As promised, another exciting, death-defying episode of Lexicographical Mailbag!¹

OMG, I lurve entomology! Words are so cool--I totally want to be an entomologist! Tell me how!

First off, if we're talking about studying the history of words, it's not "entomology." Entomology's the study of insects. Know how I remember that one (apart from answering 400 of these questions a week)? I remember that entomologists study insects, and that they probably make more money, too.

Now that we have that squared away, the formula to become an etymologist is simple:

(interest + words) x (self-assuredness + time)² = etymologist

Oh, wait--you mean a working etymologist? Oh, well, then:

(interest + words) x (rare PhD concentration + bitterness) / (living wage)³ = etymologist

You see, there aren't really many working etymologists in the world these days. I know most of them. Considering that I am such a loner that my own dear nieces and nephews call me "Auntie Social," that's saying something.

In any event, these working etymologists tend to have have linguistics degrees with bizarro, esoteric concentrations. I asked AL at one point about job openings in the etymology department, and I was told that when I had a PhD in Historical Linguistics from one of the best grad schools in the country, I was more than welcome to come back and ask again.

Nonetheless, lots of people fancy themselves armchair etymologists, and I am all for that. Nothing gets a party going like a lively etymological discussion (well, nothing gets the parties that I end up going to going like a lively etymological discussion). And, dude--anything you can do to keep alive the study of Old English, my Most Favoritest Language in the Galaxy, is totally okay by me. It does bear mentioning, though:
1. English is a wacked-out language, man, and it's no wonder those working etymologists have PhDs; and
2. These PhD grads are more than happy to tell you all about the intricacies of English etymology when you inevitably get a word history wrong.

Open thine mouth at thine own peril.

I have been reading your dictionaries for years, and have always wondered why you don't show that all the words in the English language ultimately come from Latin/Greek/Russian/Polish/etc.

Whoa, hold up there, Bucky--"reading your dictionaries for years"? I'm assuming this is because you are incarcerated and all the reading material you have at hand consists of bound copies of the legal code and the dictionary. (Please note that, were I in a similar situation, I'd develop an interest in law with a quickness.) No sane person would actually read through a dictionary--or, having done so once, continue to do so again and again just for fun without being paid. Then again, if the LMG shows us anything, it is that sanity is in short supply when lexicography is involved.

In any event, we don't show that all the words in the English language come from whatever language you happen to have been forced to study in high school because the honest-to-Webster truth is that the English language has borrowed from a whole buncha languages. And all these languages--from Aramaic to Zulu--are different languages from different language families, with different ways of forming words and developing. They are not All The Same. So just because one word in one language is identical to another word in another language does not mean they are the same. This would be akin to saying that a polar bear and Dick Cheney are the same thing because they are both white and they both eat baby seals for breakfast. You will have made an interesting observation, but simply making an observation doesn't make the contents of that observation factual.

Getting back to etymology, another hallmark of languages are they are generally bound to an area and a historical context, and you can't just up and dump one area into another historical context and pretend that's okay. Revisionist history is in, I know, but we already know that lexicographers are woefully behind the times.

This is why I will have no patience when you tell me that the word "sushi" is really Polish. First, the earliest evidence we have of "sushi" shows that it was eaten by Japanese immigrants to English-speaking countries--not Polish immigrants to English-speaking countries. It does not matter that your great uncle used to buy raw fish in Gdansk back when it was Danzig, and that the fishmonger would slice it and call it "szucki." "Sushi" showed up in English well before that and was very clearly a loan word from Japanese.

Yes, yes, I know, those are mere facts, whereas you possess true knowledge and all.

I looked up the etymology of "posh"--

I have to interrupt to say that every. single. e-mail I receive that mentions "posh" ends like this:

--and you got the origin wrong. It's an abbreviation of "port out, starboard home."

This is why, when I see a "posh" e-mail, I do a *headdesk*. The theory, in short, is that old boat tickets were supposedly stamped "port out, starboard home" because those were the preferred cabins that got the afternoon sun. Or didn't get the afternoon sun. I don't remember. I have post-"posh" stress disorder.

Here's the thing: the "port out, starboard home" theory is a great story. Absolutely great. I love it. Harkens back to a bygone era of romance, long-skirts and pith helmets, and swooning women in bustles on deck. Also, it's an acronym! Who doesn't like acronyms? Totally awesome.

