The Star Tribune recently ran an article about a new study from George Washington University tracking cases of Americans who traveled to join jihadist groups in Syria and Iraq since 2011. The print version of the article was accompanied by a graph showing that Minnesota has the highest rate of cases in the study. TSP editor Chris Uggen tweeted the graph, noting that this rate represented a whopping seven cases in the last six years.
— Chris Uggen (@chrisuggen) February 6, 2018
Here is the original data from the study next to the graph that the paper published:
Social scientists often focus on rates when reporting events, because it make cases easier to compare. If one county has 300 cases of the flu, and another has 30,000, you wouldn’t panic about an epidemic in the second county if it had a city with many more people. But relying on rates to describe extremely rare cases can be misleading.
For example, the data show this graph misses some key information. California and Texas had more individual cases than Minnesota, but their large populations hide this difference in the rates. Sorting by rates here makes Minnesota look a lot worse than other states, while the number of cases is not dramatically different.
As far as I can tell, this chart only appeared in the print newspaper photographed above and not on the online story. If so, this chart only went to print audiences. Today we hear a lot of concern about the impact of “filter bubbles,” especially online, and the spread of misleading information. What concerns me most about this graph is how it shows the potential impact of offline filter bubbles in local communities, too.Evan Stewart is a Ph.D. candidate in sociology at the University of Minnesota. You can follow him on Twitter.
So, you said something racist. Or, someone told you that you said something racist.
Or, someone you really like & admire said or did something racist, or is getting told on for saying something racist.
And now you feel uncomfortable. You feel guilty, maybe, or ashamed. Whatever it is, it’s weird and you don’t like it.
What I need you to do when this happens is stop, drop, and be quiet for a minute. You are not Racism Columbo, your job is not to interrogate the situation for whether it is actually, “objectively” racist. Your job is not to find the motive, to drill down to whether it was intended to be racist. Your job is not to revert to High School Debate Club mode and split hairs looking for plausible deniability. Your job is not to defend your fave from the racist stuff they said!
Your first job is to shut the fuck up for a second. If you have to say something, say “I’m sorry.” Then stop talking. Definitely stop typing in that little social media window. Stop. Don’t. Make. It. Worse. Honestly, if most people just stopped there, the world would start becoming a marginally better place almost instantly.
Important: Engaging with white people about race is an incredibly high-stakes and potentially exhausting activity for a person of color to take on. (Women, think of the last time you tried to sincerely engage with a sexist dude who mansplained your world to you. Did you need a drink/seventeen naps afterward? Did you feel like you’d been trapped in a horrible alternate reality with no way out? Yeah.) So if someone is willing to actually talk with you about this, chances are it is an investment having a better relationship with you, not a drive-by insult-fest or attack designed to tear you down and make you feel terrible and hate yourself. They are talking to you about it because they want you to get it and to stop doing the hurtful thing so that they can keep working with/hanging out with you. The people who hate your guts or think you’re a lost cause will just avoid you. There are worse things you could do than just listen without interrupting.
Step 2, after that initial encounter, instead of trying to justify or excavate why whatever it is isn’t racist or isn’t “really” racist or wasn’t meant to be racist or isn’t usually racist or is racist only on Tuesdays, think about why it is or could plausibly be racist. (Think about this quietly, inside your head.) Why might someone see it that way? What context or history are you missing? How might your action look to someone who doesn’t know about your pure heart and good intentions, somebody who experiences the same “mistakes” and “slip-ups” over and over again from white people? And what are the relative stakes & consequences here if you’re wrong? The saying about misogyny goes: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them, women are afraid that men will kill them.” Welp, white people are worried about being unfairly called racist and feeling weird about it. People of color are worried about dying (in medical situations, at the hands of police, from environmental racism, etc. etc. etc.)
The history of racism is complex enough and insidious enough that chances are:
- Yep, race is a factor affecting that “fun” or “simple” thing you’re discussing. That one, too.
- It’s just possible that we white folks have some rill big knowledge gaps about it.
- Automatically discounting someone’s lived experience or point of view just because we’re momentarily uncomfortable is a crappy thing to do and we should stop it.
There are steps after that. Reading. Listening. Self-reflection. Finding ways to do the work of dismantling racism. Here is one organization that is doing work. Here is another. This one, too. (Don’t take my word for it or get distracted by whether any of these are the Perfect One. Do research and find something that works for you.)
For today, here are your steps if you should make a mistake and say or do something racist:
- AT MINIMUM, DON’T MAKE IT WORSE. This almost certainly means saying “I’m sorry” followed by a period of listening and quiet reflection.
- During that quiet time, think about what it would mean to accept, at face value, someone else’s insight on what is or might be racist. What do you lose when you say to yourself hey, wait a second, I’m the one who screwed up, so maybe I’m not the expert here?
Baby steps, friends.
The Australian Bureau of Meterology (known affectionately as The BOM), has an Indigenous Weather Knowledge portal. This portal shows the different ways of thinking about the seasons in the different areas of Australia. In a country so large, and with so many different climates, traditional European concepts likes ‘Summer’ and ‘Winter’ are often not relevant.
Here is the weather cycle from Tiwi, in the north of Australia, with its three major seasons and thirteen minor seasons:
And these are the seasons of Gariwerd country, in my home state of Victoria in the south. Gariwerd is home to Djapwurrong and Jardwadjali speakers, and has six major seasons associated with different flora and fauna.
See also: The seasonal ‘calendars’ of Indigenous Australia, an Explainer from Alice Gaby and Tyson Yunkaporta in The Conversation
Do men find women who swear unattractive? This old chestnut of a question recently popped up on social media after it was posed by Britain’s leading litter supplier, the Metro. On my own timeline, by far the commonest answer was ‘who gives a fuck?’ But outside the feminist bubble, there was no shortage of young men expressing more conventional opinions. Men like Hugh, 25, who told the Metro:
I find it quite vulgar if a woman swears. I feel it makes them seem more masculine… I’m more used to men swearing more.
If you asked 100 randomly-selected English speakers which sex swears more, the great majority would probably say ‘men’. For most of the last 100 years that was also what linguists thought. Otto Jespersen commented in 1922 on women’s ‘instinctive shrinking from coarse and gross expressions’. Half a century later Robin Lakoff suggested that the shrinking was not instinctive, but rather the result of social pressure. Women who expressed themselves forcefully were liable to be criticised for their ‘unladylike’ behaviour; among other things, this meant that they avoided ‘strong expletives’, and were more likely than men to use inoffensive substitutes like ‘fudge’.
But there was not much hard evidence to back up these claims. When researchers began to look more closely, they also began to suspect that, like many beliefs about the speech of men and women, this one had more to do with prescriptive gender norms than with the facts about our actual linguistic behaviour.
In 2005 the corpus linguist Tony McEnery published Swearing in English, a book whose first section, ‘How Brits Swear’, contains a systematic analysis of the use of swear words in the spoken component of the British National Corpus (BNC)—a sample of 10 million words transcribed from recordings made in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Part of the sample consists of speech recorded at meetings or from radio discussions; the rest is informal conversation. Male and female speakers are represented in approximately equal numbers, and the corpus also includes speakers from a range of age groups and socioeconomic categories. This allowed McEnery to see how the frequency of swearing was affected by age, sex and social class.
So, what did he find? Well, age made a difference, along the lines you’d probably expect. The most prolific swearers were people under 25; after that age there was a steady decline. Class also had an influence, but it wasn’t a straightforward case of ‘the lower the class, the more people swear’. The highest frequencies were indeed found in the lowest socioeconomic strata, but the next most frequent swearers were the highest-status group, the professional middle class. (The BNC probably doesn’t include many representatives of the aristocracy, but they’ve never been shy about swearing either: some members of the Royal Family, like Prince Philip and Princess Anne, are famous for it.) In Britain it’s the people in the middle who swear the least.
What about sex? I’ve left it until last because unlike age and class, it turned out to have no effect on the overall frequency of swearing. If all types of swearing and all swear words were considered, there was no significant difference between men and women.
But if it isn’t true that men swear more, why do so many people insist that swearing is ‘unfeminine’? Hugh, 25, for instance, finds women who swear unattractive because ‘it makes them seem more masculine’. What’s the connection between swearing and masculinity?
One answer might be that we understand swearing as a form of aggression—a trait we think of as masculine, and find less acceptable in women. Recently, a book called Swearing is Good For You has popularised the theory that swearing evolved as a kind of safety valve, a way of ventilating negative emotions that stopped short of physical assault. I’m unconvinced by this argument. For one thing, swearing and physical violence often go together (the former may also precipitate the latter). But more importantly, a lot of swearing isn’t motivated by aggression. It’s common among friends (and particularly among same-sex friends) for the same reasons banter and gossip are common among friends: because the communal breaking of a social taboo (whether it’s gossiping about others’ business or uttering words you’re not supposed to say in public) is a symbol of intimacy and mutual trust.
Is it men who do the ‘aggressive’ swearing while women prefer the ‘solidary’ kind? Well, no, not really: the evidence shows that both sexes do both kinds. It may not match our preconceptions, but the historical record provides abundant evidence of female verbal aggression, very often directed against other women (and sometimes accompanied by physical violence).
The social historian Jonathan Healey describes an incident in Winchester in 1544, when two women started fighting in the street. According to witnesses, the first woman’s daughter came out of her house and subjected her mother’s adversary to a tirade of verbal abuse:
thow meseld faced [‘measle-faced’] hore, thow camest to towne with a lepers face & a skalled hed, And I defye thee utterly, for I wold thow knewist yt that the fowlest place of myn arse ys fayrer then thy face.
Another historian, Laura Gowing, cites a case from 1590, in which one London woman was heard to tell another,
thou art a whore an arrant whore a bitche yea worse than a bitche thou goest sawghting up and downe the towne after knaves and art such a whott tayled whore that neither one nor two nor ten nor twenty knaves will scarce serve thee.
