WotD Perfect Tweet Challenge Roundup

Every week, we pose a challenge: using any word of the day from the week, create a perfect tweet, otherwise known as a twoosh. If we like it, your tweet will appear on our blog.

Last week’s theme was Thanksgiving. Here are our favorites:

Thanks to everyone for playing! This week the challenge will be on hiatus due to the holidays, but you’ll have another chance next week to perfect your word of the day perfect tweets.

To get the word of the day, just follow us on Twitter, like us on Facebook, or subscribe via email.

Behold the Turkey

Turkeys

Turkeys, by Hey Paul

[Photo: CC BY 2.0 by Hey Paul]

With Thanksgiving just a few days away, we thought we’d take a look at words related to that big dumb bird, the turkey.

Where does the word turkey come from? In short, it’s named for the country Turkey, “from a confusion with the guinea fowl, once believed to have originated in Turkish territory.” According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the “Turkish name for [the bird] is hindi,” literally “Indian,” “based on the common misconception that the New World was eastern Asia.” The Virtual Linguist says “the original full name of the bird was turkey-cock, but this applied to a different bird — the guinea-fowl, a native of Africa,” while Dan Jurafsky at The Language of Food traces the bird’s history, from its domestication in south-central Mexico to its journey to Europe and the U.S.

How about those turkey sounds? Gobble, which also means “to swallow in large pieces” and “to seize upon with greed,” is imitative in origin and comes from the Middle English gobben, “to drink greedily.” Gobben probably comes from gobbe, “lump, mouthful.” Related are gob, “a mouthful; a little mass or collection; the mouth,” gobbet, goblet, and gobsmacked.

Related also is gobbledygook, nonsense or unclear jargon. The word was first used in 1944 by Congressman Maury Maverick (a grandson of Samuel Augustus Maverick, “an American cattleman who left the calves in his herd unbranded,” for whom the word maverick is named) in a memo banning “gobbledygook language.” As for its origin, “Maverick said he made up the word in imitation of turkey noise.”

The word cluck,“to utter the call or cry of a brooding hen or a hen with young chicks,” comes from the Old English cloccian, which is imitative in origin. A Turkish word for turkey is culuk. Jollop is another word for the cry of a turkey, and according to World Wide Words “was at one time a name for the wattles of the bird, probably from dewlap.” Another meaning for jollop is “a strong liquor or medicine,” also spelled jalap and perhaps influenced by the word dollop.

How about turkey sayings and slang meanings? Turkey meaning “a failure, especially a failed theatrical production or movie,” attests to 1927 while the meaning “a person considered inept or undesirable,” is from 1951. Both come from the idea of the turkey being a silly and stupid animal. The meaning “three consecutive strikes in bowling,” may come from a 19th century American tradition of awarding a turkey to such a bowler.

Turkey also has the lesser-known meaning of “a bag containing a lumber-jack’s outfit.” The origin is unknown, though perhaps it’s named for the bag’s turkey-like appearance. A blind turkey is a sack “stuffed with rags or waste, “deaconed” with a tattered pair of overalls and of a pair of shoes and designed to deceive those labor agents who decline ship laborers who have not baggage stand hostage for their arrival at the job.” To hoist the turkey means “to take one’s personal belongings and leave camp.”

Talk turkey means “to talk or negotiate plainly, frankly, or seriously.” World Wide Words says the phrase was first recorded in 1824 “but is probably much older,” and originally meant “to speak agreeably, or to say pleasant things.” This meaning may come from “the nature of family conversation around the Thanksgiving dinner table,” or “because the first contacts between Native Americans and settlers often centred on the supply of wild turkeys.” The most complex explanation is:

a story about a colonist and a native who went hunting, agreeing to share their spoils equally. At the end of the day, the bag was four crows and four turkeys. The colonist tried to partition the spoils by saying “here’s a crow for you” to the Indian, then keeping a turkey to himself, giving another crow to the Indian, and so on. At this point the Indian very reasonably protested, saying “you talk all turkey for you. Only talk crow for Indian”.

The meaning changed to “frank talk” in the 19th century when “to ‘talk turkey’ was augmented” to “talk cold turkey,” with no relation to cold turkey’s meaning of “immediate, complete withdrawal from something on which one has become dependent, such as an addictive drug.” This meaning of cold turkey stems from 1910 and came from the idea that “cold turkey is a food that requires little preparation, so ‘to quit like cold turkey’ is to do so suddenly and without preparation.”

