Word of the week – Richmond Writing

Word of the Week! Strangelovian

Funny that this month I found in my mail box a special issue of The Atlantic, marking the 80th anniversary of the nuclear age. I really enjoy printed magazines, incidentally, though for this one I gobble down their online content, as well.

I’ve subscribed for the past 40 years, so I’ve been around for half the time we’ve had mushroom clouds casting their long shadows. Twenty years before I subscribed, we had one of the finest dark comedies of the 20th Century, Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 film Doctor Strangelove or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love The Bomb.

One of the pieces in the special issue focuses on the films of the nuclear era, where I encountered our word of the week. It’s commonly gets defined as “of or pertaining to nuclear apocalypse, especially through incompetence or shortsightedness.” I cannot trace the origin of the definition, as most free online dictionaries provide exactly those same words.

Whatever the source, they prove apt.

You may recall the titular character of the film is a not-so-former Nazi scientist working for the US government. During the’ crisis Kubrick depicts, Strangelove joins US officials, and one Soviet, in “The War Room” as the superpowers hurtle toward doomsday. Comedy ensues, much of it graveyard humor. I’ll stop with the plot there, but Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, and Slim Pickens put in signature performances well worth your time, and nervous laughter, today.

The film’s antiwar message was made all the stronger by the absurdity of the times: with the world on the precipice of mutual assured destruction, how could anyone in power consider a nuclear war winnable? That’s the core of “Strangelovian” humor. The OED gives first recorded use in 1978, which surprised me. It also notes, that while our word has not widely employed, usage has begun to creep upward, perhaps in keeping with increased worries about nuclear proliferation.

That makes both film and word noteworthy today. May cooler and wiser heads prevail than did in the film, when we next face a real crisis.

Send words and metaphors my way by e-mailing me (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Word of the Week! Brinkmanship

With such a tense situation in Iran currently, I decided to trot out a Cold-War term. I recall how often the USSR and US nudged each other in my childhood and teen years. Matters often seemed “on the brink” of a catastrophe. The 1961 Berlin Crisis, shown above, illustrates how close matters came at times. I was barely alive then.

Being a snarky youth in the 70s and 80s, and a wee tyke when Hippies roamed the Earth, I did not recall Boomers’ air-raid drills or fallout shelters. We had a board game (still have it) called Nuclear War by Flying Buffalo Games, as well as one of the sequels, Nuclear Escalation. Hint: lots of games ended with us all being losers.

Whatever, Xer. “Whistling in the dark” will soon be a Metaphor of the Month.

Meanwhile, where did our current term come from? The OED is acting up today, despite my using the university’s account and VPN, but I see from their fact page that our word dates to a 1956 New York Times story and means advancing to the brink of war without necessarily intending to start one. Etymology Online, which never acts up for me (there being no paywall), states that our term comes from the policies of John Foster Dulles, President Eisenhower’s Secretary of State. Being “on the brink of war,” meanwhile, dates back to 1829.

I always liked Ike. Dulles? Used to be my favorite airport (BWI is, now). I never studied his work, beyond a book on the Suez Crisis.

Brinkmanship seems canny and wise, when used by the wise. Dulles was wise, by all accounts I have read.

Let’s hope that happens again today.

As Richmond simmers like a bowl of chili con carne, send cool (and cooling) words and metaphors my way by e-mailing me (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image: Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin, 1961. Via Wikipedia.

Words of the Week! Epigraph, Epithet, and Epitaph

I’ve been away a bit, but I’m back for May term and beyond. So this blog will solider on this summer.

Here’s a moment when an AI proved smarter than I am. I had asked the latest free model of ChatGPT 4 about Max Beerbohm’s story “Enoch Soames,” whose exact title I’d forgotten but whose plot I recalled. After the AI pointed me in the correct direction, I congratulated it on its ability to provide correct advice, noting how (since the Devil plays a big role in Beerbohm’s story) that AI was not the Devil; we humans have the market cornered there. Then it said this:

“And you’re right: humans have a much longer track record when it comes to hubris, temptation, and poetic pacts gone wrong. We’re just here to assist, not to tempt. (Unless you’re looking for the perfect epigraph—in which case, all bets are off.”

