words wholly unrelated

[what the] dickens & [charles] dickens

“what the dickens” has long been the catchphrase of my parole officer. i always assumed it had something to do with charles dickens and was some whacky victorian euphemism—the way saying jiminy christmas is a way of not saying jesus christ. it turns out that “what the dickens” predates charles dickens and the victorian era by several centuries. if i had actually read shakespeare’s the merry wives of windsor instead of pretending to read it, i would have come across the phrase in act iii, scene ii.

most people in the know agree that “what the dickens” is a minced oath for “what the devil.” though the relation between dickens and the devil is obscure, some etymologists say it derives from devilkins.

in an effort to ensure that the surname dickens doesn’t come from devilkins, i conducted some research on the last name itself. dickens means “the grandson of richard” (literally “the son of dick’s kin).” and is an example of a double patronymic surname. interestingly, the surname dickinson is rare case of a triple patronymic surname and means “richard’s great-grandson.”

dick
dicken (dick + kin)
dickens (dick + kin + s(on))
dickinson (dick + kin + s(on) + (s)on)!

October 10, 2011
tags

tokyo language drift

the word place comes from the latin word platea and originally meant “broad street.” over the ages, its meaning has drifted to “any particular position or point in space.” this natural process of language is called generalization and is slowly happening all the time.

as stewards of our language, is it our duty to stamp out generalization and other language shifting whenever we encounter it? the answer is a personal decision and not one that i will be making for you. HOWEVER when the word is snarf or twerp, i am willing to admit that generalization can be a bad thing. let’s listen in as kurt vonnegut, jr. is interviewed (by himself) in the paris review.

VONNEGUT: Yeah. And one time, while I was writing, I happened to sniff my armpits absentmindedly. Several people saw me do it, and thought it was funny—and ever after that I was given the name “Snarf.” …Technically, I wasn’t really a snarf. A snarf was a person who went around sniffing girls’ bicycle saddles. I didn’t do that. “Twerp” also had a very specific meaning, which few people know now. Through careless usage, “twerp” is a pretty formless insult now.

INTERVIEWER: What is a twerp in the strictest sense, in the original sense?

VONNEGUT: It’s a person who inserts a set of false teeth between the cheeks of his ass.

INTERVIEWER: I see.

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source: kurt vonnegut, the art of fiction no. 64 in the paris review (spring 1977)

runetooth
since latin and greek have weaseled their way into our scientific and academic lexicon, it’s always rather amusing to come across some high tech device with an earthy name of germanic origin. we place calls and send emails with our blackberrys. we use the kenning-like firewire to transfer our yodeling mp3s to and from our computing devices. we use a thunderbolt interface to do whatever that particular interface is supposed to do. but my favourite of all is the bluetooth standard.
because of its rune-like logo, i always suspected that bluetooth referred to something germanic but it wasn’t until recently that i got the full story »

The word Bluetooth is an anglicised version of the Scandinavian Blåtand, the epithet of the tenth-century King Harald I of Denmark…who united dissonant Danish tribes into a single kingdom. The implication is that Bluetooth does the same with communications protocols, uniting them into one universal standard.

bluetooth does for wireless technology standards what harald bluetooth of denmark did for the local danish tribes in the year 960? how delightfully esoteric.

runetooth

since latin and greek have weaseled their way into our scientific and academic lexicon, it’s always rather amusing to come across some high tech device with an earthy name of germanic origin. we place calls and send emails with our blackberrys. we use the kenning-like firewire to transfer our yodeling mp3s to and from our computing devices. we use a thunderbolt interface to do whatever that particular interface is supposed to do. but my favourite of all is the bluetooth standard.

because of its rune-like logo, i always suspected that bluetooth referred to something germanic but it wasn’t until recently that i got the full story »

The word Bluetooth is an anglicised version of the Scandinavian Blåtand, the epithet of the tenth-century King Harald I of Denmark…who united dissonant Danish tribes into a single kingdom. The implication is that Bluetooth does the same with communications protocols, uniting them into one universal standard.

