thewordwideweb - Tumblr blog

[thewordwideweb]

On the trail of the sleuth

One of my dogs was wandering around the house this morning, stopping at doors and windows to randomly bark at nothing (as one does). My wife asked the pooch, “Are you barking at a flock of bears?”

I knew a bunch of bears was not a flock, but I didn’t know the correct term. Turns out, it’s a “sleuth” of bears. And that’s very fortuitous, because I’ve been looking for an excuse to make “sleuth” the Word of the Day.

I have always loved the stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s super-sleuth, Sherlock Holmes. But you don’t have to be a great detective to uncover the origin of the word “sleuth.” It came into English from an Old Norse word (that sounded a lot like “sloth”) which referred to the track or trail of an animal or a person. A dog that would track the animal in question was called a “sleuth-hound” – which today we usually call a bloodhound.

Sleuth-hound was eventually shortened simply to “sleuth,” and the term was applied to human investigators and detectives who would track down their suspects. You can tell Sherlock Holmes is in full sleuth-hound mode when he tells his devoted amanuensis Dr. Watson, “the game’s afoot!”  

Really, it’s elementary.

[thewordwideweb]

And that's why it's called...

We're not exactly going to call this a Word of the Day, but since I like to know the origin of words... My Snapple bottlecap tells me that "Snapple" is named after the company's first product, which delivered "a snappy apple taste." And now you know.

[thewordwideweb]

Cutting the mustard

I read the other day that the Philadelphia Phillies are eliminating “Dollar Dog Night” at the ballpark. No more one dollar hot dogs. That sad news inspired me to write this Word of the Day. I hope it cuts the mustard. The Word is “mustard.”  

Why do we call it that? It's pretty simple, really. When ancient Romans first crushed up the pungent seeds of the brassica or sinapis plants they would add "must" - from the Latin "mustum," meaning "new wine" (that is, the unfermented juice of crushed grapes) - to make a paste that could be used as a condiment. The Romans called the spicy paste "burning must," or in Latin, "mustum ardens" - or "must ard" for short. The "must" gave its name not only to the condiment, but to the plant itself. Today, the "must" used to make mustard has almost universally been replaced with vinegar.

I'm not exactly sure what the ancient Roman equivalent of a hot dog tasted like, but I'll bet the ancient mustard was delicious.

[thewordwideweb]

Trivia: How many roads must a man walk down?

We’re going to delve into some trivia in today’s Word of the Day. It should be fairly easy to figure out that “trivia” means “the place where three roads meet.” In Latin, “tri“ means “three” and “via” means “road or way.” Simple, eh?

We probably all have our favorite bits of trivia, whether it’s “How many hearts does an octopus have?” (Three) or “It’s impossible to lick your own elbow.” (You just tried it, didn’t you?)

So how did we get from the intersection of three roads to bits of obscure information that have little importance or value? Well, in the Roman Empire, wherever three or more roads came together, it became a meeting place, a spot to trade goods and chat about everyday, commonplace things. The intersection was not a spot for deep philosophical conversations or weighty matters. It was mostly small talk, gossip, street-corner soliloquies…what today we might call “trivial” matters. And that’s how we got from there to here.

Here’s one more bit of trivia about “trivia”: In the Middle Ages, “trivium” (the singular form of “trivia”) referred to the three roads of learning leading to eloquence – logic, rhetoric and grammar. The “quadrivium” – astronomy, arithmetic, geometry and music – represented the four roads to knowledge. Taken together, the trivium and quadrivium comprised the seven liberal arts.

And if that ain’t trivial, I don’t know what is.

[thewordwideweb]

That's the ticket!

If you’re of a certain age, or if you watched Jon Lovitz as the Pathological Liar on Saturday Night Live in the 1980’s, chances are you’re familiar with the expression “That’s the ticket!” You may have even used it yourself, perhaps to congratulate someone for coming up with the right answer to a question, or for a job well done. “That’s the ticket” is our Word (okay, Phrase) of the Day.

“That’s the ticket” means “that’s the way to do it,” “you are exactly correct,” “that’s just what we needed” and so on. But where did the phrase come from?

There’s a raging controversy between two likely origin stories, although it’s generally agreed that the phrase has been around since the early 1800’s. One popular theory, which I think is quite dubious, holds that “that’s the ticket” is an Anglicized corruption of the French, “C’est l’etiquette.” Etiquette in French can mean, among other things, “ticket” or “label.” So, "c’est l’etiquette” can mean both “that’s the ticket” and “that’s the proper way” to do something, the correct way to behave.