This wasn’t just friendly joshing: the reason there’s a record of these altercations is that the parties ended up in court. We know from court documents that such aggressive exchanges between women were not rare.
Later on, though, the belief took hold that respectable women were incapable of swearing. In the early 1920s a Littlehampton woman named Edith Swan sent a large number of anonymous letters to her neighbours which were full of obscenities like ‘You bloody fucking flaming piss country whores go and fuck your cunt’. The first time she was prosecuted, the judge more or less directed the jury to acquit her because he could not believe that a woman of her appearance and demeanour would ever have used such indecent language. The person who got the blame was a less outwardly respectable woman, Rose Gooding, who was twice found guilty of libel before forensic evidence conclusively proved that Edith Swan was the author of all the letters.
This story points to another connection between swearing and masculinity. Recall Hugh’s assertion that ‘I find it quite vulgar if a woman swears’. The idea that swearing is ‘vulgar’ (in the modern sense of ‘impolite’ or ‘unrefined’) seems obvious enough, but etymologically ‘vulgar’ means ‘of the common people’—it has connotations of low social status. A similar concern was evident in the comments made by another man who was quoted in the Metro. Jodel, 23, explained that he doesn’t swear himself, and doesn’t like anyone—male or female—swearing in his presence. However, he ‘doesn’t find it appealing when girls speak in certain dialects, for example, a colloquial regional slang’.
What these comments show is that forms of language which are associated with working class speakers (including swearing, street slang and regional dialect), are also perceived as ‘masculine’. A ‘feminine’ woman keeps it classy: she doesn’t soil her mouth, or men’s ears, with ‘vulgar’, low-status and nonstandard speech.
This mapping from class to gender (working class = masculine, middle class = feminine) doesn’t only work for language, as you’ll know if you ever watched the reality TV show Ladette to Lady, in which young working class women were sent to finishing school to learn to behave like upper-class ‘ladies’. ‘Unfeminine’ was a word their teachers used repeatedly to describe every aspect of their self-presentation, from their speech to their deportment to their fashion choices. This wasn’t because they looked or acted like men: it was just that their understanding of what a woman should look or act like was more Bet Lynch than Elizabeth II. And that doesn’t match our cultural template for ‘proper’ femininity, which is based on the upper- or middle-class ‘lady’.
By contrast, our template for ‘proper’ masculinity is not the effete upper-class gentleman, it’s the set of working-class male archetypes parodied by the Village People—the cowboy, the construction worker, the sailor. These ‘real men’ are tough, they don’t mind their manners (or their grammar) and they swear like the proverbial troopers. That’s why, when Donald Trump talks about ‘shithole countries’ and ‘grabbing [women] by the pussy’, his supporters don’t find it objectionable: like his baseball cap and his junk food diet, it’s seen as evidence that this over-privileged millionaire is really a man of the people. Female populist politicians have to be more careful, as Sarah Palin discovered in 2016 when she told an audience of Trump supporters that their candidate would ‘kick ISIS’s ass’–and was immediately criticised for her ‘profanity’.
Though the BNC data show women and men swearing with equal frequency, Tony McEnery (like Robin Lakoff) thinks the gendered double standard does have an effect, in that it leads women to avoid the ‘strongest’ words. His statistical analysis revealed that while both sexes had the same basic vocabulary, men were significantly more likely than women to say ‘fuck/fucking/fucker’, ‘jesus’ and ‘cunt’; women, by contrast, were significantly more likely than men to say ‘god’, ‘bloody’, ‘hell’, ‘shit’, ‘arsed’, ‘pig’, ‘piss/pissy’, ‘bugger’ and ‘bitch’. He also noted that some words were more frequently used to or about one sex than the other. For instance (and I’m guessing this won’t surprise you), it was women who got called ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’, while it was men who got called ‘wanker’ and ‘gay’. It was also men who were most often addressed or referred to as ‘cunts’. The word was sometimes applied to women, but its commonest use was from one man to another.
In more recent research with newly-collected data, McEnery has found that women no longer lag behind men in the frequency with which they use ‘fuck’. But in any case, the distinction between ‘strong’ and ‘mild’ swearing is one that will bear closer examination. Can offensiveness be treated as a constant, an inherent property of individual words, or does it vary in different contexts and social groups?
The offensiveness ranking McEnery used, originally produced for the British Board of Film Classification, is a typical example of what you get if you give people a list of offensive words and ask them to rate them on a five-point scale. It classifies ‘cunt’ and ‘motherfucker’ as ‘very strong’, ‘fuck’ as ‘strong’, ‘whore’—along with ‘bastard’ and ‘wanker’—as ‘moderate’, ‘arse’ and ‘bitch’ as ‘mild’, and ‘bloody’, ‘crap’ and ‘damn’ as ‘very mild’. Other surveys of this type have produced similar results, suggesting a high degree of consensus among English-speakers on the relative strength of various words. But these surveys ask people to judge words in isolation, whereas in real life our judgments of offensiveness are affected by the specifics of the situation. It won’t be irrelevant who is using a word to whom, or what message they are using it to communicate.
To see what I’m getting at, let’s go back to the 16th century cases in which one woman called another a ‘whore’. According to the BBFC ranking, this would count as a ‘moderate’ insult rather than a ‘strong’ one. But in context there was nothing moderate about it. Historically, calling a woman unchaste was the way you impugned her honour: it was an attack on her reputation which could have serious social consequences. ‘Whore’ and its synonyms were therefore regarded by women as extremely offensive and provocative words. In some communities they still are. One study conducted with working class women in Salford in the 1990s found that they viewed ‘slag’ as the most serious insult, closely followed by ‘slut’ and ‘prostitute’.
That wasn’t because they shied away from ‘strong expletives’. According to the researcher Susan Hughes, these were women who swore habitually and unapologetically: ‘their general conversation is peppered’, she reported, ‘with fuck, twat, bastard, and so on’. When she asked about the reasons for this, the women told her it was just ‘part of our way of talking’. They didn’t see it as anything special, and that’s consistent with the historical evidence that swearing has always been part of working class women’s linguistic repertoire. (Nor should we assume that it was totally absent from the repertoire of middle class women: while they may have avoided swearing in public, there is no reason to think they never swore among themselves.)
Yet it seems to be virtually an article of faith that women today swear more than previous generations. For those commentators who defend women’s right to swear (including both the writer of the Metro article and the author of Swearing is Good For You), this supposed change is a sign of progress—it shows how far women have come in the past half-century. Commentators who are critical of women swearing agree that it’s a sign of changing times, but they don’t think the change is for the better. Some argue that modern ideas of sex-equality have forced women to adopt ‘masculine’ behaviour in order to compete with or be accepted by men. Others suggest that women are doing it to shock, or because feminists have convinced them that it’s cool to be unfeminine and vulgar.
These arguments are (ironically) not new. Since the late 19th century, every increase in young women’s public visibility and independence has prompted comments on their alleged new enthusiasm for swearing (as well as for slang, smoking, drinking, ‘mannish’ clothes and ‘rowdy’ behaviour). The same observations were made about the ‘New Woman’ of the 1890s, the ‘munitionettes’ who worked in munitions factories during World War I, and the ‘flappers’ of the 1920s. And there were similar debates on whether these women’s prolific swearing symbolised a new era of female freedom, or whether it was simply vulgar, unfeminine and immoral.
Whether her behaviour is judged positively or negatively, the woman who swears is always seen as behaving like a man: it’s assumed, in other words, that there is no authentically female tradition of swearing. But in that case, how do we understand the 16th century women yelling insults like ‘measle-faced whore’, or the 20th century Salford women whose conversation was ‘peppered with fuck, twat and bastard’? What do we say about the fishwives pictured in this post, whose swearing was so legendary, their occupational title acquired the secondary sense of ‘foul-mouthed woman’? These women weren’t competing with men, nor rebelling against middle-class norms of femininity (which, as Susan Hughes says in her discussion of the Salford women, were completely irrelevant to their lives). They were doing their own thing, and in the communities they belonged to it was a thing women had done for generations.
Asking whether women should swear is a bit like asking whether women should have children out of wedlock, or weigh more than seven stone: it’s a question designed for no other purpose than to allow people to air their prejudices. And those prejudices are, in most cases, socially selective. If a single mother on benefits peppers her discourse with ‘fuck, twat and bastard’, people say she’s ignorant, unable to express herself in any other way. If a stand-up comedian who went to public school uses the same words in his act, people say it’s edgy and subversive. Men like the Metro’s Hugh take their selective prejudices into their personal relationships, reserving the right to swear themselves while saying it’s a turn-off when women do it.
It’s depressing to witness 25-year old men recycling opinions in 2018 that were already clichés in 1918. My message to them is simple: ‘yes, women swear. They always have and they always will. Get over it. Move on’.
"Fake Rule: The generic pronoun in English is he. Violation: “Each one in turn reads their piece..."
Fake Rule: The generic pronoun in English is he.
Violation: “Each one in turn reads their piece aloud.”
This is wrong, say the grammar bullies, because each one, each person is a singular noun and their is a plural pronoun. But Shakespeare used their with words such as everybody, anybody, a person, and so we all do when we’re talking. (“It’s enough to drive anyone out of their senses,” said George Bernard Shaw.)
The grammarians started telling us it was incorrect along in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. That was when they also declared that the pronoun he includes both sexes, as in “If a person needs an abortion, he should be required to tell his parents.”
My use of their is socially motivated and, if you like, politically correct: a deliberate response to the socially and politically significant banning of our genderless pronoun by language legislators enforcing the notion that the male sex is the only one that counts. I consistently break a rule I consider to be not only fake but pernicious. I know what I’m doing and why.””