bluetooth does for wireless technology standards what harald bluetooth of denmark did for the local danish tribes in the year 960? how delightfully esoteric.

tokelauan words that don’t have the letter f in them

there are many reasons to read this harrowing account of three teenage boys lost at sea for 51 days (their only provisions were moldy coconuts and a mason jar of vodka which they consumed almost immediately; they survived in the open ocean in a pontoon boat made for lake fishing; the location of their polynesian island is one of the most remote on the globe) but the biggest reason for reading the article is to soak up some unusual vocabulary from their exotic language (especially tagavaka):

lelea—a boat that has been blown off course.
palagi—a foreigner
tagavaka—a boat that has purposely sailed away—for love, adventure, or suicide.
tautai—a master fisherman, the highest honor a tokelauan man can receive.
ulu—the leader of all of tokelau. the position rotates every year among the heads of each individual atoll.

June 9, 2011
tags
languages are you
just as the family in the swiss family robinson was not named robinson in the book, the 7 dwarfs from snow white and the 7 dwarfs also had no names until disney got involved. these now iconic dwarf aptronyms have since been translated into every language in which disney has found a market and i have made it my morning’s duty to translate them back.
i was reading an old book once that had the very curious phrase “translated out of german” on its title page. i assumed “out of” was just a colloquialism for the much more standard “from” but it wasn’t until i was discussing it with a friend that i learned what it actually meant. apparently the original text was written in latin, then translated into german, and the book i was reading was a translation out of it [into english]. it was the whisper-down-the-lane method of literature!
this dwarf chart is thus a translation out of various languages back to english.

ie. dopey (english) > cucciolo (italian) > puppy (english)

i used google translate for all the terms and was pleased at the proficiency of its engine. when i entered the list of 7 names, it would immediately recognise them as disney’s dwarfs and give me a perfect translation. entering each name separately, without context was the only way to get google to stumble.
you wonder how the utopian present leads to the dystopian future? i’m not totally certain, however it probably has something to do with google robots trying to foil my understanding of forest dwarfs and their associated personalities.
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i used this list and other online discussions to determine the dwarf names in other languages. obviously, the lists and my chosen translation service are not without error.

languages are you

just as the family in the swiss family robinson was not named robinson in the book, the 7 dwarfs from snow white and the 7 dwarfs also had no names until disney got involved. these now iconic dwarf aptronyms have since been translated into every language in which disney has found a market and i have made it my morning’s duty to translate them back.

i was reading an old book once that had the very curious phrase “translated out of german” on its title page. i assumed “out of” was just a colloquialism for the much more standard “from” but it wasn’t until i was discussing it with a friend that i learned what it actually meant. apparently the original text was written in latin, then translated into german, and the book i was reading was a translation out of it [into english]. it was the whisper-down-the-lane method of literature!

this dwarf chart is thus a translation out of various languages back to english.

ie. dopey (english) > cucciolo (italian) > puppy (english)

i used google translate for all the terms and was pleased at the proficiency of its engine. when i entered the list of 7 names, it would immediately recognise them as disney’s dwarfs and give me a perfect translation. entering each name separately, without context was the only way to get google to stumble.

you wonder how the utopian present leads to the dystopian future? i’m not totally certain, however it probably has something to do with google robots trying to foil my understanding of forest dwarfs and their associated personalities.

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i used this list and other online discussions to determine the dwarf names in other languages. obviously, the lists and my chosen translation service are not without error.

the king’s figure of speech

my eudora email client has been pulsing with electronic letters from a handful of friends, fake friends, and adultfriendfinder.com friends with hawt news about the rhetorical device known as the paraprosdokian. here’s what jimmy wales has to say about it »

A paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to reframe or reinterpret the first part. It is frequently used for humorous or dramatic effect, sometimes producing an anticlimax. For this reason, it is extremely popular among comedians and satirists.

blah blah blah, let’s get to some examples of paraporsdokia before we all fall asleep:

  • If I am reading this graph correctly—I’d be very surprised. —Stephen Colbert
  • If all the girls who attended the Yale prom were laid end to end, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. — Dorothy Parker
  • I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn’t it. —Groucho Marx
  • A modest man, who has much to be modest about. —Winston Churchill
  • I like going to the park and watching the children run around because they don’t know I’m using blanks. —Emo Phillips
  • If I could say a few words, I’d be a better public speaker. —Homer Simpson
  • I haven’t slept for two weeks, because that would be too long. —Mitch Hedberg

my conclusion: a paraprosdokian is a long word for a one-liner.

