Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Regurgitate -- Back So Soon?

Bacteria and viruses fascinate the heck out of me. These tiny, invisible creatures can invade a human body -- literally an entire planet to their diminutive armies -- and within a relatively short time wreak such havoc that said human finds herself out of control, muscles and organs churning in ways that a planet under alien bombardment in a sci-fi movie looks like -- a heaving, exploding, debris-spewing mess. Sure, the dazzling and incredibly intricate array of defensive arsenal that is the immune response also boggles my mind, but until it can rally itself to fight back, the body responds with the most primitive and brutal of tools to try to expel the invaders, including regurgitation. (Let's just say that personal reasons bring this word to mind this evening.)

Regurgitate is a word that works especially well for conversations amongst polite company, such as discerning blog readers. Use of the term -- given its well known biological context of sustenance of hungry chicks by doting parents -- conveys all the gruesome imagery of partially digested food without your having to describe any such gory details directly. Certainly there's a colorful array of synonyms to choose from that can convey such imagery more immediately, but since anyone who has raised an infant, cleaned up kitty's hairballs, or attended a particularly celebratory New Year's Eve bash can rattle off a string of these with no help from any blog, I'll forgo the laundry list here.

Rather, it's more interesting (and better for the constitution of someone trying to put heaving innards out of her mind) to consider the additional definitions that regurgitate boasts.

In several dictionaries, its foremost definition is some variation of, "regarding fluids, air or gases, to gush, rush, or pour back again." Though the New Oxford American Dictionary lists the principal definition as "bring (swallowed food) up again to the mouth" in the biological context. But given that the grandfather of English language usage, the Oxford English Dictionary, lists the non-guts-related definition first, it seems this word has had a broader usage history. Other definitions given are variations of, "to pour or cast out again from a receptacle, especially the stomach," so it's clear also that the term's popularity in the biological context is prominent as well.

Eventually, some clever mind conceived a more figurative use of the term as evidenced by the definition, "repeat information from memory," usually in the sense of haven't really having comprehended or considered it. Now, that's some creative play with terminology! Forget partially digested food -- now what we have tumbling out is a mishmash of barely tasted, hardly chewed, unabsorbed bytes and bits of facts and data, perhaps with a bit of bile mixed in. "Ooh" and "eww," both at the same time.

Pronounced: [rē-gûr'jĭ-tāt']
Roots: re + Latin gurgitāre, meaning to engulf or flood (from gurges, gurgit- meaning whirlpool)

Monday, March 30, 2009

Aromatic

My last post contained a definition that included the term aromatic, which I noted means having a pleasant and distinctive smell. "Doesn't it mean just having an odor," Mark asked?

As I thought about terminology around the sense of smell, I realized that the range of adjectives is somewhat limited, certainly more so than the wide range of terminology around the sense of hearing or the vast vocabulary related to sight.

There are a few terms that are neutral or could be used equally well to mean pleasant or unpleasant smells: odorous (although now more often used in a negative connotation, even though historically it was a neutral term), pungent, and heady.

As for general terms that mean "good smelling," there are just a handful: aromatic, fragrant, perfumed, scented, odoriferous*, and redolent. Of course, you could come up with additional terms that more narrowly refer to particular types of pleasant odors, such as sweet-smelling, spicy, citrusy, fruity, flowery, musky, honeyed, etc., but these aren't so readily interchangeable (or fungible) terms.

There seem to be more general terms related to "bad smelling:" stinky, smelly, reeking, rancid, malodorous, noxious, noisome, putrid, rank, fusty, funky, fetid, loathsome, skunky, and foul. Interesting that we generally use the term smelly to mean something that smells bad, but tasty to mean something that tastes good.

Smell is the sense we humans rely upon the least (a few professional perfume makers, cheese artisans, and wine critics aside), so perhaps it naturally follows that our olfactory vocabulary is relatively limited. At the same time, smell is tied to memory as much as -- or some think more than -- any other sense. The olfactory bulb is part of the brain's limbic system, an area closely associated with memory and feeling. Maybe it's that odors elicit such personal and individualistic responses, we haven't developed as much of a shared vocabulary around this sense. Just my own musings: no scientific hypotheses or studies to back that up.

Dictionary Definition
Pronounced: [a-rə-ma-tik] or [aer-ə-ma-tik]
Root: Middle English aromat meaning spice, from Anglo-French, from Latin aromat-, aroma, from Greek arōmat-, arōma
1. of, relating to, or having aroma; fragrant; having a strong or distinctive smell
2. in chemistry, of or pertaining to an aromatic compound or compounds.
(*In case you've come across odiferous, this is an erroneous shortened variant of odoriferous, according to the New Oxford American Dictionary.)

