Bronck's cheer

Back in the winter, on one of our Sunday drives, Richard and I headed south on route 9W.  About 20 miles south of Albany in Coxsackie, we passed a sign for the Bronck House and Museum, which was closed for the season.  I made a mental note that this destination would be good for a “Meme Day,” when I have my two grandsons for the day, in the summer.  That day happened this past Friday.

When I told 8-year-old Charley that we were going to the Bronck House, he made a connection between the Bronck family and the Bronx.  At first, I was skeptical, but as it turns out, his guess is correct.  According to “The Bronx in Brief” on the Bronx County Historical Society web site, the Swedish sailor Jonas Bronck and his wife, Teuntje Joriaens were the first European settlers at what became “New Amsterdam,” and later New York City, in 1639.  Sadly, Jonas died leaving no heirs, only a settlement, which ultimately became the Bronx due to vagaries of spelling.  But his name also gave rise to the ignominious Bronx cheer.

Bronck’s younger, poorer cousin, Pieter, and his wife Hilletje Jans, however, carried the Bronck name farther north, settling in the mid-1650’s at Beverwijck, now known as Albany.  In the 1663 the couple made their way down to Coxsackie, building what is now the oldest surviving house in Upstate New York.

As I considered this interesting but mundane historical information, I wondered why the infamous Bronx cheer originated in the Bronx.  The Bronx has developed a reputation as a hard-scrabble place.  Between 1900 and 1930 the population of Jonas Bronck’s namesake grew from 201,000 to 1,265,000—quite the dramatic increase.  In addition, at the turn of the 20^th century, the Bronx was a population destination for Italian immigrants.  The Chambers Slang Dictionary supplies two definitions for “Bronx cheer.”  As a noun, a Bronx cheer comes from “the uncouth manners of the Bronx, New York” and means “a loud, derisive noise, imitative of a fart.”  As a verb, a Bronx cheer means “to make a loud derisive noise, as if breaking wind.”

In my researches, I found three possible theories of origin for the Bronx cheer, which first appeared in 1929.  According to Michael Rudeen on examiner.com, the Henry Holt Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins offers that perhaps the word comes from the Spanish “branca,” meaning a rude shout.  (I also found “branca” as an Italian word, meaning “branch,” as in branch of medicine or “grip” or “clutches.”)  A second theory holds that the Bronx shout originated in the National Theatre in the Bronx with unhappy patrons of the theatre.  Finally, probably the most widely accepted theory holds that the Bronx cheer originated with unhappy baseball fans in Yankee Stadium.

Regardless, I found it fascinating that Upstate New York has its own little slice of “the Bronx” 20 miles south near Coxsackie.  I also wonder what the Swedish sailor Jonas Bronck, father of the Bronx, would think if he knew the rude association with his family name.

As an added note, the question arises of how the Bronx cheer became known as a “raspberry.”  Supposedly, that term came from Cockney rhyming slang, in which “raspberry tart” rhymes with “fart.”

Re-un-be-fuddled

As the summer vacation season winds down, we have had many different people of various ages coming, staying, and going both at home in Delmar and at the cottage at Schroon Lake.  A certain amount of befuddlement—confusion or perplexity—has ensued.  However, in the social interactions with friends and family, a certain amount of fuddling—drinking or tippling—has followed.

In a previous blog, I wrote about how affixes—prefixes or suffixes—can change the meaning of a root word.  Sometimes, we are so familiar with the root word and its prefix that we do not realize that the root word is really a word in itself.  (See “Be clement or make like a tree!” on 18 May 2013.)

Most of us know the word “befuddle” as defined above.  Few of us probably know the word “fuddle,” which the American Heritage College Dictionary defines as meaning, “to put into a state of confusion; befuddle,” but also meaning, “to make drunk” or “to drink; tipple.”  The Oxford English Dictionary, however, focuses on definitions of “fuddle” relating to drinking and intoxication.  Evidently, sober confusion, or fuddlement, is a somewhat modern meaning for the word.

The OED lists some fun phrases (fun frases or phun phrases) for “fuddle.”  When people go out drinking, they are “on the fuddle.”  Perhaps, imbibers at a Phish concert would be phuddling!  After while on the fuddle, if one is not careful, perhaps one will “fuddle one’s cap or nose,” meaning get drunk.

A few interesting tidbits I picked up while attempting to become unbefuddled include the word “fud,” which means “the backside or buttocks.”  Perhaps, the Gawain poet might have edited out a line such as, “After fuddling fairly he fell on his fud” from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Also, a “fudder” is “a tun of wine.”  In preparing for a festive occasion, one might purchase a fudder for fuddling.

I will end with some Public Service Announcements to clear up any befuddlement which might have occurred while reading this blog entry.  Please fuddle responsibly.  Do not drive while fuddled.  If you are on the fuddle, make sure to have a designated unfuddler.  Hopefully, none of this information will drive you to fuddle.  Now I am going to get up off my fud and go take a swim!  No, I think I will kayak.  No, wait, I think I will take a hike.  Oh, I am so befuddled!

