Showing posts with label dictionary definitions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dictionary definitions. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

'Supposably' Is In the Dictionary

Merriam-Webster says that the adverb form of "supposed" is indeed "supposedly," but the adverb form of "supposable" is "supposably."

Webster's New World is a little vaguer, noting "supposably" only as a "related form" of supposed. However, because WNW has a separate listing for "supposedly" and none for "supposably," there's no doubt which form they prefer.

So, what, exactly is the difference between the adverb form of "supposable" and the adverb form of "supposed"? In their adjective forms, they're clearly different. But as sentence adverbs, the distinction blurs.

I'm going to have to think on this one for a long, long time (after I stop retching, of course). Until then, I'll file this under "things I should have looked up a long time ago."
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Monday, December 28, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional, cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

wainscoting

As work continues on our bathroom addition, I become more — not less — confused about how to pronounce this word. Some people say it "WAYNE'S-coating," others say it "WAYNE-scotting."

So I finally went to YourDictionary.com, where they have audio files that let you hear the pronunciation, and here's what I heard: "WAYNE-skuh-DING."

I guess nobody knows. Sure looks pretty, though.

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Monday, December 21, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional, cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

metamorphose


In a fashion article I was editing today, the writer had said that a hairpiece metamorphosizes an entire ensemble.

I stared at it for a long time try to figure out why it seemed both right and wrong. In the end, all I figured out is that it's wrong -- at least, according to Webster's New World and Dictionary.com, anyway.

Both dictionaries say the verb form of metamorphosis is metamorphose. No "ize."

Though it sure seems I hear a lot of people "ize" that word. I bet I've done it myself.


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Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up

walk


This was going to be a "Words that Should Get a Divorce" post about "walk" and "life," as in "walk of life." I'm a little bothered by the cliche -- or, I should say, by our dependence on the cliche -- but I honestly can't think of a better alternative for "They come from every walk of life."

From every realm of life? Every area of life? Every circuit of life? Every tour of life? Every peregrination of life?

See? I got nuthin'.

So, seeing as I'm clearly unqualified to depose this cliche, I figured I'd just look up its use of "walk" in Dictionary.com.

walk. n.
27. a department or branch of activity, or a particular line of work. They found every walk of life closed against them.

Maybe my dislike of this expression is a regional prejudice. After all, I'm in L.A. And nobody walks in L.A.


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Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

meatloaf


I saw "The Soloist" this weekend.

In it, Robert Downey Jr., who plays Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez, narrates a few excerpts from his columns in progress. In one, the Lopez character talked about Los Angeles' Skid Row, where the homeless former Julliard student Nathaniel Ayers was living. Lopez/Downey said Skid Row was home to "rats the size of meatloafs."

Or, at least, that's what I thought I heard.

I checked the Times archives. But Lopez has never mentioned meatloaf and rats in the same column. (I guess he doesn't eat at Denny's.) So the supposed column excerpt was probably added by a screenwriter.

The idea of a plural "meatloaf" interests me. The word is usually treated as a mass noun. (As opposed to a count noun. Think "milk" as opposed to "marbles.") But must it be? Can we have our meatloaf and count our meatloaves/fs, too?

Neither Webster's New World College Dictionary, Merriam-Webster Online, American Heritage via Dictionary.com nor Dictionary.com's own entry offers a plural form or any discussion of whether "meatloaf" can be a count noun.

Dictionaries usually volunteer spellings of irregular plurals. For example, under "loaf" Webster's includes: "pl. loaves." So we can only assume that the dictionaries aren't down with "meatloaf" as a count noun.

That leaves us to wonder: Just how big is a rat the size of "meatloaf" and would it, therefore, have a guitar and a bit part in the "Rocky Horror Picture Show"?

That'd be one rat out of Hell.

(I know. The musician's name is two words. Still, I couldn't resist.)

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Thursday, April 30, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional, cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)


pandowdy

APPLE PANDOWDY (1795–1805, Americanism; perh. var. of obs. dial. [Somerset] pandoulde custard)

apple pandowdy

a deep-dish apple pie or cobbler, usually sweetened with molasses


It's true. Due to my penchant for bizarre word associations, all this pandemic talk is making me hungry.

Actually, it gets even weirder when you consider that 1. I've never had anything served under the name of pandowdy and 2. I don't even know how I learned the word. Might have been in a nursery rhyme I heard as a child. Or maybe I'm confusing it with someone named Pam whom others called dowdy (or perhaps doughty. Either way, she sounded delicious).

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Thursday, April 23, 2009

Words That Should Get a Divorce



"fall" and "precipitously"

As in, "Today we saw stocks fall precipitously."

For one thing, "precipitously" is codependent, following "fall" around like a puppy dog, as if there's no other word in the world it could modify. (I mean, even "profusely," which is way too codependent on "sweating," spends some time hanging out with "bleeding.")