And because this story is totally awesome and acronymic, it is also totally suspect.

Etymology is, for the most part, pretty technical and boring. Really. I love etymology, and I love researching the histories of words, but most of those histories just don't make good copy, as they say in the news biz. Acronymic etymologies for words that aren't...well, acronymic ("scuba," "radar," "fubar" and the like) are most likely a steaming pile of "Ship High In Transit."²

You see, a good story will trump real life any day, and real life says that the origin of "posh" is not definitively known. That is, we don't have any tickets stamped "P.O.S.H," nor do we have any stories from around the same time that "posh" entered the language that mention the "port out, starboard home" dealie, nor does "posh" first appear in a nautical context. All we know is that "posh" appeared, meaning "elegant" or "fashionable," around 1900, and there was no evidence at that the time of any "port out, starboard home" nonsense. Which is when it should show up, and which is where etymologists are going to look to give credence to an etymology.

While we're on the subject, no, "doozy" does not come from "Duesenberg" for the same reason that "posh" doesn't come from "port out, starboard home." Don't try to convince me otherwise, or I will have to whip out the facts again.

My priest told me that the origin of "sincere" was the Latin phrase "without wax," but you give it a totally different origin!

First, this question was so phrased by my dear cousin, but it's a common enough question in my in-box. I just wanted to use his phraseology because it seems to underline the general tone that people take with these proposed etymologies--that the source of their information is a dearly trusted person and the information is therefore true, whereas you are just an overeducated blight on the face of this fine land and, in your laziness, you are not interested in TRUTH.

Here's the story in its most common variations: craftsmen in the Middle Ages who made statues/pots/reliquaries for sale in the market covered up flaws in the wood/stone/clay by filling in cracks with wax. Therefore, any item that was sound was advertised as "sine cera," Latin for "without wax."

Y'all, I have studied more Latin than Caesar. I can tell you that the "sine cera" ("without wax") etymology is complete and total merda. Yes yes yes--the Latin "sine" means "without," and the Latin "cera" means "wax." But I went through all the Latin dictionaries, and a bunch of primary sources, and read more Cicero and Catullus than I have since Latin 310, and there are exactly zippo instances of "sine cera" in Latin. Here's what I found: "sincere" is ultimately from the Latin "sincerus," which means "whole, unsullied, pure, honest, genuine." Surprise! It's the triumph of the boring!

Besides, the whole story stinks to me. I'm a medievalist. I get so few occasions to whip out that useless degree and show it off, but here is one of them. Saying this happened "in the Middle Ages" is sort of like saying this happened "in the Cretaceous." The Middle Ages span slightly more than 1000 years and the Renaissance a few hundred more. Most of the languages in the West changed wildly during that time--yes, Virginia, even Latin. And so did the approach to the arts and the production of durable goods, the guild and apprentice structure in the major metropolises of Europe, and even the availability and quality of wax, since the odorless and colorless stuff we use in candles today is a petroleum by-product and wasn't available until after the Industrial Revolution. What I'm trying to say is, I've checked out the documentation available (because that's my job, lamentable as it is) and OMG, totes nothing about wax, statues, pots, and shady marketplace dealings involving any of the above.

What's all this mean? It means a) "sincere" does not come from the Latin "sine cera," meaning "without wax," and b) I really, really need to get a life.


I just looked for the etymology of [insert word here], and it's not all there!

Ohhhhhh, yes it is. It is most definitely there. They forced me to check before the dictionary went to press. The problem is, however, that you can't read it.

See, most dictionaries run short of this thing called "space." The primary job of publishers is to run around freaking out about this "space" and getting everyone else, from operations down through editorial, to also freak out about this "space." To save the precious, precious space, dictionary companies compress information that people are not likely to need much--information like the etymology. People use dictionaries mostly to find the spelling of words (no, really, I can tell you how to do it later on if you disbelieve) and to find meanings of words. Only nutjobs like you and me use the dictionary to find the etymologies of words. Welcome to the club, dues can be paid directly to me by the first of the month.