Thus my words of the week. I imagine that my students run across the words I feature this week. So what are the differences? Here are a few ground rules:

Epitaph: memorial lines written on a tombstone. It needs to be personal so “rest in peace” won’t cut it. Jefferson’s notes his founding of the University of Virginia, as well as his authorship of the Declaration of Independence and Virginia statute of religious freedom. Note the lack of any mention of his Presidency. It’s a short epitaph. At the other extreme, at Westover Plantation for Garden Week, I read William Byrd II’s epitaph. Byrd made sure he crammed in a great deal about himself, as he was no paragon of modesty. I will skip a bit:

Here lyeth the Honourable William Byrd Esq. being born to one of the amplest Fortunes in this Country. . . .To all this were added a great Elegancy of Taste and Life, the well-bred Gentleman and polite Companion, the splendid Oeconomit [economist?] and prudent Father of a Family, with the constant Enemy of all exorbitant Power, and hearty Friend to the liberties of his Country.

There’s a morbidly funny story about me and another fellow arguing over the correct epitaph for a mutual friend. We split the cost for his headstone but never agreed on the words to be carved there. The conversation got heated. In the end, both epitaphs appear on the stone in Riverside Cemetery along the banks of the James River. They both work, as long as you didn’t know the deceased. If so, they prove hilariously contradictory.

We’ll let futurity puzzle out that epitaph. It’s not as good as comedian Rodney Dangerfield’s, but it makes me chuckle when I visit our friend’s gravesite.

Epithet: Most of us have one. I’d wager we all have a nickname. King Edward I was “Long Shanks” and Virginia is “The Old Dominion.”

Epigraph: First cousin to epitaph, this is the quotation placed at the start of some long documents. The Wikipedia page on the topic includes many famous examples. My favorite in that list? Gertrude Stein’s remark to Hemmingway that “you are all a lost generation.” He chose to lead off his The Sun Also Rises with this quotation.

Now how do we sort them out, without coming back to this blog post? I have no easy mnemonic to give you. So let’s try the same way you get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

As we drift along this summer, send me any words or metaphors of use to jessid-at-richmond-edu or leave a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia. Show Rodney some respect.

Word of the Week! Metric

Metric Image

Back from the fun with googly eyes, I thought of a commonly used but poorly understood term from academia and business. Lee Parker’s recently nominated word rubric made me think of its linguistic cousin.

Instead of the adjective form we associate with the Metric System, here I mean the noun.

I think of a metric as one (usually of many) measures we employ to measure something.

This may be a short post! The OED gives this definition, “A system or standard of measurement; a criterion or set of criteria stated in quantifiable terms” with a first usage of 1934. As a plural, our word can be a synonym for statistics, figures, measurements.

Our word stands in no danger of extinction. Since 2017, usage per million words of written English has more than doubled. Thus, a data-driven world.

If you have a metric for what constitutes a short blog-post, I hope I met it.

Send me any words or metaphors of use to jessid-at-richmond-edu or leave a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Word of the Week! Googly-Eyed

Once you start looking for them, you cannot unsee them. It began on the Amtrak on my way to Baltimore to attend the CCCC 2025 convention. In the Quiet Car there appeared a poster with a young woman looking at the Amtrak schedule on her smart phone.

Some wag had stuck little plastic googly-eyes on the poster. I laughed out loud. Nothing academic here, but the term began to interest me. Where did it come from?

In Baltimore, on a stroll toward Fell’s Point, I had two more googly-eye spottings. One appeared on the cover of a book; the other on a harbor trash-collector boat. The signboard identifying parts of the boat noted that the goggly-eyes make the boat look friendly.

I’d assumed, wrongly as usual, that our term was a corruption (or improvement, your choice) of the phrase goggle-eyed. In my cruel high school, I learned how that meant anyone with thick glasses or bulging eyes.

The OED set me to rights on this matter, noting that we have “Perhaps a variant or alteration of another lexical item.” That “perhaps” provides a coy way of saying “we really do not know.”