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like the word ecdysiast, paraprosdokian is likely a modern greek neologism for a historical greek stimulus.

meta-phor-play

as a wee raynorling, i lumped the concept of metaphor into the same category as rhyme and alliteration—mere ornaments of language. but just as my taste in fashion matured from aeropostale and abercrombie & fitch to armani and prada so too have my thoughts on the importance of the metaphor. 

indeed i now recognise the metaphor as the very nature of human thought. to understand through metaphor is perhaps our single greatest evolutionary advantage. it is what has elevated the house of homo to the top spot in the kingdom animalia—and as far as i’m convinced, the sole reason why the robots will never conquer us, even the ones that look like arnold schwarzenegger.

i could rant on and on but i will spare you. instead i will treat you to a few f-entries from a dictionary of similes by frank jenners wilstach (1917). this extraordinary book groups metaphors by key words. thus, were i unfamiliar with the concept of melancholy, i could turn to page 256 and see how great poets described the concept in terms of other things. goethe says, “melancholy as a slighted damsel.” poe describes it as “the moaning of the distant sea.” and hawthorne: “like the voice of a child that was spending its infancy without playfulness.” and now i have fairly good idea of what melancholy is without having ever read its actual definition. this is the power of metaphor.

here are some other entries in the key word of f:

  • That face of yours looks like the title-page of a whole volume of roguery. —Colley Cibber
  • A face that was like an open letter in a foreign tongue. —Henry James
  • Faces did glister like the key-hole of a powdering-tub.—Rabelais
  • Fades like a once-heard tale.—Lewis Morris
  • Failed like a brief dream of unremaining glory.—Shelley
  • Faint as the music that in dreams we hear.—Mary A. de Vere
  • Fair as original light first from the chaos shot.—Richard Lovelace
  • Fall like small birds beaten by the storm against a dead wall, dead.—P.J. Bailey
  • Falls like a slaughtered beast headless.—Swinburne
  • Familiar as a voice of home.—John Crawford
  • Fangless as the fat worms of the grave.—James Whitcomb Riley
  • Ferocious as a bogus archangel full of cocaine.—H.L. Mencken
  • Fierce as a blast of hate from hell.—Swinburne
  • More fine than moonbeams.—Ibid.
  • Fists like shoulders of mutton.—Balzac
  • Foaming at the mouth like champagne bottles.—Israel Zangwill
  • Follow one another like ducks in a gutter.—Beaumont and Fletcher
  • Fragrant as the breath of angels.—O.W. Holmes
  • Fruitless as the lamentations of a prophet crying in the wilderness.—Frank Horridge

language silhouettes

okay, okay. this will be the last time that i blast you in your face with word-number charts that i made on an airplane. for this final graph, i thought it would be a hoot to generate a kind of “silhouette” of the unique word length schemes of the numbers of each language.

notice how almost 60% of all german numbers are spelled with 14 letters. also—how half of all vietnamese numbers have ten letters. observe how when many languages max out at about 15 letters per number, polish is just warming up (and stretches all the way to 24). compare the strikingly similar silhouettes of italian, spanish, and portuguese. contemplate how neat and tidy turkish is and how chaotic and sprawling french seems.

i’m left wondering whether these graphs would be similar for say, the length of the most used words in each language, or the length of each language’s colour terms. are the majority of vietnamese colours spelled with ten letters? are some of the most used words in polish a whopping 20 letters or more? are there no words in malay that are exactly six letters? who knows? i may need to charter another flight to thailand to sort it all out.