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Phenolic

Mark and I sampled several fine brews Friday evening at our friend Dave's Belgian ale tasting party. To help us novices understand what flavors and textures to look for in each ale, Dave provided some handy tasting notes drawn from well-known beer guides. The notes for the Chimay Premiere described it as a "rich, malty beer with some spicy/phenolic and mild alcoholic characteristics." Phenolic? That adjective struck those in the group with greater retention of college chemistry as an odd word choice, recalling that phenols, in the lab, are used as disinfectants. When Dave looked the word up, he announced that its definition includes terms like poisonous. Aiyee.

Most dictionaries give definitions of phenolic as "of or relating to phenol," which is defined as "a corrosive, poisonous, crystalline, acidic compound present in the tars of coal and wood that in dilute solution is used as a disinfectant; or any of various acidic compounds analogous to phenol and regarded as hydroxyl derivatives of aromatic hydrocarbons."

Ok, aromatic means having a pleasant and distinctive smell. Now that's somewhat promising in terms of phenolic's application to beer (certainly more so than corrosive).

Looking beyond dictionaries for a better contextual explanation of the term, I found Web sites and pages discussing phenolic properties in beer. Apparently, these are tricky flavors, as often if not more often put in the "off-flavor" category as being "medicinal," or smelling or tasting like plastic or Band-Aids. However, when used correctly, they're also noted for imparting a clove-like or vanilla flavor and smell. That seems to have been the point of the tasting notes that Dave had found on the Chimay.

So not only did we come away with newfound knowledge of a delicious Belgian ale Friday night, we also learned a bit of new vocabulary. Mmmm, love that Chimay Premiere, phenols and all.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Update: Fungible

So, just goes to show that vocabulary familiarity is contextual. When I told Mark that my word of the day yesterday was fungible, he recognized the word instantly, which I admit surprised me. As we chatted, it became clear that his familiarity stems from his involvement as a manager in the negotiation and writing of business contracts. "'Fungible assets' is how I think of it," Mark said. As I learned from my perusal of various dictionaries yesterday, the term is most often cited in reference to commerce and law, related to commodities.

So based on my further enlightenment on this term, I would revise my concluding paragraph in yesterday's entry to say that if someone is writing a legal document or discussing commercial transactions and other business matters, fungible is a fine and dandy term to convey the precise meaning of interchangeable goods or one item that can replace or be replaced by another identical item.

I should also add that Mark laughed at my thinking that transposable is a more familiar synonym for fungible. As I said, familiarity is contextual.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Fungible

I came across this word as I was reading a draft report today and I think I felt my eyeballs stumble, kind of like when your feet snag on a pothole. Fungible? Looks kind of like fungus. Of course, I had to scurry to a dictionary to ferret out the meaning of this unfamiliar term, which I learned basically means interchangeable or transposable.

Looking back at the sentence in the document, I have to scratch my head. I can see how it fits but still, is there a particular reason in any circumstance to use a word like fungible when you have interchangeable, transposable, convertible, identical, correspondent, equivalent, reciprocal, compatible, and so many others to choose from? Some would say absolutely not; the sole reason you'd select fungible over all of its fungible synonyms is to show off. Others would say it's a fine word in its own right, if a bit obscure, and if used correctly, it conveys the intended meaning as well as any of its equivalents. But it does send even a word junkie like me reaching for a dictionary.

So if the goal is to communicate an idea as quickly and cleanly as possible, fungible probably isn't the best choice. But if you were writing an essay or story or something where the goal was to engage readers in the play of rhetoric, then fungible may be a fun word to add to the mix.

Dictionary Definition
Pronounced: [fuhn-juh-buhl]
Root: from Latin fungi meaning to perform
1. Interchangeable; especially in legal terms as being of such a nature that one part or quantity may be replaced by another equal part or quantity in order to satisfy an obligation; e.g. fungible commodities are those that can be estimated readily and replaced according to weight, measure, and amount.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Gourmet & Gourmand

I frequently misuse words (yeah, cue the chorus of mock gasps of surprise). Sometimes when people do that, it's funny or endearing. The quintessential example is Mrs. Malaprop, a character in Richard Sheridan's 18th century play The Rivals from whose name the term malapropism was coined. For example, she calls upon her coquettish young charge to "promise to forget this fellow - to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory." Of course, the dear lady meant obliterate.

But lacking the charms of a fussy dowager, I'm not so amused at myself when I fumble a term. And one of those words I've fumbled on multiple occasions is gourmand.