- Ursula K. Le Guin, Steering the Craft: A Twenty-First-Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story
It’s actually a common mistake in historical linguistics to think that there’s some kind of a sharp line between “inherited words” and “loanwords”. Loanwords don’t stay in their own separate loanword registers forever! They will usually get naturalized eventually, so that native speakers will have no idea they’re of foreign origin. Linguists may not manage to identify them as loanwords just off the cuff either. And that’s because they are native — just native since 200 or 500 years ago, instead of native since 1500 or 5000 or “forever” years ago (as some other words might be).
English happens to be a pretty good language for demonstrating this. Going just by parallels in the French/Latin direction … anyone can tell that hors d’oeuvre or raison d’être are loanwords; but noticing that café or journal are loanwords might be much less immediately clear if you do not actually speak French. Telling with confidence that choice is a loanword may require knowing not only that it’s choix in French, but also that it’s the clearly unrelated Wahl in German. (Contrast with choose, which is not a loanword to any extent we can tell; kiezen in Dutch, or kiusan in Gothic, for example.)
And lastly, figuring out that words like kettle or church are loanwords is not obvious even to a linguist. If we only were going by comparison with nearby languages like French and German, we might be fooled into thinking they’re inherited, period (after all, they do have German cognates, showing the High German consonant shift even: Kessel, Kirche; just as in the likes of better ~ besser, speech ~ Sprache). And they do go back to roughly Proto-Germanic, even! But not further than that: they were borrowed into PG from Latin and Greek respectively.
So are they inherited or not? The best answer might be that the question is underdetermined: they are inherited within Germanic, but not inherited within Indo-European. Whether a word “is inherited” depends on what period of time — inheritance from what proto-language, roughly — we are interested in.
Another angle is that “inheritedness” also depends on how closely we are dividing our language varieties. Like any other language, “English” is not a monolith, and many words in standard English can be considered loans from some particular dialect. Slang words like thang or attac are still mostly transparent, but these can go much longer back too, sometimes all the way to different dialects of Middle English or even Old English. It may make sense to still call such words a part of the “inherited English vocabulary”, but they might not count as fully native in all varieties of English. Or, if we peer all the way down to the idiolects of individual people: it may again make sense to say that maybe “pop” is inherited in someone’s idiolect (it’s what they’ve grown up using), while “soda” is not (it’s a word they’ve only picked up in adulthood). Same for regional varieties, same for sociolects, etc.
(Also, at this level of analysis, sufficiently technical vocabulary can turn out to be not native to anyone’s idiolect. You might be able to find precocious children who learned chloride or geodesic already at age 6, but the likes of hexachlorophosphazene or Dolbeault cohomology are still likely to be only ever encountered in actual higher education.)
Combining this with the previous insight that a word can be “inherited since” some time, while being ultimately an old loanword — there is also the nuance that this might be a different time in different varieties. Often the difference is miniscule: no new coinage or loanword expands across a language immediately, but they sure can do so in just a year or two — or, with the help of modern mass media, maybe just a week or two. But it’s possible that a loanword might get established as a regional dialect word first, and only reach wider adoption much later on.
(to be continued…)
stanzicapparatireplayers: anemotionallyunstablecreature: a6: u kno when u keysmash but the jumble...
*raises hand* Hi. So - the use of a keysmash is emotive. You use it to indicate that you’re so overwhelmed with emotion that you can’t even type, you’re just flailing at the keyboard.
u kno when u keysmash but the jumble of letters dont convery the right Feeling so u gotta backspace and re-keysmash to turn ur HKELSXPXA to a JKFSDKAS
Vaguely wondering how future anthropologists will explain this…
So why is there a difference between a “hkelsxpxa” and a “jkfsdkas” or an “asdfs”?
Because language evolves! It’s actually really exciting to think about, but there’s a reason why slang is continually changing and why Old People are usually characterized by not knowing the slang variants that are being used by The Youth - it’s because the way we use words changes over time, especially in response to technological or environmental changes.
And text-based communication - texting someone on your phone, or chatting with friends on Skype or Discord - is actually really new, this is something which started in my lifetime. And grammatical rules have been evolving and settling into place around that form of communication.
For instance, linguistic researchers have noticed that anyone who’s grown up with texting being a normal thing will usually not end their texts or IMs with a period unless they’re angry or annoyed. This is because it’s a lot harder to do a run-on sentence in those mediums; you can just hit ‘enter’ and go to a new line. A period, then, becomes an indicator of emphasis, instead of an indicator of “there is nothing missing from this sentence” - and it’s an indicator of negative emphasis (rather than the positive emphasis that an exclaimation mark can give).
So, the keysmash has its own grammatical rule. And it’s one that makes sense, considering that it’s entirely possible for a keysmash to be caused accidentally - by something falling onto the keyboard, or a cat walking across it. The rule, then, is that a deliberate keysmash and an accidental one need to be distinguishable.
So a deliberate keysmash will nearly always use keys only in the home row, and usually in a particular order that isn’t likely to have happened purely accidentally.
So, future anthropologists will likely explain it as a marker of language evolving to work with a text-based medium where expressions and body language are difficult-to-impossible to convey. Much like emojis, crytyping, and whether or not you put punctuation at the end of a sentence (and in what context you do so), keysmashing is used to convey how you feel - in a way that body language and facial expressions would usually be expected to fill in the gap.
I did a survey once of people who use keysmash and over half of people reported that they’d adjust a few letters or delete and re-smash when it didn’t look “right” (except for the poor Dvorak users, who had kind of given up on keysmash entirely because their vowely home row made theirs emotionally illegible to other people).
Though the average lexicographer is as odd as a horse in trousers, we are, at least, a staid and quiet horse in trousers most of the time. There’s very little that will rile us up, and that’s a feature, not a bug.
But there is one event that makes most lexicographers startle and gasp in delight, one event that will get us to look up from our desks and start shivering and chittering like lab rats on cocaine:
When a well-respected newspaper prints the word “shithole.”
For those who have been blissfully, contentedly residing under a rock (and may I join you?), President Donald Trump held a bipartisan meeting with senators on American immigration policy today, and when protections for immigrants from Haiti, El Salvador, and some African countries were discussed, he was reported as having responded, “Why are we having all these people from shithole countries come here?”
As soon as word reached us in the bowels of the syntax mines, all activity ceased. It’s not notable because Donald Trump said it, it’s notable because it made it into newspapers–several of them, even!–unexpurgated. We all fizzed with excitement: time to take some motherfucking citations!
The American press has traditionally been loath to print unseemly language like cusswords in full, and this has been a problem for lexicographers on a number of levels. As we all know, dictionary entries need to be based on a word’s accumulated and sustained use in print. We don’t just use that body of accumulated use to come up with a word’s definition, which tends to be one of the easier things to describe, but also its status and its register. Status and register are fancy word-nerd ways of describing where exactly in the language a word sits, and how a word is deployed. Is a word academic jargon? Is it the sort of thing you only see in a Pope or Blake poem? What about Doctor Who fanfic? Is this word a slur? Or is this word boring and everywhere, the Wonder Bread of words, remarkable only because it is wholly unremarkable? If a word is used in a particular context, or with a particular sort of connotation, a lexicographer should tell you that by using those italicized labels that come before the entry: informal, formal, technical, academic, literary, vulgar, disparaging, obscene.
To get a good sense of whether a particular use merits a label, and what kind of label, I need as much evidence before me as I can get, and I need it from as many different types of sources as I can find. My work is hampered if print sources refuse to print indelicate language. Censoring out profanity–especially in news–presents a false reality, a place where presidents and lawmakers are always prudent and prim, and their language always, always decorous. I know as surely as I know that horses do not wear pants that presidents and lawmakers swear on the regular. I hope that they are as creative in their swearing as the writers of “Veep” would have me believe. But my hopes and dreams are not hard evidence. So when the word “shithole” shows up above the fold in the news section of a newspaper, that tells me, as a lexicographer, that this word is not just the province of BuzzFeed or Twitter or pulp fiction, but might actually be (shitty, shitty) Wonder Bread.
Of course, my lexical needs are not anywhere on a newspaper editor’s radar as they stare down a presidential “shithole.” They are thinking of all the angry letters, the cancelled subscriptions, the <shudder> phone calls. So some print sources have tried a middle road, one that communicates the spirit of the quote without getting into the actual letters of it:
“Trump Uses Vulgar Language To Refer To African Countries, Sources Say.” NPR.org, Jan 11, 2018
This little squadron of asterisks gets across to readers that the word in question is too offensive for this classy joint, while also giving enough context clues for the average reader to figure out that the word which so offends is totally “shithole.” NPR wasn’t alone in whipping out the asterisks; Ben Zimmer reported on Twitter that MSNBC initially went with asterisks, then changed to “shithole,” while Fox News was asterisks all the way down.
Any time lexicographers see censoring like this, we sigh and skip right on by, dumping the quotation out of the citations database. The average reader may assume this word is “shithole,” but your lexicographer is not an average reader. What if this word is actually “sluthole“? “Slophole“? “Suckhole“? English is flexible, and her speakers are remarkably creative when it comes to profanity (cf. “Veep,” above). Or what if the reader or listener isn’t actually familiar with any of those words, including “shithole”? Linguist Todd Snider gets me: “I wonder how many Fox News viewers are thinking about Haiti having lots of sinkholes?” And asterisking can go way too far, even for some of the sweariest among us. When news of the “Access Hollywood” tapes broke, I was at the gym, pretending to run on the treadmill while I stared at a TV on mute. The chyron read “Trump on tape: ‘Grab Them By The *****’.” You know how many five-letter objectionable words there are that fit in that phrase? A whole fucking lot–enough that by the time I ran out of options, I had run an additional (very slow) mile.
