I took the same line of thinking as ruzuzu when it came to yarb/bray/emordnilap. In other instances I matched words to people who'd listed/commented on them or made expressions of fondness (chained bear/wodge). As for the rest, my rationale doesn't bear scrutiny.
frindley says: when the revolution comes I will ban all use of this phrase outside sporting contexts. If another arts marketer tells me that their romantic concert of baroque arias or exhibition of Chinese porcelain will "kick off", I will most likely kick something.
Down here in the Antipodes "sneak peek" has become the latest fad for social notworking arts marketers. It seems everyone wants to offer you sneak peeks of things, including (very often) things that have (a) already happened and (b) are public.
My only consolation is that it may yet drive out the unhealthy predilection for having everything kick off, even concerts of baroque arias on the theme of love.
I believe it's what we call a madeupical – a staunchly upheld wordie/nik tradition. This is a particularly fine example of the breed – I can sense the flavour intended just by looking at it. It comes across as a milder variant of noisome.
A question: how do we find wordies (i.e. profiles)? The only search box appears to be strictly for words, and when I search for user profiles I know exist, nothing comes up.
Another question: Is there are way to get the comment entry box to the top? I just had to scroll right down to the bottom of the page to get to it, which seems odd when the most recent comment is at the top.
Oh yes, whichbe, I think that was me (re user preference for going straight to "comments" when you click on a word).
I've since noticed that if a word has comments you can click on the comments link and thus go straight to the bit you want, so that's a useful thing to know, but if it's a virgin word you still have to go via the definitions/reference area first.
What, for example, is the longer form of "kelpie"?
The origin of "brumby" is uncertain, but at least one possibility is that it was from a proper name, Brumby, and another is that it has Aboriginal origins, baroombie – so again, not really a shortening, and the "-ie" sound already present.
"Esky" is a shortening from eskimo, I guess, but the "-ie" sound already present, not added. That's probably borderline, in that it would have been adopted as a brandname to appeal to the Aussie tendency.
Rarely: ordeal, martyrdom. Frequently: a soldier's first experience of battle. As a result, and more generally: a tough first encounter with anything, especially when the training or preparation is necessarily insufficient. The latter is primarily how I use it and hear it used. (For example, I arrived at my job in the United States the week when the Executive Dir. was on vacation and we were staging the first concerts of the season. To say it was full on was an understatement. Two phrases were thrown about: "thrown in the deep end" and "baptism of fire".)
Background is interesting as it appears there's a religious meaning and a military meaning and the conflation of the two in English may have come about from a mishearing or mistranslation of a French phrase. (As of writing, Wikipedia's entry on this phrase "corrects" the French without explanation, cites Online Etymology.)
Baptism of fire (in the more literal sense of ordeal, martyrdom) has biblical origins, e.g. Matthew 3:11 "I indeed baptise you with water unto repentance: but he that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptise you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire."
Baptism of fire (military sense) first appears in O'Meara's Napoleon in Exile, 1822: "I love a brave soldier who has undergone, le baptême du fer, whatever nation he may belong to." In other words a baptism of iron or a baptism of the blade. This informative site gives the English "baptism of fire" as first appearing 1857.
(See bilby's Anzac Day list for the comments that sent me off on this tangent.)
Yes, it's spruik to rhyme with juke. I have had the entertaining discovery today that this is an Australian word of uncertain origin.
The Australian Macquarie Dictionary offers: /spruk/ (say sproohk) Colloquial --verb (i) 1. to harangue or address a meeting: to spruik the benefits of a unionised workforce. 2. to harangue prospective customers to entice them into a show, strip joint, shop, etc.: *In Chinatown they are now subtly spruiking for custom. --herald, 1990. --verb (t) 3. to promote; argue publicly for: to spruik the new legislation.origin uncertain --spruiker, noun
The New Shorter Oxford adds NZ to the mix, dates it as early 20th century, has no further clues about origins and says: "Esp. of a showman; hold forth, speak in public." With the spruiker, therefore, "a speaker employed to attract custom to a sideshow, a barker; a public speaker."