A jive turkey is “someone who is jiving, as in behaving in a glib and disingenuous fashion.” The turkey portion of the phrase presumably comes from the word’s meaning of a stupid person while jive’s origin is more complex. The word’s meanings of “to deceive playfully,” “empty, misleading talk,” and “a style of fast, lively jazz and dance music” attest to 1928. Some claim the origin is the language of the Wolof, “West African people primarily inhabiting coastal Senegal.” However, others doubt this claim, saying that:

although the Wolof are relatively prominent to many Americans because of the large number of Senegalese immigrants in this country, and to black Americans because the Goree Island slaving settlement is a popular tourist attraction, the fact is that there is no evidence that Wolof speakers were predominant among slaves in the United States, numerically or culturally.

Other turkey phrases include turkey-shoot, “a rifle-shooting match in which a live turkey is the target and the prize,” which gives us the figurative meaning of “something easy.” A turkeycock is “a pompous or self-important person,” probably from the image of a strutting male turkey. The turkey-trot is “an eccentric ragtime dance, danced with the feet well apart and with a characteristic rise on the ball of the foot, followed by a drop upon the heel,” which was popular in the early 20th century.

Has all this turkey talk gotten you hungry? How about some tofurkey, “a meat substitute resembling turkey, usually made from tofu,” or unturkey, “a vegetarian substitute for turkey, particularly a turkey-shaped ‘bird’ made with wheat gluten, soy, and other vegetarian ingredients”? If meat’s your thing, then you might want a turducken, a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken, or a turbaconducken, a turducken with each bird wrapped in bacon. “It’s a real lardapalooza!” as Fritinancy says.

Or you may want to try the turducken of desserts, the cherpumple, “a three-layer cake with an entire pie baked into each layer—a cherry pie baked inside a white cake, a pumpkin pie baked inside a yellow cake and an apple pie baked inside a spice cake.”

For even more Thanksgivine-related fare, check out Fritinancy’s post on how Butterball got its name, her terrific roundup of fun turkey and Thanksgiving related info, and Cracked’s list of the five most insane versions of Thanksgiving from around the world.

This Week’s Language Blog Roundup

Welcome to the Language Blog Roundup, in which we give you the highlights from our favorite language blogs and the latest in word news and culture.

In the world of politics, Rick Perry said “oops,” and Slate told us where oops comes from. Mark Liberman at Language Log took issue with Perry’s latest campaign ad and his lack of a verb, as well as speech-based lie detection “software” that supposedly proves Herman Cain is innocent of sexual harrassment. Meanwhile Robert Lane Greene at Johnson discussed Newt Gingrich and language, and Spanish in America.

In dictionary news, Ben Zimmer discussed the latest edition of the American Heritage dictionary, while the Scottish Language Dictionary charity is putting together the Concise Scots Dictionary. Erin McKean reviewed books that promise to help you talk better, and spotted in the Wall Street Journal week in words tobashi, solomo, and bronies, as well as Likeonomics, handwiches, and dead doubles.

At Language Log, Mark Liberman wrote about kids yesterday (and made us feel Principal Vernon old) and wondered if Lincoln could have furled his brow. Geoffrey Pullum objected to another’s objections about the passive voice, and kicked himself over tiramisu. Ben Zimmer considered Kate Bush’s 50 Words for Snow, while Mr. Pullum at Lingua Franca poked another hole in the many-Eskimo-words-for-snow argument.

Also at Lingua Franca, Ben Yagoda advocated going with the shorter word, and examined the overuse of right (I know, right?). Carol Saller wondered if all lawyers are not liars, while Allan Metcalf discussed the word guy.

At Macmillan Dictionary Blog, Ben Trawick-Smith considered the fall of the r-less class, while Stan Carey discussed Received Pronunciation and Dortspeak and questioned the “ideal” form of English. On his own blog, Mr. Carey let us know about the very cool Spaceage Portal of Sentence Discovery, “a database in which we the English-loving citizens of Internet can store countless examples of all the interesting language patterns and elements we are able to categorize.”