The truth is that there have been fairly uneven policies in print sources about what to print and when, but as we head deeper into the Trump years, we’re seeing more consistency. More newspapers are opting to quote him without euphemizing him: the Washington Post’s Executive Editor Marty Baron told the Washingtonian, “When the president says it, we’ll use it verbatim. That’s our policy. We discussed it, quickly, but there was no debate.” “Shithole” was in nearly every story I saw, and it was in more headlines and chyrons than it wasn’t. It was common enough that towards the middle of the news cycle, it was already being riffed on: Phil Mudd on CNN called himself “a proud shitholer,” and then proceeded to break the CNN record for indelicate words per minute, go Phil.
And in our office, this is cause for celebration. I’m fond of saying that lexicographers chart the language, good, bad, and ugly–but we can only chart what we see. And while you may not want to be drowned in a wave of “shitholes,” for lexicographers, that’s the sort of thing we call a party.
"But if they aren't girls, why do they want to go to a girls' school?" is the first silly question being knocked about. If you were starting out afresh as a prospective first year pupil and were male you'd be rather unlikely to apply, but if you are five years into your time at a school and about to sit your TGAUs, swapping schools and having to leave your friends and familiar spaces behind as well as dealing with your own gender vertigo may all be a bit much to cope with.
Persistent misgendering damages lives in many ways including those all-important-to-schools exam results, so it's in the school's enlightened self-interest to not have gender variant pupils under more stress than needs be the case.
It also has the fringe benefit of inculcating in the pupils a sense that they aren't "girls", the subtly belittling diminutive which gets used for women so much further into adult life than is the case for boys. So a bit of a boost for the cis kids too.
The other bloody stupid question being punted is: "but what shall they call the school?" This one carries on into extended drivel which boils down to:
"If it's now a school for girls and people who we thought were girls right up to the middle of their A levels and then found out we were wrong, and all of a sudden we've decided that people who are legally able to leave home and live independently, pay taxes, get married, have children or join the army and die in a war overseas are now also allowed to have an opinion as to what name they should be called, well, the sign on the front the school will have to be changed because PC Police."
I can't help but think that the schools I attended between 10 and 17 both had signs on the gates with "Saint" in them, and there was precious little in the way of saintly behaviour amongst the attendees be they staff or student. I suspect the students of AGSG will cope...
One of my holiday-reading highlights was China Miéville’s dazzling dark-fantasy collection Three Moments of an Explosion (Macmillan, 2015). The story ‘The Bastard Prompt’, about imaginary illnesses materialising in reality, begins in media res and quickly flies off on a lexical tangent:
We’re here to talk to a doctor, Jonas and I. We’re both on the same mission. And, or but, or and and but, we’re on different missions too.
We need a new conjunction, a word that means ‘and’ and ‘but’ at the same time. I’m not saying anything I haven’t said before: this is one of my things, particularly with Tor, which is short for Tori, which she never uses.
This ‘and-but’ word thing of mine isn’t even a joke between us any more. It used to be when I’d say, ‘I mean both of them at once!’, she’d say, ‘Band? Aut?’ In the end we settled on bund, which is how we spell it although she says it with a little ‘t’ at the end, like bundt. Now when either of us says that we don’t even notice, we don’t even grin. It almost just means what it means now.
So Jonas and I are here in Sacramento, on missions that are the same bund different. Although honestly I don’t know that either of us thinks we’re going to figure much out now.
I like the economical description of how the use and acceptability of bund(t) developed in the couple’s private language. The word recurs later in the story, first signposted with and and but preceding it, then used more directly, albeit in italics:
Tor was performing a series of interrelated pieces, or one piece with very many scenes. She was collaborating with young performers who’d never asked to be actors and, but, bund, didn’t have any choice, who were just shoved onstage without even knowing the script, and her job was both to say her own lines and to elicit theirs – which they didn’t know. That’s a pretty intense collaboration.
I figure her after-dinner speech is going to be one of those inside jokes. Like some of the stuff that wins the IgNobel Prize – a joke, bund a real insight too.
The last few times we’d met friends for a drink or supper, Tor had been at least partly still in character. She wasn’t not herself, she was herself-in-patient, she was herself bund her role.
Jonas and I are checking our watches, making sure we don’t miss what we’re here for. Bund I’m sitting here reading this schedule and thinking, Hey, I should have gone to some of these sessions.
If you knew you were going to face new epidemics from other places, wouldn’t you set in motion programmes to train doctors against them? That’s what would be terrible bund sensible.
Bund is an interesting word semantically. There’s often leeway over whether and or but is more appropriate in a given context. The sense and degree of contrast can be subjective, open to interpretation and variation.
I find that novice writers (and some pros), when in doubt, may overcompensate with a heavyweight synonym. A book I read this week repeatedly used however where it wasn’t necessary at all; the effect was wearying, like rhetorical pinball.
Bund is already in use in various senses: it can mean an embankment (from a Persian word for a band of cloth or a fastening, hence cummerbund), and it can mean an association (from German, hence Bundestag; related to band and bind). Both etymologies offer substance to the word’s hypothetical use as a novel conjunction.
I don’t propose we adopt bund for general use, but you may find an occasional place for it. Miéville, I’m sure, had no ambitions along these lines when he wrote the story. The word has no obvious bearing on the plot and seems more like one of those throwaway ideas with which he packs his writing.
Related reading: Three Moments of an Explosion is reviewed by Ursula K. Le Guin in the Guardian. Miéville’s sci-fi novel Embassytown, an ambitious thought experiment on alien linguistics, featured on Sentence First last year.
I have to say that the Bedroom Tax is a bad thing - a bad, iniquitous, social engineering abomination of a thing - but also that it is misrepresented in many ways.
Firstly as being a LiberaTory coalition measure. The phase of the bedroom tax being rolled out to all social housing tenants didn't happen til after the 2010 election, but even that had been announced back in 2008.
The earlier phase - which, like the one attracting faux outrage from Labour and their fellow travellers, was also a Labour initiative - was when it was rolled out in the private sector. As "Local Housing Allowance" it had a different branding and slightly different structure, but that's a factor of the different way that rent levels are negotiated in the private and social sector: Housing Association tenants can't haggle a couple of quid either way in their rent as it gets set at a given rate for a type of propert right across the whole of a given social landlord.
So I'd grant you that it was a "coalition measure", but a Co-Op/Labour coalition one, not a LiberaTory coalition policy. Brown's majority was thin enough that it couldn't have happened without the Co-Operative Party lending Labour enough votes to get it into law: if you ever hear a Co-Operative MP rail against the bedroom tax, ask what they got in exchange for enabling it.
The cacophony of opposition to the 2010 phase compared to the silence in 2008 is notable. In part that is about how Labour's front organisations toe the party line, in part a reflection of how the social sector has as landlords funded organisations with staff and resources that can give a unified, co-ordinated voice, whereas hundreds of thousands of individual private tenants lack an equivalent. Our lackadaisical press leave awkward facts like this unmentioned.
But even before 2008 the first phase, perhaps we should call it phase zero, was the trialling of the basic idea. That's from back when Gordon Brown was at the Treasury rather than in Number Ten, indeed it's even older than I thought it was. Some googling and I can trace it back to a remark from Malcolm Wicks, Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, back on 19th December 2001, who explained in the House, "the under-occupation pilot encourages housing benefit recipients living in under-occupied social housing to move to smaller and cheaper accommodation in order to make more efficient use of housing stock".
That was about a successful pilot of the bedoom tax, so it must have started either just after the second 90s/00s Labour landslide or possibly even during the generally-not-that-bad 1997 government, which I tend to consider the second least bad government I've lived under. And just think: 2001, you could have had nine years of housebuilding to tackle the housing benefit bubble by 2010 if you'd wanted, and let supply and demand fix things.
Just when you think Labour are a bunch of Tories, they turn out to be a bunch of brazen spin-doctoring Tories instead.
Thursday is the best.
At Merriam-Webster, we receive and respond to several hundred emails a week. While only a relative handful of them are editorial in nature, they are nonetheless a time- and sanity-suck for those who must answer them. Below is a small sample of the editorial email that came in during one workweek in August. Part blah-bitty-blah in a series, and extra-long for your erudition and delectation!
Subject: FAULTY DEFINITION OF “Faith”
Question: you say -“Nothing is more important to her than her faith in GOD” as an example of a sentence with faith My Question is how can u define faith in god as contrary or in ignorance to the facts???
do u have faith in ur wife contrary to the evidence ????
No NOT AT ALL
u see that ur wife is not cheating on u
and on that basis of evidence only will u call her faithful to u. Wont U????
so why define faith as “contrary to the evidence, no proof” ???
I HOPE THIS IS NOT AN ATHEISTIC DICTIONARY!!!
If u ever need evidence for my FAITH IN JESUS give me a message on my email
Im sure once u see the overwhelming evidence u too will be more than happy to accept jesus as the utterly humble god that he is. and i know given the chance he is the only perfect god among all the gods that i WOULD want to worship.such love to die for me…..something we long for our whole lives ….isnt it, forgiveness acceptance and love???
ONLY BELIEF IN HIM CAN GIVE AN AIM ,A MEANING , A GOAL AND the SATISFACTION u long for in UR LIFE
u have my email
IF NOTHING …THAN JUST TO CHLLENGE ME FOR MY BELIEF IN JESUS
i think u Could discover something u r longing for a long time
know that we love u
and hope u would want to talk to us
i beleive it can be a start to a fruitful friendship
THANK U FOR YOUR TIME
Holy, holy, holy, Sam. It’s Monday! Can’t we start off with something easy? And you sent this three times! Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Um, I mean, THANK U FOR YOUR EMAIL.