The spelling makes me wonder whether there's some Dutch or South African in there. Certainly there's a family resemblance to spreken, sprechen and that general family of words.
According to one source it applies only to quadrupeds: "That part of the spine which reaches from betwixt the shoulder blades to the loins. This name seems only applicable to quadrupeds, because they cannot reach it to scratch."
But I don't know – there's definitely a small part of my back that I can't scratch satisfactorily, and I'm bipedal all the way.
Coined by H.L. Mencken, c./pre-1940 from ecdysis, Greek word referring to the shedding of an outer layer of skin in snakes, crustaceans and insects; or moulting.
Gypsy Rose Lee took an objection apparently: "Ecdysiast, he calls me! Why, the man Mencken…has been reading books! Dictionaries! We don't wear feathers and molt them off…What does he know about stripping?" (Clearly she'd been reading a dictionary or two herself.)
Today I went past a small ethnic restaurant called "King Tut's Hut". I would always pronounced this "Toot", like the beginning of Tutankhamen. But I wondered whether, in combination with "Hut", the expectation was that we'd pronounce the name to rhyme with the following word. Then, to complicate matters, there was a slogan painted on the window: "Toot and come in." Hmm.
The effectiveness of this title depends so much on how you pronounce the Don's name.
In Australia my mother's generation (but not my mother for some reason) pronounced it "kwiksit". "Quik Quixote" pronounced this way would have quite a nice ring to it. But it's more likely nowadays to be pronounced in a vaguely Spanish way (kee-ho-tay), which spoils the effect in this instance.
"You may not have heard of amortality before — mainly because I've just coined the term. It's about more than just the ripple effect of baby boomers' resisting the onset of age. Amortality is a stranger, stronger alchemy, created by the intersection of that trend with a massive increase in life expectancy and a deep decline in the influence of organized religion — all viewed through the blue haze of Viagra."
I guess she may have coined that particular slant on the word (a portmanteau of "amoral immortality" seems to be the gist of it), but not the word itself.
Australian composer Rae Marcellino, used it as a title for a quartet for cello, guitar, marimba and piano in 1997: Amortality, the art of love and death (A nicer portmanteau of "amor and mortality".)
Then there seems to be currency in medical circles.
1. The home page is simple and elegant. 2. The design doesn't randomly change in ways that remove most of the functionality you've come to value. 3. It's not trying to be something it's not (unless, in a spirit of whimsy, you count flickr). 4. It's able to waste my time for longer while leaving me with the vague feeling that I might have been improving my mind. 5. Did I mention that the design doesn't change?
On a more serious note, I would also nominate shoeters. Not because they necessarily look bad (quite the contrary) but simply because it's so very foolish to endure extreme discomfort in the service of fashion.
We need a word for any skirt that's wider than it is long. (Skwirt, perhaps?)
And don't say mini-skirt. If you can wear a skirt that stops 20cm/8" or so from the floor when kneeling and it's still longer than it is wide this isn't a fashion faux pas. It's not a matter of absolute length but of relative proportions…
Exactly! It's the strangest feeling. As if I've hopped on a bicycle and found I've forgotten how to ride it. I hope my experience will prove to be more like ice-skating: a few laps around the rink and I'll have found my groove again. Is there a word? Will ponder.
Then there is the common (and very real) condition amongst violinists and violists. It's a deep red round spot on the neck, just where the end pin of the violin/viola (holds the tail piece in place) rubs. Looks for all the world like a permanent hickey.
It's for the three-hundredth anniversary of Samuel Johnson's birth, and the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, at Yale, is "blogging" daily entries from the first edition of Johnson's "A Dictionary of the English Language" (1755). You get images from the original proof copy, which includes Johnson's annotations.
Into the Bs now, with words like backfriend (a friend back-wards; that is, an enemy in secret – my friend speculates whether this is a precursor to frenemy).
New year resolutions are doomed to failure. So this year I'm going to try Ephiphany Resolutions instead. At the very least it has a nice ring to it and suggests something of both inspiration and wisdom.