It sounds like gourmet, after all. And gourmet is so frequently used as an adjective -- a gourmet dinner at Chez François, a gourmet appetizer to impress your guests, a gourmet brunch, a gourmet quiche, a gourmet soufflé (notice how you seldom hear someone refer to a "gourmet hotdog" or "gourmet bingo night potluck," however) -- that it's easy to forget it's a noun as well. But yes, it is. "She's a true gourmet" is the most precise way to refer to your friend who has refined palate for foods and flavors. But gosh darn it, gourmand sounds like it fits just as well in that sentence. Only, if you use it instead, you've just called your friend a greedy pig, just in a nicer sounding way.

Except that so many people have misused the term throughout history that ironically it has also come to mean being a judge of good eating as well. So, it's a slippery term.

Still, the original meaning still holds sway. So, forgive me, anyone who believes I've referred to him as a glutton. I swear it was unintentional. Really. (Except for the guy who sawed off the hunk of cheese at the open house and put the larger chunk in a takeout container leaving the part he'd grasped in his big, beefy hand on the table for the next guests; I thought I was being ironic about him.) This is why I've bookmarked online dictionaries and keep the trusty OED (the bible of those with obsessive etymological disorder) handy to check myself.

Dictionary Definitions
Gourmand
Pronounced: [goor-mahnd or goor-muhnd]
Root: French, but of unknown origin
1. one who is fond of over-eating; one who eats greedily or to excess; a glutton
2. one who is fond of delicate fare; a judge of good eating. Says OED: "in this sense only partially anglicized, and often pronounced [gurmã]. (Cf. GOURMET)."

Gourmet
Pronounced: [goor-mey]
Root: Old French gourmet, groumet, gromet meaning a wine merchant's assistant, a wine taster
1. a connoisseur of fine food and drink; epicure
2. of a kind or standard suitable for a gourmet

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Dudgeon

Are you, like me, getting a little tired of outrage? No, not of the emotion -- that's still righteously burning -- but of the word? We keep hearing it, on the radio, on TV, how outraged we all are at reckless financial firms and their toxic assets. President Obama shares our outrage at AIG executives getting million-dollar, taxpayer funded bonuses. Members of Congress trumpet their outrage on behalf of their constituents on the House and Senate floors. Our top economic leaders, Bernacke and Geithner, understand our outrage. Financial experts warn of the peril of letting our collective outrage derail the measured responses needed to get the financial sector working again.

Say any word enough times and it starts to lose its impact. Watch a Tarantino movie and afterward the "f-word" will sound about as commonplace and innocuous as "darn" or "shucks." I'm thinking it's time for policymakers and the media to get a new word.

How about dudgeon? Now there's a word for our times, despite its archaic sound. Contained within its meaning are indignation and resentment as well as anger. That sure sums up my feelings about the firms and policies that got us into this financial mess.

However, the word is now almost always used in the phrase, "in high dudgeon," as in, "Her platinum card rejected, the shopaholic socialite stormed away from the register in high dudgeon." That probably makes its usage a little clunky for a Congressional floor speech or snappy news brief. Though I'd be impressed by any cable TV pundit who declared into the camera, "We are a nation in high dudgeon!"

Ok, so how about instead furious anger, a la Jules in Pulp Fiction? Now that's some serious dudgeon! (Well, no, that's an example of wrath, not dudgeon, but it sure is fun to listen to, no?)

Dictionary Definition
Pronounced: də-jən
Root: Origin unknown; conjectural derivation is Welsh dygen meaning malice, resentment
1. a feeling of anger, resentment, or offense; intense indignation.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Serendipity

I hope all like-minded word junkies out there noted today's Doonesbury comic, which featured a vocabulary-focused punchline! B.D.'s veteran buddy Leo (a.k.a. Toggle), who is coping with a traumatic brain injury that affects his speech, is commenting on the fortunate coincidence of befriending online someone B.D. knows. "It's serendipity," he manages to stammer after several halting tries -- only to be told by B.D. and his mom that what he has uttered is not a real word and to try again.

I appreciate the humor of the other characters assuming that Toggle has failed in getting out a complete or right word due to his aphasia when it's their ignorance that has been exposed. I also appreciate the unexpected use of a polysyllabic word in the context of a comic strip. Yes, yes, Doonesbury cartoonist Garry Trudeau is an Ivy League liberal arts graduate, so of course he must have an extensive vocabulary that he can put in the mouths of his characters and all that. But here he's challenging us to think about our assumptions of vocabulary.

