Tag: Etymology

Q: When using quotations, does punctuation belong inside or outside the quotation marks? Does the type of punctuation (e.g., comma, period, question mark, etc.) affect the location? If you would be so kind, please clarify.

A: Standard American punctuation calls for putting periods, commas, question marks, and exclamation points INSIDE quotation marks. [“Let’s go,” he said. “Please.” “But why?” she asked. “We’ll have fun!”]

Colons and semicolons go OUTSIDE the quotation marks. [Their favorite song was “Misty”: the first tune they’d ever danced to. They also liked “My Funny Valentine”; they knew the lyrics by heart.]

Exceptions: a question mark or exclamation point goes OUTSIDE the quotation marks if it’s not actually part of the quotation. [Why do they like “Misty”? I can’t stand “My Funny Valentine”!]

I hope this helps.

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Q: I have long thought that the word “maven” had a certain ironic or humorous tone to it. I thought it referred to a self-appointed expert, someone who is self taught, not formally educated in his area of expertise. I was surprised to see that the Oxford American Dictionary defines it as an expert or connoisseur. Has the definition changed over the years? Do you know when it first appeared in standard dictionaries?

A: The word “maven” is derived from the similarly pronounced Yiddish word for expert, which in turn comes from the Hebrew for one who understands. In English, it means a person with special knowledge or experience.

The first published reference in English appeared in the Jewish Standard of Toronto in 1950, though it was then spelled “mayvin,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Over the next couple of decades the word appeared in several different spellings (“mayvin,” “mavin,” “mayven,” and the eventual winner, “maven”).

I can’t tell you when it first first showed up in dictionaries, but it’s not in my 1954 Webster’s International Dictionary of the English Language (2d ed.) or in a 1972 Merriam-Webster pocket edition under any of those spellings. I do find it in a 1979 Webster’s New World edition (spelled alternately “maven” and “mavin”), with this definition: “an expert or connoisseur, often esp. a self-proclaimed one.” Current dictionaries, however, don’t include the “self-proclaimed” angle.

The OED suggests that the word “maven” may have been popularized in English by a Vita Herring advertising campaign in the mid-60s. The dictionary includes this 1965 citation from the Hadassah News:

“Get Vita at your favorite supermarket, grocery or delicatessen. Tell them the beloved Maven sent you. It won’t save you any money: but you’ll get the best herring.”

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Q: I recently purchased Woe Is I Jr. for some little friends and enjoyed reading it myself. However, there is one little thing that I must take issue with in the section on plurals. You have the words “beau” and “chateau” made plural with an “s.” I was raised in the French tradition and believe those two words and others that end in “u” should be made plural with an “x.”

A: Let me explain my advice on forming the plurals of words derived from French and other languages. As the years go by, nouns of foreign origin (like memorandum, stadium, appendix, and so on) tend to lose their foreign plural endings (memoranda, stadia, appendices), and adopt Anglicized plural forms (memorandums, stadiums, appendixes).

As I point out in my adult grammar book, Woe Is I, the foreign plurals of these and other words would have been preferred a century (or even 50 years) ago, but preferences gradually shift as English endings become more common. Dictionaries eventually recognize this by listing the Anglicized version first instead of second.

There’s often a period in which the two versions are equally common. For example, the contest between referendums and referenda is almost a tie these days (referendums wins by a nose). Of course, if the Latinate plural, referenda, appeals to you, by all means use it. It’s not incorrect. But when you want to go along with current preferences, consult a usage guide or pick the plural that’s listed first in the dictionary. It’s likely to be the one most commonly used.

I’d like to emphasize that the old foreign plurals are not wrong! They merely become less common in ordinary usage. The choice is still yours to make. With that in mind, here’s a partial list of current preferences:

Anglicized plurals preferred: antennas (except those on insects), appendixes, beaus, cactuses, chateaus, curriculums, formulas, gymnasiums, indexes, memorandums, millenniums, referendums, stadiums, syllabuses, symposiums, tableaus, ultimatums, virtuosos.

Foreign plurals preferred: addenda, algae, analyses, antennae (on insects), axes (for axis), bacteria, bases (for basis), crises, criteria, fungi, hypotheses, kibbutzim, larvae, oases, parentheses, phenomena, radii (but radiuses is gaining fast), stimuli, strata, theses, vertebrae.