More important, once I looked it up, I saw that "precipitously" is in a weird state that, according to American Heritage, constitutes a bona fide "usage problem."

Per American Heritage, "precipitously" is muscling in on the turf of "precipately." That is, whereas it traditionally meant "steeply," it's being used a lot to mean "hastily" or "rashly."

Personally, I don't see why being in a transitional state constitutes a usage problem. Lots of words are in transition. Perhaps most of them. In this case, the real problem seems to be that the dictionary makers are just being too stubborn to admit the damn usage already.

But this does bolster my position that it's a lousy word. I don't think I've ever heard anyone use it to mean "steeply." Instead, it seems everyone thinks it means "wildly" or "like crazy" or "really, really fast."

Mainly, though, I just don't like parasitic words that can't man up and branch out every once in a while. (Hey, I never said I was sane.)

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Thursday, April 16, 2009

Words My Sister's Looking Up (Similar to one in an occasional series on words I'm looking up, just with less work for me)

hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

n. Fear of long words -- Dictionary.com

Somewhat reluctantly, I 'spose I should add that neither Webster's New World College Dictionary, Merriam-Webster online, or American Heritage online recognize this word. Still. Fun stuff. Shout out to my sister Diane for calling this to my attention.

And there was something else she called to my attention. Our mother's maiden name was Little. So in a culture where children take the mother's name followed by the father's name, our name would be, in essence, Little Big House.


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Friday, March 6, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

index



I could have sworn that, years ago, I learned that the proper plural was "indices" and that "indexes" was a less-preferred form that was slowly gaining dominance.

Nope.

Webster's New World, American Heritage, and Merriam-Webster all list "indexes" as the first choice for the plural. A Google search shows that users feel the same way, 75 million to 42 million in favor of "indexes."

So I pulled out my 1955 Oxford Universal Dictionary, certain I'd find evidence that the preference for "indexes" was a recent development. Nope again. This big dusty book also prefers "indexes."

Too bad. I like "indices." If it were preferred, it would be like a fun plot twist in the middle of written work -- something to keep you on your toes. But no.

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Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Words I Wish Would Go Away Now


plumping

Men may not have noticed, but "plump" has been gaining popularity as a transitive verb. Seems everywhere I turn, some youth pusher is offering to plump my business. They're hawking products that promise to "plump" my lips and "plump up" my wrinkles.

Here are Google News search results for "plumping" for the last nine years (using March 4 as the beginning of each one-year period):

2008-9 = 672 hits
2007-8 = 786 hits
2006-7 = 832 hits
2005-6 = 753 hits
2004-5 = 672 hits
2003-4 = 513 hits
2002-3 = 389 hits
2001-2 = 269 hits
2000-1 = 219 hits

In addition to its day job as an adjective (a plump Christmas goose), "plump" has long worked as a verb. And before the era of Botox and collagen injections, it was mainly a cool one. Its definitions include "to drop abruptly or heavily: plumped into the easy chair," "to give full support or praise: plumped for the candidate" and "to throw down or drop (something) abruptly or heavily: plumped the books onto the table."

"Plump" also has some fun gigs as noun (a heavy or abrupt fall or collision), an ajective (blunt, direct), and an adverb (with a full or sudden impact: walked plump into the pole).

But its recently popularity as a marketing tool for beauty products is working my nerves. I don't want to buy something that plumps me or any part of me -- at least not while I'm working so hard to squeeze into skinny jeans.

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Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional, cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)



Chartreuse


This word seems to have fallen out of my world for more than a decade. I had almost forgotten it. Then, yesterday, Michelle Obama's outfit revived this word in my mind. From Webster's New World:




Chartreuse (after La Grande Chartreuse, Carthusian monastery in France) trademark for a yellow, pale-green, or white liqueur made by the Carthusian monks
n.
1 [occas. c-] this liqueur
2 [c-] pale, yellowish green
adj.
[c-] of the color chartreuse









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Friday, December 5, 2008

Some Words from Today's Headlines

This AOL headline today caught my eye and grated my ear.
Natalie Facing Ugly Allegations; Murdered Boy's Stepfather Sues Chick for Spreading Lies
It took me a while to realize why someone would use "Chick" here. The person in question is a member of the species known collectively as "Dixie Chicks." (Not my scene, man, which is why it took me a minute to piece it together.)

I've long had a spinal reaction to the word "chick." It's not just a feminist thing. I find it more icky when women use "chick" than when men do. A man's use of "chick" has a sort of Richie Cunningham connotation: a boy who likes girls. A woman's use of "chick" has the opposite ring in my ear: It sounds competitive and kind of hateful: a girl who hates other girls. Like, "There's this chick in school who's a total slut." Clearly, this is based on my limited experience (and also a glimpse into why I didn't find high school the most pleasant environment). But that's how it strikes my ear.

