The name of our Thanksgiving bird has a history almost as colorful as its handsome plumage, and certainly as exotic, but is based on two historical mistakes — one of geography, and one of fowl distinction.
Which came first: the big chicken or the country? Well, the Turks gave Turkey the country its name, and even thought the origin of the word Turk is unclear, we know that the country’s English name was “Turki” or “Turkeye” by 1275, a few centuries before the fowl that we now know as a turkey was even found in that part of the old world. So the country came first. And it’s because people were geographically and fowlishly challenged in the 16th and 17th centuries that the Thanksgiving bird got its name. Continue reading →
Do you know your nuts? (And I don’t mean that in a rude or ungrammatical way.)
I thought I did know, especially since I’m allergic to them. But I really don’t. I was aware that the fabulous peanut, which seems to be the quintessential nut in both name and appearance, isn’t actually a nut (it’s a legume). But it seems that the peanut isn’t the only impostor in our nutty midst. Take a look at the picture of the mixed nuts above. Those various protein forms have little in common with each other — they’re different colors, shapes, sizes, tastes and textures; in fact, the only quality they seem to share is the fact that they’re edible and plant-based. So what makes them nuts? (And I don’t mean to suggest they’re angry.) Well, that’s a hard question to answer — a tough nut to crack — because most of them aren’t actually nuts, at least not technically. Only one of the items pictured can lay rightful claim to that generic label.* So what exactly is a nut? And why do we call someone a nut — or nuts — when they’re off their trolleys? Continue reading →
Celebrating its 70,000th visitor earlier today, Glossophilia brings you its 21 most popular posts so far. Subjects include Cockney Rhyming Slang and other quirky Englishisms; contranyms and homophones; when to use which and when to use that; British tea – when is it low and when is it high? and British school – when is it public and when is it private?; some modern words like yolo and like, and a not-so-modern one: dildo. And, of course, some American-British differences that we can never get enough of — this time in the kitchen pantry …
They’ve given us kilts; they’ve given us bagpipes. Haggis? You can choose to take it or leave it, but thanks to our northern numpties (q.v.), the Brits can offer our own item of exotic culinary fare. I thought they might have given us windbag (I mean, look at the image above), but that was just false speculation on my part. No, they’re smart, witty, left-wing and eloquent, and they’ve given the world Sean Connery and an accent sexy enough to stir anyone’s loins — even if we can’t understand a word they’re saying. Och aye the noo: we’re talking about the Scots, who right now are giving their British compatriots nothing but sweaty palms and heart palpitations as we await the results of their historic referendum on Thursday … Will they stay, or will they go?
But how many people know that they have also given us glamour, golf and gumption? Those are just three of a number of words that find their origins in the Scottish Highlands (or Lowlands): more such words are listed below, with their back-stories. Whereas some seem to wear their Highland homeland easily on their sleeves (such as caddy, clan, gloaming and wee), there are a few surprises in there. Who knew, for example, that we had the Scots to thank for pony, blatant and raid? My favorite discovery is that glamour, with its early Scottish meaning of magic, derives from the word grammar. Aye, that’s bonnie.
blackmail: a tribute levied by freebooting Scottish chieftans or Border Reivers who ran protection rackets against Scottish farmers
blatant: perhaps an alternative of the Scottish blatand, meaning bleating, associated with blatterContinue reading →
We all know what a blunder is; we all make mistakes. Google the wordand you’ll read about some seriously red-faced people whose boobs were blabbed to the world: just yesterday, ITV News reported that “Fifty Shades director left red-faced over gun blunder”; “CDC Scientist Kept Quiet About Flu Blunder” and “Eardrop blunder could have left Valerie deaf” were recent headlines screaming people’s boo-boos. Dating back to the mid-14th century, when it meant “to stumble about blindly,” from a Scandinavian source akin to the Old Norse blundra, meaning to “shut one’s eyes,” blunder means not just any old mistake — but a stupid or embarrassing mistake. Isn’t it good to know that we were making and talking about stupid mistakes seven centuries ago?
Now try Googling boner — supposedly a synonym of blunder in North American slang — and you might be the red-faced one. Nowadays it is slang for an erection (probably derived from bone-on in the 1940s) — but it wasn’t always that way. Continue reading →
Nowadays it seems to be good etiquette to pronounce loanwords as closely to their native pronunciation as possible. So how do the Yanks and Brits fare comparatively in the face of this challenge? Brits are known to lean more towards pronouncing words literally/phonetically as their English spellings prescribe, whatever their origins; Americans, on the other hand, are more bravely inclined to try and approximate the original pronunciation — even if the attempt is ultimately misguided. (The subject of “hyperforeignisms is tackled further down — and Eddie Izzard puts in his two cents too.) As well as the particular sound of the word’s vowels and consonants, it’s also a matter of syllable emphasis that helps determine how much a word sounds like its foreign forebears.