I hope this clarifies the subject (or subjects)!

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Q: I enjoyed your blog item about “champing/chomping” at the bit. I wonder whether this shift is akin to “stamping/stomping” ground.

A: Your instincts are right. The word “chomp” (and “chomping”) arose as a popular variant of “champ” (and “champing”). The same thing has happened with “stomp” (“stomping”) and “stamp” (“stamping”). This time, too, the “amp” version preceded the “omp.”

“Stamping” dates from 1375, and the American phrase “stamping ground” dates from 1821, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The variation “stomping” (which is defined as “stamping”) dates from 1819, and “stomping ground” from 1854.

But the newer “stomping ground” now has overtaken the older expression. According to Garner’s Modern American Usage, “stomping ground” outnumbers “stamping ground” by 3-to-1 in print sources. Either version is now considered standard American usage.

In closing, I should mention that I jokingly refer to one of my two black Labs (the one with the biggest appetite) as Noam Chompsky. Sorry, but I couldn’t resist mentioning that!

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Q: Why are there so many seemingly random capital letters used in the preamble to the Constitution and in the Bill of Rights? Were the rules of capitalization different or nonexistent in those days?

A: Capitalization is more a matter of style than of grammar or usage. That’s why each newspaper, book publisher, and magazine has its own rules of capitalization. And, of course, that’s why each age has its own ideas about capitalization.

Bryan A. Garner, in Garner’s Modern American Usage, says there’s a “modern trend away from capitalization, resulting in a minimalist rule: unless there’s a good reason to capitalize, don’t.”

No wonder the capitalization in the preamble to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights seems random to you. Jefferson would probably feel the same about the capitalization on The Grammarphobia Blog.

Much of what you see as random in the Constitution may be attempts to emphasize certain words, like “Union,” “Tranquility,” “Liberty,” and “Posterity.” Of course magazine ad writers do the same thing these days.

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Q: This isn’t exactly a language question, but in a way it is. I was reading one of Trollope’s Barsetshire novels and I saw a reference to a noble or stately stand of lime trees. Are there noble stands of lime trees in England?

A: The simple answer is yes, but not much is simple in the language world.

The English, it turns out, use the term “lime tree” to refer to what Americans would call a linden. The word “lime” in this case appears to be an alteration of the Old English terms “lind” and “linde,” which gave us the word “linden.”

The tree, whether you call it a “lime” or a “linden,” is a member of the genus Tilia, which includes some two and a half dozen species, including American and European lindens. European lindens can grow to 100 feet or so, and they are indeed noble and stately.

The linden (or, if you prefer, the lime tree) isn’t related to the shrubs and small trees that give us limes and other fruit from members of the genus Citrus (grapefruit, lemon, orange, etc.). But I’ve heard from fellow gardeners that citrus plants can grow outdoors in sheltered areas of southern England. (The fictional county of Barsetshire is believed to be modeled after Somersetshire in southwestern England.)

The first published references for the use of “lime tree” to mean linden date from the early 17th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Lime trees figure in the works of many English writers, including Dryden, Pope, Swift, Austen, Tennyson, and Trollope. In The Warden (1855), the first of Trollope’s Barsetshire novels, the Rev. Septimus Harding paces “hour after hour, under those noble lime-trees.”

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Q: I teach ESL (that explains why I e-mail you so often). The text I use for my grammar class has a chart of contractions that includes “there’re” for “there are.” Please tell me this is wrong.

A: In my grammar book Woe Is I, there are lists of commonly accepted contractions as well as “disreputable” ones. “There’re” is among the disreputables. It’s common in speech, but written English is not yet ready for it.

In case you’re interested, here are the contractions I believe are not appropriate for written English. Leading the pack, of course, is our old friend ain’t. Now for the rest, in manageable bunches.

Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve, might’ve, must’ve.

Also, it’d, that’d, there’d, this’d, what’d.

And how’d, how’ll, how’re, how’s, when’ll, when’re, when’s, where’d, where’ll, where’re, why’d, why’re, why’s.