To boot, every publishing company uses a different notational system for their etymologies, and pretty much none of them are intuitive. All the etymological information is there, you just have to know how to decipher it. This means you must read the damned front matter. Yes, I know it is dense and poorly written. I had to proofread it, I know it is as exciting as watching paint dry. And yet, there is information contained therein. Before you write me and tell me that my dictionary is missing the etymology of your favorite word, you better have read that front matter. I didn't proofread it for my own amusement.


What does my name mean? Why don't you enter it into the dictionary?

I include this here because most requests to add a name to the dictionary either come from a person who wants to impress someone they pine for from afar (in which case, aforementioned person is usually a lovelorn teenager), or they come from someone who wants to know what their name reaaaaaalllllly means.

And here's an interesting side note about the study of names (which is called "onomastics" and which sounds much, much dirtier than it really is). Unlike general vocabulary words, the etymology of a proper name--and especially a proper first name--can be really hard to pin down, especially since the Dawn of Inventive Spelling. There are a few "scholarly" (read: sorta decently researched) print dictionaries for first names and some last names, but they are few and far between. Also, they make for a pretty boring read.

Wait, wait, you cry. What about the baby name books? Well, gentle reader, I hope you are sitting down, because most of those baby name dictionaries that you went through prior to naming your child are kinda, sorta, completely crapola. I know someone who used to write baby name dictionaries of the mass-market variety, and he will make no bones about that. In fact, he once shared his writing process with me over some good Indian food. Want a sampler? Happy to oblige:

Name is "Buffy." "Buffy" sounds like "buffalo." Can't say that "Buffy" means "buffalo." Let's see...buffalo are big. They are hot-headed. They make a great alternative to beef. They are brawny. Strong. Ooh. That might just work. We'll say that Buffy is a Native American name that means "strong." In this modern era of female empowerment and vampire fighting, that will fly.

So baby name books shouldn't be taken as gospel truth when it comes to the meaning of your name. Which is good, since some of them say that my own personal name means "seething bog." Appropriate, but still. Unless you have one of the boring names that everyone already knows the meaning of (I'm looking at you, Christopher), then you will probably not have much luck in nailing down a definitive meaning of your name.

I say, why not have fun with it? This is the time to let loose with all those crazy misinformed etymological connections that we all love to indulge in. If you look hard enough, you'll find plenty of words in a variety of languages that could possibly have resulted in your name. Off the top of my tiny, empty head, I can think of...three words from a variety of languages that could have given the world my own personal name, and a few of them are a lot better than "seething bog." No one will ever know.

And no, I can't research the meaning of your name. But I'll put you in touch with the guy who probably wrote the entry in that baby name book your parents used....


1. Is it just me, or does "Lexicographical Mailbag" kind of sound like the name of a Laurie Anderson performance art piece?

2. While we're at it, no, it does not stand for "ship high in transit," it comes from the Old English word -scitan, which means--surprise!--"to defecate." Additionally, it's not "Fornication Under Consent of the King." Sheesh. You people.

Tags: language

First, some business. Paging Susan Anderson. Susan Anderson, please come to the white courtesy phone and send me your mailing address. Susan Anderson....

Friends, compatriots, frenemies: Harmless has come to the astonishing realization that she doesn't post much on this blog. As Harmless's own children would put it, "Well, DUUUUUH." So we're going to call this a monthly blog/journal, which means that you only have to suffer through my long-winded blahbitty blah once a month! Glory!¹

So what takes up most of my free time these days? This:



That would be my old kitchen, after some initial tweaking to keep the cabinets on the walls and the sink from falling through the rotted-out counters. Now it looks like this:





We did most of the work ourselves with the help of a good friend who was a general contractor for 35 years (and insisted upon being called "our builder," not "our friend who was a general contractor for 35 years"), which is why there are these:

Tags: inedita

Well, friends and fellow word nuts, Harmless was going to post the winners yesterday, but she was whisked away by friends and family for her birthday. Happy birthday to Harmless. By the time we got home, Harmless was truly toast. Harmless by name, harmless by nature.

But we have winners this morning, along with a list of the "valid" entries.

First, the one everyone found that was sorta not really only kinda applicable was the February, 2006, New York Times essay by Constance Casey called "The Grass Station" (login may be required). The essay was about switchgrass as a biofuels source. Here's the thing: if we were real lexicographers, we'd have to disqualify this one. There's no context for the word. But, this was the overwhelming find, and without it, we'd have approximately two entrants, so we'll count it.