My money, as well as Wikipedia’s, is on Barney Google, a nearly forgotten cartoon character. He is no relation that I know of to the software giant and dates from the early 20th Century.

Barney did indeed have bulging eyes. Now I need to go to a craft store and find some stick-on googly eyes for…never you mind. I’m not the only one thinking of this idea.

On a different train coming back from Baltimore, there they were again. Someone is up to something.

Thank goodness.

If you have any clever ideas about our term’s origin, or, better still, a term or metaphor of some consequence that you’d like covered here, send them to jessid-at-richmond-edu or leave a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Images: Barney from Wikipedia; other googly eyes by me.

Word of the Week! Rubric

Thanks to Lee Parker in Information Services for this popular but seemingly poorly understood term. Lee notes that “Based on my usage and that of H.G. Andrade I expect ‘a scoring tool’ among the definitions. Why isn’t it?” Let’s find out!

The origin goes back to the Middle Ages; The OED entry states that directions in liturgical books, written in red, would give directions to those conducting religious services. Later definitions get us closer to Lee’s idea. By the 18th Century, a rubric could mean a custom, a set of rules, a “general prescription.” Later still, we have starting in 1959 “An explanatory or prescriptive note introducing an examination paper.” The list of definitions goes on and on, including makeup to make one’s complexion rosy and a calendar of saints.

The origin? In Classical Latin, rubrīca for red ochre. Despite that ancient lineage, usage of our word has done nothing but increase since a low point in 1930.

Merriam Webster Online provides a familiar definition that I did not see at The OED (horrors!) and one that gets close to my own sense of “a guide listing specific criteria for grading or scoring academic papers, projects, or tests.”

I admit to playing fast and loose with our word, often using it when I mean a series of steps writers need to take in order to complete an assignment, before I grade it.

So Lee, you are correct: rubrics, in popular parlance today, mean a scoring tool, though I like the idea of red-letter manuscripts, ochre for makeup, and calendars of saints.

Send me words and metaphors to jessid-at-richmond-edu or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Creative-Commons image liturgical text with rubrics, courtesy of The Saint Lawrence Press.

Word of the Week! Despondent

It’s okay in these troubled times to feel despondent, as long as. you understand what the word means. I used it the other day in a light-hearted way, when touring Colonial Williamsburg. At the Governor’s Palace, two cooks were preparing a Colonial-era meal. The food smelled wonderful, and I said I’d like some. “Sorry, Sir,” came the reply. “It’s for the Governor’s table.”

I told the woman that I, a mere commoner, felt despondent.

“Nice choice of word!” she answered, without feeding me. I informed her that at least we had filled my belly with a word for this week.

For once, The OED entry on our word proves very brief, giving good definitions related to “loss of heart or resolution,” or simply being depressed. I find it depressing that the entry provides no examples of usage newer than 1849. How could such a useful word fall out of favor? Do we simply say “depressed” nowadays?

The word is of Latin origin, from dēspondēntem, with frequency of use falling markedly until about 1980, when despondent enjoyed (if that’s the term for it) an uptick in use. The Gay 1890s proved a paradoxically high-water mark, and now we are back about to 1960 in use of our word.

We need synonyms for unpleasant things. Saying “I’m down” or “I’m bummed out” do not work in formal prose. So cheer up! Even if I didn’t make you feel better, at least I’ve given you an new word for feeling bad.

Send me words and metaphors, uplifting or depressing, at jessid-at-richmond-edu or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image: Man probably looking at S&P 500 since January. Creative-Commons image from freestockphotos.biz

Word of the Week! Supine

Hard to think that this word, another I found in the work of Edith Wharton, has not yet appeared as a Word of The Week. So what do we know about “supine”?

The OED notes its Latin origin, to lie face upwards. The dictionary records earliest uses to the 15th Century, making it again a Gutenberg word. Printing simply made available a term already in the vocabulary of educated folk.

I thought of being supine as merely lying down, or for one of Wharton’s characters, collapsing upon a fainting couch.