Also, that’ll, that’re, that’ve, there’ll, there’re, there’ve, this’ll, who’re.

And that’s all for now!

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Whether you love “like” or hate it, read Pat’s “like”-minded “On Language” column in the latest New York Times Magazine :

Like

By PATRICIA T. O’CONNER

Like is a friendly word. As a verb, it gives off affectionate vibes. In other parts of speech, it’s a mensch as well, emphasizing what things have in common, not what separates them. But there’s another like in the air, a gossipy usage that has grammar purists — and many parents of teenagers — climbing the walls.

This upstart like is the new say, and users (or abusers, depending on which side you take) find it a handy tool for quoting or paraphrasing the speech of others, often with sarcasm or irony. Linguists call it the “quotative like,” but any 16-year-old can show you how it works.

For example, like can introduce an actual quotation (“She’s like, ‘What unusual shoes you’re wearing!’ ”) or paraphrase one (“She’s like, my shoes are weird!”).

Or it can summarize the inner thoughts of either the quoter or the quotee (“She’s like, yeah, as if I’d be caught dead in them! And I’m like, I care what you think?”).

Like even lets a speaker imitate the behavior of the person being quoted (“She’s like . . . ” and the speaker smirks and rolls her eyes).

This like is not to be confused with the one that sticklers see as a meaningless verbal tic (“The band was, like, outrageous!”). Linguists would argue, however, that even that one has its uses — to emphasize something (“I was, like, exhausted!”) or to hedge a statement (“We had, like, six hours of homework!”).

But back to the like that’s used as a marker to introduce quotes (real or approximate) as well as thoughts, attitudes and even gestures. Parents may gnash their teeth, but language scholars like like.

For the rest of the column, click here.

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Q: I am a summer associate at a New York law firm and share an office with someone who used the phrase “little shavers” to refer to my kids. (He suggested I take my “little shavers” to a ball game.) I asked him the origin of this expression but he didn’t know where it came from and we can’t find it anywhere. I’m hoping you can help resolve this!

A: The term “shaver” was used to mean a man (or chap or fellow) as long ago as the late 16th century. The phrase “old shaver” (old man) was recorded in the 1590s, and “young shaver” (a youth) occurred as early as 1630, according to several slang dictionaries I consulted. I’m told this was a reference to the male tendency to shave facial hair.

According to the lexicographer Eric Partridge, the term “shaveling” meant a youth because of “the infrequency of his need to shave.” In modern usage, a “shaver” means a child, and is often preceded by “young” or “little.”

I would have guessed that “shaver” was a reference to the kind of wood shaving created by a carving tool or a carpenter’s plane. Not even close!

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Q: I make a daily stop in Dunkin’ Donuts and one clerk, when she’s finished with a customer and wants to get the attention of the next one, loudly states: “Following customer, please.” This makes me cringe. I’ve chosen not to correct her, though, fearing for my daily latte. Is this phrase being used correctly?

A: You aren’t the first to raise this question (many bank tellers and postal clerks, I’m told, also make a practice of referring to the “following” person). I can’t account for the practice, except to guess that the clerks may think it’s inelegant to speak of each subsequent customer as the “next” one in line.

I don’t especially like this usage, but it’s not grammatically wrong. The word “following” has been used as an adjective meaning next in order or coming after since around 1300, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Here’s an example from Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667): “Living Carcasses design’d / For death, the following day, in bloodie fight.”

To call someone “the following customer,” however, raises questions: Following whom? Or what? By the time the person reaches the front of the line, he’s no longer BEHIND anybody. Any usage that makes an ordinary, intelligent person look around and scratch her head in wonder has something wrong with it.

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Q: In describing a tech device, “the size of a pack of cigarettes” seems to be a dying locution. Of lung cancer, presumably. I prefer “the size of a PDA” (i.e., like a palm handheld).

A: You can never tell which expressions of comparison are going to become dead locutions and which aren’t. Just look at “bigger than a breadbox.” The phrase was popularized by Steve Allen when he was a regular on the old “What’s My Line” television show; panelists asked yes-or-no questions, and Allen’s “Is it bigger than a breadbox?” became a familiar refrain. Real breadboxes aren’t seen much anymore, but you can still hear that old expression.