John McIntyre shook his head over usage literalists, while Motivated Grammar asserted that descriptivism doesn’t mean “anything goes.” Lynneguist gathered a month’s worth of American and British English untranslatables; and Johnson presented its results from its British and American English survey. The Virtual Linguist wrote about the experiences of Monica Baldwin, who spent 27 years in a closed convent and “could not understand much of the English being spoken around her when she finally rejoined the outside world”; brand names of Western products in China (“Hey, you dinged my Precious Horse!); and a study that showed that lower-pitched voices attract more votes.

Fritinancy’s words of the week were murmuration, a flock of starlings (her post includes a truly amazing video), and Semmelweis reflex, “the tendency to reject new evidence because it contradicts established norms or practices.” Fritinancy also wrote about tech jargon of yore, merry as a Starbucks verb, and this Mr. Tea set, which we have added to our Christmas list. In tooting our own horn news, Fritinancy gave a shout-out to our new series, Word Soup, in her November linkfest (thanks!).

Sequiotica posted about swizzle, umpteen, plouk, and mondegreens. Dialect Blog explored Multicultural London English; Chicano English; dialect work in the old days; and when Twitter words are spoken. The Word Spy spotted, among other words, war texting, “using text messages to break into a remote system such as an automobile or a GPS tracking device”; no planer, “a conspiracy theorist who believes that no planes were involved in the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001”; and two-pizza team, “in a business environment, a team of employees that is not too large (and so can be fed with at most two pizzas).”

Speaking of food, we learned where the hot dog and hamburger got their names; all about It’s-It ice cream; and the history of macarons, macaroons, and macaroni. We were grateful for this list of non-errors, and chuckled over this punctuation cartoon from the Grammar Monkeys and this list of seven bar jokes involving grammar and punctuation. We pondered the language of the future, and what gets lost in translation. We learned that “only one veteran Navajo code talker remains of the original 29 Navajo Marines,” and that immigrant entrepreneurs often don’t need English to succeed. We wondered if comedy foreign accents are ever a good idea (depends on the accent).

We enjoyed these 20 Vonnegut-isms (well, except for the semi-colon remark), these 50 literary put-downs, and these six authors’ reading habits. We were delighted to learn that Neil Gaiman will be on The Simpsons this Sunday, and were a bit a creeped out by this Lego statue of Mark Twain. We were shocked to hear that Jane Austen might have been murdered, and were astounded that Salman Rushdie had to fight to use his own name on Facebook. We loved Salvador Dali’s 1969 drawings for Alice in Wonderland, as well as these vintage illustrations from Old French Fairy Tales.

Flavorwire gave us a brief history of time travel literature; this collection of rejected titles for classic books; and 10 famous literary characters and their real-life inspirations. They also offered 10 wonderful fake books by TV characters and a comprehensive rule book to pop culture’s fictional games (Calvinball, anyone?). Meanwhile, the PW blog told us about 6 fictional drugs with unintended consequences, Anglophenia offered up some money slang, and Time interviewed Michael Adams, the editor of Elvish to Klingon: Exploring Invented Languages.

Finally, our favorite Tumblr of the week was The Books They Gave Me, reflections on books given by lovers.

That’s it for this week! Check in the week after next for the next Language Blog Roundup installment, and don’t forget to catch our new series on Wednesday, Word Soup.

WotD Perfect Tweet Challenge Roundup

Every week, we pose a challenge: using any word of the day from this week, create a perfect tweet, otherwise known as a twoosh. If we like it, your tweet will appear on our blog.

Last week’s favorites:

Thanks to everyone for playing! This week you’ll have another chance to perfect your word of the day perfect tweets. To get the word of the day, just follow us on Twitter, like us on Facebook, or subscribe via email.

Palindromes and Other Word Play

satorsquare

2011 has been chock full of palindromic dates. First there was 1/11/11 (or 11/1/11, for Europeans), then 11/1/11 (or 1/11/11), then “the very rare, eight-digit” palindrome date, 11/02/2011. Aziz Inan, a professor of electrical engineering “who has taken on the discovery of palindrome dates as a sort of hobby, explained that there will only be 12 eight-digit palindrome days this entire century.”

Then there’s today, 11/11/11, which like 1/11/11 and 11/1/11 is both a palindrome and an ambigram, something that can be read the same way backward, forward, right side up and upside down.

A palindrome is “a word, phrase, number or any other sequence of units” that reads the same backward or forward, like eve, mom, and the phrase, Madam I’m Adam. The longest English palindrome is tattarrattat, onomatopoeia for a rapping on the door, as coined by James Joyce in his novel Ulysses. The longest palindrome in everyday use seems to be the Finnish saippuakivikauppias, “a soapstone vendor.”