Although Americans and Brits tend to agree on the pronunciation of most of their linguistic immigrants, there are a number of words that we approach differently depending on which side of the Atlantic we’re from. Here’s a selection of those words, and I’ve denoted with a larger flag the nation that seems to come closer to the original pronunciation (based on both sounds and syllable emphasis). Strangely enough, despite the theory above about Brits sticking to their own phonetic rules, 9 of the 16 words below are pronounced more “authentically” by the Brits, at least by my reckoning. Go figure.
herb: HERB ERB
croissant: KWAH-song kruh-SAHNT
valet: VAL-lett val-LAY
fillet: FILL-uht fi-LAY
mauve: MOHV (rhymes with drove) MOV
crepe: CREP CRAYP
address (noun, postal sense): a-DRESS ADD-ress
cigarette: si-guh-RET SI-guh-ret
paella: pah-YEAH-luh pah-YAY-yuh
basil: BAZ-il BAY-zil
lieutenant: lef-TEN-uhnt loo-TEN-uhnt
humo(u)r: HYOO-muh YOO-murr
Van Gogh: van-GOKH (like “loch”, Lochness) or van-GOFF van-GO
schedule: SHED-yool SKED-yool
Risotto: rih-ZOT-toe rih-ZOH-toe
Pasta: PASS-tuh (“pass” like “lass”) PAH-stuh
Please add other words to the comments section below.
Now we come to “hyperforeignisms”: this is where English-speakers try unsuccessfully to emulate the pronunciation of the word’s original language — by getting either the country of origin or the native pronunciation wrong.
Take the word parmesan. Althoughit names an Italian cheese, it actually derives its spelling from French and therefore should sound like PARM-uh-zan (and that’s how Brits verbalize the stuff they sprinkle on their spaghetti). However, it is often mispronounced as parm-uh-ZHAHN by Americans, who are presumably trying to approximate the Italian name for the cheese — parmigiano, which ispronounced parm-uh-ZHAHN-o in Italian). Sorry guys: it’s a French word.
Lingerie is another one. Americans often call their intimate clothing luhn-juh-RAY — making the final syllable sound like the many French loanwords that end in -é, -er, -et and -ez and arepronounced “-AY”. Yes, lingerie is a French word. But it ends in ‘ie’ – and that sounds like ‘ee’, not ‘ay’. Oy. Repartee also falls into this category: even though it’s from the French word repartie (which sounds like party with a “re” in front), it’s often pronounced by Americans as reparTAY.
Here’s an interesting one. Forte — when referring to a personal strength, something you’re especially good at (or, in fencing, the strongest part of a sword) — comes from the French word, meaning “strong”, and therefore the final ‘e’ should be silent: “FORT”. This shouldn’t be confused with the Italian word forte, which means loud, whose final ‘e’ is pronounced “AY”. But we all say FORT-ay when we’re talking about our personal strengths — just proving that pronunciation isn’t necessarily one of them. Hey — it sounds foreign, so surely we must be saying it correctly.
* * *
Let’s give Eddie Izzard the last word on this subject of pronunciation. Take it away, Eddie:
At least three times in the last few weeks I’ve heard friends and colleagues talk about an event or occasion “coming round the bend” — meaning, I assumed in each case, that it’s just around the corner: it will be happening before we know it. It’s coming down the pike.
Elvis did sing about a train coming ’round the bend, and Will Rogers captained the madcap “Steamboat Round the Bend” …
… but these were clearly references to vehicles traveling round a geographical bend.
In football (and I don’t mean American football), certain tricky players try to gain an unfair advantage by deliberately diving to the ground — sometimes feigning injury during the dramatic tumble — to make it look like a foul by the opponent. A dive* is what that tactic is commonly called; or a Schwalbe, if you’re German, Dutch, or just very hip to soccer lingo. I’m not any of those, but my Dutch friend is …
On June 3, Marc Spitz’s new book, Twee: The Gentle Revolution in Music, Books, Television, Fashion and Filmwas published by IT Books/Harper Collins.
But hang on a minute: what does twee actually mean? An adjective with slightly onomatopoeic and diminutive implications — originally thought to represent a childish pronunciation of sweet, its straightforward meaningaccording to the OED is sweet, dainty or chic; but this British colloquialism has a distinctively derogatory flavor — one that smacks of more affectedly and repellently quaint: precious or overly saccharine, rather than simply sweet.
The Telegraph in summing upPhilippe Le Guay’s movie Cycling with Moliere declares that “twee groanishness abounds”. An English reader gets exactly what that means, even if we haven’t seen the film in question: we’re unlikely to pay the cost of admission and candied popcorn if we’re in for an evening of groanish twee. But have Americans taken that quaint 4-letter word and taken it too far — or gone slightly off course in their understanding of it? Continue reading →
Faff, naff, chuffed and nous (rhyming with mouse). Oh dear: I’m going to miss Blighty.
“We’ve been sat in the car park for a good 15 minutes, faffing about with the satnav and trying to make Rupert’s new phone work.” — The Telegraph reporters at Glastonbury
“We will leave to one side the subtle humour – or otherwise – of Mr Cleese’s performance in the naff Pierce Brosnan Bond film Die Another Day.” — The Telegraph about 007’s latest
“’I’m afraid I have to default on these bonds.’ ‘No you do not!’ ‘Naff off, Gringo…'” — International Financing Review wondering what power a US court should have to determine whether a foreign sovereign nation can or cannot declare its ability to pay its debts.
“Chuffed to bits – Lewes Railway Station looks blooming lovely for summer” — Sussex Express on the transformation of Lewes Railway Station’s gardens and planters
“Former England striker Gary Lineker has expressed his belief that the Three Lions lacked tactical nous on the field in their World Cup defeats.” — Sports Mole on the World Cup.
Yeah — these colloquialisms are Britishisms at their very best. You’ll hear them only on one side of the Atlantic — the more eccentric side — but by gum do they do the trick for anyone who cares to use them. Isn’t faffing around just the perfect expression for that thing we all do sometimes when we’re very busy achieving sod all?
Here’s what the words mean and where they come from. And below them are 18 more that are equally expressive and quirky — and peculiar to us limeys.