As for “the size of a cigarette pack,” no one is likely to forget where that one came from any time soon (unfortunately!).

Many phrases live on even after most people have forgotten where they came from. “Bellwether” is a good example; it refers to the lead sheep in a flock (the castrated ram, or “wether,” that wears the bell). “Linchpin” is another: a pin inserted into the end of a shaft or axle to keep a wheel from falling off. The meaning was once “real” but now it’s purely metaphorical.

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Q: Are you familiar with the term “CamelCase” for a compound word (like “PhotoShop”) with uppercase letters in the middle? I encountered it working with a smart copyeditor.

A: The term “CamelCase” (sometimes written “camel case” or “Camel Case”) describes a spelling with a dromedary-like bump or two in the middle, like “WordPerfect” or “HarperCollins.”

It’s a relatively new term and hasn’t made it into the three dictionaries I consult the most: The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.), Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.), and the Oxford English Dictionary.

The Chicago Manual of Style (15th ed.) uses the term “midcap” to describe a brand name or company name with two or more words mushed together and a capital letter or two in the middle.

The term “CamelCase” may have originated among techie types. A 1995 posting to a Unix newsgroup refers to “eMpTy (Oooo Camel Case)” and a 1996 message to a programming group mentions “a single word Camel-caser (like camel humps).” The 1996 post is part of an exchange that includes the verb “to camel-case.” A 1998 post on another programming newsgroup has the two words linked and the second “c” capitalized.

I find the ubiquitous commercial use of interior caps ugly, but it’s not particularly new. The “CamelCase” item in Wikipedia points out similar business usages going back half a century (“CinemaScope” and “VistaVision,” for example).

I may not like the usage, but I think “CamelCase” is a wonderfully descriptive term for it, much more colorful than synonyms like “midcap” or “mixed case.” So I wouldn’t be surprised if “CamelCase” has legs as well as humps!

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Q: I’m a college administrator and I was wondering how to use “emeritus” when referring to more than one professor of that ilk. Would it be “professors emeriti”?

A: The Chicago Manual of Style (15th ed.) recommends “professor emeritus” (sing. masc.); “professor emerita” (sing. fem.); “professors emeriti” (pl. masc. or both masc. and fem.), and “professors emeritae” (pl. fem.).

The Chicago Manual also notes that “emeritus,” “emerita,” and so on are honorary designations and do not simply mean retired.

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Q: I’ve searched for the answer to this question for five years: What do you call those short, sturdy posts that are used to keep vehicles off sidewalks, traffic islands, and so on? I just ran across the word, though I expect that you already know it: “bollard.”

A: No, I didn’t know it. Thanks for ending the suspense! “Bollard” goes into my list of “what do you call that thing” words, along with a little history about the term.

The word, I learn, has been around since the mid-19th century. At first, it referred to a post (on a ship or boat or dock) that was used for securing rope.

By the mid-20th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, it was also being used for a post on a traffic island. One of the first published references for the second usage is in a 1955 article in the Times of London: “The woman was waiting between the bollards in the middle of the crossing.”

Where does “bollard” come from? The OED says the word’s origin is unknown, but the dictionary speculates that it might be derived from “bole” (the trunk of a tree).

Both The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) and Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) describe “bollard” as primarily British. But Wikipedia says the term has been making inroads in the U.S., especially on college campuses with traffic problems.

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Q: Here’s a question for Steve Jobs. IPod: May we cap the “i” at the beginning of a sentence, Mr. Jobs?

A: If I hear from him, I’ll let you know. As for whether “iPod” should be capitalized at the start of a sentence, this is something that has been much debated on copy desks. Since it’s an issue of style rather than grammar, I’ll go straight to the horse’s mouth: The Chicago Manual of Style (15th ed).

When a term like “iPod” or “eBay” appears at the beginning of a sentence, The Chicago Manual recommends “either capitalizing the first letter in that position or, better, recasting the sentence so the name does not appear at the beginning.” (Section 8.163)

It may be a cop-out, but I also prefer the second choice: rewriting the sentence to avoid the problem.