To be truly supine, however, not just any sort of fainting will do. One must face upward, as in the final pose of Yoga practice, savasana or “corpse pose.”

Figuratively, as the OED entry also notes, our word can mean disinclined to act, from laziness, fear, greed, or some other motive. Here I’ve heard our word used to describe the current Congress, supine before a leader with authoritarian intentions.

When will they wake up? I thought that I had covered “Quisling” here before; perhaps that one will be a Metaphor of the Month soon. We shall see if events warrant that frightening word.

Send me words and metaphors at jessid-at-richmond-edu or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Word of the Week! Screed

Thanks to reader Marissa Sapega, who teaching Business Communications at the university, for this word. Looking back at older entries, I have used our word exactly once. I’m certain, however, that my occasional op-eds elsewhere have included a screed or two.

As defined by my printed copy of The Random House Dictionary, a screed means a diatribe, usually not a short one. We associate these features with screeds: ignoring reactions, not listening to an audience’s needs, writing from rage or some other passion. Screeds do not mean reasoned discourse, but a long harangue. Screeds rant in writing, usually. I’ve heard the term “verbal harangue” a few times, so that word needs unpacking in a future post as the word “harangue” also implies something written.

In any case, I just provided with you with a few useful synonyms for screed.

An older use could mean an informal letter, but we do not hear that much any longer. The only other use for the word I know is a straightedge for smoothing the top of concrete or cement. I have one of those screeds in our barn.

This week’s word has interesting roots: Etymology Online cites the Middle English shrede, with became our modern “shred,” meaning a small piece of something larger. As a verb, shred relates nicely to today’s screed: screeds can shred the listener’s eyes and ears.

We live in a time of screeds. I won’t lie to you, or give you a screed, but language in politics, in particular, scares the hell out of me because it portends, even promises, violence. No wonder my younger students are always anxious.

How we get back from rage to reasoned discourse cannot be solved by this blog. Each of us, however, can do our parts to end what I see as madness, the sort that rips a civilization to pieces: shredded, or screeded, to death.

An ironic coda: Hipsters in New York City are now buying shredded clothes at very high prices, and I do not mean the silly pre-shredded jeans I see undergrads wear. These clothes have screeds acquired by hard use of the sort I subject my farm-clothing to. You can read more about the weird fad at this NYT story.

Sign of the times? I plan to find one of the shops when the fad hits Richmond, then sell them my worst cast-offs.

Send me words and metaphors at jessid-at-richmond-edu or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image: Creative-Commons image, modified, from publicdomainpictures.net

Word of the Week! Inure

This week’s word crops up enough in academic prose that we need something on it. I do not frequently use our word, but I like it for one specific reason.

Even a casual check at free dictionary sites reveals that “inure” can carry two very different meanings: to take effect (often in business or legal usage); to become accustomed to something, usually something unpleasant.

I’m inured to the difficult process of walking on ice, for instance (hint: cleats for those winter boots). It’s not a pleasant task. That said, I love cold weather, so there’s no need for me to be inured to that. For others, bundle up and stop complaining.

As for using the word correctly, it’s a transitive verb so it needs an object. Note how the “to” can move about. I love this 1837 example from the OED, using a spelling I’ll discuss in a moment: “To enure youths to habits of industry.” We did, then, have Slackers in the early 19th Century. Call Mister Bumble and make the kid Oliver do something useful!

The OED notes a 15th-Century date of first recorded use and an etymology native to English but “by derivation.” Have a look here for more on that particular puzzle. There’s another: The OED favors the spelling “enure,” whereas other sources favor “inure.” I tend to see the second spelling more often. Pick your poison but be consistent, please. At a site called Daily Writing Tips, the author notes that “enure” tends to enjoy pride of place for legal writing. I don’t know but any attorneys or Professors of Law, please let me know.

Inure yourselves to this blog continuing all year, when I have a word you don’t like. So why not instead send me words and metaphors by leaving a comment below or by email at jessid-at-richmond-dot-edu ?

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: Scott Perry at Flickr