It's kind of funny that Toggle chooses a word like serendipity, but why? Because he's depicted as a young man from what appears to be a blue-collar background who hasn't attended college? By the same token, why is it frequently the case that someone who utters words like serendipity
offhand is seen as sort of eggheaded or snooty? Who made an unwritten rule that polysyllabic or somewhat obscure words should be the sole province of only one segment of society, that only brandy-snifting, Shakespeare-quoting, sheepskin-holding people (for the record, I'm a wine sipper rather than brandy snifter) can use serendipity while others must confine themselves to a neat coincidence or a lucky chance discovery? Why should anyone be denied the fun of rolling their tongue around a particularly well-formed cluster of syllables, or just enjoying a rich variety of synonyms to describe their insights and ideas instead being confined to the same few words over and over?

Let's here it for Toggle and Trudeau!

Dictionary Definition
Prounounced: |ser-ən-dip-i-tē|
Root: Serendip, a former name for Sri Lanka; the term serendipity was coined by Horace Walpole who said he was inspired by the title of a fairytale, "The Three Princes of Serendip," which featured characters who frequently made beneficial discoveries by chance.
1. The occurrence or development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way; good fortune, providence, happy coincidence
2. The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Obdurate

I dedicate today's blog entry, obdurate, to my hubby. Whether you pronounce it |äb-doo-ət| or |äb-dyoo-ət|, it just means stubborn. Which is what Mark was being the other evening, getting in my way, insisting on doing the dishes when he should've been working on tax stuff. So when I hit him with the big gun, his foremost question -- after "what the heck was that word," and "is that a real word?" -- was, "don't you mean obstinate?" Ah, clearly I've been rubbing off on him!

Truth be told, obstinate is better than obdurate, but both really should just take a backseat to good, old stubborn or inflexible. But, hey, whatever works for you; I'm pliable.

Dictionary Definition
From Latin obduratus, meaning hardened, or hardened in heart.
1. hardened in wickedness or sin, persistently impenitent, stubbornly resisting or insensible to moral influence (oops, sorry honey -- didn't mean that!)
2. hardened or hardening oneself against persuasion, entreaty, the sentiment of pity, etc.; stubborn, obstinate, unyielding, inflexible, relentless, hard-hearted, inexorable.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Discombobulated

Discombobulated is one of those words I love to pull out on occasion, like an especially colorful scarf or jaunty necklace that adds that extra touch of flair. This is indeed a 10-dollar word. It's one of those words that should come with a warning label: "Caution: Use with care. Excessive usage can result in the speaker sounding bombastic and highfalutin'." But in the right circumstances, it's such a delightful sequence of syllables to convey the feeling of discomfort that it almost has to be used tongue-in-cheek.

Perhaps my take on the word reflects the source from which I learned it. No, not one of those high school vocabulary books or the venerable OED (the bible of those with obsessive etymological disorder), but the somewhat-less-than-venerable Mojo Nixon and Skid Roper and their ballad to bad coiffure, "Don't Want No Foo-Foo Haircut on My Head."
"I was mighty discombobulated. I said to myself, discombobulation is sweeping the nation and I don't want no foo-foo haircut sitting on my head!"

(Thanks to Brian for introducing me to that gem at college!)

Dictionary Definition:
Pronounced: |diskəmˈbäbyəˌlāted|
Root words: none listed. American jocular, origins 19th century. Probably an alteration of discompose or discomfit.
1. To be disturbed, upset, confused, disconcerted.
Also, discomboberated.

Of course, if one can be discombobulated, can one be combobulated? According to the OED, which progresses from combo to comboloio, there is no such word. However, according to urbandictionary.com, the definition of combobulated is, "removed from the state of confusion," or "having your stuff together," or "the period before the feeling of discombobulation." Apparently, being combobulated relies on the existence of discombobulation to some extent. Yin and yang, the universal principle, at work, I guess.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Nuance

Nuance is this blog's inaugural word because although vocabulary is about meaning -- finding a word that gets across an intended thought or idea -- it's also about nuance. It's about finding that precise word that not only conveys a thought or idea, but does so with just the right tone and flavor. And that's what makes vocabulary fun.

Sure, you can describe your artistic friend's newest painting as colorful. But maybe vibrant would better suggest its particularly bright hues. Or
vivid. Though perhaps to your taste it's so brightly hued as to be downright garish. Or, conversely, you may appreciate such a playful harlequin display.

Dictionary Definition:
Pronounced |n(y)oōˌäns|
From root words nuer meaning "to shade" and nue meaning "cloud."
1. A slight or delicate variation or difference in expression, feeling, opinion, etc.
2. A shade of color; a slight difference or variation in shade or tone.
3. A delicate gradation in musical expression.

Nuance is a fine word, I say, notwithstanding the elliptical critique of the word delivered by Paul Reiser's character Modell in the movie Diner:
"You know what word I'm not comfortable with? Nuance. It's not a real word. Like gesture. Gesture's a real word. With gesture you know where you stand. But nuance? I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong."