The Glossary of Useful Words 20: ‘ebullient’

April 11, 2021

When Y-H-B commented on a woman server’s behavior in addressing him recently while he waited to be served at his Stammtisch at The Dorset Inn, he used the word “ebullient,” but the woman’s look of incomprehension revealed that the word was unknown to her, so he switched to “effervescent.” The server, nota bene, was an elementary school teacher who should have known better, but such is the state of the knowledge of the English language among its American practitioners that often useful words are not within their ken.
In any event, here is what ‘ebullient’ means according to the OED Online:
1. That boils; boiling; agitated, as if boiling.
2a. Of the humours of the body: Agitated, hot, effervescent.
b. Of drugs and diseases: Causing heat and agitation.
3. figurative. Of energy, feelings, influences: Gushing forth like boiling water;bubbling over,   overflowing, enthusiastic. Constr. with.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

The Psycholinguistic Pathos of Everyday Life 17: Molière Redivivus Redivivus

March 25, 2021

As I was musing over the effects of the pandemic on my life today, I thought of the several entries on my blog in the series “The Psycholinguistic Pathos of Everyday Life” and decided to revive one from twelve years ago, as follows:

Molière redivivus

I had taken my shirt and jacket off in expectation of having the sutures removed from my back. There was a knock on the door, and a young woman of the usual plumpish bespectacled type wearing a white smock entered and introduced herself as a fourth-year medical student. We shook hands.

She glanced at my file and announced that the result of the biopsy was negative: the tissue sample they had taken two weeks before was benign. When I inquired about the abrasion on my right cheek that had impelled me to visit the dermatology clinic in the first place, she informed me that it was a lentigo, which she mispronounced with stress on the first syllable. I realized, of course, on the model of impetigo, known to me through acquaintance with my grandchildren’s occasional skin problems, that the stress was on the penult and that it rhymed with Sligo, which I had visited once upon a time.

“The team will be in shortly,” added the fourth-year medical student and exited the roomicule. I was left to cool my heels shirtless, in the usual fashion of such momenta medica.

Soon there was another knock on the door, and a woman doctor, a resident who had originally taken the biopsy and sutured the wound, entered, likewise dressed in a white smock, followed by the fourth-year medical student and two male doctors in civvies. This was evidently the aforementioned “team,” and they were making their rounds. Having taken up positions behind me, they all inspected my back simultaneously.

The woman doctor looked cursorily at the file and confirmed the original diagnosis. Then she announced that the “team” would go out to confer about what they had observed. “This is what they used to call a consilium,” I remarked to the fourth-year medical student, who was bringing up the rear as the group exited. That flotsam of Russian vocabulary had suddenly swum up into my cortex and produced the Latin term. Her opaque smile signaled total incomprehension.
Soon the resident and the fourth-year student reentered the room, without the male doctors. “It’s a morphea scleroderma,” intoned the  resident, “and if you want to have it removed you can come back in two weeks.” I declined but pursued the matter of my cheek. “What about the lentigo,” said I,” putting the stress on the proper syllable with its Sligo rhyme. “How did it come about?”

“The lentigo,” she said, repeating the incorrect initial stress, “is probably the cumulative result of exposure to the sun.” “I see,” said I. She then deftly removed my sutures.

“Would you object if I took a photograph of your back?,” asked the dermatologist. “I’d like to have it for the record and to show my colleagues.” “No, I wouldn’t object,” I answered, whereupon she took out a digital camera and snapped it. I saw the flash out of the corner of my eye. Exeunt the two female medicos.

Putting my shirt and jacket back on, I exited the clinic and entered the hall with its quaternion of elevators. One of the male doctors who had examined me, a youngish man in a sports coat, sporting the right sort of Hollywoodian chevelure, entered the elevator with me. “It was like a scene out of Molière,” I said, smiling. Of course, I had misremembered L’Amour Médecin, with its squadron of doctors, conflating it with Le Malade Imaginaire, where a doctor explains that opium is a soporific due to its virtus dormitiva (‘dormitive virtue’). Molière’s doctor was subsequently made the target of derision in the philosophy of science as the utterer of a fallacy but was defended by my hero Charles Peirce, who pointed out the pragmatistic validity of his definition. My memory of Peirce’s discussion had doubtless conjured up the allusion to Molière.