The second one people pulled up was also from the NYT, from February 2007. It was an essay about a possible biofuels station in Burley, Idaho, written by Timothy Egan. This one uses "grass station" in quotes, true, but it's valid--it has context and everything.

And the third one we'll allow is from that cheeky monkey Timothy Egan again, this time writing for the BBC about biofuels. This barely squeaks in under the wire, appearing a whopping two weeks before the first press release about Webster New World's word of the year.

If we were for-reals lexicographers (and I count myself among your ersatz numbers, especially on a Sunday), we'd be pretty dang dubious. One use in a title of an essay, and we know headline writers are a little too enamored of the puns; one valid use by Timothy Egan in the Gray Lady; and a reprise of that use, by the same author, on the Beeb's website--a use immediately called into question because, yo, same writer, obvs a pet coinage. The verdict? Definitely not eligible for entry, probably not going to last (remember, we first saw this in 2006, so it's had a year to gain momentum), probably chosen to one-up New Oxford American's "carbon neutral" of a few years ago and to seem hip and edgy...all in all, a poor choice. The American Dialect Society's choice of "subprime" as their WotY two months ago seems pretty apt here.

Who won, who won, who won??

The Knitting Prize goes to:
Sue Anderson at Fannie Pie, who is also a librarian and has mad refernez skillz;

The Spinning Prize (which I'm still needing pics of, but it's Spunky Eclectic and it's BFL and what more could you want in free fiber?) goes to:
Devri Owen who seems blogless but nonetheless has Google-fu;

The Book Prize (which will be a copy of my favorite desk dictionary, Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Deluxe Edition, sadly out of print now) goes to:
W. Turland who also seems blogless, but anyone who lists their given name as [Initial] [Surname] is okay by me.

Congrats to the winners!

And now, for some honorable mentions:

The Google-Fu Flying Fingers of Death Award goes to Toby, who not only sent in all three of the valid entries, thereby making him a formidable opponent in the random choosing of names from my hollow bust of Samuel Johnson, but also sent in six additional online uses and a joke about a lawnmower.

The Best Grass Station Pun Award goes to Lady Saphira, who found a blog that noted a grass station is the place on the side of the road where you pull over so your toddler can answer the call of nature in the clean, fresh air.

The Too Many Dictionaries Award goes to Andrew Greene at 530nm330hz, who, in his sign off, noted that he wanted the yarn prize for his wife because he already has three big unabridgeds, one modern smaller unabridged, and three desk dictionaries of varying vintages.

The Calling It Like She Sees It Award goes to Lyda Scudder, whose e-mail entry consisted of hyperlinks called "NY Times op-ed in 2006, BBC News piece, some dubious entry." Dubious indeed.

The Conspiracy Theory Award goes to knitter Emily Hanan, who posits that Tim Egan must have a girlfriend at Webster's New World.

The Self-Consciousness of the Century Award goes to Bullwinkle, who sent in an entry noting that he (or she) needed to go through and reread the e-mail for typos because, you know, writing to a lexicographer. Bullwinkle, honey--take a close enough look at this blog and you will see that typos and grammatical errors don't really bother me. Cf. "pot, kettle, black," o.p. cit.

The Perfect Priorities Award goes to Celuran, who sent in the Casey essay and then writes, "a real librarian might even bother to try and find the speech of Mr. Bush that the reporter refers to. But it's Saturday night!" Amen to that.

The Global Awareness Award goes to Lili, who notes that this pun only works in America, since the rest of the English-speaking world calls this a "petrol station." (A $125 unabridged dictionary to the person who comes up with a green-minded pun on "petrol station" and convinces Webster's New World to issue an addendum to the Word of the Year including this globally-"used" coinage.)

The Coming Out of the Woodwork Award goes to Ariel, who not only admitted to lurking, but screwed up the courage to delurk for the contest.

The Nerdfighter of the Year Award goes to Mamacate, who used the word "eponymously" in her entry and confessed to nerdiness in all three winning categories.

And finally, The Talk Is Cheap Award goes to my mother, who not only told me she was going to win this contest, but was going to get the yarn prize and require that I knit her something nice out of it. Not only did she not win, but she didn't even enter.