The other theory is that charities in the early nineteenth century would issue tickets to the underprivileged which could be redeemed for food, fuel or other necessaries. There is evidence of an old expression, “That’s the ticket for soup,” which makes this origin story more plausible to me. So you can take your pick, but if you –like me – prefer the “that’s the ticket for soup” origin, well everything will be tickety-boo!

[thewordwideweb]

Nieces and nephews

A friend of mine went on social media recently to post a picture of her newborn niece. Cute kid. You all know what nieces and nephews are, right?

Wanna bet?

“Nephew” and “niece” are the Words of the Day. Today, of course, a nephew or niece is the child of your brother or sister. But until the early 1600’s, both “nephew” and “niece” meant a grandchild! (Or any of your descendants other than your own child, including nieces and nephews.)

Nephew and niece came down to us through the centuries from French and Latin. The Old French “neveu” for nephew and “nece” for niece were derived from Latin “nepos” and “neptis,” respectively (or “nepotem” for either). And all those words commonly meant grandson or granddaughter. “Descendant” – male or female – was a secondary meaning.

So, how did your own grandchild turn into the child of a relative? Well, we don’t know for sure, but you may want to blame it on the Roman Catholic Church. Since popes couldn’t marry, any illegitimate sons they might have (holy) fathered tended to be referred to with a wink and a nod as his “nephews.” A number of popes, possibly starting with Sixtus IV in the late 1400’s, granted special favors and privileges to members of his family, his “nepotem.” That’s where we get the word “nepotism.” And it’s possibly when nephews started commonly being referred to as children instead of grandchildren.

[thewordwideweb]

Pantry raid!

I went into the pantry to get a snack, and because I was in a silly mood, I noted that there were neither pans nor trees in there. So, as I grabbed a couple of cookies, I decided to make “pantry” the Word of the Day.

The closet or small room where we keep (mostly) non-perishable food is called a pantry because in days of old, when knights were bold, it was a place to store bread. (In French, “pain” – pronounced “pan” – is bread. In Latin, it’s “panis” (and I’m being very careful to avoid typos here). In Anglo-French, the room where the bread was kept was the “paneterie.” Pantry. (And yes, the attached photo really is a shot inside my pantry. Don’t judge me.)

If the pantry included a stone shelf to help keep food cool before the days of widespread refrigeration, that shelf was a “thrawl.” And unless you do a lot of crossword puzzles, I’ll bet you didn’t know that.

Speaking of cool things, do you know the difference between a pantry and a larder? Today we use the terms pretty much interchangeably, but that wasn’t always the case. In the dim past, larders were the “cool rooms,” often in cellars, where raw meats and vegetables were stored. Larders were also used to store partially cooked meat, which was covered with rendered lard to keep it fresh. Thus, “larder.” In pantries, the temperature was much less of a consideration.

Okay, we now know the difference between a pantry and a larder. So what the hell is a “scullery?” From the Old French “escuele” (dish) and Latin “scutella” (tray or platter), the scullery was the room where the post-prandial washing up was done. I’m done now, too. Done with my cookies, and with this pantry/larder/scullery nonsense.   

[thewordwideweb]

Rivals - over troubled waters

Welcome to the first Word of the Day of 2024. The word is “rivals.” We use it when talking about sports teams, political opponents, even entire countries vying with one another.

I only recently learned the origin of the word “rival.” It comes from the Latin “rivalis” and refers to people who lived on opposite sides of the same brook or stream and competed for use of the water. (Ancient Romans, it appears, were not particularly good at sharing.) When the word made its way into English and French, the competition was not over water; it was all about adversaries competing for the love of the same person. Over time, the competition between rivals could be for any objective – a stream, a lover, political office, a Super Bowl championship, anything.

Now you might think, as I did, that the original Latin “rivalis” was related to the English word “river,” and the competitors stood on opposite sides of that river. And just like me, you’d be wrong. “Rivalis” refers strictly to a stream or brook. “River” comes from the Latin “ripa” (yes, Kelly Ripa, we're talking to you), meaning bank or shore. I didn’t know that, but I don’t think any of my Word Guy rivals did, either.   

[thewordwideweb]

Quick! What's the good word?

Quick! Look alive! Can you tell me the Word of the Day?

C’mon, I haven’t got all day. Be quick about it.

The Word of the Day is “quick.” And so is the history of the word.

