Think You for Your Service

          Okay, here's what I believe is happening:

          We have access to so much information these days. It washes over us even when we aren't paying attention. There are words (and images, but my primary concern in this rant is words) everywhere. So so many words. Words words words words words.

Pretty soon one word seems as good as another, especially since they just float by in the constant rush of words we process every day. Who has time to evaluate whether they're the right words, or the best words, or even the words that make sense? Who cares? Proofreading? Pfft—as extinct and useless as the dodo.

          Me, I love words. I love their nuance. I love their expressiveness. I even love their odd little spellings. I like the shadings of meaning that come with words: glimmer, glisten, twinkle, shine, sparkle—each means something slightly different. Each helps to build a specific image. I adore that. I adore how I can shade meaning with just the right word. I like the words I read to be the right words, not the almost-right ones.

          I know this is a peccadillo on my part—possibly a character flaw. I don't expect anyone else to share my passion (although I do expect to be treated as gently as one would treat anyone else suffering from a harmless obsession). I have learned to accept the fact that, for most people in their relationship with words, the difference between the fire and the fire-fly, to paraphrase Mark Twain, is neglible. Close enough.

          But sometimes you probably do want to get the words right. Like when you're being all patriotic and we-love-our-service-men-and-women. At those times, you probably want to thank them for their service, not think them.

          Because, you know, words actually do matter.

This ad appeared recently in the local paper. I've blurred the business
name because I'm sure they feel terrible about this blunder, and
I don't really feel the need to taunt them for it.

Numpty, Numpty, Numpty

          Oh, have I got a lovely word for you. It was voted Scotland's favorite word in 2007. It's dead useful, as Hagrid would say, because the world is absolutely full of people you can use this word to describe. It's pejorative, but it sounds affectionate, a combination I prefer because I don't like confrontation even a little bit. K thinks that it sounds like a word for "a whole lot," but that's not really what it means, although he's already talking about the numpty-nine times he's told Casey not to bark just today. 

It has a certain charm, doesn't it?

          I'm going to give you one of the definitions from the Urban Dictionary because not only does it tell you how to spell the plural, it also gives an illustrative sentence that makes me laugh (warning to The Easily Offended: the illustrative sentence contains a Not Very Nice But Oh So Evocative Word. You should probably cover your eyes.) So here's the definition, and all the rest: "Dialect, chiefly Scots. A bumbling fool or one who is intellectually challenged. (plural : numpties) EX: 'They numpties couldnae organise a pissup in a brewery.' In reference to members of Scottish parliament."

          Apparently we share with our Scottish cousins the ignominy of being governed by a bunch of numpties.

Splendid Word O' the Week

          I ran across this word the other day, and I was completely ensorceled:

©Nancy E. Banks

          It sounds like what it means, which is to rummage. According to Webster's Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged, it comes from Australia, where it specifically means "to search for gold typically by picking over abandoned workings." Rummaging, in other words.
          An added bonus is the etymology, where one learns that it's a dialect irregular form of "fuss."
          So, rummaging with a side of fussing while looking for something valuable.
          This is a Word I Can Use. Because it turns out that I spend a lot of time fossicking. For example: I was fossicking in the junk drawer this morning for the AA batteries that I just put in there, but I couldn't find them. Could be it's time to clean that drawer out. Or: No amount of fossicking in the "Sent Mail" folder will turn up the itinerary I was supposed to forward to my sister if I failed to actually forward it in the first place.
          Happy Fossicking.