I'll be e-mailing the winners for addresses. Thanks for playing, and stay tuned for more blah-bitty blogging about language and fiber!

Tags: inedita

Oh, the e-mails have been rolling in. How very exciting to see that many of you are having as difficult a time finding anything at all about "grass station" as I did.

A few pointers and reminders before the eye candy:

-- Remember that we're looking for sources that are printed, edited prose (either analog or digital, as it were), preferably in context. T-shirts, while printed and ostensibly prose, aren't edited. Trust me, my perusal of one of the more popular design and sell your own t-shirt sites turned up a number of cringeworthy examples of, um, unedited prose. As for that one thing you found that wasn't really in context, but, you know, sort of is? Yes, that one. Technically it shouldn't count. However, since it's the one that everyone has found so far, and you could almost sorta say that it could possibly be in context (maybe), then I'll let it slide. But I would encourage you to hunt further.

-- If you cite a blog or electronic source for your entry, make sure it's a well-read one.

-- You can send multiple entries in one e-mail--the 3-in-1 rule only applies to correspondence at AL.

-- Let me know if you want the yarn, the fiber, or the book when you enter.

And now, some prizes! I tried to make them all gender-neutral, since the vast majority of the men who have entered are knitters, crocheters, or spinners, but if any of these colors are simply too foo-foo twee for the winner's taste, we can talk.

Yarn Prize



Oooh, shiny. Hand-dyed by the fabulous folks at Woolbearers, one of my local yarn shops. The base yarn is the fabled Kraemer Yarns Sterling, a fingerweight weight yarn with 63% superwash Merino, 20% silk, 15% nylon, and 2% sterling silver. Fo' reals! It's deliciously soft, and there's about 420 kettle-dyed yards to play with.

Fiber Prize

I am pictureless for the moment, but the fiber prize will be 8oz of BFL dyed by Amy of Spunky Eclectic fame. The colorway is a custom job named, of course, "Grass Station," and features corn yellow and grass green, with some dirt brown and sky blue throw in for good measure.

Book Prize?

I have to confess that the book prize has me stymied. What I want to give you (a good unabridged) is well beyond my means, and what I have on hand (lots of abridged dictionaries) are totally uninspiring. To me, at any rate. Possibly because I wrote most of them and by the time one of these dictionaries is unveiled in the glorious fluorescent light of Your Big-Box Bookstore, I have read the damn thing word by word and cover to cover about six times.

I am currently reviewing my options, as they say. There is one nice dictionary I have here that I enjoy using and may go ahead and give away as the prize. But in the meantime, book prize suggestions via the comments below are welcome.

You have until February 29th to dazzle me with your Google-fu.

Tags: inedita, language

Last night, I began a wonderful post for you on English spelling and the history of English. I spent a few hours on it and only got up to Middle English, around 1200 AD. I just read over the saved draft, and it is unworthy of you. Too long, too boring, too many lessons in Old English grammar. Kind of like my normal writing! Since I post so infrequently, I will not plague you with it.

Instead, I present to you a long-awaited contest. Verily and w00t.

Remember the post on the annual Way We Get You To Buy Dictionaries and Keep Me in a Paycheck Word of the Year? There's something that's been bothering me for a while.

It's "grass station," the Word of the Year from Webster's New World Dictionary. "Grass station." Gah. I shake my head just re-reading it.

I have a hard time believing that this word has such little written use. You just don't choose a Word of the Year that no one has heard of. When once a dictionary corporation begins pulling the Word of the Year out of its tuchus, as it were, then the end times are nigh.

Here's the contest: you find me one valid written use of the word "grass station." This citation must:

1. be from a printed, edited source or from a well-read and well-respected Web source. Pulling "grass station" from your Uncle Murray's blog will not count. Pulling it from this blog will earn you a little squeal ("Hey, someone read my blog!") and automatic disqualification.

2. be from a source that does not mention the Word of the Year. It must predate the Word of the Year to show that Webster's New World didn't do what I think they did and slyly introduce a new word into the language by calling it the Word of the Year. Remember, Webster's New World chose this word in October of 2007. Anything after that is Webster New World's fault.

3. match the definition that Webster's New World gives ("a biofuels filling station"). Don't send me the one article I found about the gas attendant selling dope out of his booth. Also, don't try to tell me that, in a sense, that use of "grass station" is a metaphorical biofuels filling station. I'm a lexicographer. Metaphor, like joie de vivre and an excellent party, is lost on me.