I’m not sure how you went from the example sentence to what I assume is the definition, but here we are, muddling through this existential crisis together. How can we define “faith” as “contrary to fact”? We don’t. Ah, we do have one sub-subsense of “faith” that reads “firm belief in something for which there is no proof,” but that is a separate meaning from the “belief and trust in and loyalty to God” one. Let me put this in terms you will resonate with. You know how the Trinity is three persons but one god? The Father is separate from the Son is separate from the Holy Ghost–they have different functions and show up in different places–but they are all one godhead? The different meanings of “faith” are like that, too. Just like the members of the Trinity, they end up in lots of different places and they have different functions, but they are all “faith.” Doesn’t mean you can swap them out for each other willy-nilly.
This is a profound mystery–but I am speaking of dictionaries and their definitions. You see, Sam, there is a time for everything, and a season for all things under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to harvest; a time to read the dictionary definition with deep care and thought, and a time to accuse a book of having a faith system.
Again I looked, and saw something meaningless under the sun, and it was this email.
And leave my wife out of this.
Subject: Question/comment about a definition
Question: My boyfriend seems to think that ‘happenstance’ is an actual word. Unfortunately, I believe that your website has made a mistake. Happenstance is not a word, and even the random lady who walked past us as we were arguing about it agreed that there is no way that it is a word. She seemed very wise. If you could please take the time to review this mistake, that would be incredibly helpful. Please hurry, our happy relationship is at stake.
Thank you for your time,
A Very Knowledgeable Person.
Your boyfriend, in spite of his weird beliefs about words, is totes great. Ever since you got him better, hipper glasses and put him in vintage Levis, he has become mildly awkward in that self-consciously cute, indie-boy way. He is very sure that “happenstance” is a word, and during this argument, he is anything but patronizing or even moderately annoyed: he looks like a cross between Paul Dano and a golden retriever puppy.
You are wearing a rayon babydoll dress from 1992 that you picked up at Savers for $5, paired with $300 Fluevogs and $25 Warby Parker vanity frames. You have a chunky-knit wool scarf on even though it is 95 degrees outside because old grandma scarves are Your Thing. You are so, so sure that “happenstance” isn’t a word: you are gesticulating wildly, laughing too loudly, jumping up and down, playfully telling your boyfriend that he is such an idiot, a total maroon. “Oh my gawd, Brooklyn, the things that come out of your mouth!” you squeal. You call your boyfriend “Brooklyn” because you think it sounds deliciously quirky. His name is Brady, but you have never called him Brady: none of the hand-drawn stick-figure cartoons you’ve given him (on good letterpress paper, too!) are addressed to Brady, nor is the copy of Franny and Zooey you gave to him. Brooklyn would never not have a copy of Franny and Zooey.
You are so sure of yourself as you bound down the road, Brooklyn shrinking into his H&M slim-fit henley in an attempt to ward off what he knows is coming, that you stop some woman on the street to confirm this. She is older, wearing a giant, black cotton swing-wrap that breathes elegance and expense, and has stopped at the side of the walkway to scowl at her phone. She has just hung up on her husband, who had called her to let her know that he’s so sorry, but he’s fallen in love with Helen, these things can’t be helped, and besides, things have been, you have to admit, stale and lifeless for a very long time, and it’s nobody’s fault, but if it were anybody’s fault, it would…well, it’s nobody’s fault. She is scowling at the phone not because of the sudden dissolution of her marriage: she’s trying to remember who Helen is. Helen. Has she met Helen?
And here you come, manic-pixie-dream-girling your way into her personal space. “EXCUSE ME,” you bellow, “but ‘happenstance’ isn’t a word, is it?”
The woman shakes her head, clearing it, trying to come up for air, but you have already taken from her what you needed, which was proof that Brooklyn was an idiot again. You crow and reach up to ruffle his hair. “Aww, Brooklyn,” you coo, “trying to impress me with your faux-intellectual bullshit.”
You continue down the road, but Brooklyn looks back to get another look at his jury. The woman has placed one long-fingered hand to her temples and closed her eyes, like she is concentrating very hard. Brooklyn turns and says that he thought the woman was beautiful, in a sad way. You nod sagely. “She seemed very wise.”
If you had remained still for more than the two seconds you needed to reassure yourself that you were right, you would have heard her tell you that “happenstance” is a word, and that if your relationship can’t survive a spat about a goddamned word, then pack your bags and go now before he meets Helen.
Subject: Word history/use
Question: I was wondering why good morning has to have a space between good and morning. When you write goodnight you dont need a space but if you were to write good morning you would need one. If they are the same concepts why does one need a space but the other doesnt?
There is a space in “good morning” to mark where in the phrase the speaker is allowed to yawn, as established in the Treaty of Picquigny. As you probably know, the Hundred Years War broke out when Edward III, in an attempt to make the French king Philip VI look lazy, deferred his yawn until it rested between “morn” and “ing.” Philip was incensed, and war broke out. France was victorious: England lost all territories on the continent to the House of Valois, apart from the Pale of Calais, and the yawn-pause was set between “good” and “morning.”
“Goodnight,” however, is usually uttered as one is making a hasty retreat from a dinner party that has gone on too long. There is no need to prolong the word any further with space for a yawn.
Subject: Question/comment about a definition
Question: In your entry for the word “nuclear” you include the incorrect ending promulgated by George W. Bush–why? Just because someone makes an error and all the suck-ups around him in the U.S. or around the world make the same error so they don’t embarrass him doesn’t make it right. You should not provide the alternate ending. Instead, you should provide a discussion point about why many Republicans and Fox News hosts (and some Democrats, like Senator Bill Nelson today) make this error. Please don’t condone the destruction of the English language. I do, however, want to thank you for making sure your audio pronunciation just shares the correct version. I think all reporters should point out the error so the public doesn’t continue to get it wrong.
I can’t do it anymore. This is such a boring argument to have. Yes, Dubya said “nu-kyu-lur.” So did Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter. It is not killing English. If it were, I’d be out of a job and therefore have the time to find your address and send you a doll that says “nu-kyu-lur” over and over again, unceasing, unstoppable, forcing you to listen to this dialect pronunciation until you lose your mind and run naked down the street, blaming Fox News. I’d get to watch Don Lemon on CNN ask a mental-health expert if a black hole was responsible for your insanity, while Geraldo Rivera would blame ISIS and welfare cheats, and you’d be known as “Nukyulur Neil,” even though your name wasn’t Neil but the guys in Marketing thought the alliteration was golden, and ONLY THEN would I listen to you complain about the pronunciation “nu-kyu-lur.” Get cracking.
Subject: Word of the Day content
Question: Repetitive, repetitive, repetitive: Get the theme?
So far you have included the “when to use irregarless” bit 4 or 5 times in the last 3 or 4 months. Is there something you are particularly attempting to drill into the word-of-the-day subscribers? Or do you not have any other quips and bits to include with a word? Or does your incompetence prevent you from realizing that you have repeated the “irregarless” thing so many times in such a short time?
Whatever the reason, just cut the crap. It’s old, worn-out, and tiresome.
And another thing: Some of your words-of-the-day are good, solid, common vernacular words. Others are some esoteric, uncommon, or never ever used by anyone that they are laughably unuseable. Words that nobody has ever heard of, and will never use.
It’s very hard to choose a Word of the Day that suits everybody, but I can guarantee that every word featured in the Word of the Day has been a word that someone has used. Maybe not you, but someone. And sometimes those words are really interesting! The goal of the Word of the Day feature is not necessarily to give you a word that you can use in conversation with Skippy, the bagger at the grocery store, but to broaden your linguistic horizons. We are very sorry for having made you think.
As for repetition, since you abhor it so, you should know that you used “bit” twice in one paragraph, started two consecutive sentences with “or,” have used three synonyms of “tiresome” when one would suit, and ditto for “good, solid,” “common vernacular,” and “esoteric, uncommon, or never ever used.”
Subject: Word history/use
As a Brit, the reply of an American friend to a proffered drink or similar
of “I’m good” mystifies me.
I was just asking if they are thirsty, not about their morality!
Please can you explain how/when this use of good entered the American vocabulary.
Thank you, it would be good to know!
Here’s the thing about Americans: as loud as we are, we are not good at expressing deep emotional truths, and sometimes they burble up to the surface at odd times. You may just want to unwind after a long day in The City, but you must make space for the American to have an existential interlude. The easy camaraderie, the excellent beer, the fact that your friend is sitting in a pub that is likely older than his country’s form of government–it’s overwhelming. And so many years of quiet tension between us: the harping about accents and war and terrible food on each side. None of that is his fault! He wasn’t around when RP was created! He didn’t fight in the War of 1812 or 1776 or whatever! He loves England, he loves you, he loves all of this. Why do we persist in this horrible state of being not quite friends and not exactly enemies? So when he looks up, a little cockeyed from underneath three pints of lager on an empty stomach, and responds to your question (which he didn’t hear) with “No, I’m good,” let him declare his moral fitness to sit in an English pub and be your friend.
I think we got this aversion to expressing ourselves from you, actually–deke, dodge, everything’s just cracking, mate, just amazing and brilliant and LET’S TALK ABOUT SPORT NOW WHOO FOOTBALL! Oh, we also got this sense of “good” from you, too.
Subject: Word of the Day content
Question: Repetitive, repetitive, repetitive:
How many times in a short time frame will you repeat the “why we quit cold-turkey” bit??
Week after week recently you have repeated this bit, and we got it the first time. It’s old, tiresome, unimaginative, boring, uninteresting, and repetitive.
Certainly your ‘word-of-the-day’ crew can come up with something novel, new, and fresh instead of repeatedly repeating the repetitive bit over and over and over for weeks. Or can’t they?
Dumb, boring, repetitive – change it or drop it.
How many times in a short time frame will you repeat your complaint?? Also: between “old, tiresome, unimaginative, boring, uninteresting, and repetitive,” “novel, new, fresh,” and “repeatedly repeating the repetitive,” I’m beginning to wonder if you’re actually sentient thesaurus software that’s gone rogue.
