Of Reintarnation and Mary Poppins

 

Of Reintarnation and Mary Poppins

This week my friend M.J. reminded me of a wonderfully inventive annual competition involving wordplay. One needs to change a single letter in a word to give it a new (and invariably amusing) meaning. Some examples of past entries…

 Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.

Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

Besides the amusement these and other entries offer, I admire the creative minds that produced them. That got me thinking about other kinds of verbal creativity. One finds them in various settings, including headlines. One of my favorites is from the United Kingdom.

When the underdog Caledonian Thistles took on Celtic in a 2000 Scottish Cup soccer match, they unexpectedly won: 3-1. The Sun newspaper announced the Caledonian (or “Caley”) victory as: Super Caley Go Ballistic, Celtic Are Atrocious. (You need to say this aloud and if you still don’t get it, think “Mary Poppins.”) 

Another sports example: The Wimbledon men’s final in 1987 was between the Australian Pat Cash and a Czech, Ivan Lendl. At least one paper headlined the upcoming match by asking, “Will it be Cash or a Czech?” Cash won.

I’ve also long loved repartee, and admired the quick wit some people have in responding to a situation. Take for example former Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies. He was heckled at a campaign event by a woman who shouted, “I wouldn’t vote for you if you were the Archangel Gabriel.” Menzies’ reply: “If I were the Archangel Gabriel, madam, you would not be in my constituency.”

Then there are those delicious, deliberate ambiguities, like the job reference that says, “It is difficult to say enough good things about this person.”

Or this blog-post, perhaps.

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The Whole Shebang

 

The Whole Shebang

(With recognition to the Monty Python sketch, “You were lucky…” Treat yourself; find it on You Tube.)

Merriam-Webster says the origin of “shebang” is unknown. No matter. What’s of importance to us today is how the word is most commonly used, in the phrase: “the whole shebang.” Why the whole shebang?

But first a quick detour to note the dictionary’s definition of “shebang” as “everything involved in what is under consideration.” OK. But why the whole shebang,,,,?

First voice: “Yes, we had the whole shebang at our house this weekend.”

Second voice: “You were lucky. When we were growing up, when things were good we could afford only half a shebang. We could only dream of having a whole shebang.”

Third voice: “Half a shebang? Sheer luxury. Our sixteenth of a shebang was so small you could fit it in a matchbox. And we had to share it among 17 of us.”

Fourth voice: “You at least had a shebang. Not only did we not have any shebang, we didn’t even have any druthers. I’ll never forget my father at our kitchen cardboard box (we couldn’t afford a table) shaking his head and saying over and over, ‘If I had my druthers.’”

First voice: “Well, my dad said that even though we had a whole shebang, he would far preferred to have had his druthers.”

Third voice: “My dad said he used to have his druthers but lost most of them during Covid.”

Second voice: “You’re lucky he’s still got some. The IRS took all of ours.”

Fourth voice: “At least you got to enjoy yours for a while. We’ve never known what it’s like to have any druthers in the first place.”

First voice: “Well, come over to my place and I’ll show them to you, the whole shebang.”

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What Comes After Indictment?

 

What Comes After Indictment?

The media are flooded this morning (March 31) with speculation on what comes next for Donald Trump following his indictment in New York yesterday. And that’s the problem: much of it is sheer speculation. But what can he and we know for sure?

As always in times of uncertainty, one should consult a dictionary. Or, even better, several dictionaries. What hope, then, or warnings or encouragement does a brief survey reveal for the indicted former president? (It’s been said that the only place where success comes before work is the dictionary. Now, Trump can adapt that and ask, “What comes after indictment?”)

My Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, which I got in grad school at Indiana University, holds out the most encouraging hope for the former president: immediately after indictment it lists indifference: “the quality, state or fact of being indifferent.” Maybe after the initial flurry of news stories and analysis, we’ll eventually shrug over the slow, protracted legal fights that lie ahead. Maybe Trump’s attorneys, with their endless appeals, will reduce the nation to the equivalent of a food coma, in which we eventually either fall asleep or say, “We’ve had enough. We just don’t care any more; what’s on ESPN?.”

All those legal maneuverings won’t come cheap, so it’s no surprise that a few entries further on in my Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary we find indigent.

A more dramatic suggestion comes from my comprehensive Compact Oxford Dictionary, condensed to two fat volumes of tiny print accompanied by a magnifying glass. This dictionary offers Trump another option: soon after indictment is indies, with the implied suggestion that he consider fleeing to the West Indies.

But however things play out, if Trump read a little beyond indictment in each of these dictionaries the newly indicted former Commander-in-Chief would unavoidably encounter indigestion.

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What's Good?

 

What’s Good?

For the second Sunday in a row, my twin grandchildren—Sophie and Hazel—joined us in church during our visit to Lancaster, PA. They sat through the service once again with nary a murmur. If the rest of the congregation were aware they had seven-month-old twins in their midst, they may well have concluded (with gratitude) that the girls had been “good” babies during the service.

Yet if either, or especially both, of them had resorted to the bawling of which they are capable, I doubt that anyone would have said or even thought, “Bad, bad babies.” For Sophie and Hazel are still at a “pre-moral” stage in their development, regardless of the doctrine of original sin that the good Presbyterians around us no doubt believed.

So why do we say the babes were “good,” attributing to them praise as if they had like George Washington had the moral courage to fessing up about the cherry tree? Or avoided behaving badly, like another George, the notorious new Congressman George Santos—someone who seems congenitally incapable of telling the truth about anything?