The doctor said nothing. His look of total incomprehension as we descended punctured the afflatus I was feeling at my literary mot juste. My shoulders slumped. We both got off the elevator on the ground floor and walked toward the exit.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

The Glossary of Useful Words 19: ‘quixotic’

February 25, 2021

Listening to NPR’s “Morning Edition” this morning, I heard a song from the musical “Man of La Mancha,” which immediately put me in mind of Don Quixote and the adjective derived therefrom, i. e. ‘quixotic’, pronounced [(ˈ)kwik-¦sä-tik] (unlike the pronunciation of the eponymous hero’s name). This word has fallen into desuetude but deserves to be resurrected in current speech.
Here are the meanings as registered in the OED Online:

  1. Of an action, attribute, idea, etc.: characteristic of or appropriate to Don Quixote; demonstrating or motivated by exaggerated notions of chivalry and romanticism; naively idealistic; unrealistic, impracticable; (also) unpredictable, capricious, whimsical.
  2. Of a person: resembling Don Quixote; visionary; enthusiastically chivalrous or romantic; naively idealistic; impractical, capricious.

    In our days of the terrible pandemic––which also deserves to be called “pandemonic”––the adjective deriving from Cervantes’ great hero ought to be of great utility.

    MICHAEL SHAPIRO

The Glossary of Useful Words 18: ‘afflatus’

January 24, 2021

‘Afflatus’ is an originally Latin word, imported into English in the seventeenth century, which is rarely used in contemporary speech or writing, but undeservedly so. Its etymology (according to the OED) is as follows:
Origin: A borrowing from Latin. Etymon: Latin afflātus.
Etymology: < classical Latin afflātus emission of breath, breathing on, pestilential or fiery breath, aspiration, breeze or wind, vapour, exhalation, blast of hot air, inspiration, in post-classical Latin also sudden attack of erysipelas (1743)
The contemporary meanings, as registered by several online dictionaries, are:
The communication of supernatural or spiritual knowledge; divine impulse; inspiration, esp.    poetic inspiration. Also: an instance of this.
Inspiration; an impelling mental force acting from within.
divine communication of knowledge.
divine imparting of knowledge or power : supernatural or overmastering impulse
Here is a sentence using the word from an earlier post (May 8, 2009):
“His look of total incomprehension as we descended punctured the afflatus I was feeling at my literary mot juste.”

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

“Hesitancy” vs. “Hesitation:” The Dominance of Grammatical Structure

January 16, 2021

In contemporary (media) speech, increasingly one hears the word “hesitancy” instead of the traditional “hesitation,” to the point where one almost never hears the latter. The question why has an answer rooted in the derivational history of the two items though their meaning is identical.

“Hesitation” is a deverbal substantive derived from the verb “hesitate” by adding the suffix {-ion} to the verbal root {hesitate-}. “Hesitancy,” on the other hand is deadjectival substantive derived from the adjectival root {hesitant-}. Since both adjectives and substantives are part of the category of nominals, a deadjectival substantive like “hesitancy” has a more immediate semantic force owing to its derivational history––a force missing from a substantive like “hesitation” that is deverbal. In short, the ascendancy of “hesitancy” vs. “hesitation” is to be accounted for by its greater derivational proximity in comparison to its deverbal counterpart.

This is an example that bears out the general analysis of semantic force in language as being invariably rooted in the language’s grammatical structure.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

Differences in Speech Styles: Garrulity vs. Taciturnity

January 1, 2021

Y-H-B took the opportunity of celebrating the New Year this morning by having breakfast at his favorite morning eatery, Up for Breakfast, in Manchester Center, Vermont, and was served (as usual) by a very nice, well-spoken fifty-year-old lady who is given to garrulousness. Whenever asked a question, she always answers at great length, going into microscopic detail as to the particulars of the situation she is describing. This habit called to mind the differences in speech styles that are characteristic of all active users of modern languages, including contemporary American English.
The diametrical opposite of garrulousness (also known as loquaciousness or talkativeness) is, of course, taciturnity. Some speakers are habitually give to a linguistic sparsity when it comes to language use, and this is clearly a preference that falls squarely in the domain of speech styles. The predilection for copiousness or its opposite in language use must be tacitly motivated by personality differences and manifests itself consistently in the speech of all language users.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

Further to Linguistic Dross in American Media Language

December 17, 2020

There have been several previous posts regarding what Y-H-B has called “linguistic dross” in contemporary American English, especially with reference to media language. One locution that now needs special mention is “let me be (perfectly) clear/to be clear,” heard ad nauseum from persons being interviewed or making public pronouncements.