The word palindrome comes from the Greek palindromos, “running back again, recurring,” with palin meaning “again, back” and dromos meaning “a running.” Palin also gives us palimpsest, “a parchment or other writing-material from which one writing has been erased or rubbed out to make room for another”; palinode, “a poetical recantation, or declaration contrary to a former one”; and palingenesis, “a new or second birth or production; the state of being born again.”

How about a word that spells a different word when read backwards? That’s a semordnilap, which is palindromes in reverse. The term was probably coined by “logologist Dmitri A. Borgmann,” and includes examples such as reviled/deviled, loot/tool, and mood/doom. Backmasking is “a recording technique in which a sound or message is deliberately recorded backwards in a track that is meant to be played forwards.” An example is supposed Satanic messaging found in certain heavy metal songs when played backwards. Backmasking is also known as backward masking.

Have aibohphobia? Then you might prefer an anagram, “a transposition of the letters of a word or sentence, to form a new word or sentence,” or an antigram, “an anagram that means the opposite of the original word or phrase.” A heterogram is “a word or phrase in which no letter occurs more than once” while a pangram is “a sentence that contains every letter of the alphabet” (The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog). A kangaroo word is “a word that contains letters of another word, in order, with the same meaning.” A ghoti is “a constructed word used to illustrate irregularities in English spelling” and “a respelling of the word ‘fish’.”

Have a touch of paronomasia? Don’t worry, you just have the puns. Have a Tom Swifty – a phrase that uses an adverbial pun (“I’m cold,” she said icily) – and call me in the morning.

What about word play by mistake? A spoonerism is “a transposition of sounds of two or more words, especially a ludicrous one” (A daisy lay for A lazy day) and is named for William Archibald Spooner, a British cleric and scholar who was supposedly prone to this inadvertent play on words. A spoonerism is also known as a marrowsky, named after a Polish count who supposedly had the same affliction.

If someone says “I scream!” and you hear “Ice cream!” that’s a mondegreen. The word mondegreen is itself a misinterpretation, specifically of the line hae laid him on the green, as Lady Mondegreen, in the song “The Bonny Earl of Murray.” Another example can be found in the film Roxanne:

C.D. Bales: Ten more seconds and I’m leaving!
Roxanne Kowalski: What did you say?
C.D. Bales: I said, ten more seconds and I’m leaving! Wait a second! What did you think I said?
Roxanne Kowalski: I thought you said, “Earn more sessions by sleeving.”
C.D. Bales: Well, what the hell does that mean?
Roxanne Kowalski: I don’t know. That’s why I came out.

The Virtual Linguist lists several mondegreens in the form of misheard lyrics, while Mark Liberman at Language Log takes a look at the Anthology of Rap, which may be better named the Anthology of Mondegreens.

A malapropism is the “ludicrous misuse of a word, especially by confusion with one of similar sound” (As Bob as my witless for As God as my witness, from an episode of the cartoon series, Rugrats), and is named for Mrs. Malaprop, a character in an 18th century play “noted for her ridiculous misuse of large words (e.g. ‘contagious countries” for “contiguous countries’).” Her name comes from malapropos, “inappropriate; out of place,” which comes from the French mal à propos, with mal meaning “badly” and à propos meaning “to the purpose.” The opposite of malapropos is apropos.

An eggcorn is “a series of words that result from the misunderstanding of a word or phrase as some other word or phrase having a plausible explanation, as free reign for free rein, or to the manor born for to the manner born.” An eggcorn is similar to a malapropism, except that while a malapropism results in a ludicrous phrase, an eggcorn “makes sense,” according to Chris Waigl at the Eggcorn Database, “for anyone except lexicographers or other people trained in etymology, more sense than the original form in many cases.” Language Log’s Mark Liberman explores the example whoa is me (for woe is me). The term was coined by Geoffrey Pullum, and named for the mishearing of eggcorn for acorn.

A crash blossom refers to a newspaper headline with syntactic ambiguity, or which may be interpreted in more than one way. The phrase was coined by Dan Bloom and Mike O’Connell “based on a headline ‘Violinist linked to JAL crash blossoms.’” The Language Log has many examples.