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Q: I was reading your item about “niggardly” and it reminded me of something. I used the term “bête noire” recently and I was told that it’s now politically incorrect. Do you know the origin of the term and if it is now considered P.I.?

A: I’m dismayed to hear that “bête noire” has been impugned! Neither The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) nor Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) describes it as insensitive.

“Bête noire,” which literally means “black beast” in French, is a figurative expression used to refer to someone or something that is to be avoided or dreaded. It’s a vivid metaphor that has been used in English since the 19th century.

The Oxford English Dictionary’s earliest published reference for the expression is in a Thackeray novel, The Luck of Barry Lyndon (1844): “Calling me her bête noire, her dark spirit, her murderous adorer, and a thousand other names indicative of her extreme disquietude and terror.”

Almost anything (any word or expression) is capable of offending SOMEBODY if the circumstances are right. Words themselves (except for the notorious exceptions) aren’t insensitive; people are insensitive.

For instance, there’s nothing wrong with “offhand remark,” but you might not want to use it to describe the comments by a man who’d just had a hand amputated. Similarly, there’s nothing wrong with “bête noire,” but it might be unwise to use it in reference to, say, an African-American politician. If a little bell might go off in the listener’s brain, you choose another term, that’s all.

If we were to forbid every word and expression with any capability of offending anyone, we’d have to go around with duct tape over our mouths.

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Q: I often hear young parents coo at their offspring with a throaty, high-pitched “good job” for every form of behavior, from eating to climbing aboard a bus to playing. I am tempted to snarl at the cooing parents, “That (behavior) is not a job.” How does such an attitude convey or encourage respect, responsibility, self-discipline, and love? I would certainly appreciate your comments.

A: I too have heard “good job” a lot lately and even catch myself perpetrating it. But I believe the intent is a lot more idiomatic and less literal than you seem to think.

The phrases “good job” and “bad job” have been used since the early 1700s to refer to fortunate or unfortunate occurrences, events, facts, or states of things, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Here’s an OED citation from The Master of the Ceremonies (1886), a novel by George Manville Fenn: “It is a jolly good job the old woman is dead.”

In the dog-training world, Americans often use “good job” the way the British use “well done.” My husband and I used to compete in obedience matches and trials with our two black Labs. I noticed that competitors often rewarded their dogs verbally by saying “Good job, Abby!” or “Good job, Rooney!” One British woman invariably said to her Pekinese, “Well done, George!” (You might argue, of course, that obedience WAS the dogs’ job!)

You are right, though, that it seems preposterous to celebrate with praise some routine human activity like eating or playing or making poo-poo in one’s potty chair. The self-esteem movement in child-rearing has gotten out of control.

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Q: If I can extricate myself from a relationship I don’t want, why can’t I intricate myself into one I do want?

A: The verb “extricate,” which has been around since the early 17th century, means to get someone or something, including oneself, out of a difficult situation. It comes from the Latin verb extricare (to disentangle).

I don’t think you’re really looking for a word that’s the opposite of “extricate.” You might want to free yourself from a messy relationship, but you wouldn’t want to get yourself into another fine mess.

Finding a good relationship is complicated enough. I’d go for simple language to describe it. So good luck in your efforts to “find” or “begin” or “start” or “get into” a relationship you want.

As for “intricate,” it comes from the Latin verb intricare (to entangle). Most modern dictionaries describe it as an adjective meaning complicated or elaborate. But the Oxford English Dictionary includes several published references for “intricate” as a verb meaning to entangle—yes, the opposite of “extricate.”

Both “extricate” and “intricate” have roots in the Latin word tricae (perplexities). In one case, you’re freeing someone or something from a perplexing situation; in the other, you’re enmeshing someone or something in such a situation.

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Q: An African-American colleague was grievously offended when someone used the word “niggardly” in a meeting. The ensuing brouhaha escalated to a formal complaint of racism and was only defused when another African-American colleague explained to the complainant that there’s nothing racist about the word “niggardly.” Any thoughts?

A: The word “niggardly,” meaning miserly, comes from a Scandinavian root meaning stingy. It’s entirely unrelated to the word “Negro,” meaning black, which has its roots in Romance languages. As far as I know, “niggardly” has no etymological relationship to any racist terms for African-Americans.