My problem with new year resolutions is that number one on the list is always "go to bed before pumpkin hour" – and of course the nature of new year's eve is such that I break it instantly! I think I might opt for Epiphany Resolutions this year instead.
Seen on facebook: "WiiCritic attaches to your face and rings up your points when you purse your lips impatiently, sigh inaudibly, or simply turn your head away in that peculiar critic mix of sorrow and disgust."
8: I know this is totally wrong. (How do I know? not only because the sequence in the logic is off but because of internet caching and this question having been asked in 2006.) But here, regardless, is my proposal, just for the hell of it: Béla Lugosi.
Hoboken would have been a more satisfying solution if this Dutch name had meant something in English, as O.E. Deutsch's name does.
The fact that it doesn't is what diminished my confidence in the answer, since you gave Schubert : German as the clue, rather than Schubert : Deutsch. But then, if you'd given the latter I would have gotten it in the twinkling of an eye and perhaps that would have been less fun for the spectators…
Alas yes. There was a time last century when Alfvén's Midsummer Vigil piece (Midsommarvaka, aka in a watered-down version as Swedish Rhapsody No.1) was programmed on orchestral concerts all over the world all the time.
12: Ok, here's some convoluted rationalisation for you. One possible answer could be Hoboken. It goes like this: Schubert's catalogue numbers are Deutsch numbers (as in Otto Erich Deutsch, but the name does mean German) and Haydn's catalogue numbers are Hoboken numbers.
Another possible answer would hinge on the fact that Schubert wrote a German Mass (or Deutsche Messe). Unfortunately there isn't really a Haydn mass that makes a truly neat correspondence to that (with either a place/language as its nickname or written in some vernacular), with the possible exception of the Mariazeller Messe.
Neither of these possibilities seem really convincing (to me), but with enough gymnastics they kind of work. But no doubt I will wake up at three in the morning with the simple, elegant solution staring me in the face…
Coming to this very late and finding 21 already solved, I was caught out by my own expectations when I eventually scrolled down to the question. Say Mendelssohn and Fingal's Cave to me and the artwork I think of isn't Turner's painting but a wood engraving from 1850. I can't find it online, but in composition and manner it's somewhat like this only a lot stormier and more turbulent looking.
The engraving captures something that Turner's outward-looking painting fails to show, but which is tremendously important, and here I quote Mendelssohn himself: "A greener roar of waves surely never surged into a stranger cavern, whose many pillars made it look like the inside of an immense organ, black and resonant, utterly without purpose, completely isolated."
Now regarding 12, you could be getting into tricky ground there. First, you know there's a thesis arguing that Haydn was Croatian? Part of the problem is the changing borders in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But for the most part he's regarded nowadays as Austrian (Rohrau is considered lower Austria, I think).
But what I can't work out is the "Schubert : German" clue. Because Schubert was most definitely Austrian. In fact he was one of the few composers who became famous in Vienna (Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn et al) who was actually born in that city.
So if it's Schubert and a country where he wasn't born and didn't visit, perhaps we need a country where Haydn wasn't born and didn't visit (which rules out England as well as Austria). But perhaps I'm being too clever for my own good. (I'm also implying that you've made a mistake, which is hasty.)
So pondering further… Schubert spoke German, but so did Haydn. Schubert wrote sets of German Dances for piano, but so did Haydn (fewer of them though); Haydn did write "London" and "Paris" Symphonies and many "British folksongs" but the parallel there isn't neat enough for my liking.
Clarification required around question 19: The clip is Baba Yaga (the Hut on Hen's Legs). It does eventually segue into the Great Gate of Kiev about half way in. Question is – should this be considered significant, or should we just listen to the second part of the audio clip the clue and ignore old Baba Yaga?
Oh, what the heck. I don't think Baba Yaga has anything to do with it at all. It's the Warsaw Concerto, isn't it?