4 is the magic number cont’d [spoilers]

yesterday, i made it my bidness to clue you into 4 and why it’s the magic number. today i will tell you why. i will also discuss at length my unabatable zeal for charting the mathematics behind its magic—in a crowded jumbo jet, sipping on campari & o.j., whizzing through the air at an altitude of 39,000 feet, and watching a brendan fraser movie where he can communicate with raccoons.

the solution is frustrating at first but very gratifying once you yourself get to make someone else figure out how every number leads back to 4 just as every road leads to rome. i played a little trick on you yesterday by not writing out the numbers (despite what the chicago manual of style says). if i had, you might have realised that each number is the amount of letters it contains. thus: 3 (three) is 5 (five) is 4 (four). doh! 4 is magic therefore because it has the unique property of being spelled with its own amount of letters.

for every number to be reducible to 4 however, there needs to be additional magic—all numbers have to lead to it, and no other number can be “magic”. if 5 were spelled with two letters, 5 would be 2, 2 would be 3, and 3 would be 5 again— creating an infinite loop that never gets to 4. additionally, only one number can be spelled with its own amount of letters. if 6 were spelled “sihcks”, then the whole delicate balance explodes and the puzzle loses its appeal.

these are the things that were whirling around my brain as woodland creatures were flinging rotten fruit at brendan fraser’s gonads. and as the captain made an announcement in three languages, i realised that 4 is only magic in the english numberverse, who knows what mysteries were yet to be uncovered in foreign alphabets. perhaps 9 was magic in mandarin, maybe 13 in romanian. or maybe—and this is what really revved my turbines: maybe english was the only language which held these three magic properties. maybe english and its numbers are the center of the matho-linguistic universe!

i did some quick counting in different languages and soon realised that cinco was cinco and vier was vier. but did all numbers in spanish lead to cinco? were there other numbers in german that were magic? i mapped out a few languages in my counterfeit moleskine journal.

spanish, it seems, is magic only half the time. 50% of the numbers 1-100 will get stuck in a 6-4 infinite loop. german, like its grandnephew english, has 4 as a magic number (and only 4). what about french? french, like france itself, gets tangled in a vast web of bureaucracy. 6 leads to 3, 3 leads to 5, 5 to 4 and back to 6 and so on and so on to infinity. just by sketching out these four languages, i could see how each chart structure was wildly different than the last. i needed more! i became a data junkie!

i made fast friends with the vietnamese government official sitting next to me. “can you spell out the numbers 1-100 in vietnamese,” i asked over another round of campari & o.j.?”

“huh?!?” he said (the question mark-exclamation point-question mark i added)

but weirdly, he wrote them down without further questioning. “do you know any other languages?” i asked. perhaps he anticipated what i was going to ask him to do and responded in the negative. so i set about the plane querying people on what languages that they knew and then prodding them to write out every number in that language from 1-100. it was actually a pretty good icebreaker and people were oddly compliant. perhaps everyone was bored with watching brendan fraser tongue kiss brooke shields, or perhaps people were just excited to showcase their language. for whatever reason, i soon had myself a dozen cocktail napkins with over 1,000 handwritten numbers scrawled all over them.

as i always do when overwhelmed with a sudden influx of correlatable data, i got out my laptop, closed my redtube.com tab, and opened up my charting program so i could chart the tar out of these numbers and their relationships.

the images above are from this feverish, 39,000 foot high charting session. you will notice how the structure of numbers and how they are spelled in each language is as different as the languages themselves. and yet similar languages do have similar structures. the longest number in portuguese, spanish, and italian is 54, yet italian has a magic number, spanish is half magic and portuguese is only a quarter magic.

consider also vietnamese in which half of all numbers are ten letters long. in malay, not a single number is spelled with 6 letters. in polish, it takes 24 letters to spell out the number 99. in typical german efficiency, it takes just four maximum steps to arrive at the magic number while it takes 7 steps in italian. these are just a few of the highlights, the rest i leave in your intrepid hands.

in the end: english’s four, german’s vier, and italian’s tre were the only fully magic numbers in my pool of 10 languages but that does not take away from the other languages and the beauty of their relationships in this odd intersection of number and letter and language and math.