“Quick,” which traces its roots to about a dozen languages, originally meant “alive” (“living, alive, animate, characterized by the presence of life” – The Online Etymology Dictionary). The Biblical phrase “the quick and the dead” (also the title of a movie starring Sharon Stone and Gene Hackman) referred to those who were alive and those who weren’t.

It was – you should pardon the expression – a quick jump from “alive” to the modern meaning of “lively, animated, sprightly, swift and speedy. Also "done quickly, sudden, not lasting a long time.”

And if you don’t like this post, you’ll leave me cut to the quick (the tender part of the flesh under a fingernail or toenail).

[thewordwideweb]

C'mon mate, let's perambulate!

Today’s Word of the Day is for my wife (who won’t read it, because she has absolutely no interest in my posts) and her many friends who participate in dog agility competitions.

Once an agility course is laid out, the judge will walk the course with a wheel-on-a-stick measurement thingy to ensure there is sufficient safe distance between obstacles and to establish the overall length of the course. The length of the course helps determine the course time – that is, how much time the dog and handler have to complete the course to qualify.

Anyway, I was feeling pretty smug because I knew the proper term for that wheel-on-a-stick-measurement thingy is “perambulator” (our Word of the Day). Yes, that’s also the fancy word for a baby carriage (“pram” for short). It’s from Latin, meaning “to walk through.” For the record, perambulator the measuring device came before perambulator the baby carriage.

Anyway, I told my wife the wheel-on-a-stick thingy was called a perambulator. I guess I was hoping she’d say, “Wow, I never knew that. What an interesting, fun fact. You’re so smart. No wonder I love you.”  

Instead, she said, “Yeah, we all just call it the measuring wheel.”

Maybe it’s just as well she doesn’t read my posts.

[thewordwideweb]

Mmmm...minty fresh

Just so you know, I don’t make any money writing this Word of the Day crap. (Um, I mean these informative, entertaining blog posts.) Nope, I’m not making a mint here.

A mint. Hmmm. That might make a good Word of the Day!

There’s a pretty cool fable behind the word “mint.” (Note: we’re talking about the aromatic herb from the Lamiaceae family that gives its name to the popular and refreshing flavoring, not the place where they coin money, which – as we’ve already established – I don’t get.)

The Latin name for “mint” (again, the plant, not the money place) is “mentha,” which is also where we get the word “menthol.” The Greek word for it was “minthe,” and that’s where the fable begins.

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, was married to the goddess Persephone. But Hades was a real horn-dog. One day, while touring his hellish domain, he espied (Note: things are not just “seen” by Lords of the Underworld; they are “espied”) Minthe, the nymph who watched over the Cocytus. (Get your mind out of the gutter! Cocytus is one of the rivers of the underworld.) Anyway, Hades not only espied her, he became smitten with her, and carried her off to his underworld abode for a bit of canoodling.

As you might imagine, Persephone was not amused by the infidelity of Hades. So, being the goddess of agriculture and vegetation, she directed her wrath at Minthe and turned the nymph into a plant. Hades couldn’t turn her back, but he was able to make her a sweet-smelling plant so she would still be attractive.

And that’s why we call the sweet-smelling plant “mint.” The end.

Okay…not quite the end. The “mint” where money is coined is derived from a totally different word, and a totally different mythological character. The Old English word for the money-coining place was “mynet,” and those Old Englishmen coined their word (see what I did there?) from the Latin “moneta.” The Roman goddess Juno was the protector of the community, the goddess of women and fertility, and many other things. Different titles were added to her name to signify her different roles. She was called, among other titles, Juno Lucina (goddess of childbirth), Juno Curitis (spear-holder), and Juno Moneta, whose temple was where Roman coins were minted. “Moneta” led to the modern English words for mint and money...which, as previously discussed, I don’t get and ain’t got.

The end.

[thewordwideweb]

Shaken or stirred

Today’s Word of the Day is inspired by everyone’s favorite TV engineer, Hank, who often posts pictures of his favorite cocktail on social media. The Word of the Day is “martini.”

Why is it called a martini? Because the gin-based drink is mixed with (at least a tiny bit of) vermouth, and the best-known brand of vermouth has been bottled by Martini & Rossi since the mid-1800s.

There’s a competing claim that the name came from a gin and vermouth beverage that was concocted in or near Martinez, California. But nobody calls it a “martinez,” now do they?

Three more fun facts:

Martini & Rossi, in addition to making the famed Italian “Martini” vermouth, also make the favorite French vermouth, “Noilly Pratt.”