Of course, one could simply write this particular piece of dross off as an example of needless emphasis, a species of linguistic hypertrophy characteristic of contemporary American speech in all domains. What raises Y-H-B’s hackles everytime he hears it, however, is its undeniable superfluity. What has preceded its appearance in the speech of those who insert it typically requires no clarification at all. In the legal jargon that resorts to Latin this phenomenon is what is called res ipsa loquitur.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

When English Just Won’t Serve, French Comes to the Rescue

December 7, 2020

English has a huge vocabulary, only matched to some extent by French and Japanese (because of all the Sino-Japanese borrowings). However, there are times when English simply won’t suffice, and one must then have recourse to French. Such is the case with an English designation for inconsequential repartee or chit-chat, where French has the word badinage, defined in the OED as follows:

Humorous, witty, or trifling discourse; banter; frivolous or light-hearted raillery. Also: an instance of this; a witticism, a sally.

This kind of inconsequential discourse also comes under the compass of the French word causerie, for which again English has no exact equivalent:

Informal talk or discussion, esp. on literary topics; also, a chatty article or paragraph.

Much of what passes for linguistic behavior these days is to be captured by the French words badinage and causerie, for which there are no good English equivalents. Tant pis!

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

Buzz Phrases (“in terms of”)

December 4, 2020

Every contemporary adult speaker of American English is sure to know what a “buzzword” is, which is commonly defined (e.g., by Merriam Webster Unabridged Dictionary Online)as

1: an important-sounding and often technical word or phrase associated with a special group or activity and used chiefly to impress others;
2: a word enjoying a popular vogue.

However, the adjective ‘buzz’ can also be applied to phrases. Such is the case of the buzz phrase “in terms of,” which is heard ad nauseum by speakers on both sides of the Atlantic instead of “regarding,” “on,” etc. as a way of specifying the domain of whatever verbal material precedes it. Accordingly, one incessantly hears such locutions as “My opinion in terms of that action . . .” instead of the traditional “My opinion regarding/on that action,” etc.

One is tempted to explain this development as yet another instance of American English’s penchant for hypertrophy.

MICHAEL SHAPIRO

Persistence of a Catachrestic Phrase (*good-paying)

November 17, 2020

In an earlier post (July 2009) I pointed out the incorrectness of the pervasive catachrestic phrase *good-paying for the normative well-paying. Given the fact that in yesterday’s address to the nation President Elect Joseph Biden repeated the mistaken phrase several times (following in his predecessor Barack Obama’s footsteps), it occurred to me that it would be worthwhile repeating my earlier analysis, as follows:

When words or phrases occupy adjacent or overlapping semantic fields, they may begin to interfere with each other in the sense that one contaminates the other, thereby changing usage such that the contaminated version supplants the earlier one.

This has happened recently in the American English catachrestic construction “good-paying job,” which has all but replaced the traditional “well-paying job” (with or without the hyphen). It is a further instance of the usurpation of the adjective/adverb “well” by “good.”

In analyzing how and why this has happened, one must start by comparing the constructions “good job” and “well paid.” The compound adjective “well-paying” is the result of adjectivizing “well paid.” Note that one can say “The job/John is well paid” but not “*The job/John is good paid.” The component “well” is then supplanted by “good,” a result of contamination by “good job.” A good job is now preeminently taken to be a well-paying job: whatever else it may entail, the level of remuneration is primary and is reflected in the change to “good-paying.” So there is an underlying value change that undergirds and motivates the change.

The same may be said of the now ubiquitous “I’m good” for “I’m well” in the speech of persons under a certain age (45?). As possibly in the previous case, “well” is all but avoided when juxtaposed with a human agent because it has been relegated to the meaning field associated with health (cf. the neologism “wellness”). “Feeling good” is evidently not the same as “feeling well” (cf. the difference between “I [don’t]/feel good” and “I [don’t]/feel well). A fillip comes from the extancy of “I don’t feel good about it” but not “*I don’t feel well about it.” Cf. the standard “She paid him well” with the dialectal/nonstandard “She paid him good.”

MICHAEL SHAPIRO