Unpacking words that drive me crazy
Words fall out of fashion, their meanings can shift or expand, their origins can disappear into the mists of time, or they themselves can become archaic.
Language is a living thing that morphs over time.
Words fall out of fashion, their meanings can shift or expand, their origins can disappear into the mists of time, or they themselves can become archaic.
We may still be on tenterhooks waiting for something to happen, but do we even know what tenterhooks are? (They’re the hooked nails that keep fabric taut in the cloth-making process).
Who makes carbon copies anymore, or uses floppy disks and flashbulbs? When was the last time you checked the icebox or the fax machine?
Why did sick (ill) also come to mean sick (excellent)?
When did awesome — which can mean “daunting” or “inspiring great fear” — lose some of its power? I know I overuse it to describe run-ofthe-mill good things.
Mea culpa. Does anyone say that anymore?
Are things still tickety-boo?
MYSTIFYING AND WHIMSICAL
Language can be mystifying and whimsical; an infinitely rich source of wonder, creativity and expression.
So why do we get caught up in linguistic fads and overuse words till they are drained of all their potency?
If you’re like me, some word usages just stick in your craw. Here are some that drive me to distraction and, admittedly, this is purely personal. People have their own etymological pet peeves.
WORDS THAT BUG ME
• Reaching out — corporations and journalists have embraced this touch-feely euphemism for the word “contact.” It’s no longer good enough to give someone a call or ask for an interview; you have to “reach out” to them, like some sort of foreplay to a group hug or precursor to an intervention.
• Curate — “curator” used to be a word reserved for the highly specialized professionals who select fine artworks or historic artifacts for exhibitions. Curators don’t just slap pictures willy-nilly up on gallery walls or toss old animal bones and fossils into a display case — their work is guided by coherent themes of art or archeology, or historic context. Nowadays, everything is being “curated,” from your travel itinerary to a sampling of craft beers. Next thing you know, grocery stores will have “curators” stocking the shelves (but will their pay go up, I wonder?)
• Let’s unpack this — unpacking once meant taking things out of a suitcase and putting them away. Now the phrase is ubiquitous in radio and television interviews, when a reporter asks a straightforward question and then seems bowled over by the answer. “Wow, that’s a lock to unpack, Snoop Dogg! Let’s go back and parse what you just said.”
• Unreal — I must live in a truly magical place, because everything in Newfoundland and Labrador is “unreal.” It has to be the most uttered word in our collective vocabulary, trotted out on every occasion.
“Hey Bill, I heard you lost some shingles in that windstorm.” “Yes, b’y — that was friggin’ unreal.” “Hey Janet, have you seen the Come From Away musical yet?”
“Oh my God, yes, it was unreal.” “Were you at the wedding last weekend, Dwight?”
“Yes, my son — the bride looked unreal.”
• Journey — not just for geographical travellers anymore, journey has morphed into a descriptor for any experience involving progression or change or challenge.
“My photography journey has led me to seek out vintage film.”
“My morning coffee journey often takes me to Tim Hortons.”
“My mindfulness journey has been personally and spiritually affirmative.”
• Where’s customer service? — Corporate jargon has come up with so many job titles for the people who have to deal with disgruntled clients, it can be hard to figure out who to call. If your brand-new toaster doesn’t offer the curated bread-browning experience you expected, do you wish to speak to a customer care representative, a customer retention or dispute resolution agent or a customer experience associate?
• Drop — everyone’s dropping things these days: albums, news seasons of streaming service series, clothing lines, books and podcasts. These things used to get released, but now they’re birthed in freefall. Every time I hear the expression, I think of the poor beleaguered mother who “drops” yet another baby in the kitchen as she struggles over the washboard in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life.”
• Takeaway — Radio and TV hosts, in particular, seem to have keen appetites; they’re always asking interview subjects to condense what they’ve said into a bite-sized nugget. They’re looking for the “takeaway.”
You want answers? Then ask specific questions.
You want takeaway? Go order fish and chips, or some nice Chinese food.