The word vermouth is derived from the German word for “wormwood,” which was used with other herbs and spices to flavor the wine.  

If you prefer your martini to be made with vodka instead of gin, well, technically that’s not a martini; it’s a “kangaroo.”

Finally, experts agree: James Bond may have been a great secret agent, but he was kind of a pretentious prat when he ordered his martinis “shaken, not stirred.” A martini that is shaken will be more diluted and cloudier than one that is gently stirred. And nobody wants a cloudy, watered-down martini. Right, Hank?

[thewordwideweb]

Egg cream. No egg, no cream.

Today’s Word of the Day will focus on that drink of the gods, the sweet, satisfying beverage known as an “egg cream,” even though it contains neither egg nor cream.

As real aficionados know – and to be one of those, you have to have grown up or at least spent some time in Brooklyn or one of the other boroughs comprising New York City – a true egg cream contains just three ingredients: milk, seltzer and Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup. I could wax poetic about making sure the milk is ice cold and how you must bounce the seltzer off the back of a long spoon while stirring vigorously, but I’d just end up drooling on my keyboard, so I’ll restrain myself.

So why is it called an “egg cream” and why, since I’ve been enjoying this fizzy delight for seven decades, am I just deciding to write about it now? Well, because I had never heard this particular derivation theory before today.

Until now, I never knew that some folks believe “egg cream” is a corruption of the Yiddish “echt keem,” meaning (we’re told) “pure sweetness” (although I think the Yiddish word for sweetness is “ziskeyt”). I had heard many times the alternate theory that the drink was named for the frothy white foam that develops on top of the luscious libation, which kinda sorta resembles a beaten egg white.

Personally, I subscribe to Occam’s Razor, which postulates that the simplest solution or explanation is usually the best one. And in this case, the simplest explanation is that once upon a time, as early as the 1830s, folks were enjoying beverages that contained both eggs and cream, although they may not have been called egg creams.

There was a reference in the Hereford Journal in Hereford, England (which is about as far as you can get from Brooklyn) in 1838 to a recipe which called for the yolk of an egg, a spoonful of cream, and “if convenient” two drops of oil of cinnamon.

By 1897, the “American Druggist and Pharmaceutical Record” in New York City (now we’re talkin’!) had a recipe for an “egg cream” that included evaporated cream, egg yolk, vanilla extract and syrup. By 1914, the Los Angeles Times carried an ad for a variety of egg-based drinks, including “egg chocolate, egg cream, egg lemonade, egg coffee, egg flip, (and) egg phosphate.”

No matter how it got its name, it is without question an egg-cellent soda fountain treat!

[thewordwideweb]

Working freelance

I have a number of friends, mostly retired, who will take on the occasional freelance job. So put on your iron underwear and saddle up; the Word of the Day is “freelance.” It’s an easy one to figure out. In days of old (when knights were bold), mercenaries would take up arms and fight for whichever nobleman or feudal lord paid them the most. Sir Walter Scott is often credited with being the first to use the term in print. In “Ivanhoe,” Scott wrote, “I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, and he refused them…thanks to the bustling times, a man of action will always find employment.”

So these self-employed paladins were the medieval version of “Have Gun, Will Travel,” but instead of a gun, they carried a big ol’ lance (and probably a sword and other assorted weaponry). The freelancers were free of any political or religious attachment. They owed their allegiance not to a person or a country, but to gold and silver. In that respect, I guess not much has changed in the past few centuries.

[thewordwideweb]

Let's jump on the word "insult"

If you've been following the New York fraud trial of the Obese Orange Oaf and his family of grifters, you'll know the judge got fed up with the public insults and threats directed by the aforesaid Oaf toward members of the court staff. So the judge issued a gag order, saying further insults and threats would be met by severe (but unspecified) sanctions.

Insult. It's an interesting word, and we'll make it the Word of the Day.

Here are the salient facts: "Insult" comes from Latin and the original meaning was "to leap upon," as a soldier in battle might leap upon a fallen enemy. Over time, the leaping assault became less and less physical and more and more verbal, until we reached the modern meaning, “to treat someone with disrespect or scornful abuse.”

You may have noticed I used the term "salient" facts a moment ago. "Salient" is from the same Latin root as "insult" (“salire,” to leap), so a salient fact is literally one that jumps out at you with its significance.

When it comes to insults, the Orange Oaf just can't help himself. His former Chief of Staff John Kelly recently confirmed that the Oaf called America's men and women serving in uniform "suckers" because "What's in it for them?" and he called the brave soldiers who gave their lives for our country "losers." 