The adjective or adverb “niggardly” has been used in English since at least the 16th century. The noun “niggard,” meaning a stingy person, has been around even longer. In fact, the Oxford English Dictionary‘s earliest reference is in the first English translation of the New Testament, the Wycliffite Bible (1380).

Both The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) and Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) define the word in its traditional sense and make no mention of a racial association.

The MSN Encarta Dictionary agrees that “niggardly” is by no means a racist slur, but MSN Encarta says “the fact that the word sounds as if it might be one is reason to consider context very carefully before using it.”

I’m reluctant to avoid using a perfectly good word, but I think MSN Encarta’s advice makes sense. I’d be careful about using “niggardly,” especially in conversation, unless I’m sure of my audience (perhaps a group of linguists or lexicographers).

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Q: If you were to ask a person named David Jay what he had to say, how would it be printed? 1) “Whaddaya say David Jay?” 2) “Whaddaya say, David Jay?” 3) “Whaddaya say? David Jay.”

A: The answer: 2) “Whaddaya say, David Jay?”

We generally use commas before and after the name of somebody we’re talking to (“Hey, David Jay, whaddaya say?”).

But the first comma is dropped if the name comes at the beginning of a sentence (“David Jay, whaddaya say?”) and the second one is dropped if the name comes at the end of a sentence (“Whaddaya say, David Jay?).

Also, you can skip the first comma if all that precedes the name is “and” or “but” (And David Jay, whaddaya say?).

For more about punctuation, check out the “Comma Sutra” chapter in my grammar book Woe Is I.

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Q: I found a reference in a tech publication to “an older, nonsecure version of an application.” I’ve seen “nonsecure” used quite a lot lately, especially about computer software. Is there such a word? Shouldn’t it be “insecure”?

A: The word “nonsecure” hasn’t made it into The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.). Even my spell-checker doesn’t recognize it, and wants to make it “nosecone”! But Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) does include “nonsecure,” without any definition or comment, in a long list of words with “non” prefixes.

My bet is that American Heritage and other dictionaries will soon follow M-W‘s suit, and that all the dictionaries will include definitions. The term “nonsecure” has become extremely common in the world of information technology to describe data or software that’s not secure.

“Nonsecure” seems a more likely choice for this usage than “insecure,” which has psychological overtones. Though I have seen “insecure” used to describe unsafe data or software, “nonsecure” is used much, much more often.

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Q: My boss once said something was a mute point because it was no longer relevant. Would you correct her if she were your boss? I don’t want to insult her, but I don’t want her to look bad either.

A: I’ve bitten my tongue more times than I can remember. If I were you, I’d remain mute, unless the boss asked my opinion (or, for example, asked me to correct a letter or other document).

You don’t get to be the boss (at least not always) because you use good English. When you’re the boss, you can correct people. Till then, bite your tongue.

By the way, the history of the word “moot” is more complicated than many people think. For more, see the “moot point” entry on The Grammarphobia Blog.

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Q: I’m a photography instructor and one of my students corrected me for referring to an “ex-student” instead of a “former student.” I looked at a few websites, but I couldn’t find anything definitive on the issue of “ex” vs. “former.” Is “former” preferred, as my student suggested?

A: I see nothing wrong with using “ex” to mean “former.” The only rule associated with this usage (at least the only one I can find) is that it’s hyphenated. Both “ex” and “former” are proper English, though “former” sounds a bit more formal to my ear.

The adjective “former,” meaning earlier in time, is a very old word, dating back to the 12th century. But the use of the word in reference to an earlier job or position (office holder, wife, student, etc.) appears to be more recent.

The first published reference in the Oxford English Dictionary for the newer usage (in the political sense) is in a 1905 article in the New York Herald: “Former President Cleveland is among the arrivals of the week at the Lakewood Hotel.”

Interestingly, the earliest citation in the OED for “ex” as an adjective meaning former is much older. Here’s a quote from The Age of Bronze, an 1823 poem by Byron:

Her eyes, her cheek, betray no inward strife,
And the ex-empress grows as ex a wife.

Or, to paraphrase Bertie Wooster in the P.G. Wodehouse novel Barmy in Wonderland (1952), you never saw an ex any ex-er than that.