4. be for "grass station." Not "grassing station," not "grass filling station," not "der Biokraftstoff Station," not "Mitt Romney." Grass station. It can be in quotes, and it can even be glossed. It just has to be "grass station."

Send your discovery with all bibliographic info to me at grass.station at the almighty gmail.com, and put "grass station" in the subject line. Make sure you send from a working e-mail account, and if you have a blog, leave me a link so I can read your witty prose. You can send as many entries as you like; for every valid use of "grass station" you find, you get an entry. From all the valid entries (assuming there are any), I'll choose one winner in each of the three categories below. There may be some honorable mentions in there, too.

What do you win, what do you win? Depends on what you are. I will cater to knitters/crocheters, spinners, and word nerds. When you enter, make sure you tell me which of the winning categories you want to be entered in. Don't assume I will intuit this from your blog. I'm not all that smart, y'all.

--Knitters/crocheters will win some hand-dyed luxury yarn from my local yarn shop's resident dyer;
--spinners will win some luxury fiber from my local spinning shop, and maybe I'll throw in some handcarded Cormo/angora roving from Chez Drudge;
--word nerds will win some references from my local book hoard that may or may not include a dictionary Harmless wrote.

I'll unveil pictures of the prizes this weekend.

Minutiae: Contest closes February 29th at 11:59 pm ET. The winners will be picked at random and will be announced on March 1, which is, incidentally, my birthday. Happy birthday to Harmless. You can be from any part of the world to take part, just make sure that your entry is in English and you have an address I can mail your prize to. You can enter if you work for AL or any other reference publisher, though don't whine if your prize is one of the dictionaries we worked on together. Ditto if you're my family.

Go forth and scour.

Tags: language

Remember how I said I'd have more time to blog closer to the holidays? Har har har.

I've thought about blogging, but between the compulsory holiday cooking, the last minute shopping, the family visits, and that job thing (correction: those job things), I have to choose between sleeping and blogging. I have a comfy bed. What can I say?

Since you've had to wait so long for a post, this is a two-fer! One part for you word-nut-types, and one part for you fiber-nut-types. Ready?

Word of the Year

For those not in the know (though, really, if you're reading this blog then you are probably in the know. In fact, you may be responsible for the know), most English dictionary companies come out with a Word of the Year to mark general trends in languages. Ha, who am I kidding? Nah, we want you to buy lots of dictionaries during the holiday gift-giving season. So we're going to make a very timely announcement to remind you that, dang, a pocket dictionary costs, like, $5!

I believe that the Society of the German Language also runs a Wort des Jahres, but they also have an Unwort des Jahres (Un-word of the Year), which sounds like something I'd much rather judge.

I haven't commented on previous Words of the Year because, well, I have to do it at work and as absolutely scintillating as it is, I'm off the clock, yo. But since I owes ya, here we go.

locavore (New Oxford American Dictionary) Described as a word used in the burgeoning local-food movement, a locavore is someone who buys from farmer's markets, counts food miles, and eats locally sourced or grown food. OUP continues the trend of picking words that are prominently Web-based and still emerging--last year was "carbon neutral" and the year before that was "podcast." Nothing wrong with that, and at least the word in question is more chronologically with-it than not. I would just submit that it's not really common enough to merit a Word of the Year. But I have to admit, I like this one. And no, I didn't choose it, so don't go gettin' on your horse about how I looooooove the Word of the Year that I chose.

grass station (Webster's New World Dictionary) Described as a biofuels refilling station. Get it? GRASS station? Seriously. What? I just went a'wandering through a major periodical and newspaper database, and the only instances of "grass station" in print are a) in the name of a garden center in Canada; b) in a newspaper story about a gas station attendant who was arrested for selling pot out of his station booth; and c) in the press releases for this company's word of the year. At least "locavore" has some written use. Additionally, Webster's New World chose their Word of the Year in October. There was nearly a full quarter of 2007 left. As Boston Globe columnist Jan Freeman noted, ten weeks of Word of the Year fever is about eight weeks too many. Harmless, who has had to respond to over 400 customer e-mails about her own company's Word of the Year, agrees wholeheartedly and praises Jesus that her local liquor store has finally started carrying St. Bernardus ABT 12.