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props to my fellow passengers on thai air who answered my out-of-nowhere request for written numbers (and now know why i was badgering them): mr. binh, hugh, almas, weronika, jordan, that guy with the jason mraz hat who was reading the entertainment section of usa today, and phillip—you guys, please consider yourself members of the mile high club for polyglots.

disclaimer: i couldn’t read everybody’s handwriting, and don’t know every language (yet), so there will doubtlessly be some mistakes in these charts—perhaps even some large and embarrassing ones.

word links & hijinx

while i was away from my desk for the last one point five months, a few standout individuals took it upon themselves to keep me apprised on what is fresh in the world of lexicography. the answer: a lot. here are some juicy word-related items that are sure to make you howl with ecstasy.

oxford’s sekrit word vault is a heavily-guarded filing cabinet deep inside the catacombs underneath the offices of the oxford university press. some dipshit graphic designer was recently given (indirect) access to a few of the “non-words” that oxford editors don’t want you to know about (or that they deemed unsuitable for print). among the choicest:

furgle · to feel in a pocket for a small object
percuperate · to prepare for the possibility of being ill
scrax · the waxy coating that is scratched off of a lottery ticket.

forvo.com is an online pronunciation guide for over 750,000 words in more than 250 languages. i immediately looked up flaccid because if you pronounce it correctly in my presence, i become anything but—needless to say, forvo.com is all the v14gr4 that i need.

the first english dictionary of slang 1699 is set to be published for the first time in over 300 years. some of the many headspinners found inside are:

arsworm · a little diminutive fellow
fizzle · a low sounding fart
grumbletonians · malcontents

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mad respect to my informers: allan, june, and danielle

how i became a proficient speaker of the lao language
from now on: i am only going to learn new languages by mysetf if (and only if) i can get a teaching aid which labels young girls in increasing order of fatness.
for more yucks: english as she is spoke

how i became a proficient speaker of the lao language

from now on: i am only going to learn new languages by mysetf if (and only if) i can get a teaching aid which labels young girls in increasing order of fatness.

for more yucks: english as she is spoke

August 31, 2010
tags

proof that boring linguistics papers are not always boring

i know what you’re thinking. you’re thinking that boring linguistics papers are always boring. but it ain’t always so, slacker! as evidence, i submit the paper* on the aforementioned adverbial prefixes in klamath. here, scott delancy discusses the prefix sg- (act with the penis) as it appears in several klamath myths.

the concluding line is the best line that ever appeared in all of linguistics (i bolded it for extra emphasis). i would wear a t-shirt of a tattooed version of a cross-stitched rendering of it, if such a thing existed.

sg- occurs in a set of semantically rather idiosyncratic stems:

  • /sgocaqta/ — bend the penis on
  • /sgena/ — take out the penis
  • /is goqo:tYe:nia/ — scrape the penis around inside

This is hardly surprising; there is a limited range of things which can be done with the penis, even in myth.

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* “lexical prefixes and the bipartite stem construction in klamath” by scott delancey, international journal of american linguistics, (january 1999).

May 5, 2010
tags

body parts of speech

one of the more compelling reasons to study another language is so we can learn how to say dirty things to people who aren’t familiar with it. for this, the native american language of klamath is especially well-suited.

klamath has a peculiar system of bodily adverbial affixes which is a ñerd’s way of saying that speakers of klamath can jam a prefix onto a verb to show which body part is acting on it.

tqiq- for instance, means “to act with the elbow”. adding it to the verb t’ac (to stretch) yields the preposterous word histqatca which translates to “fight by stretching the other’s mouth with an elbow.”

here are a few more:

d- with the hands
y- with the foot
qb- with the mouth
loc- with the knee
tshoq- with the buttocks
sg- with the penis

stealing these and using them in english (which is what english does best) could be quite useful as in the following imagined conversation:

orson o’riley: i was jostled in the subway this morning.
crepuscular ray: were you djostled or locjostled?
oo: actually, i was tshoqjostled.
cr: you have brought shame on our house that cannot be absolved with 1,000 bars of soap.