Let's go a-suppering!

Returning from a three-day family reunion at Percy Quin State Park in southern Mississippi has given me pause to cogitate upon the important aspects of life, specifically food and the social aspect of sharing food.  My father at supper—our evening meal (as opposed to dinner, the afternoon meal)--used to cause my mother great agitation when musing upon the next day’s menu before we had completely enjoyed the current supper. These days, we tend to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but what has happened to supper?  I pulled out my trusty OED to investigate the distinctions between lunch and dinner as the afternoon meal, as opposed to dinner and supper as the evening meal.

As mentioned above, growing up in the South, we ate dinner at midday and supper at night.  The OED defines “dinner” as “the chief meal of the day,” eaten by most at midday, with examples going back to the 13^th century.  As centuries passed, the “professional and fashionable classes” began to eat “dinner in the evening.”  “Dinner” took on the additional meaning of a “formally arranged meal of various courses” or a public meal to honor someone.  This past Sunday, the Baptist church we attended at the reunion kicked off their Revival with “dinner on the grounds,” a potluck meal served after the morning service.  However, when my husband retired this past December, his colleagues feted him with a “retirement dinner,” formally arranged and held at night at a local restaurant.

The OED defines “supper” as “the last meal of the day” and also as “such a meal made the occasion of a social or festive gathering.” (The word comes from the Old French souper.)  However, in recent years, I do not recall hearing of occasions such as a “retirement supper.”  Please feel free to weigh in with recent instances of festive occasion suppers!  The first example which the OED gives comes from the 13^th century and references the “passion of our Lord.”  The second definition for “supper” which the OED gives specifically refers to “the Last Supper,” the last meal of Jesus which also involved the establishment of the Eucharist.  “Supper,” therefore, has Christian connotations to it.

So how does lunch fit into the terminology?  “Lunch” is actually a shortened version of “luncheon,” which originated as referring to a snack of sorts between “breakfast and mid-day dinner.”  The word “lunch” in its early usage was considered “vulgar.”  (See my blog dated 24 March 2013.)  It is also considered a “light meal at any time of day.”

Given all of this information, I still prefer to eat dinner at midday and supper at night.  The OED does define “suppering” as “the providing or eating of supper; the entertainment of guests at supper,” so I will end this blog entry with this wish:  Sweet suppering!

Three Words from Shakespeare

As I look forward to my annual pilgrimage to visit my friend, Elissa, and see a play at the Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival—this year, Measure for Measure—I figured that a blog on words from Shakespeare’s plays would be appropriate.  To this end, I consulted Shakespeare’s Words: A Glossary and Language Companion by David Crystal and Ben Crystal.  To get a blog’s worth of material, I figured three words would do.  I chose “gleek,” an obsolete word that I particularly like; “tongue” because of an archaic meaning (which I found by “dictionary dipping); and “pretty,” because of an uncommon usage.

“Gleek,” as Nick Bottom uses it in my all-time favorite play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, as a verb means, “make a pointed joke, jest, jibe.”  Bottom is a bumbling bumpkin who spends much of the play with the head of an ass, caught in a juvenile joke in a dispute between two gods.  Oberon causes Titania to fall in love with the ass-headed Bottom through a love-in-idleness potion, and she fawns over him ad nauseum.  At one point, Bottom says to the love-besmitten goddess, “I can gleek upon occasion.”  In a way, it is a joke within a joke.  As a fan of gleeking, I use the word upon occasion.

“Tongue,” as Shakespeare uses it in Measure for Measure (another reason I chose this word), means “reproach, censure, berate.”  Angelo thinks he has taken sexual advantage of Isabella, who has recently entered a convent.  As part of a bed trick, Angelo has actually slept with his former fiancée.  In contemplating his predicament, as he is engaged in a war on fornication, he muses, “How might she tongue me out?”  Angelo is confident that Isabella’s shame as a nun in losing her virginity will prevent her from revealing his own extramarital lustful activity.  While according to my American Heritage Dictionary, 4^th edition, this usage of “tongue” is archaic, it does bear relation to “tongue-lashing.”

Finally, I found “pretty” looking to see if Shakespeare used any words similar to “Prescott.”  The name is actually a contraction of “priest’s cottage,” so I figured Shakespeare may have used a similar word.  Much to my disappointment, he did not.  However, I found a usage of “pretty” as an adjective meaning “clever, ingenious, artful.”  Shakespeare’s Words lists five different usages of “pretty” in this meaning.  It reminded me of the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz who refers to Dorothy as “my pretty.”  Certainly, the witch means “clever, ingenious, artful” in this context more than she means to complement Dorothy on her good looks.  Actually, this usage is listed as in current in my American Heritage Dictionary.

A second usage of “pretty” as an adjective meaning “childish, trifling, naïve” caught my eye.  This usage comes from Sonnet 41, “Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits . . ..”  This usage seems to be obsolete.  (I am away from home and so do not have my OED at hand.)  If someone is acting childishly, we can use the adverbial form of “pretty,” “to a fair degree, moderately” to claim that the person is “pretty pretty.”