But this post is about palindromes, right? Check out this piece from The Believer about “master palindromist” Barry Duncan, and this tribute to Bob Dylan from “Weird Al” Yankovic done entirely in palindromes. You might also like this post from the Grammar Girl further explaining the differences between language mix-ups; this list of palindromes and semordnilaps; this one of panvocalics, or words that contain all the vowels; and this one of ROT13 pairs.

[Photo: CC BY 2.0 by Lord Jim]

Welcome Alex!

We’re happy to announce the addition of Alex Le to Wordnik!

Alex joins Wordnik as a Senior UI Engineer and has been tasked with making our Javascript more caffeinated and our Ruby shinier.

Alex fell in love with Ruby on Rails at an airport and it was love at first sight. During the day he’s a Rails/JavaScript guy, but at night he helps people get happily married with his wedding planning tool, Marrily.com.

When not working, he likes chilling, reading, Netflixing, browsing HackerNews, and playing his piano. He can be reached at alex@wordnik.com.

Word Soup Wednesday

It’s Word Soup Wednesday! While the television show The Soup brings you “the strange, obscure and totally unbelievable moments in pop culture, celebrity news and reality TV,” Word Soup will bring you those strange, obscure, unbelievable (and sometimes NSFW) words.

And if you see any Word Soup-worthy words, let us know on Twitter with the hashtag #wordsoup. Your word and Twitter handle might appear right here!

Alice in Wonderland syndrome

Patient: “Everything went from really small to really huge.”
House: “It’s called Alice in Wonderland syndrome.”

“Risky Business,” House, October 31, 2011

Alice in Wonderland syndrome “is a disorienting neurological condition that affects human perception,” in which the afflicted experience micropsia, “a disorder in which objects appear much smaller than normal,” and macropsia, “a disorder in which objects appear much larger than normal.” The name refers to Lewis Carroll’s novel, in which Alice becomes very small and very large.

Arkansas toothpick

Cullen [to Elan who is sharpening a knife]: “What are you going to do with that Arkansas toothpick?”

“Pilot,” Hell on Wheels, November 6, 2011

An Arkansas toothpick is a type of dagger. It may have been invented by James Bowie, the inventor of the bowie knife.

Die Hard

Dr. Benoit to Helen Magnus: “Who are you? You’re going all Die Hard out here.”

“Monsoon,” Sanctuary, October 28, 2011

To go all Die Hard refers to the 1988 film in which Bruce Willis’ character single-handedly and covertly thwarts a group of terrorists. It also means “to kick someone’s ass.”

Hawthornes

Singer: “I’ve got a pocketful of Hawthornes.”

“Advanced Gay,” Community, November 3, 2011

Hawthorne refers to the character, Pierce Hawthorne, who owns Hawthorne Wipes, a company that manufactures cleaning and disinfecting towelettes. Hawthornes refer to the wipes. A brand name that has become genericized is a metonym. Other trademarks that are often seen in semi-generic use include kleenex for tissues, xerox for photocopy, and saran wrap for plastic wrap.

jägerbar

Eddie [sniffs claw]: “I think jägerbars use these for disemboweling.”

“Bears Will Be Bears,” Grimm, November 4, 2011

The jägerbar is a sort of ferocious were-bear that hunts. The word is German in origin, where jäger means “hunter” and bar means “bear.” Jägermeister is an alcoholic beverage that literally means “hunt master.”

Moneyed American

Jon Stewart: “What the one percenters – ”
John Hodgman: “We prefer the term Moneyed Americans.”

November 1, 2011, The Daily Show

Moneyed American is a play on terms such as African American or Asian American.

online shush

Mac [about not being friended on Facebook]: “It’s like an online shush.”

“The Anti-Social Network,” It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, November 3, 2011

To shush someone is to demand silence by saying shush, and is imitative in origin. Ignoring someone’s friend requests, emails, or messages could be said to be an online shush.

pipi and bubbles

Jess: “I saw Nick’s pipi. And his bubbles.”

“Naked,” New Girl, November 1, 2011

Slang for male genitalia is many and varied.

sexiversary

Jenny: “I forgot our sexiversary!”

“Bobum Man,” The League, November 3, 2011

A sexiversary is the date on which two people first had sex, and is a portmanteau, or blend, of sex and anniversary.

walking boss

Elan: “This ain’t the plantation. . .walking boss.”

“Pilot,” Hell on Wheels, November 6, 2011

A walking boss is the foreman of a work crew who walks or rides among the workers.