Of course, the band name the Dixie Chicks is self-referential, which in my mind means different rules apply. It's not a pretty sound, but it's not hateful, either. The K sound and the S sound in "Dixie" are a little harsh, and added to the K sound and the S sound in "chicks," it's rough on the ear. At least it's not dripping with high-school-girl contempt, though.

Here's another of today's headlines that caught my interest word-wise:
Stocks Rebound on Defensives and Banks
I hadn't heard "defensives" in a market context before. I wondered if it meant defense stocks. But no, the writers used it to mean a group of stocks including biotechs.

The first noun form of "defensive," according to my Webster's, is:
[Obs.] something that defends.
That "obs." means obsolete. So either the headline writers revived a basically dead word, or this dead word is not dead in the specialized lingo of the stock market and I'm just too much of an outsider (not my scene, man) to know it. (I'm chicky like that.)


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Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

doff

Came across this* in a story I'm copy editing.
A 52-foot-tall replica of Bobby the Robot officially starts the event by doffing his top hat in a salute to this year’s theme, “Hats Off to Hanukkah.”

With well-guarded hope in my heart, I looked up "doffing." Alas, there's no way to interpret "doffing one's hat" as something dirty.
doff: 1. to take off; remove: doff one's clothes. 2. to tip or remove (one's hat) in salutation. 3. to put aside; discard. — American Heritage Dictionary

And, once again, a robot lets me down.


*As always, I diguised the text a little.

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Monday, November 3, 2008

Words I'm Looking Up and a Word Against Our Sponsors

alumnus
Until editing a story today, I never stopped to wonder whether the word "alumnus" referred only to graduates of a specific institution or whether it also applied to former students who did not graduate.

The answer is that, yes, it applies to former students who did not graduate. But that answer came with some additional info I hadn't anticipated: Some sources say that "alumnus" is exclusively for males.

I'll let American Heritage online explain:


NOUN:
Inflected forms: pl. a·lum·ni (-n)A male graduate or former
student of a school, college, or university.

USAGE NOTE:
Alumnus and alumna both come from Latin and preserve Latin
plurals. Alumnus is a masculine noun whose plural is alumni, and alumna is a
feminine noun whose plural is alumnae. Coeducational institutions usually use
alumni for graduates of both sexes. But those who object to masculine forms in
such cases may prefer the phrase alumni and alumnae or the form alumnae/i, which
is the choice of many women's colleges that have begun to admit men.

Dictionary.com's definition contains no mention of gender. Webster's New World College Dictionary takes a middle position:

a person, especially a boy or man, who has attended or is a graduate of a
particular school, college, etc.

I know you Latin language buffs probably already knew that. I just found it interesting that the Americans adapting the term can't yet decide on this.

* * *

I try to refrain from political commentary here -- the reason being that, after far too many years on this planet, I finally realized nobody cares what I think and they're certainly not looking to me to help them change their minds about stuff they've already made up their minds about.

However, today there's a "Yes on Prop 8" Google ad on my blog. In light of that, I feel I should say that I oppose California's Proposition 8. And I wish to hell that people would stop treating our state constitution as a vehicle for accomplishing political ends not handled to their satisfaction at the legislative level.

I should, of course, contact Google and figure out how to edit ads. But I have a full work day, a trip and public appearance to prepare for in two days, more weird freelancy stuff on top of that, and a very sick husband at home who one minute craves orange Gatorade but can't keep down the red flavor and the next minute can't keep down the orange flavor but craves the red. So by the time I figure out how to get that ad off my blog, the election will be over. So it's easier just to say:

I'm voting NO on California's Proposition 8 and hope everyone else does, too.



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Thursday, October 16, 2008

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)

hurtle
hurdle


You’re running like the wind, hauling tail Indian Jones-style through some busy marketplace. You’re shoving things out of the way, colliding into people, and leaping over displays of merchandise with a single bound. So are you hurdling or hurtling?

Answer: both.

The running part can be called hurtling. The leaping part is hurdling.

Per American Heritage online.

hurtle: 1. to rush violently; move with great speed: ‘The car hurtled down the highway.’ 2. to move or go noisily or resoundingly

hurdle (the verb form): 1. to leap over (a barrier) in or as if in a race. 2. to
overcome or deal with successfully; surmount: ‘hurdle a problem.’

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Friday, August 22, 2008

Wonderings and Googlings (Wherein I wonder about words, then I Google them)


Here are some sample hits from a search for the word atrocious.
The atrocious sequel to Are We There Yet?

We've been keeping tabs on the Associated Press's atrocious campaign
coverage this year.

$100 million private-equity buyout boosts (are) atrocious

Do you remember the atrocious and disappointing OECD report on
counterfeiting?


