperature—I can especially relate to this particular word.
January 9th is set aside for those, like myself, who relish, celebrate, expound the joys of discovering and knowing how words can make one’s day that much better.
It’s a delightful fact that Ted Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, provided the term “nerd” in his 1950 book If I Ran the Zoo.
image: Tumblr
While “nerd” used to be considered a mildly derogatory label to describe a person who was a bit too devoted to something or operated outside more established social norms, “nerd” is now a means to attach a reference to someone possessing expertise or enthusiasm.
There is a vast number of lexiconical connoisseurs residing within the greater populace.
It’s a quiet existence for the most part. No Jimmy Fallon appearances nor competitive reality shows featuring celebrities enthusiastically endorsing their favorite vocabulary.
It is gratifying to have this one special day though.
I browsed through the internet and discovered a few Word Nerds and decided to give them momentum in their efforts to expand the awareness of appreciating words.
Sniglets is a clever book by Rich Hall (and friends) in which the reader will discover a collection of words that do not appear in the dictionary, but should. Below are several examples:
ambiportalous (am bit port’ atl us) adj. Possessing the uncanny knack for approaching a set of double doors and always pushing the locked one.
aqualibrium (an we lib’ re um) n. The point where the stream of drinking fountain water is at its perfect height, thus relieving the drinker from (a) having to suck the nozzle, or (b) squirting himself in the eye.
bovilexia (no him eks’ uh) n. The uncontrollable urge to lean out the car window and yell “moo!” when passing a cow.
carperpetuation (kar’ pur pet u a shun) n. The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.
cinemuck (si’ he muk) n. The combination of popcorn, soda, and melted chocolate which covers the floors of movie theaters.
elecelleration (am a cam at ay’ shun) n. The mistaken notion that the more you press the elevator button the faster it will arrive.
flirr (flur) n. A photograph that shows the finger of the person who took the picture.
glackett (glak’ it) n. The noisy ball inside a spray paint can.
hangle (han’ gul) n. A cluster of clothes hangers.
niz (niz) n. An annoying hair at the top of a movie screen.
phonesia (to nee’ zhuh) n. The affliction of dialing a phone number and forgetting whom you were calling just as they answer.
trickle (thri’ kle) n. The itch at the back of the throat which can not be relieved without making disgusting sounds.
zibula (zi’ bew luh) n. The plastic spine which model car parts come attached to.
The only sniglet I recognized was “spork” that amazing blend of spoon and fork that so often is found accompanying take out these days. Tom Hall, unfortunately, cannot claim the fame of inventing the word. That honor goes to a nameless hero who formed ridges on the wooden ice cream spoon; however, in 1951, inventor Hyde W. Ballard trademarked the word “spork” with the Van Brode Milling Company, and then filed a patent to make plastic sporks at a later date.
Although the temperature read 80 degrees the other day my trees are shedding their leaves like a toddler peeling her clothes off in order to be unfettered and free. It’s fall. That time of year when we pull on a sweater leaving the house and pull it off by midafternoon. The nights are cooler, the days are warmish. The weather is fickle. September remains my favorite seasonal month for all those reasons–it’s an unexpected month.
But is it Fall or is it fall? A quick trip to Dictionary.com is needed.
When applied as a title or is being personified, like in the poem below seasonal words are capitalized, otherwise use lower case.
Autumn Thoughts by John Greenleaf Whittier
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, And gone the Summer’s pomp and show, And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, Is waiting for the Winter’s snow.
I said to Earth, so cold and gray, ‘An emblem of myself thou art.’ ‘Not so,’ the Earth did seem to say, ‘For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.’ I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams Of warmer sun and softer rain, And wait to hear the sound of streams And songs of merry birds again….
Wait, Mr. Whittier used Autumn instead of Fall. Is there a difference? Actually the terms are interchangeable; however, there are slight nuances.
The word “autumn” is French, being derived from autompne and is traced back to the late 1300s. Chaucer and Shakespeare applied the word in their works. Brits tend to use “autumn” while Americans refer to “fall” which came into use around the 1800s.
Fall being the third season is recorded in use in the 1500s, with thoughts that it referred to “leaf fall,” which makes sense since leaves are falling right and left come September. In some cases “fall” is more useful than “autumn.” For instance, “Spring forward, autumn back,” just doesn’t have the same mnemonic ring.
I tend to say “fall” as “autumn” is much more serious sounding and I think more of how November leads into winter rather than September’s stretch of sunny days. Although I can see why Miss Emily D. chose “Autumn” for her poem instead of “Fall.”
Enjoy those crisp mornings, warmish afternoons, and chilly nights whether you “fall” into the season or apply “autumn” to your wordscape.
Autumn
by Emily Dickinson
The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.
Naming a group of something is a job I wouldn’t mind applying for. Someone gets to do it and the results are pretty fun, especially when it involves animals.
Pam Webb 