Not what you think it means

I just discovered the (real) word "galactagogue," and am immensely disappointed to learn that it does not in fact refer to a galactic demagogue.

Oy.

There is a font called "Serif of Nottingham."

Wow.

Bayonet

Today I learned that those little prongs on the sides of the Kitchen-Aid paddles (that slide in and then turn to lock) are officially called "bayonet fittings" or "bayonet mounts."  And that some electrical devices (fuses, light bulbs) are made with them.  They're called that, straightforwardly enough, because that's how you used to attach a bayonet to your rifle.  Not a mount shaped like a bayonet (my first thought), but a mount for a bayonet.

Let me see if I can find a picture.  Oh, never mind, just go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bayonet_mount.  They've got some good examples.

Oyster? I hardly know 'er!

Oyster crackers.  They're fairly ubiquitous, especially in New England.  I've been eating them for years, especially in chowders and the like.  Eventually, it occurred to me to wonder why they're called oyster crackers-- they're certainly not made from oysters, after all, the way oyster sauce is.

It turns out that the etymology of the name is actually somewhat opaque, lost in the mists of time.  But the general consensus seems to be that they are not named so because they look like closed oysters (they don't, really), but simply that they were originally very popular in oyster stew¹.

¹http://books.google.com/books?id=6N8XAQAAMAAJ&pg=PA346#v=onepage&q&f=false

Dewey? Or Do We Not?

The Dewey Decimal system, though widely known of (if not actually widely known itself-- quick, anyone know the code for theodicy?  Didn't think so*) is far from the only classification system used by libraries.

Melvil Dewey himself was not an absolutist about his system, and in fact helped encourage a contemporary, one Charles Cutter, to develop an alternative called (somewhat unimaginatively) the Cutter Expansive Classification System.

At the time, Cutter was serving as a librarian for the Boston Athenaeum, a rather well-regarded institution as such things go.  It was specifically designed as a response to those who found earlier systems (some of Cutter's included) a little bit too complicated and unwieldy.  Rather than create an elaborate scheme that would include all possible subjects (a noble although clearly flawed endeavor-- after all, where did Dewey expect to classify all of the books on quantum computing?  Or, for that matter, urban fantasy featuring tough but sensitive women who like to pose with their backs to the audience holding a weapon in an outfit that does not quite reveal a tattoo?), Cutter created an "expandable" system, that could be adjusted based on the requirements of the library.

For example, a small local library might only need use the First Classification, which just groups books into A) Reference works and Other; B) Philosophy and Religion; E) Biography; F) History and Geography;
H) Social sciences; L) Natural sciences and Arts; Y) Language and Literature; and YF) Fiction.  Some of the libraries near me clearly still use this system as I have just realized while typing this paragraph, as it reveals that some of the books I had been somewhat surprised to find labeled "Youth Fiction" actually weren't.  Oops.  As the library size increases, other categories can be added as needed-- such as C) for Judeo-Christian matter.  Eventually, all of the letters are used.

Following the major classification codes, it gets a bit more complicated.  But basically, after that first class mark letter, you might see one or more secondary characters indicating a subclass.  Then you'll see a punctuation mark that indicates the size of the book.  Then there'll be another set of characters that are usually derived from the name of the author and the title of the book, although these are often converted to something called Cutter Numbers which I don't even but basically just serve to help fit all this information onto a book spine.

For example-- QA 76.76 H94 M88 breaks down as follows:  Before the punctuation, we have the category codes.  The first Q indicates science.  QA 76 is a subcategory; computer science.  The period indicates a normal sized book.  76 H94 indicate further subspecialties (Automation, HTML), and the final group indicates the author's name (Musciano).

So as you can see, at the top level, there's just as much possibility for complexity as the Dewey system.  But only if you need it-- otherwise, you might just see "YF.But StFr" (Jim Butcher's Storm Front).


*Knowing my friends, one of you will probably chime in with the correct number just to be a wiseacre.  That's ok, I don't mind.

Weekend random

This weekend I learned two things--

First, that if you see the abbreviation "geth." in a German music score, it's an abbreviation for "getheilt" and means "divided."

Second, Cotswold makes a damned fine grilled cheese sandwich.

It's been an odd weekend.

Vernor Vinge

Today I learned that sci-fi author Vernor Vinge's last name is pronounced /'vɪndʒi/, or "VIN-jee".  It rhymes with "stingy," not with "hinge."

This is something that I've honestly wondered about for quite some time.  Based on what I've seen and heard, I am far from the only one who's wondered about this.


Source :
http://www.tor.com/blogs/2011/08/a-chat-with-vernor-vinge

Word for the Day -- Izzat

"Izzat" is a Hindi term, taken ultimately from Arabic, meaning (variously) "honor" or "dignity," or in some cases "prestige."