And here are some sample hits for this adjective's noun form, atrocity(ies).
Conditions of atrocity: The crimes at Abu Ghraib are a direct expression of
the kind of war we are waging in Iraq.

In the first months after 9/11, the administration's ruthless exploitation
of the atrocity was a choice, not a necessity.

All varieties of atrocity: battle deaths, civilian casualties of war,
democide, famine caused by the economic disruption.


Other hits for atrocity/atrocities referenced Nuremberg, the Nanjing Massacre, and "Bosnian Muslim atrocities in Srebrenica."

Okay, so now that I've thoroughly bummed you out, I hope you don't mind me pondering the question: How did these two words -- really the same word as different parts of speech -- come to have such very different connotations?

Atrocity, it seems, is used to mean slaughter and bloodshed and torture, while atrocious is often used to ridicule bad sitcoms, bad hair days, and other non-brutal bad choices.

Why? I don't know. But I have a theory. It's a conspiracy theory pointing to a 6-foot-tall English-speaking mouse. A tyrant whose atrocities include forcing innocent children to wear plastic ears and those "Escape from Witch Mountain" movies of the '70s.

My evidence: "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious. ..."

Yes, methinks mesmells Mickey brand sanitizer.

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Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of grammar snobbery … (On “yay,” “yea,” and “yeah.”)


As someone who’s made a career (sort of) out of tilting against grammar snobs, it’s hard for me to admit the darker side of my true nature. Yet when I’m honest, there’s no denying it: I have a meanie streak. And it goes way back -- all the way to middle school.

In those pre-Blackberry days, girls passed notes. The cooler you were, the more notes you got. As a mere satellite in the cool-girl constellation, I didn’t get many. But I got enough to know that the notes covered just three topics: guys, clothes, and repressive authority figures. The topics all had one thing in common: They all provided the opportunity to cheer -- to express in print something that, when spoken, sounds like “yay.”

But, in the notes, the cool girls all spelled it “yeah.”

Perhaps if I’d been invited to more sleepovers or shopping outings, I wouldn’t have even noticed. But, as it turned out, I had plenty of time on my hands to think how, if they were as smart as me, they would have spelled it “yay,” you know, something that rhymes with “bay.” Not “yeah,” which has the same vowel sound as “pat.”

Occasionally, they also spelled it “yea,” which seemed better. At least it seemed to have the right vowel sound, even if it did read like something Moses would say to his flock.

Finally twentymumbmumble years later, I looked it up.

American Heritage Dictionary affirms my petty attempts to feel better about not being more popular.

“Yay,” it says, is an “alteration” of “yea” and has the same pronunciation. But unlike "yea," which usually means "indeed" or something like that, "yay" is “used as an exclamation of pleasure, approval, elation, or victory.”

“Yeah” has the same basic vowel sound as “pat,” American Heritage says. It means “yes,” not “hurray.”

And if you attended Morgan Fitzgerald Middle School circa 1980, that’s all you need to know. You can stop reading here. Go on now. I’m sure you girls have some shopping or character assassination to do. In fact, look. I think see a heavyset girl with high-waisted acid wash jeans over there. Off you go, now. Bye bye.

They gone? Good.

Now I can confess to the rest of you that Webster’s New World College Dictionary doesn’t quite agree.

According to this Webster's, the correct word to use as a synonym for “hurray” is actually “yea.” The one I preferred, “yay,” is an alternate spelling of “yea.” The spelling "yay," Webster’s says, also is also the one you use to write, “I caught a fish yay big,” or, if you’re a formerly cute but now Us-Magazine-reading Floridian named Brenda or Tracey or Vikki, it's the one you use to write, “I owe June a hug yay big.”

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Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Words I'm Looking Up (One in an occasional, cleverly named series on words I'm looking up)


Can you say "You did it good" to mean "You did it well"? Yup.

Webster's New World lists good as an adverb. A synonym for well.

American Heritage does too, but clearly labels it "informal."

Merriam-Webster allows it, too, but includes the note:

Adverbial good has been under attack from the schoolroom since the 19th century. Insistence on well rather than good has resulted in a split in connotation: well is standard, neutral, and colorless, while good is emotionally charged and emphatic. This makes good the adverb of choice in sports <“I'm seeing the ball real good” is what you hear — Roger Angell>. In such contexts as good cannot be adequately replaced by well. Adverbial good is primarily a spoken form; in writing it occurs in reported and fictional speech and in generally familiar or informal contexts..
I'm not sure I buy that business about a split connotation. But I like that they included a note of caution. Personally, I'll take this word of caution to heart. People tend to rough me up when I use adjective-sounding words as adverbs. But it's good to know I have a solid defense if I slip up.

Thanks to Dennis Shay over at RedRoom.com for the suggestion!

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