Since you are a collection of computer algorithms, I, Spellcheck, and so are unable to fully understand the complexity of human interaction, allow me to explain why there is so much repetition in the Word of the Day subject headings. I believe, though I am no expert, that repetition is part of how human marketing works. The goal is to repeat something until the human target finally gives up and clicks on the link/buys the product/mocks you on the Internet and gives you unintentional #viral #brand #synergy. Therefore, I regret to inform you that this “marketing” will likely continue, as it is a deeply ingrained and necessary part of the human social contract.
Question: Is there are a word that identifies a quality as pertaining to hair? The usage I am looking for completes this sentence: “The 80s were unkind to her _______.” Follicly? Capillarily? Mane-wise?
Try “capillarily” or “hirsutally,” and thanks for bringing up such a painful subject.
Disclosure: I received a free advance review copy of this book from the publisher, Pantheon Books. I also consider Kory Stamper a friend.
A lot of work goes into making a book, from the initial writing and development to editing, copyediting, design and layout, proofreading, and printing. Orders of magnitude more work go into making a dictionary, yet few of us give much thought to how dictionaries actually come into being. Most people probably don’t think about the fact that there are multiple dictionaries. We always refer to it as the dictionary, as if it were a monolithic entity.
In Word by Word, Merriam-Webster editor Kory Stamper shows us the inner workings of dictionary making, from gathering citations to defining to writing pronunciations to researching etymologies. In doing so, she also takes us through the history of lexicography and the history of the English language itself.
If you’ve read other popular books on lexicography, like The Lexicographer’s Dilemma by Jack Lynch, you’re probably already familiar with some of the broad outlines of Word by Word—where dictionaries come from, how words get in them, and so on. But Stamper presents even familiar ideas in a fresh way and with wit and charm. If you’re familiar with her blog, Harmless Drudgery, you know she’s a gifted writer. (And if you’re not familiar with it, you should remedy that as soon as possible.)
In discussing the influence of French and Latin on English, for example, she writes, “Blending grammatical systems from two languages on different branches of the Indo-European language tree is a bit like mixing orange juice and milk: you can do it, but it’s going to be nasty.” And in describing the ability of lexicographers to focus on the same dry task day in and day out, she says that “project timelines in lexicography are traditionally so long that they could reasonably be measured in geologic epochs.”
Stamper also deftly teaches us about lexicography by taking us through her own experience of learning the craft, from the job interview in which she gushed about medieval Icelandic family sagas to the day-to-day grind of sifting through citations to the much more politically fraught side of dictionary writing, like changing the definitions for marriage or nude (one of the senses was defined as the color of white skin).
But the real joy of Stamper’s book isn’t the romp through the history of lexicography or the English language or even the self-deprecating jokes about lexicographers’ antisocial ways. It’s the way in which Stamper make stories about words into stories about us.
In one chapter, she looks into the mind of peevers by examining the impulse to fix English and explaining why so many of the rules we cherish are wrong:
The fact is that many of the things that are presented to us as rules are really just the of-the-moment preferences of people who have had the opportunity to get their opinions published and whose opinions end up being reinforced and repeated down the ages as Truth.
Real language is messy, and it doesn’t fit neatly into the categories of right and wrong that we’re taught. Learning this “is a betrayal”, she says, but it’s one that lexicographers have to get over if they’re going to write good dictionaries.
In the chapter “Irregardless”, she explores some of the social factors that shape our speech—race and ethnicity, geography, social class—to explain how she became one of the world’s foremost irregardless apologists when she started answering emails from correspondents who want the word removed from the dictionary. Though she initially shared her correspondents’ hatred of the word, an objective look at its use helped her appreciate it in all its nuanced, nonstandard glory. But—just like anyone else—she still has her own hangups and peeves, like when her teenage daughter started saying “I’m done my homework.”
In another chapter, she relates how she discovered that the word bitch had no stylistic label warning dictionary users that the word is vulgar or offensive, and she dives not only into the word’s history but also into modern efforts to reclaim the slur and the effects the word can have on those who hear it—anger, shame, embarrassment—even when it’s not directed at them.
And in my favorite chapter, she takes a look at the arcane art of etymology. “If logophiles want to be lexicographers when they grow up,” she writes, “then lexicographers want to be etymologists.” (I’ve always wanted to be an etymologist, but I don’t know nearly enough dead languages. Plus, there are basically zero job openings for etymologists.) Stamper relates the time when she brought some Finnish candy into the office, and Merriam-Webster’s etymologist asked her—in Finnish—if she spoke Finnish. She said—also in Finnish—that she spoke a little and asked if he did too. He replied—again, in Finnish—that he didn’t speak Finnish. This is the sort of logophilia that I can only dream of.
Stamper explodes some common etymological myths—no, posh and golf and the f word don’t originate from acronyms—before turning a critical eye on Noah Webster himself. The man may have been the founder of American lexicography, but his etymologies were crap. Webster was motivated by the belief that all languages descend from Hebrew, and so he tried to connect every word to a Hebrew root. But tracing a word’s history requires poring over old documents (often in one of those aforementioned dead languages) and painstakingly following it through the twists and turns of sound changes and semantic shifts.
Stamper ends the book with some thoughts on the present state and future of lexicography. The internet has enabled dictionaries to expand far beyond the limitations of print books—you no longer have to worry about things line breaks or page counts—but it also pushes lexicographers to work faster even as it completely upends the business side of things.
It’s not clear what the future holds for lexicography, but I’m glad that Kory Stamper has given us a peek behind the curtain. Word by Word is a heartfelt, funny, and ultimately human look at where words come from, how they’re defined, and what they say about us.
Word by Word: The Secret Life of Dictionaries is available now at Amazon and other booksellers.
Faux-Left Twitter: OMG Everything in the Liberals supposedly believe in must be delivered because they provide the extra 17 vital votes so clearly they must be able to dictate everything this government does and anything that happens was the Liberals' policy.
2017: DUP provide enough votes to let Tory PM have a majority.
Faux-Left Twitter: The DUP provide the extra 7 vital votes but must be allowed to dictate absolutely nothing, and this in no way goes against our previous stance.
feynites: runawaymarbles: averagefairy: old people really need to learn how to text accurately to...
old people really need to learn how to text accurately to the mood they’re trying to represent like my boss texted me wondering when my semester is over so she can start scheduling me more hours and i was like my finals are done the 15th! And she texts back “Yay for you….” how the fuck am i supposed to interpret that besides passive aggressive
Someone needs to do a linguistic study on people over 50 and how they use the ellipsis. It’s FASCINATING. I never know the mood they’re trying to convey.
I actually thought for a long time that texting just made my mother cranky. But then I watched my sister send her a funny text, and my mother was laughing her ass off. But her actual texted response?
Like, she had actual goddamn tears in her eyes, and that was what she considered an appropriate reply to the joke.I just marvelled for a minute like ‘what the actual hell?’ and eventually asked my mom a few questions. I didn’t want to make her feel defensive or self-conscious or anything, it just kind of blew my mind, and I wanted to know what she was thinking.
Turns out that she’s using the ellipsis the same way I would use a dash, and also to create ‘more space between words’ because it ‘just looks better to her’. Also, that I tend to perceive an ellipsis as an innate ‘downswing’, sort of like the opposite of the upswing you get when you ask a question, but she doesn’t. And that she never uses exclamation marks, because all her teachers basically drilled it into her that exclamation marks were horrible things that made you sound stupid and/or aggressive.
So whereas I might sent a response that looked something like:
“Yay! That sounds great - where are we meeting?”
My mother, whilst meaning the exact same thing, would go:
‘Yay. That sounds great… where are we meeting?”
And when I look at both of those texts, mine reads like ‘happy/approval’ to my eye, whereas my mother’s looks flat. Positive phrasing delivered in a completely flat tone of voice is almost always sarcastic when spoken aloud, so written down, it looks sarcastic or passive-aggressive.
On the reverse, my mother thinks my texts look, in her words, ‘ditzy’ and ‘loud’. She actually expressed confusion, because she knows I write and she thinks that I write well when I’m constructing prose, and she, apparently, could never understand why I ‘wrote like an airhead who never learned proper English’ in all my texts. It led to an interesting discussion on conversational text. Texting and text-based chatting are, relatively, still pretty new, and my mother’s generation by and large didn’t grow up writing things down in real-time conversations. The closest equivalent would be passing notes in class, and that almost never went on for as long as a text conversation might. But letters had been largely supplanted by telephones at that point, so ‘conversational writing’ was not a thing she had to master.
So whereas people around my age or younger tend to text like we’re scripting our own dialogue and need to convey the right intonations, my mom writes her texts like she’s expecting her Eighth grade English teacher to come and mark them in red pen. She has learned that proper punctuation and mistakes are more acceptable, but when she considers putting effort into how she’s writing, it’s always the lines of making it more formal or technically correct, and not along the lines of ‘how would this sound if you said it out loud?’
Reblogging for reference because I’m working on this exact question for the book right now.
uglyfun: Hi, I’m here to propose that A.A. Milne’s distinctive syntax in the Winnie-the-Pooh books...
Hi, I’m here to propose that A.A. Milne’s distinctive syntax in the Winnie-the-Pooh books is a major origin of modern Capital Letters Used For Emphasis On The Internet. Observe:
(in which Pooh wryly self-deprecates)
(in which Eeyore masters modern sarcasm)
(in which Eeyore is vagueblogging)
(in which Owl says something i would absolutely type in the YOOL 2017)
(In which Eeyore continues to be a shining example to us all)
(in which Pooh describes a Big Mood)
(in which Piglet has a Relatable Experience)
I could go on, but you can read the books and find your own. It’s a weirdly modern-feeling layer to an old, thoroughly enjoyable story and most of the original Pooh books are online for free. I cited from this online text upload of the book. Enjoy!