At any rate, I will end with the injunction that I used to write on the bottom of chalkboards when Laura gave me tours of her classrooms at Smith:  “Read More Shakespeare!”

The thing about "thing"

The thing about “thing” is it is one of those words writing teachers despise because of its abstract nature, but language users love because of its versatility.  When all else fails—memory, articulateness, prudence—the word “thing” fills in the blank appropriately.  It can refer to everything from body parts to possessions to abstract ideas.  Hamlet famously decides, “[T]he play’s the thing/ Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.”  In this statement, by “thing” he means strategy. (See Note 1)

“Thing” has served the English language well.  As a formal word, “thing” is of Old English origin, going back to the 7^th century when English was emerging as a recognizable language.  In its original form, now obsolete, the OED defines it as “a meeting, assembly, esp. a deliberative or judicial assembly, a court, a council.”  If that meaning were still in use, Mr. Ding-a-ling and Sno Cone Joe would have gone to Thing to have their case decided.  (As it is, “dingaling,” also “thingaling,” has a meaning not appropriate to ice cream vendors.) (See Note 2)

As the English language developed, “thing” broadened in formal meaning to include actions, business affairs, obsessions, deeds, ideas, entities, attributes, and more.  It is no wonder, then, that according to the Chambers Slang Dictionary, “thing” took on an informal meaning, as well, in the 13^th century, initially meaning “a person, esp. someone whose name one does not know or who is unimportant.”  In the 20^th century, “thing” developed the abstract meaning which writing teachers despise, “a non-specific descriptor, used when one either cannot or does not wish to use the correct term.”

Going back to the OED, “thing” has many fun forms.  When we admit the existence of a thing, we grant it thinghood or we recognize its thingification.  In invoking such an action, we thingify a thing.  If something has qualities of a thing, it is thingish, thingy, or thingly.  An item “destitute of the character of a thing, insubstantial,” is thingless or possesses thinglessness.  Small things are thinglets or thinglings.  Thinginess admits that something has qualities of a thing.

The word “thing” allows English speakers a lot of latitude.  We can use it on purpose as a euphemism when we want to avoid using an objectionable word.  We can also use it when we just don’t know or remember the word we want to use.

In spite of its great usefulness, the thing about thing is it still makes for weak writing.

Note 1:  Somehow, “The thing’s the thing/ Wherein I’ll catch the thing of the Thing” does not have the same ring.

Note 2:  For those of you not in the northeast, recently in Gloversville, NY, one ice cream vendor was accused of harassing another ice cream vendor over territory.  The situation made the national talk shows

I develop a butt-head

Initially, for this blog I had intended to elaborate on variations of the word “thing,” as promised two blogs ago.  However, I have developed a case of “butt-head.”  While looking for a different file in my Word documents, I ran across a riff on the word “butt” from years ago.  At this point, I cannot remember exactly what set off those musings, BUT I believe it had something to do with my daughter and grandchildren.  (Sorry Laura.)

    1.    Butt (adjective)—an average-sized rear end

    2.    Butter (comparative adjective)—a bigger rear end

    3.    Buttest  (comparative adjective)—the largest rear end

    4.    Butt (noun)—a male rear end

    5.    Buttress (noun)—a female rear end

    6.    Buttery (adjective)—someone with a sizeable rear end

    7.    Buttock  (noun)—the second sound a butt clock makes

    8.    Buttick (noun)—the first sound a butt clock makes

    9.    Button (verb)—putting padding on the buttocks in order to make clothes fit better

   10. Buttoff (verb)—taking off padding from the buttock

   11. Butterfly (verb)—what happens when someone with a bigger rear end (see #2 above and NOTE below) makes a journey by air

    12.   Buttercup (noun)—what a butter drinks liquids from

    13. Butterscotch (noun)—a butter’s favorite alcoholic drink

    14.  Butternut (noun)—someone who likes butters a lot

    15.   Butterball (noun)—a butter’s favorite sport; a formal dance for a butter; a butter having a really good time

 (NOTE: For #11 to #15, I will not quibble if you interpret “butter” as someone who rams things, especially with the head, as in Chaucer’s Miller.)

After finding the original file, I went to my American Heritage College Dictionary, 4^th ed. to see what other forms of “butt” I might find.  I added a few variations to my list.  “Button” and “butter” are quite prolific parent words in various contexts.

I have to add two “butt-“ words new to me, in all seriousness. “Butt hinge” means “a hinge of two plates attached to abutting [my bold] surfaces of a door and door jamb and joined by a pin.”  Obviously, standard issue door hinges are butt hinges, so most of us with doors have butt hinges, which gives butting in doors (or butting on doors) new meaning.  (Do we “button” our doors instead of close them?  When we take the hinges off our doors, is our behavior “off-butting”?)  “Butt joint” means “a joint formed by two abutting [my bold] surfaces placed squarely together.”  Now, regarding how “butt joints” might relate to “buttocks,” I am going to let you make your own wise cracks.