w00t (Merriam-Webster) Described as an interjection expressing joy. Seriously. What? Sorry: srsly--OMGWTFBBQ? I know about leet (1337) and I have heard about these exclamations of joy Merriam-Webster speaks of, but you're going to tell me folks voted for this over sardoodledom, another contender for WotY? Because this year, like last year, Merriam-Webster decided to let the e-public tell them which word was the Word of the Year. Last year gave us "truthiness." And this year...w00t? I smell a blogspiracy (which I hereby submit as a contender for the 2008 Word of the Year). BTW, for all you folks out there getting your knickers in a knot about the zeros and how numbers are not letters and this isn't a word, please say with me: "Your stubborn refusal to admit that numbers and letters can mix to create things called 'words' is the 800-pound gorilla in this conversation."

assorted (Dictionary.com) No, not "assorted." That would be pretty uninspiring. No, Dictionary.com does a Word of the Year, only it's more like the Word of the Month, since they give you 12 Words of the Year, one per month, and link them to a newspaper story for each month. Some of it is fascinating in that "Wow! Language and culture collide!" sort of way: while the Vick trial was going on, "dogfighting" was the Word of the Year Month, and December's Word of the Year Month is "subprime mortgage." Good idea! Topicality! Doesn't always work: for instance, October's word was "fire." Topical, but not particularly interesting apart from the fact that it's topical. I would wager that the word "fire" was used plenty during the other 11 months of the year. And February's word was--I kid you not--"coffee art." That is art that is made using coffee as the primary artistic medium. Hey, I make abstract coffee art every morning when I set my mug down on my galleys! w00t!

Notably absent are the American Dialect Society--because, sensibly, they vote on the Word of the Year after the year ends--and American Heritage, who evidently can't be bothered with Words of the Year because I haven't seen hide nor hair of their Word of the Year. Not that I blame them.

Contractually-obligated disclaimer: all the opinions expressed herein are those of the Harmless Drudge and do not represent the opinions of Amalgamated Language. They probably also do not constitute an actionable offense, in the event that you're my employer and are thinking of firing me because I'm a big whiner. First, you've kept me around long enough to know I'm a big whiner, and second, remember who answers all the e-mail from the nutjobs before you pull out the pad of pink slips.

Fiber

So, I have this spinning wheel. And I supposedly bought it to spin upon. Yet all my time prior to, say, September was spent with unpacking, cleaning, working, and the aforementioned (most-beloved) sleeping. But in September, I got with it. I bought an angora rabbit. I finished spinning some spindle-spun and plied it on the wheel. And then I joined a fiber of the month club.

Yes, these exist. No, they do not involve Metamucil. Yes, I have heard that little joke before. No, it is still not funny.

Since it's much more fun to look at fiber than talk about it:


October fiber from Spunky Eclectic, 100% Romney singles in the colorway Goblin Eyes, 4 oz, spun at 10:1 ratio, felted in the sink, about 13 WPI and about 300 yards in both skeins


spindle-spun merino/alpaca/tussah silk/sparkly crap blend, plied on the wheel at 10:1, about 500 yards of 2-ply and 18 WPI all told


sample of bunny fur, mercilessly harvested from said rabbit in the cruelest way possible--by petting her, spindle-spun, plied back on itself to make a loose 2-ply, and smacked around in the sink. Soft.



November fiber from Spunky Eclectic, 100% Falkland wool in the colorway Pie for Everyone, spun at 10:1 on the wheel as a 3-ply sock yarn, about 16 WPI and 320 yds, given to my sis-in-law for Christmas because these are not my colors


Two 1oz batts of blended fiber from spinningfishwife, a blend of merino, angora, blue Angelina sparkliness, mulberry silk, and indigo dyed silk, currently being spun as laceweight on 16:1. We'll see how laceweight this ends up. Also soft.

And if anyone cares, I'm on Ravelry, loving it, and trying not to spend all my time obsessing over how fast some of y'all knit. Holy crap, don't you people do anything else?

Tags: inedita, knitting, language

Where's Harmless? Why isn't Harmless posting?

Ah, little bloglings. Take a gander at Harmless's office:



It may look benign, but don't be fooled. That office is a killer.