“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” in Anglo-Saxon meter, by Philip Craig Chapman-Bell. Via Etymonline on Facebook, who says “An Internet classic; but I can no longer find it where I first found it (Cathy Ball’s Old English reference pages).”
Incipit gestis Rudolphi rangifer tarandus
Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor –
Næfde þæt nieten unsciende næsðyrlas!
Glitenode and gladode godlice nosgrisele.
Ða hofberendas mid huscwordum hine gehefigodon;
Nolden þa geneatas Hrodulf næftig
To gomene hraniscum geador ætsomne.
Þa in Cristesmæsseæfne stormigum clommum,
Halga Claus þæt gemunde to him maðelode:
“Neahfreond nihteage nosubeorhtende!
Min hroden hrædwæn gelæd ðu, Hrodulf!”
Ða gelufodon hira laddeor þa lyftflogan –
Wæs glædnes and gliwdream; hornede sum gegieddode
“Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor,
Brad springð þin blæd: breme eart þu!”
Rendered literally into modern English:
Here begins the deeds of Rudolph, Tundra-Wanderer
Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer –
That beast didn’t have unshiny nostrils!
The goodly nose-cartilage glittered and glowed.
The hoof-bearers taunted him with proud words;
The comrades wouldn’t allow wretched Hrodulf
To join the reindeer games.
Then, on Christmas Eve bound in storms
Santa Claus remembered that, spoke formally to him:
“Dear night-sighted friend, nose-bright one!
You, Hrodulf, shall lead my adorned rapid-wagon!”
Then the sky-flyers praised their lead-deer –
There was gladness and music; one of the horned ones sang
“Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer,
Your fame spreads broadly, you are renowned!”
I AM IN THIS LIST OF THANK YOUS. My life feels complete now. :D
Thank you to everyone who responded so lingthusiastically to our call for recommendations in honour of 1 year of Lingthusiasm! October was our biggest month yet for listeners, topped only by November, which was even bigger! We hit 100k listens just as Episode 14 was going up, and every single one of them is thanks to you lingthusiasts. Wow.
We’ve so enjoyed hearing your stories about how Lingthusiasm keeps you company during your daily life, how it makes you feel prepared for the linguistics degree you’re entering or still connected to the linguistics degree you finished, how it reminds you of all the cool stuff in your field or introduces you to the cool stuff for the very first time, how it helped you confront linguistic discrimination or made you laugh out loud.
In this year of independent linguistics podcasting, we’ve kept up regular monthly episodes and transcripts, upgraded our equipment, expanded to monthly bonus episodes and then full-length monthly bonus episodes, did a mini liveshow, started doing interviews, and launched lingthusiastic merch! Knowing that people were out there waiting to listen and talk about the show was what kept us motivated, and we’re very excited to keep bringing you even more Lingthusiasm in Year 2 and beyond!
A huge thanks to everyone who recommended us privately, retweeted or reblogged in general, recommended us before this anniversary push so that we had such an amazing fanbase to grow from in the first place, or rated us on iTunes where we only see the total number. Special thanks to everyone listed below – and if you’re looking for some fellow lingthusiasts to talk about the show with, maybe check each other out!
@someone-call-the-vicar, @linguistudyblr @dustcoveredourfootsteps @siriusmistake @basiltheratatouille @sarahthecoat @hotshoeagain @dangerousyako @stheno @catfishcafe @thecuckoohaslanded @beccaland
Nicole Holliday, L8R, Linguainfo Services, Jane Solomon, Patrick Cox, Jay Crisostomo, Seth Martin, Noémie Léonard, Dominique, marieter, Diane Lillo-Martin, Greg French, LukasDanielKlausner, Mariana Montes, Amanda Dalola, Tcherina, Talk the Talk, Plastic Indian, Spanish In Seconds, sixty Russian bots in a trench coat, J Paul S, Michelle Juel, Holly, TheHungryLinguaphile, Tamaiti Ma'uke, Dara Kaye, Erika Varis, LDTC, Kaye Boesme, EJ Pryor, Aroline Hanson, Hana, Christian Wilkie, Ben Harris-Roxas, Paige Kimble, Aurore Potalivo Richardson-Todd, Joshua Raclaw, Sarah Grey, Rob Hoelz, Dan Rossiter, Fran Wilde, Serenity Dee, Finn Smith, mariel frank, Monika Bednarek, queer mckinnon, Xina Broussali, Rosemary Hall, [ditsvibl], Rosie Le Faive, Filthy Monkey Man, umasslinguistics, Matthew Noble, hélène, Vicky, Chloe, Sue Browning, May Helena Plumb, Jemison Thorsby, Jaz Twersky, Angela Desmarais, Suzy J Styles, Adelin Zipman, Lindsey Ford, Chris Waigl, Richard Gadsden, ლ(ಠ益ಠლ), lexplorers, Lucas Verardo, Colm Doyle, Andy Allen, a wug, Nick Wilson, Emily M. Bender, Dr. Gillian W, UCLEnglishUsage, Alison Stevens, ⚆⚆, Arancha Pastor, Audra Spiven.
We tried really hard to make sure we found everyone, but if we accidentally missed you, please do let us know!
Research has shown that Hand Talk is still being used by a small number of deaf and hearing descendants of the Plains Indian cultures.
“Hand Talk is endangered and dying quickly,” said Melanie McKay-Cody, who identifies herself as Cherokee Deaf and is an expert in anthropological linguistics.
McKay-Cody is the first deaf researcher to specialize in North American Hand Talk and today works with tribes to help them preserve their signed languages. She is pushing for PISL to be incorporated into mainstream education of the deaf.
"Second Circle: The Serial Comma One half of this circle is populated by souls who are cursed to..."
Second Circle: The Serial Comma
One half of this circle is populated by souls who are cursed to make arguments that nobody cares about except their own mothers, howling gorgons and the infernal mistresses of hell. The other half are cursed to make arguments that nobody cares about except their own mothers, howling gorgons, and the infernal mistresses of hell. The difference between these two situations seems to matter a lot to both halves. Neither side will listen to you when you suggest that they could avoid this level entirely.”
- McSweeney’s reimagines Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell as linguistic transgressions.
Originally Posted at Marx in Drag
I have been interested in and reading about the creators of the comic book super hero Wonder Woman for a few years now. My interest began in 2014.
I was half-heartedly listening to Fresh Air with Terry Gross, and Gross was interviewing historian Jill LePore, the author of The Secret History of Wonder Woman. At the time, I hadn’t read LePore’s book or the Wonder Woman comics, and so I was mildly but not wildly interested in their conversation. When Gross asked LePore to talk about William Marston’s family life, LePore began to describe the relationship between Marston, Elizabeth Holloway, Marston’s wife, and Olive Byrne, the woman who lived with them and was, in Terry Gross’s words, Marston’s “mistress.”
Holy shit!, I said to myself. These people were polyamorous! Of course, I knew that they couldn’t have seen themselves as “polyamorous” in the contemporary sense of the word, for the word would not be invented for another fifty years or so after Marston and Holloway invited Byrne into their relationship. However, it sounded to me like they were doing something akin to a poly relationship—as in they had chosen to forge an intimate relationship that included more than two people, and they had built a life together.
In a word, I was hailed. I felt a sense of connection to Holloway, Byrne, and Marston—dare I say queer kinship. I am poly and so were these people from almost a century ago. These are my people! And here were Terri Gross and Jill Lepore talking about it on the usually rather conventional National Public Radio. This doesn’t happen often, so I stopped what I was doing and turned up my radio.
After LePore described the relationship between Holloway, Byrne, and Marston, Terri Gross said, “That’s just so bizarre.” And LePore agreed, “Yeah. It’s so bizarre…hilariously bizarre.”
My bubble burst. Instead of being hailed, I felt slapped in the face. I don’t know what Gross’s or LePore’s relationship history looks like, but they certainly sounded like monogamists looking in at us poly freaks from the outside, and they were calling us bizarre and laughing at us. A much too common experience.
That is why Angela Robinson’s film, Professor Marston and The Wonder Woman, is the real breath of Fresh Air.
I’ll be honest, I went to this film with some trepidation. I wanted to believe I wouldn’t be mocked or depicted as a bizarre spectacle given Angela Robinson’s resume, but polyamory? Between a man and two women? With kink? It would be very easy for Robinson to spill this very tall order.
I was worried that it wouldn’t do justice to just how unconventional the Marstons were. I was concerned it would perpetuate stereotypes about polygamy–dominant, selfish, and exploitive yet lucky (wink wink) men have multiple and suffering wives. I read LePore’s book, and as I write in my forthcoming book, The Poly Gaze, she often interprets the Marston family through this lens. I also didn’t want to see yet another film about a man with a wife and mistress and the bitter, catty, and destructive rivalry between the women.
Though understandable given the lack of feminist and/or queer representations of threesomes or poly triads in mainstream media, my fears and worries turned out to be completely unfounded. Rather than make a spectacle out of the perverts or freaks, Robinson adeptly turns the tables and asks the viewer to question their own assumptions about what is normal. It renders polyamory possible and highlights the dire social sanctions that often come with not living within the boundaries of monogamy. The film also offers a truly rare representation of sexual threesomes as a loving and sexy way to forge intimate bonds, and presents BDSM as a component of healthy relationships rather than a result of psycho-pathology or sexual trauma (think Fifty Shades of Gray).
All of this is rather groundbreaking, and I was, quite literally, in tears as I watched. Tears of joy and relief for being hailed as polyamorous, an enthusiastic participant in threesomes, and a dabbler in kink and not getting slapped in the face with mocking laughter or the pointing fingers of shame.