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Q: I’m writing a sales letter and wish to use the plurals of “do” and “don’t,” but the phrase “you’ll learn the dos and don’ts” looks queer. What’s the correct way to punctuate these plurals?

A: When you treat words like “do” and “don’t” as things, they become nouns and are pluralized the same as any other nouns. So, the correct plurals are “dos” and “don’ts.”

My grammar book Woe Is I included a poem to help illustrate these odd plurals:

Words to the Whys

Ups and downs and ins and outs,
Forevers and nevers and whys.
Befores and afters, dos and don’ts,
Farewells and hellos and good-byes.
Life is a string of perhapses,
A medley of whens and so whats.
We rise on our yeses and maybes,
Then fall on our nos and our buts.

I hope this helps!

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Q: What do you call self-opposing words like “cleave,” “sanction,” etc.?

A: The term for a word that has two opposing meanings is “contronym.”

In addition to “cleave” and “sanction,” examples include “oversight,” “buckle” (to fasten or to collapse), “dust” (to sprinkle with something dusty or to remove it), and “weather” (to erode or to withstand).

There are several other names for these terms, including “Janus words” (after the god with two faces), “auto-antonyms,” and “self-antonyms.” Take your pick.

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Q: What does “horny” have to do with horns?

A: The term “horny,” meaning made of horn or like a horn, is an old word that dates back to the 14th century. But I don’t think that’s the meaning of “horny” you’re asking about.

The first published reference in which “horny” means sexually excited dates from the late 19th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The citation, in an 1889 slang dictionary, defined it as “lecherous, in a state of sexual desire, in a rut.”

But what, you asked, does “horny” have to do with horns? Here’s the story.

The English noun “horn” itself is very old, dating back to Anglo-Saxon days, and derived from ancient Germanic. The earliest citations refer to the horns of cattle, sheep, goats, and other animals.

The first OED example, which we’ve expanded, is from an Old English translation of Genesis, written around 1000 by the Benedictine Abbot Ælfric of Eynsham:

“Abraham geseah þær anne ramm betwux þam bremelum be þam hornum gehæft” (“Abraham saw there a ram caught in the brambles by his horns”). Genesis 22:13.

In the 15th century, people began using expressions like “give horns to” and “wear horns” in reference to cuckolds. This usage apparently had something to do with the olden practice of grafting the spurs of castrated cocks onto the roots of their extracted combs to grow horns, according to the OED. Don’t ask why!

By the late 18th century, the word “horn” was also being used to mean an erect penis, according to the OED. Francis Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785) defined “horn” as a “temporary priapism.” Need I note the resemblance between an erection and a horn?

[Note: This post was updated on July 1, 2023.]

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Q: I realize that the phrase “spick-and-span” means spotless, but I don’t see what the words “spick” and “span” have to do with cleanliness. Do you know the origin of the expression?

A: “Spick-and-span” (sometimes “spic-and-span”) dates back to the 17th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The first published reference is in The Diary of Samuel Pepys (1665): “My Lady Batten walking through the dirty lane with new spicke and span white shoes.”

The Barnhart Concise Dictionary of Etymology says the expression is a shortening of an older phrase, “spick-and-span new,” from about 1580. In the 16th century, this meant as new as a newly made nail or spike (the “spick”) and a fresh chip of wood (“span”). The latter part of the phrase was borrowed from the Old Icelandic spann-nyr (“new chip”).

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Q: I dislike the term “and/or” and feel it is usually unnecessary. A sign on a bus in my town says, “Please save these seats for riders who are elderly or disabled.” Nobody is going to stop someone from sitting there if that person is both elderly and disabled. So my vote is to get rid of the excess word and the slash. In the rare case when “and/or” would be helpful, another term can be used.

A: I agree with you about “and/or.” In my book Woe Is I, I refer to it as an “ugly wrinkle.” There’s usually a better way, even if it means an extra word or two. Of the following two sentences, for example, I’d go with No. 2.

(1) “Would you like mustard and/or relish on your hot dog?”

(2) “Would you like mustard, relish, or both on your hot dog?”