First up, lexicographicatin':



I am hard at work on a project that is overdue. I should have about four more dictionaries open than you see, but I don't have the space.

I want to note the dictionaries are usually not on my desk. I don't like looking at any other books--whether AL's or another company's--when I define. This time, however, I'm doing copyediting, so I have these open to make sure that the definer hasn't cannibalized an entry from any other dictionary. There is a long and distinguished history of plagiarism in lexicography--but I've never been a traditional sorta gal.

Next up is the speechifyin':



Now with 1000% more coffee!

I have a very part-time freelance job as a speechwriter. I fell into it by chance, and I enjoy it, though sometimes I would enjoy it more if the people I were writing speeches for didn't have to sound so dang smart.

In case you are wondering, no, I am not writing speeches for anyone you know or may or may not vote for. If I were, I'd be doing devious things like sneaking in diatribes on how much less oil we'd use as a nation if we all wore more wool socks, or how farm subsidies should be extended to fiber manufacturers.

Which leads us to the knittin':



Wow, isn't that the most scintillating piece of knitting you've ever seen? It's--get ready--a stockinette rectangle! In off-white yarn. Whoo! Living on the edge!

Actually, this is one piece of a large gift I'm putting together. Part I will hopefully be done next weekend, and I will take pics and show y'all. Part II...well, maybe before Christmas? Maybe?

I also have a clown sock on the needles for A., who has been patiently waiting through the summer and fall for me to finish them.

So, Harmless, where's this?



It's, um.... Ah. Way-ull....

It's actually about two stitches away from being frogged (that's being unraveled, for you non-knitter-types). I love the design. I love the colors. I love the construction. I hate cotton yarn.

Guess what Genius decided to use for this skirt? Anyone want a bunch of Reynold's Saucy Sport mercerized cotton yarn?

Maybe I'll give it a go in wool next year. And make it longer. And maybe a little brighter. Or maybe not.

Speaking of wool, there's the warsh:



When the weather finally got seasonally appropriate, I decided to wash the woolens. This is an annual event, as you may know, one that heralds months of snuggly warmth in handknits. It's also something of a massive pain in the arse, especially when you attempt to dry the woolens in the office.

Now, my office is actually an old porch that has been enclosed. There's insulation in the walls and the ceiling, and there's a nice wood floor over the old concrete slab the porch was built over. But there is no heat out here. (Really.) This doesn't bother me terribly, because I'm Finnish, so I can sit here uncomplaining yet drearily cold and be completely in my element. I have a kilowatt vampire space heater and it keeps me pretty comfy. But the woolens? Well. They took a full week to dry.

Time to move the drying part of this process inside for the year.

And what's that in front of the warsh? The spinnin':



Looky! Yarn! I made that!

Actually, there has been a lot of spinning chez Drudge these days. What you see above is a set of fraternal twins, spun from the Spunky Eclectic club October fiber. It was Romney, which is a fun spin, and the end products were fulled and shocked in hot then cold water until they behaved. I had to smack them around a little.

Tags: inedita, knitting, spinning

Holy crap!





First time I've ever seen a praying mantis. Did you know they fly? And they apparently feed on lexicographers?

Also, remember this?



Here she is a month or so later:



Your eyes do not deceive you. She is smaller. By about 35% or so:



That bunny shrinkage translates into 4oz of hand-harvested angora wool, waiting patiently for me to spin it up. Which means I had better get some wool combs.

I promise not to run around the house brandishing them like I am Wolverine.

Tags: inedita

...Cormo,
1.75 pounds of prepped top, so tremendously soft, all mine


...Wensleydale,
8 ounces of hand-dyed combed top, so tremendously shiny that it looks like metal, all mine


...Romney,
an unknown amount of raw fleece from a bewildered sheep that A. and H. helped shear at the Garden State Sheep Breeders Festival this weekend, so tremendously smelly and filthy, all mine because no one else even wants to be near the bag



...and Lucy.
a Jersey Woolly/English angora cross, so tremendously fluffy, something I must share with small people in my house though they have promised I get all the fiber

Let the record show that I was pushing for the name "Joan," but was vetoed. We did escape "Fluffy," however. I have consoled myself over my stunning defeat by calling her La Luchadora.


nicked from Corazon Fair Trade

No reason.

Tags: inedita