As Kipling says, in William the Conquerer,
'Scott spoke forcefully to Faiz Ullah and the two policemen, and bade them capture goats where they could find them.  This they most joyfully did, for it was a recreation, and many ownerless goats were driven in.  Once fed, the poor brutes were willing enough to follow the carts, and a few days' good food- food such as human beings died for lack of- set them in milk again.
'But I am no goatherd,' said Faiz Ullah. 'It is against my izzat.'
'When we cross the Bias River again we will talk of izzat,' Scott replied. 'Till that day thou and the policemen shall be sweepers to the camp, if I give the order.'"

So there you go.  And next time someone asks you, "What izzat?", you'll know!

Mew

Kitten heels supposedly got their name because the small thin heel resembles a kitten's claw.

Supposedly.

Also, I appear to be on a shoe kick right now.  So to speak.

Word for the Day-- God's Penny

According to the Big Book, God's Penny is ": a penny or small sum paid as earnest money esp. on concluding a purchase or hiring a servant."  It's like saying, "I promise I'll pay you, but in the meantime here's a little something from God to tide you over."

On the one hand, it's kind of nice, since you're getting a little extra.  On the other, the more I think about it the odder it gets.  "Hey, God, what, you can't spare more than a penny?"  Or alternatively, "Um, why does God need a starship servant?"  Also, "You're paying on behalf of God?  Shouldn't that be the Pope's job or something?"  Seriously, the more I think about it the stranger it seems.

Hmm.  A little more research shows that it's not actually supposed to be money from God, but rather money given in the sight of God-- sort of equivalent to "As God is my witness, I will pay you the agreed upon money."  Which is still odd, but I guess not quite as odd.  Because you're still suggesting that the money has some sort of significance to God, which, what?  I mean, that works if you still worship Mammon or something, but the Judeo-Christian God is sort of supposed to be beyond all that.

Mm.  Black's Law Dictionary (or at least what appears to be a poorly edited OCR scan of it) suggests that the small sum was customarily then given to charity or as alms.  Which does more or less finally make sense of the name, actually.  I'm actually sort of disappointed.  This was much more fun when it didn't make any sense at all.  Alas.

Wintershin

This one goes out to lietya, for reasons.

The name "wintergreen" is applied to a variety of plants, because once upon a time it just meant "plants that stay green in winter."  These days, many of those plants are called "evergreen" instead.  One set of these plants, although sadly not the ones that produce the wintergreen flavor (methyl salicylate) are in the genus Pyrola, "commonly" called shinleaf.

Chinese noodles

According to Wikipedia (I know, I know), the words "mein" and "fun" that appear in the names of Chinese noodle dishes are indicators of the type of starch the noodle is made from.  "Mein" noodles are made from wheat, and "fun" noodles are made from rice.  Not that lo mein can't be fun, mind you. [/obvious joke]

And, of course, in America foreign food terminology has a tendency to get really really confused, so there are no guarantees-- if you're trying to be gluten-free, buying chow fun might help, but then it might not.

Word for the Day - Dégagé

The word dégagé is possibly my new favorite word-- at the very least, it's my favorite word until I get distracted by something shiny, such as the new banking app that lets me deposit checks from my living room.  I love the future.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.  Dégagé is defined by the Big Book of choice as

1 : free of mental engagement and constraint of manner : carefree and indifferent to decorum : EASYGOING <I adopted a dégagé pose on the arm of a Morris chair -- S.J.Perelman> <rather dégagé after the nervousness he had shown at dinner -- Edmund Wilson>
2 : marked by a free and easy show of unconcern for strict conventions <the famous slouch hat with the nonchalant dégagé air -- A.J.Liebling> <a model of crushed pink velvet dipped low over one eye and soaring in a dégagé movement on the opposite side -- Hats>

It's like being nonchalant, or easygoing, only with less implications of slack and more class.  Because it's French.  I like to think that it describes me, actually.  But then, I suppose I would.  Also, I would like a slouch hat, even if it isn't necessarily famous.  I don't really need one made of pink velvet, though, no matter how Mad my Hatterdom.  That's a little bit too dégagé.

Word for the Day -- ???

The tank in which sugar cane juice is clarified by treating it with a reagent (such as lime), heating it, and then separating out the scum and sediment, is, or at least was in the late 1800's, called a defecator.

Because deep down, I'm still 13 years old.

Ok, it's not really that deep down.

Word for the day -- Dead stock

I've heard of livestock.  Everyone's heard of livestock.  But did you know that there's also dead stock? Dead stock is, basically, all of the farm stuff (tools, equipment, etc.) that is not livestock.  So a tractor is dead stock.  Or a harvester.  And an ax handle is dead stock woodstock, maybe.