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Q: I was taught that someone is “as good as” or “not so bad as” (rather than “not as bad as”) another. Has that changed (perhaps as a result of ignorance on the part of the speakers)?

A: In my book Woe Is I, I have a chapter on grammatical myths, and you’ve brought up one of them.

The misconception is that one should always use “as … as” for positive comparisons, and “so … as” for negative ones. (Example: “She’s as tall as her sister, but not so tall as you.”)

In fact, for many centuries, it’s been correct to use “as … as” in positive comparisons (“as pretty as ever”), and to use either “as … as” or “so … as” in negative comparisons (“not as big as before,” or “not so big as all that”).

In short, “so … as” is fine in a negative comparison, but “as … as” is correct in all cases.

In Old English, both “as” and “so” (als and swa) once appeared in the same word, alswa, which was used in comparisons pretty much the way we use “as” these days (“alswa good alswa gold”).

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Q: The word “full” takes two l’s while “beautiful” and “plentiful” take only one. Is there a reason for this? Is there a rule? Perplexed!

A: “Full” and “ful” confuse a great many people who are otherwise good spellers. At the beginning of a word, the spelling is generally “full,” as in “fullback,” “fullness,” “full-time,” “full-service,” and so on. But at the end of a word, the spelling is always “ful,” as in “beautiful,” “awful,” “scornful,” “lawful,” “careful,” “thoughtful,” “harmful,” and many others.

The ending “ful” was derived from “full,” and many adjectives used to have a double-l ending, as in these archaic spellings: beautefull (1526), wondurfull (1355), carefull (1394), and skilfulle (1300s). (The dates are from the Oxford English Dictionary.)

Over time, the “full” endings lost their final “l,” making these words shorter—and easier to misspell.

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Q: In “Tramp the Dirt Down,” a song about Margaret Thatcher, Elvis Costello refers to “all that avarice and greed.” And in the World Party song “Ship of Fools,” Karl Wallinger says that “avarice and greed are gonna drive you over the endless sea.” Is there a difference between avarice and greed? Your answer will settle an argument.

A: The word “avarice” comes from a Latin root meaning to crave (we get “avid” from the same root), and what’s being craved by an avaricious person is wealth or material gain.

The term “greed” refers to another excessive desire for more than you need, but the desire can be for almost anything (food and sex come to mind, but if your aunt collects salt-and-pepper shakers, she could be greedy for ever more salt-and-pepper shakers).

So the phrase “avarice and greed” isn’t redundant. Besides, lyricists get to say whatever they want!

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Q: I was delighted to see my question about the use of “woman” as an adjective appear on your blog, but I must point out that I am a criminalist, not a criminologist. A criminalist is a practitioner of criminalistics, the specific term for forensic analysis of physical evidence, such as trace evidence, DNA, and unknown substance identification. The word is not used very often outside the field, and most people just use the less specific term “forensic scientist.” I am in practice an analytical chemist, and actually know very little about criminology!

A: Oops! As you can see, the blog entry (“Strictly a female female”) has been fixed. Thanks for the correction—and the education!

Interestingly, the word “criminalist” used to mean someone versed in criminal law or a writer on criminal law, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The OED has citations for this usage going back to 1631, but the last one was in the late 19th century.

The first citation for “criminalistics” is in An Introduction to Criminalistics (1949) by Charles E. O’Hara and James W. Osterburg. The English term comes from similar ones in other European languages, according to the authors.

The OED’s earliest reference for “criminology,” the scientific study of crime, dates from 1890: “We share Dr. Topinard’s dislike of the term ‘criminal anthropology,’ and may adopt the term ‘criminology’ till a better one can be found.” I guess a better one never came along!

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Q: Do you have any thoughts on the phrase “I’m fixing to go”?

A: The “fixing to” construction, meaning preparing to or getting ready to, dates back at least to mid-19th century America. A similar  phrase, “fixing for” (same meaning), dates back more than a century earlier.

Here’s an 1850s citation for the more familiar version, courtesy of the Oxford English Dictionary: “Aunt Lizy is just fixing to go to church.”

These days “fixing to” is widely recognized as a countrified regionalism, usually Southern. But I used to hear it quite a lot as a child in Iowa. Rather charming, don’t you think?

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