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source: “lexical prefixes and the bipartite stem construction in klamath” by scott delancey, international journal of american linguistics, (january 1999).

tattoos of the russian mafia
one of the most memorable images from eastern promises (besides, of course, the scene where aragorn has a naked knife fight in a turkish bathhouse) is the glimpse we get of each mobster’s ornate hand tattoos. these tattoos are a kind of graphic cant which broadcast each person’s affiliations, jail time, specialties, ideologies, et cetry et cetry. fortunately for you, your dear friend raynor has got a decoder ring. it’s called the russian criminal tattoo encyclopedia (2005) by danzig baldeav. here is an interpretation of the above tattooed hand:
5 dots: 4 watchtowers and me. (i have been in prison)
MIR: an acronym that spells the russian word for peace, but which stands for “shooting will reform me.”
cat’s head: a thieves’ symbol
LARA: a girlfriend’s name
various convictions
little finger: anarchist
third finger: complete orphan, ‘rely on no one but yourself’
middle finger: convicted for brigandage
forefinger: a ‘leninist’ bandit. leader of a group of expropriators
PEGA: a nickname

tattoos of the russian mafia

one of the most memorable images from eastern promises (besides, of course, the scene where aragorn has a naked knife fight in a turkish bathhouse) is the glimpse we get of each mobster’s ornate hand tattoos. these tattoos are a kind of graphic cant which broadcast each person’s affiliations, jail time, specialties, ideologies, et cetry et cetry. fortunately for you, your dear friend raynor has got a decoder ring. it’s called the russian criminal tattoo encyclopedia (2005) by danzig baldeav. here is an interpretation of the above tattooed hand:

  1. 5 dots: 4 watchtowers and me. (i have been in prison)
  2. MIR: an acronym that spells the russian word for peace, but which stands for “shooting will reform me.”
  3. cat’s head: a thieves’ symbol
  4. LARA: a girlfriend’s name
  5. various convictions
  6. little finger: anarchist
  7. third finger: complete orphan, ‘rely on no one but yourself’
  8. middle finger: convicted for brigandage
  9. forefinger: a ‘leninist’ bandit. leader of a group of expropriators
  10. PEGA: a nickname
on beyond zebra
we’ve talked about the alexander graham bell and george bernard shaw phonetic alphabets before and we have discussed benjamin franklin’s writing, but we have yet to talk about franklin’s own super kooky phonetic alphabet.
franklin was more than just a political revolutionary—he was also an alphabet one. he figured (much like the citizens of azerbaijan) that a new alphabet was essential in promoting a new national identity. and unlike shaw and bell who invented zany moustache alphabets, franklin determined that the best course of action was to build upon our already existing latin letters. while his spelling reform ideas were taken up by his homey, noah webster, webster thought his alphabet reform was too radical for the time. perhaps it was but honestly, those six new letters at the end are some of the illest glyphs going.
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another failed alphabetic reform: this.recommended reading: this.

on beyond zebra

we’ve talked about the alexander graham bell and george bernard shaw phonetic alphabets before and we have discussed benjamin franklin’s writing, but we have yet to talk about franklin’s own super kooky phonetic alphabet.

franklin was more than just a political revolutionary—he was also an alphabet one. he figured (much like the citizens of azerbaijan) that a new alphabet was essential in promoting a new national identity. and unlike shaw and bell who invented zany moustache alphabets, franklin determined that the best course of action was to build upon our already existing latin letters. while his spelling reform ideas were taken up by his homey, noah webster, webster thought his alphabet reform was too radical for the time. perhaps it was but honestly, those six new letters at the end are some of the illest glyphs going.

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another failed alphabetic reform: this.
recommended reading:
this.

disclaimer