Word For the Day -- Dandy funk

Although this conjures images of a well-dressed gentleman in top hat and tails getting down with his bad self to the strains of Marcus Miller*, "dandy funk" is actually a foodstuff.

It is, according to the Authority, "hardtack soaked in water and baked with grease and molasses."  The OED concurs, calling it "hard tack soaked in water and baked with fat and molasses."  That's a very important distinction in there, you betcha (although they do indicate that they think it was more commonly a closed compound, "dandyfunk").  The Encyclopaedia Britannica offers up no opinion, which is probably just as well.  It is alternatively described as "a mess made of powdered biscuits, molasses and slush," a staple(?) of sea-going fare, guaranteed to keep you alive, if not terribly happy.

Also, ew.  Definitely need your grog ration if you want to choke that down.

*I have no actual funk favorite (or even particularly any knowledge), I just Googled "greatest funk" and picked a name at random out of the lists that came up.

Cutty Sark

Ok, so the whiskey is named after 


the ship 


which was named after the "garment" worn by a fictional Scottish witch 


from a Robert Burns poem, and it translates basically to "short [cutty] (under)shirt [sark]".


For those of you seeing this on LiveJournal, there are probably a bunch of inexplicable gaps.  Those were pictures.

Word for the Day - Curse of Scotland

There are a lot of interesting language tidbits surrounding games, and poker has some of the best.  There's the evocative language of the game itself-- terms for varieties of the game, like "stud," "High Chicago," or "Follow the Queen."   There are nicknames for parts of particular games, such as Texas Hold 'em's "turn" and "river" (the fourth and fifth community cards).  And most people have at least heard of "the Dead Man's Hand," (two pair, aces and eights), supposedly the hand that Wild Bill Hickock was holding when he was shot in 1876.  But I think the absolute best one I have ever heard is "the Curse of Scotland," otherwise known as... the nine of diamonds.


It seems like an odd card to have such an inauspicious nickname, but there are several explanations floating around.  The most lurid (and least convincing) involves a Scottish general writing the orders for an massacre on the back of a nine of diamonds (due apparently to lack of paper).  A slightly more convincing explanation, although still without much actual supporting evidence, draws from the resemblance between the nine of diamonds and the coat of arms of Sir John Dalrymple, 1st Earl of Stair, who was known for being a ruthless and brutal commander.  Either way, I can't wait until I find some way to work this into a friendly game of cards.

The Dalrymple/Stair crest.

Glonous History

For those of you out there who are partial to a common form of Americanized Chinese cuisine, and have been for at least a little while, you may be familiar with the archetypical example of what is sometimes (unflatteringly) called "Engrish," to wit: The Chopstick Instructions.

For those who can't read past the glare, it says, "Welcome to Chinese Restaurant.  please try your Nice Chinese Food With Chopsticks the traditional and typical of Chinese glonous history.  and cultual."

While I cannot speak to the typicalness of its glonous history, I did just find out that "cultual" is an actual word.  It means "of or relating to cult or worship."

Given the excessive number of posts and images on the web about this particular chopstick exemplar, I have to admit the word may not be completely ill-chosen.

Word(s) for the Day-- #%(#

This post is for all of you out there who are still 13 years old, no matter how many years you've lived.

These are (I believe) all of the words from Webster's Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged that refer to the "droppings/dung/excrement" of specific animals.  Not just generic euphemisms for poop; I have no doubt that would be another 80 or so*.  No, these are the entries that name specific creatures, or at least specific classes or types of creature, and their respective leavings.

album graecum (dogs/hyenas, especially when used in tanning)
argol (camels, especially as used for fuel)
buffalo chips  (buffalo, natch)
buttons (sheep)
casson (cattle)
cast (earthworms)
cow pat (cows)
cowshard (cows)
cowsharn (cows)
crottels (hares)
fiants ("fox, wolf, boar, or badger," which is delightfully specific and various at the same time)
frass (insects)
fumet/fewmet (deer, or dragons if you're a fan of Madeline L'Engle)
guano (bats)
horse apples  (horses, of courses)
horseshit (horses)
lesses ("beast of prey"; the OED has "the dung of a ‘ravenous’ animal, as a wild boar, wolf, or bear")
mute (bird)
ornithocopros (birds)
pellet (mouse or rabbit)
shard (cow)
spraints (the winner! Defined in its entirety as "otter's dung".)
whitewash  (birds)

*Remind me to share my list of English words that can be used to mean "snow" at some point.  I'm up to 78 of those so far-- far more than the Inuit (three or four base words plus modifiers).