Farewell, Farewell, you old rhinocerous I'll stare at something less prepocerous. - Ogden Nash
I needed to check a madeupical spelling matter and so I was brought to a certain rhino site. I am posting the link here, because not only does it outline what rhinos eat ("All rhinos are herbivores. Some eat grass; others eat buds, leaves, and fruit. They all eat a lot!"), it also posts clips of how they talk!
"A hero’s best friend. This ground-breaking addition to the game is integral to the theme of unconditional love in Fable II. The canine companion will act as friend, compass and protector. Players must merely feed their pooch and he will love unconditionally, creating a bond that sets up emotion-filled journeys all throughout this magical world."
Alas yes. Rather like decimate, quantum and "quantum leap/change" can't really be used precisely in everyday language. Best to leave it to the scientists, and confine it to the bin of corporate weasel words elsewhere
On cleaning out his car one day a man found a McDonald's apple pie under the front passenger seat. The packaging was in pristine condition and there was no sign of mold or deterioration, which amazed him, since he and his wife had sworn off McDonald's food more than three years before. Still, it looked good. So he took a bite. And it still burned his mouth!
So how do you dry your clothes? Personally, I love my hills hoist. And I didn't realise just how much until I lived in America for three years: not once was I able to hang my sheets out in the sunshine.
Fascinating. Let me explain how this word ended up on my list (and yes, the best synonym, and certainly what I intend when I use it, is air sandwich).
I came across it relatively recently, reported to me from a conversation about concert programming. A concert (I don't know which one) for an orchestra (not mine) was described thus by its creator(!). And it just struck me as a wonderfully apt phrase for the kind of concert program (I'm surmising here) where there are various nice things to be heard, but no actual meat, nothing to make that concert compelling for the audience and musicians. So I think I will use it myself when suitable occasions arise, while simultaneously hoping that they rarely do!
Without wanting to cause offence, I have to confess that I consider the wedge-shaped "scone" an abomination. Hard, dense, insufficiently flavoursome, inconveniently crumbly… Fit only for dessert after hard tack.
(Perhaps they taste ok straight out of the oven, but they're never sold that way, so I stand by my assessment.)
Several of the Harry Potter books came out while I was in the States, so I dressed up in my black opera cape and went to my local bookstore at midnight and bought them there. One year, on a visit to Australia, one of my niblings wanted the latest book in the series, so naturally I bought an Australian edition, which gave me a chance to compare.
There is one scene where McGonagall offers Harry a biscuit from a tartan tin (with British/Aussie readers assuming something crunchy, possibly, in the context, a shortbread biscuit). The exact line is something like: "Have a biscuit," she said, pushing a tartan tin towards him.
In the American edition (and I admired this for its deftness as well as refusal to completely kowtow) it read: "Have a biscuit," she said, pushing a tartan tin of cookies towards him.
It's deft in that McGonagall is not given a line that she would never have uttered, but at the same time the little American readers weren't left thinking that she was offering Harry a hot scone.
To answer the original question, I would consider biscotti to fall more or less into the British/Aussie biscuit category (although I'd use the Italian name here in Australia because they're not quite like ordinary biscuits either). Would Americans consider biscotti "cookies" I wonder?
PS. Notice they didn't try to translate "tartan" to "plaid"…
Definitely "anxiousness", i.e. the noun formed from "anxious" in its second sense of wanting something very much (as opposed to "anxiety", which refers to "anxious" in its first sense of worry and nervousness).
I'd also add this non-technical observation: I regard anxiousness more as a motivating force, and anxiety as a feeling or state.
I hereby offer for Wordie enjoyment a link to entries in a competition promoting conversation between science and the arts. The task? Dance your PhD.I do not jest.
Personally I like Professor Singer's tango representing "Generation and Detection of High-Energy Phonons by Superconducting Junctions"; Professor Gaudet has fun with swing (something incomprehensible to do with phosducin); there are a couple of marine biology ones that are fun too; and you will never look at "Resolving Pathways of Functional Coupling in Human Hemoglobin Using Quantitative Low Temperature Isoelectric Focusing of Asymmetric Mutant Hybrids" in quite the same way ever again.