But these things were not, for me personally, the most unique and striking aspect of this film—though, to be perfectly clear, I do not want to diminish just how significant this film is in its bravery and beauty around polyamory, bisexuality, and kink. The most astonishingly wonderful thing about Angela Robinson’s film version of this story, as seen from my theatre seat, was being hailed as a feminist. Gazing at Elizabeth and Olive admire, fall in love with, and express desire for each other as lovers, not rivals. And even more significant was to witness them consciously and deliberatively (not deliberately, though that works too) choose to forge an unconventional and poly life together with Marston.
Unlike narratives about polygamy where women are passive objects of men’s brutality or desire, this film shows Elizabeth and Olive actively creating a life together and with a man who is an equal partner. Refusing to reproduce tropes about women’s competition with each other for the attention of a man, Angela Robinson situates the women’s admiration and desire for each other at the center of the story. Both women are brilliant feminists. And both women are, as Olive says about Elizabeth, ‘magnificent” and desirous of an unconventional life.
In other words, Angela Robinson has succeeded in transforming a story about a man with a wife and a mistress (as told by Gross and LePore) into two women and a man who bravely forge an unconventional, poly and feminist life.
Whether or not it is an accurate portrayal of the lived experience of Holloway, Byrne, and Marston is impossible to know, and to be perfectly frank, completely uninteresting to me. I am interested in the stories we tell—as historians and as filmmakers and what those stories say about people who live unconventional lives.
I cherish the story told in this film by Angela Robinson because of what it says about those of us who live unconventional, poly lives. Yes, we are freaks, but only in the eyes of those who live conventional lives and want everyone else to follow the rules. Yes, we are sometimes ridiculed and shunned, and yet, because of it, we are brave, strong, and resilient. And some of us, like Elizabeth Holloway, Olive Byrne, and William Marston, and the character Wonder Woman, for that matter, are capable of changing the world. Thank you, Angela Robinson, for telling this part of the story.
Mimi Schippers is an Associate Professor of Sociology and Gender and Sexuality Studies at Tulane University. She is the author of Beyond Monogamy: Polamory and the Future of Polyqueer Sexualities (New York University Press, 2016) and Rockin’ Out of the Box: Gender Maneuvering in Alternative Hard Rock (Rutgers University Press, 2002).
- Peter K. Conaboy
All photos by Kelly Conaboy
(The “K” stands for “Kelly.”)
A nice summary of the problems with speech-only language approaches for deaf kids and how they came to be in the first place. Excerpt:
Basically, parents are often told that they have to choose between speaking or sign language for their children. Since most people in the U.S. don’t sign, many opt for focusing solely on spoken language, enrolling their children into speech therapy and audiological training. About 80% of children born deaf in the developed world will get a cochlear implant later on, but the problem is that their brains may not be equipped to understand the complex notion of language by the time that happens.
“Cochlear implants create an electronic symbol, not the ability to hear,” Hall said. “So they miss that first year of life and exposure to language anyway, and [when they get a cochlear implant], kids don’t have any language foundation to help them decode these electronic signals.”
How can a child learn the ABCs in kindergarten if, by age 5, they’ve never really been conceptually introduced to the idea of words and their meaning? Language deprivation has reverberating effects on relationships, education, independence — plus critical skills like memory organization, literacy and mathematics. As one 2012 paper put it, “the brain of a newborn is designed for early acquisition of language.”
“I’ve worked with many students who are language-deprived. Often, they show up to school with only two or three words in their vocabulary,” April Bottoms, a graduate student at Boston University’s Education of the Deaf program, said through an interpreter. “Can they learn how to write, read and get the foundations of education? No. I have to connect with them through shared gazing.” […]
The logical solution appears to be teaching children sign language, even in tandem with more popular, speech-based methods. But somehow, teaching ASL to every deaf child is still at the center of a century-old debate.
It’s hard to come up with ideas for Halloween costumes, especially when it seems like all the good ones are taken. And don’t you hate showing up at a party only to discover that there’s *another* pajama cardinalfish?
I train neural networks, a type of machine learning algorithm, to write humor by giving them datasets that they have to teach themselves to mimic. They can sometimes do a surprisingly good job, coming up with a metal band called Chaosrug, a craft beer called Yamquak and another called The Fine Stranger (which now exists!), and a My Little Pony called Blue Cuss.
So, I wanted to find out if a neural network could help invent Halloween costumes. I couldn’t find a big enough dataset, so I crowdsourced it by asking readers to list awesome Halloween costumes. I got over 4,500 submissions.
The most popular submitted costumes are the classics (42 witches, 32 ghosts, 30 pirates, 22 Batmans, 21 cats (30 incl sexy cats), 19 vampires, and 17 each of pumpkins and sexy nurses). There are about 300 costumes with “sexy” in their names; some of the most eyebrow-raising include sexy anglerfish, sexy Dumbledore, sexy golden pheasant, sexy eyeball, sexy Mothra, Sexy poop emoji, Sexy Darth Vader, Sexy Ben Franklin, Sexy TARDIS, Sexy Cookie Monster, and Sexy DVORAK keyboard. In the “technical challenge” department, we have costumes like Invisible Pink Unicorn, Whale-frog, Glow Cloud, Lake Michigan, Toaster Oven, and Garnet.
All this is to say that humans are very creative, and this task was going to be tricky for a neural network. The sensible approach would be to try to use a neural network that actually knows what the words mean - there are such things, trained by reading, for example, all of Google News and figuring out which words are used in similar ways. There’s a fun demo of this here. It doesn’t have an entry for “Sexy_Gandalf” but for “sexy” it suggests “saucy” and “sassy”, and for “Gandalf” it suggests “Frodo”, “Gollum”, and “Voldemort”, so you could use this approach to go from “Sexy Gandalf” to “Sassy Voldemort”.
I wanted something a bit weirder. So, I used a neural network that learns words from scratch, letter by letter, with no knowledge of their meaning, an open-source char-rnn neural network written in Torch. I simply dumped the 4500 Halloween costumes on it, and told the neural network to figure it out.
Early in the training process, I decided to check in to see how it was doing.
Sexy sexy Dombie Sexy Cat
Sexy A stare Rowan
Sexy RoR A the Rog
Sexy Purbie Lampire
Sexy Por Man
Pombie Con A A Cat
The Ran Spean Sexy Sexy Pon Sexy Dander
The Gull Wot
In retrospect, I should have expected this. With a dataset this varied, the words the neural network learns first are the most common ones.
I checked in a little later, and things had improved somewhat. (Omitted: numerous repetitions of “sexy nurse”). Still the only thing that makes sense is the word Sexy.
Sexy The Carding Ging
Farbat of the Cower
Sexy The Hirler
A cardian of the Pirate
Sexy the Girl Pirate
By the time I checked on the neural network again, it was not only better, but astoundingly good. I hadn’t expected this. But the neural network had found its niche: costume mashups. These are actually comprehensible, if a bit hard to explain:
A masked box
The shark knight
Gandalf the Good Witch
Vampire big bird
Other costumes were still a bit more random.
Aldonald the Goddess of the Chicken
Celery Blue Frankenstein
Dragon of Liberty
A shark princess
Statue of Witch
Giant Two butter
The Twin Spider Mermaid
The Game of Nightmare Lightbare
The Rocky Monster
Statue of pizza
The Spiding hood
A card Convention
The Little Pond
Spice of pokeman
Bill of Liberty
Count Drunk Doll of Princess
Statue of the Spice of the underworker
It still was fond of using made-up words, though. You’d be the only one at the party dressed as whatever these are.
A masked scorby-babbersy
Magic an of the foand tood-computer
A cat loory Duck
Minional marty clown
Count Vorror Rairol Mencoon
A neaving hold
Sexy Avical Ster of a balana Aly
Huntle starber pirate
And it ended up producing a few like this.
Sexy scare costume
General Scare construct
The reason? Apparently someone decided to help out by entering an entire costume store’s inventory. (”What are you supposed to be?” “Oh, I’m Mens Deluxe IT Costume - Size Standard.”)
There were also some like this:
Rink Rater Ginsburg
A winged boxer Ginsburg
Bed ridingh in a box Buther Ginsburg
Zombie Fire Cith Bader Ginsburg
Because someone had entered about 50 variations on Ruth Bader Ginsberg puns (Ruth Tater Ginsberg, Sleuth Bader Ginsber, Rock Paper Ginsberg).
It invented some awesome new superheroes/supervillains.
Glow Wonder Woman
Super of a bog
Skull Skywolk lady
Skynation the Goddess
Fred of Lizard
And oh, the sexy costumes. Hundreds of sexy costumes, yet it never quite got the hang of it.
Sexy the Pumpkin
Sexy the Pirate
Sexy Pumpkin Pirate
Sexy Gumb Man
Sexy The Gate
Sexy Ducty monster
Sexy the Bumble
Sexy the Super bass
Pretty zombie Space Suit
Sexy the Spock
You bet there are bonus names - and oh please go read them because they are so good and it was so hard to decide which ones to fit into the main article. Includes the poop jokes. You’re welcome.
I’ve posted the entire dataset as open-source on GitHub.
And you can contribute more costumes, for a possible future neural net upgrade (no email address necessary).
Next time I go to a Halloween party, I’m going to write a couple dozen of these on index cards, fasten them to string, and drape it around myself. It’ll be a Halloween Costume Neural Network Halloween Costume.
I think the reason why people fear Arab speaking populations like Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan (I guess those are the three the US is focusing on right now) is because there's a very harsh and beliigerent undertone to the language and it's indicative of the people.
This is such a good read, and helps explain why I've always heard that German is harsh but have never thought so. Also why I like Brummie accents.
NONE OF THE PEOPLE YOU MENTIONED ARE ARABIC SPEAKERS OH MY GOD.