Words for Nerds

A Halloween Whooodunit

"The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat . . .
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon."

There seems to be a cat-lover in Newell, South Dakota, who isn't familiar with Edward Lear. Or maybe the place is simply fresh out of quince.

It seems that the town has had a problem with an over-abundance of feral cats. For small-town law enforcement, dealing with stray animals comes with the territory. This is not necessarily a trivial task in western South Dakota, where every now and then a wandering feline turns out to be a mountain lion. Still, complaints about stray cats probably aren't a top priority for the sheriff's office.

The priority may have moved a little higher in recent weeks though, when apparently an unusually high number of Newell's feral cats were disappearing. The authorities tend to get nervous about the idea of citizens randomly dispatching strays with .22's or BB guns within the city limits. Perhaps the sheriff's officers were even concerned about the slight possibility that somebody might be killing cats for twisted and gruesome reasons.

Somebody was killing cats, all right. Very dark and early one recent morning, the sheriff caught the perp red-handed.

Er—make that red-clawed. A great horned owl swooped down from a tree, grabbed a Siamese cat, and proceeded to have it for breakfast. There was no word on whether it used a runcible spoon.

"Runcible," by the way, is a nonsense word invented by Edward Lear. A couple of sources describe it as a spoon with short tines on the end, what we now call a "spork." A couple of other sources maintain, from the way he used the word in a couple of other stories and from one of his own drawings, that Lear simply used it to mean "gigantic." The latter meaning seems more logical, and also makes a runcible spoon an appropriate utensil for any bird big enough to routinely capture and munch on full-grown cats.

But the plot thickens. For one thing, the owl caught with its Siamese take-out wasn't working alone. Two of the birds have been seen in town. Second, catching them in the act doesn't mean the sheriff's office can do anything to protect the innocent cats of Newell. Great horned owls are a federally protected species, and it's illegal to harm them.

This could be a real problem. The owls, which can grow up to two feet tall with a wing span of 60 inches, are powerful predators. They eat practically anything, from rodents to skunks and even porcupines. A small town with plenty of cats gives them a handy all-you-can-eat buffet, and they probably can't taste the difference between a stray cat and someone's much-loved pet.

This raises an interesting question. What exactly would the federal authorities consider "harm"? Would someone be prosecuted for sending a pair of great horned owls down the mighty Missouri in a pea-green boat? Surely not, as long as they were supplied with plenty of quince and a couple of runcible spoons.

Categories: Just For Fun, Wild Things, Words for Nerds | Tags: , , , , | 3 Comments

By Any Other Name

When I was 12 or so, my family received a wedding invitation from a relative who lived in Rapid City. The reception was to be held at the Pretty Pines Party House.

Since we didn't go to the wedding, I never had a chance to see the inside of the Pretty Pines Party House. Still, I always remembered the name just because it was so annoyingly cute. Years later, when I moved to the Black Hills, I drove past the place and was amused to see what a plain building sat behind the silly name.

One of the problems with "Pretty Pines Party House" is too much alliteration. Like eyeliner or garlic, alliteration works best when applied in moderation. Its repeated sounds ought to flow gracefully, not belabor you about the head and shoulders with repeated blows.

Speaking of blows about the head and shoulders, how about that hockey team? At the local game we attended this year, the Rapid City Rush played the Amarillo Gorillas. Our team—not that I'm prejudiced or anything—has a well-chosen name. It combines a bit of alliteration with an implication of power and speed that also serves as a nod to Mount Rushmore.

The Gorillas? Not so much. Just try saying "Amarillo Gorillas" two or three times. It doesn't quite work. Not, at least, for a Yankee tongue, which wants to say "Amarillo Garillos." Of course, in Texas, there isn't a problem. The local pronunciation for the town is "Amarilla," which rhymes quite nicely with "Gorilla."

I wonder why they didn't name the team the "Amarillo Armadillos." It abounds with alliteration. Better yet, it's trilingual alliteration. It flows smoothly off the tongue, no matter which language you use. In English it's "Amarillo Armadillos," in Spanish it's roughly "Amareeyo Armadeeyos," and in Texan it's "Amarilla Armadillas."

Given the padding that hockey players wear, it seems to me the well-armored armadillo would be a perfect mascot. I suppose, though, a gorilla has a tougher image.

I ought to understand that perfectly well from high school, where our teams were the Gregory Gorillas. When girls' sports were started not long after I graduated, they were called (unfortunately, I am not making this up) the "Girl-illas." Now they are the "Lady Gorillas," which at least has the virtue of being oxymoronic rather than just moronic.

It does, however, raise the question of why the boys' teams aren’t correspondingly called the "Gentleman Gorillas." Gender equality and alliteration at the same time—it should be an unbeatable combination.

But back to the Pretty Pines Party House. It's still there and still a place for parties, just under a different name. Now, as the "Buck & Gator," it's a biker bar.

Categories: Just For Fun, Words for Nerds | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

In Hot Water and Holding the Bag

Over a restaurant's breakfast menu the other morning, a friend raised an important question: Why do we use the word "poached" for both a deer taken out of season and an egg cooked in hot water?