I hate to be insulting, but in keeping with the spirit of today's Word of the Day, he should go take a flying leap.

[thewordwideweb]

Playing out the string

As I write this, there are only a few days left in baseball’s regular season, so I have to sneak this one in quickly. My friend Michael suggested we look at the sportscasters’ favorite phrase for teams who have been eliminated from postseason contention: they are “playing out the string.”

We all know what “playing out the string” means for an athlete. Even though your team has no chance of making the playoffs, you are still required to play the meaningless games remaining on the schedule. That is playing out the string.

But where did the term come from? There are at least a couple of popular possibilities. Michael showed me one suggesting the term originated in the Old West, where frontiersmen would head into the wilderness with a bunch of horses or mules tied together. The cowboy would ride the first horse until it was “played out” and too tired to carry him, then go to the next animal in the string for a fresh mount. On a long and arduous trip, the rider might play out the whole string.

If that sounds a bit far-fetched to you, well, I agree.

There’s also the music connection, where the members of the string section in the orchestra are clearly delineated, although they are usually referred to as chairs (e.g., first chair, second chair, etc.) rather than strings. But it is, of course, where the term “playing second fiddle” comes from.

You might think playing out the string has something to do with fishing, where an angler might “play out the line” before reeling in his catch, but I can’t find any reference to that anywhere.

A somewhat more plausible explanation is that, while a team is trying to get into the playoffs, they use their best – or “first string” – players. When there’s nothing left to play for, they put in the second and third-stringers. When you’re using the last men on the bench, you’re playing out the string. (Okay, I don’t love that one, either, but it seems to make some sense.)

So, what’s your favorite string theory? (Any physicists reading that can just shut up.)

[thewordwideweb]

Give us this day our "daily" bread. Really?

The quickest way to get people riled up on the internet is to talk about politics or religion (or possibly sports), so I generally try to keep those topics out of my Word of the Day posts (with the exception of the handful of times I’ve been compelled to write about the Big Fat Orange Insurrectionist. You can look in the archive for entries on revanchism, sleazy, ignoramus and quockerwodger, among others).

At the prompting of my old fried Henry, though, we’re going to delve into religion today. Specifically, the Lord’s Prayer. And even more specifically, the line about giving us our daily bread. The Word of the Day is “daily.”

The Lord’s Prayer (a.k.a. Pater Noster or Our Father) shows up twice in the Gospels. Now, I’m certainly no Bible scholar, but as I understand it, in Matthew 6:11 and Luke 11:3, Jesus is teaching his disciples the correct way to pray. “Our Father, in heaven, hallowed be thy name” and all that stuff, and then “Give us this day our daily bread…” Now, I always thought the Bible was originally written in Hebrew or Aramaic, but Henry explained to me that the Gospels in the New Testament were written in Greek. And the Greek adjective to describe that bread we’re supposed to pray for is “epiousion.” It only appears in the Bible twice, in those two mentions of the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew and Luke. “Give us this day our epiousion bread. In fact, the word doesn’t show up in any other Greek texts, either. It appears nowhere else. So there’s lots of debate about the actual meaning. Did Matthew and Luke just make it up?

The traditional English translation of “epiousion” is “daily,” but there’s another Greek word for daily, “hemera” that appears throughout the New Testament. If Matthew and Luke wanted to write about “daily” bread, why not use that word?

Some scholars say “epiousion” means “super-essential” or “super-substantial” (the “ousia” part means “substance”). That could lead us down a rabbit hole of transubstantiation – you know, the whole “This wafer (bread) is really the body of Christ. Now eat it!”

An Egyptian papyrus once believed to be from the fifth century appears to be a grocery shopping list that supposedly included the word “epiousi” before several items, and that was believed to mean “enough for today” or “enough for the next day.” But modern scholars think that was probably just an error in transcription.

Since scholars have nothing better to do than argue about this stuff, other interpretations of epiousion include: necessary, necessary for life, for the coming day, for the future, for our sustenance, or for our being. Any way you look at it, that is some hard-working bread! Which is the “correct” interpretation? As far as I’m concerned, that’s between you and the Lord.

Okay, that takes care of the “daily” part of the Lord’s Prayer, but what about the bread? Are we talking leavened or unleavened? White or wheat (or rye or pumpernickel)? Plain or toasted? It’s all too much for me. I think I’ll go make a sandwich. Hold the bread.