Perhaps my son-in-law, Mike, put his finger on it when he said the “good” we’re describing is that the girls’ conduct was good for us; we had a positive experience when it could have been embarrassingly and noisily negative. Perhaps we should say instead something that’s more objective and devoid of moral connotations: “The girls were quiet.”

Similarly, after the girls finish a bottle or after a full-bodied ensuing burp, we’ll say things like “Good girl” or “Well done.” We’d not dream of saying something like, “Bad, bad girl: burp or we’ll send you to time out.”

But at what point do little people become morally accountable, when we can accurately refer to their actions as “good”?

Good question.

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Phrop

 

Phrop

Consider adding the word “phrop” to your vocabulary; you might be able to use it sooner than you realize—or at least find yourself applying the concept it conveys.

The word was coined by a somewhat eccentric Brit, Sir Arnold Lunn, in about 1950. He combined the notions of “phrase” and “opposite” to describe a situation where you say something that sounds positive while you’re thinking the opposite.

Example: “We must get together for lunch some time.” However, you’re thinking “I’d rather have three root canals than suffer through a meal with you.”

Unfortunately, the word never caught on. But Wikipedia’s assessment that the word has “not entered common use” shouldn’t deter us from trying to keep it in circulation.

Michael Quinion, an English linguist, offers several other examples. “With all due respect…” Quinion says, “really communicates ‘I am about to demolish your argument and if at all possible your reputation….’”

 He continue, “A polite ‘I regret that a previous engagement makes it impossible to accept your kind invitation’ replaces the truthful ‘I would rather be gnawed by a rabid stoat.’”

 Then there’s what Quinion calls the “famously double-edged phrop created by Benjamin Disraeli, the 19^th century British politician: “Thank you for sending me your book; I shall lose no time in reading it.”

 More recently, you may have seen on the Internet these deliciously ambiguous recommendations for job seekers, which double as phrops.

•  I can assure you that no person would be better for the job.
• It would be difficult to find someone else with this person’s work ethic.
• You will be fortunate if you can get this person to work for you.

Finally, how about this introduction: “Our speaker this evening is Gordon Jackson. We couldn’t find a better man.” The underlying malicious message? “Goodness knows, we tried.”

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The Economist

The Economist

Given the cost I am not an ongoing subscriber to The Economist, a superb magazine that covers world events. I sign up on alternate years and benefit from a mini-liberal arts education each week.

The magazine also publishes a year-end guide, in which its well-informed editors predict what the next year will look like. This guide, plus a recent weekly issue, touched on two word-related topics that I thought worth sharing.

One was a piece on national anthems and their often blood-curdling calls to patriotism. As the writer notes, “an improbably large number drip with blood. This variously streams generously (Algeria); spills purely (Belgium); dyes the flag red (Vietnam); or waters the furrows impurely (France).” The first verse of France’s stirring Marseillaise “contains the charming and apparently bucolic line: ‘Do you hear in the countryside…’ it begins.” The writer asks, “What can the sound be? Cows lowing? The wind in the vine leaves? No: it is ‘the roar of those ferocious soldiers. They’re coming … to slit the throats of your women and children.’” (Did the French soccer team’s coach remind them to sing the bit about ferocious soldiers before their dramatic World Cup final with Argentina?)

The second article addressed a familiar theme: inflated job titles. Instead of meeting a receptionist as you enter an office, you may encounter “someone far grander: a lobby ambassador.” The article said one job ad for this role specified the person is expected to “curate experiences” for visitors. So, you as a visitor “might think you are asking someone where the toilet is; in fact you are having an experience with a brand ambassador.”

As I finalize my 2023 New Year’s resolution, I realize the need to elevate my rebranding efforts as I curate my readers’ experiences.

And just call me Mr. Ambassador

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Mumpsimus

I don’t remember when I first encountered the word mumpsimus. But it immediately became one of my favorites. Here’s why.

1.      It’s sharply focused. It means “someone who clings to an error despite all the evidence that the person is wrong.” Mumpsimus zeroes in on a particular situation with sharp, clear definition.

2.      Mumpsimus has a fascinating origin. The word comes from a Catholic priest who mangled the Latin wording in saying the Mass. When he should have said “sumpsimus,” meaning “we have received,” after the Eucharist, he said mumpsimus (which is meaningless) instead. Even though the error was repeatedly pointed out to him, he refused to correct his wording.

3.      When I first encountered mumpsimus I read a story that illustrated its meaning. A mental patient insists that he is dead. His psychiatrist asks him, “Do dead men bleed?” The patient says, “No.” So the doctor takes a needle and pricks the patient’s finger and a drop of blood oozes out. The patient looks at his finger in wonderment and says, “Wow, so dead men do bleed.”

4.      The unusualness of the word leads me to appreciate the richness of the English language. Now and again we meet a new word, which we realize is a perfect fit for a particular need. And we say, “Thank you, English, for giving this to me.”

5.      Finally, there’s the word’s utility. Mumpsimus is perfect for describing people who, for whatever motives, refuse to accept the facts. Perhaps it’s out of habit, like the priest getting the wording wrong. Or maybe it’s easier to cling to an error than make a painful change.

Mumpsimus, I contend, is a word for our times. We should push it to the front in our conversations. Put it in headlines. Shout it from the rooftops. Mumpsimus!

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