Inquiring minds wanted to know. When I got home, I consulted the curious editor's best friend—the unabridged dictionary. I found two possible explanations.

According to our Random House Dictionary of the English Language (Unabridged), the word "poach" comes from Middle French "pocher" by way of Middle English "potch." It means "bag."

This word is the reason a bag is sometimes called a "poke," and it's where we get the expression "a pig in a poke." If you were foolish enough to buy a bagged pig without looking inside the sack to make sure you were actually getting pork on the hoof, you might be tricked into buying a less edible critter. You wouldn't know you'd been scammed until you "let the cat out of the bag."

But I digress. Back to poaching. The connection with hunting is clear enough. We still use "bag" to mean getting the game you're after. Besides, it makes sense that if you were hunting illegally, you might want to put whatever you got into a bag. But how do you get from bagging game to cooking eggs?

The RHDEL(U) says that an egg cooked in hot water is "poached" because the white holds the yoke the way a bag would. I'm not going to argue with a dictionary that weighs as much as a small child, but that seems like a stretch to me. Although I would concede that a quivering, runny poached egg looks like it ought to be in a bag, preferably a garbage bag.

There's another possibility, however. Another meaning of "poached," which the RHDEL(U) says comes from the Middle French "pocher" meaning "gouge," is "to mix with water and reduce to a uniform consistency, as clay." (There was no explanation of why Middle French apparently used the same word for "bag" and "gouge," as in, "Just stick that there pig in a poke, and if it squeals, poke it with a stick.")

There's also a word "poachy" that means "slushy or swampy." This seems to me to have a more reasonable association with the watery texture of a not-quite-boiled egg. Maybe poached eggs came into modern English through a swamp rather than in a bag.

Who knows? And, except for those of us who are nitpicking word freaks, probably no one really cares.

What I do know is that, if you steal an egg out from under your neighbor's hen and break it into boiling water, you're going to have a twice-poached egg. And if you shoot a deer or a pheasant out of season, you're likely to end up in hot water with egg on your face.

Categories: Words for Nerds | 2 Comments

Classified Information

Procrastinating on a Tuesday morning, I managed to make my third cup of tea outlast the front page, the editorial page, the obituaries, the word jumble, and the comics. This explains why I was browsing through the classifieds.

"Never worn, strapless pickup wedding gown." Isn't that a little contradictory? Not to mention that, as a pickup line, "Do you like my wedding gown?" might be a bit presumptuous.

Oh. Never mind. All became clear in a second ad, for a wedding dress "extra length for pickup style." Apparently this style must be a skirt so long that you have to hold it up so you won't trip over it. Bouquet in one hand, skirt in the other—it doesn't exactly leave the bride a free hand if she needs to tug up her strapless bodice. It may be the latest in bridal fashion, but this idea seems to be a few yards short of a full train.

Over in the household goods column was a deep fat fryer, "used only three times (I'm single)." Excuse me? Was the seller giving his marital status as a reason for not using the fryer? Or maybe he was just taking advantage of an opportunity, along the lines of what Lena did after Ole died. She couldn't afford more than one line for the obituary, so she told the editor just to put in "Ole died." The editor, a sympathetic soul, told her she could add three more words for the same price. The published obituary read, "Ole died. Boat for sale."

Maybe the same principle was at work here. You never know who reads the classifieds, after all. Maybe the former fryer could get together with the owner of the never-worn pickup wedding gown.

There was half a column of ads trying to give away kittens, each one "free to a good home." Anyone who's been there, either on the kitten-giving or kitten-getting side of the transaction, knows what this really means. It doesn't mean, "You'd better be kind, loving cat people, and we'll check." Nope. It means, "Please, please take a kitten. We don't care who you are. Take two, and we'll throw in a bag of cat food and half a bushel of zucchini."

Skimming through pets, collectibles, and household goods, I noticed a phrase common to a great many ads. Cars, couches, coats, and kittens were described as red, green, blue, or calico "in color." Thanks for clarifying; otherwise I might have assumed it was red in size.

All the ink wasted on those extra "in colors" might have been put to better use if people would give better descriptions of what they have for sale. Suppose, for example, you're looking for a dresser and you find one in the classifieds. The first question you'll probably ask when you call is, "How big is it?"

"Um, I'm not sure. You want me to measure it?"

"Yes, please."

You wait. You know it's going to take a while. First the seller has to rummage unsuccessfully in the hallway closet for a yardstick, then go down the basement to find a tape measure, then go back upstairs to measure the dresser, then come back downstairs to the phone.

You pass the time by reading more ads. There's an electric typewriter described as an "antique." Yeah, right; lots of luck getting 15 bucks for that. Hmm, there's a treadmill for only $125; maybe you should call. Just about the time you've almost decided it would be nice to have a kitten, the seller comes back on the line. "It's 56 inches wide, and 32 inches high, and 18 inches deep. And it has a big mirror."

"I'm afraid that's too big. Thanks anyway." You resist the temptation to add, "And if you had measured it first and described it better in the ad, you would have saved both of us a lot of time."

The final ad I read was a classic in only one line, a masterful combination of wasted words and under-information. "Sitting chair, maroon in color."

This seller could have learned a lot from Lena.

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