When I was working in Cleveland I initiated an office tradition of pancakes on Shrove Tuesday (actually, any excuse will do, but that's a particularly good one), for which I made pancakes according to my tried-and-true Australian recipe. My boss informed me that she would call what I'd made Swedish pancakes or perhaps crepes. They were small-dinner-plate size and quite thin. Really nice when sprinkled with caster sugar and lemon juice then rolled up or folded. Mmm.
Pikelets, which I've not eaten in years are definitely smaller (think diameter of a generous coffee mug or small saucer) and slightly thicker. But I think, too, the recipe is slightly different. There's a picture currently showing up that has a trio of pikelets spread with jam and topped with cream – that's classic. But, my mother also used to make savoury pikelets with parsley and cheese through the mix.
I've never made the fat-and-fluffy American style pancakes so I don't have a recipe to draw comparison – I guess it includes a raising agent. I do find that kind fairly hard-going to eat.
PS. Wiki adds: # A small, thick pancake, generally in Australia, New Zealand and parts of Britain. Also known in parts of Britain as a drop-scone or Scotch pancake. # A British regional dialect word variously denoting a flatter variant on crumpet or muffin.
Then again, the endlessly surprising wikipedia proposes this: "A buttbag (a.k.a musette or haversack) is a bag used in the armies in WWI and WWII and is still used today. The name "buttbag" is a fancy word for the bag these days because it now has a shoulder strap instead and often when walking it is over the buttocks. That kind is now used in the Royal Canadian Air Cadets for camps."
Well, I'm not sure how you'd end up finding one in a chief of staff's office, but in my world a musette can be a kind of bagpipe and thus a musette bag would be the air sack that forms the all-essential bellows.
My alarm clock is completely unpredictable. It's a cheap Chinese number (Five Rams), completely mechanical, and even though I carefully wind it up each evening sometimes it just stops in the middle of the night. But I love its vaguely Art Deco styling and its construction (the curved metal back provides the "bell" and when it does ring it's a clanger). Above all I love the soothing way its irregular ticking puts me to sleep with wonderful additive rhythms, and I have yet to find another clock that gives similar satisfaction.
Frindley is officially not a fan of the website mentioned below, since it has published a scurrilous, pseudonymous, mean-spirited and very poorly researched (actually completely unreasearched [sic]) article posing as insider "journalism".
When the revolution comes, frindley will… make the Sydney Morning Herald use the appropriate foreign characters/diacriticals for foreign names. She's sick of seeing Truls Mork instead of Mørk, and Osmo Vanska instead of Vänskä. For Pete's sake, the different characters signal different pronunciations.
Turned out, extended, flexed, pointed, en pointe, demi-pointe – beautifully encased in satin slippers that hide the stiffened canvas and leather and the miserably bloodied and blistered toes, vainly encased in strips of sheep's wool. I know.
Clothing retailers seem to have decided that "pant" singular is the way to refer to the two-pronged garment one wears on one's legs. As in, "jacket $250, shirt $95, pant $125". But I've yet to hear of anyone "being caught with their pant down", or "pulling on their pant in the morning", or "ironing creases in their pant". Where does this nonsense come from? Will it die a natural death?
I'd love to add my blog to the "also on" list in my profile. But the list of possibilities includes all sorts of services except for mine, TypePad, even though it's a major player and even though Vox, TypePad's little brother, is there. Puzzling…
When I was in high school I had a T-shirt which read, in Swedish, "music saved me from sport". (The translation was in small letters on the sleeve.) I loved that T-shirt! And it was true: anyone in the annual school musical was exempt from sport for half the year, because that was when rehearsals took place. Hee hee.
According to this article about the Oxford Word of the Year 2008, wardrobe has become a verb, "as in: Ms. Mendes has a long-standing relationship with the house of Calvin Klein and has been wardrobed by Calvin Klein Collection."
Ugh, ugh, ugh. I'm all for creative language change and interesting new coinages. But really, what is wrong with dressed, which has been serving us so well in this context?