tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19969738059798678232024-02-21T07:43:57.162-08:00Word GogglesPerry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-43079816381827247252013-10-10T13:20:00.000-07:002013-10-24T12:53:20.614-07:00colère — ANGER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>KOH-lair</i>] (n. f.) Medieval folks didn't <i>quite</i> have everything figured out.<br />
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There were the open sewers that brought on disease but also common belief that redheads were automatically hot-tempered because of excessive hot & dry humours. The latter were quantifiable things, then. Ancient physiologists counted four humours, one of which was called <b>choler</b>—from the French word <b>colère. </b><br />
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It was characterized by excessive yellow bile or choler (hence the word <b>choleric</b>) and led to extreme <b>anger. </b>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-81768066832497875322013-10-08T00:03:00.000-07:002013-10-24T13:09:18.648-07:00corps — BODY[<i>korh</i>] (n. m.) Paris has done some strange things with its <b>corpses</b>.<br />
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In Roman times, the dead were buried in the suburbs but, in the 10th century, Christians decided they preferred their dead nearby and cemeteries were opened. Two hundred years later, a central burial ground was opened for the poorer Parisians, a dump site for <b>corpses</b> without caskets. Problem was, all that decaying meat was threatening the city's water supply, which mostly came from wells. This went on merrily until 1786 when the city decided to exhume all those corpses and transfer them to underground tunnels once used for mining: the catacombs were born.<br />
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The English word <b>corpse</b> is just a breath away from the French word <b>corps</b>, which means <b>body—</b>of which there are an estimated six million underneath Paris. In French, the word is pronounced with the <i>ps</i> lobbed off, closer to the the Old French word <i>cors, </i>less like the latin source <i>corpus. </i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-57109629989722300992013-08-25T22:09:00.000-07:002013-10-24T12:36:22.278-07:00orner — DECORATE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
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[<i>ohr-NEH</i>] (v.) There's an Ethiopian tale about a fox who lost his tail in a trap.<br />
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At first, his shame keeps him from visiting fellow foxes but soon he comes up with a plan: he convenes all the area foxes and proposes that they all rid themselves of the "burdensome" appendage. "It's easier for dogs to catch us with these tails and they're in the way when we want to sit down," points out the fox. "That is all very well," responds one of the older foxes, "but I do not think you would have us dispense of our chief <b>ornament</b> if you had not lost it yourself."<br />
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The word <b>ornament</b> comes from the French verb <b>orner </b>which means <b>to decorate </b>and that's obviously not all a fox tail does.Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-7127968611593529492013-08-23T13:00:00.000-07:002013-10-24T12:37:07.009-07:00patrie — PATRIOTIC LAND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">[</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">pah-TREE</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">] (n. f.) What with all the "Freedom Fries" affair, it's amusing to realize that the word </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patriot</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> comes from the French word </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patriote, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">which means the exact same thing. </span></span></span><div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In fact, it was often used in England as a term of ridicule to mean "loyal and disinterested supporter of one's country." What is even more amusing, as journalist Oriana Fallaci points out, is that while Americans are so fond of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patriotic</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patriot </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patriotism</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, lack the root noun and are content to express the idea of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patria</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> (the proper noun that's never used) by cumbersome compounds such as homeland. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The French? Oh yeah, that have a noun for that: </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patrie.</span></b> </span></span></div>
Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-81183664887546435322013-08-20T14:07:00.000-07:002013-08-28T19:52:23.548-07:00inquiétitude — WORRY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>uhn-KEE-ETT-ee-tewd</i>] (n. f.) "Be quiet! Quiet down! Quiet please. He was a quiet guy, a little too quiet... On a quiet street... She lived a quiet life... Before the hold-up, the criminal had remained quiet for years... The kid had a quiet conscience." <i>Quiet</i> is one of those English words used in myriad ways, to express something a little different every time, a lovely feature of this pliable language. Of course, <i>quiet</i> comes from the French word <i>quiéte, </i>which is the sort of word you can easily alter with suffixes and prefixes.<b> <i>In<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">quiéte<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> means </span>she is worried<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">. But if you add the suffix -</span>itude, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">which is the French equivalent of </span>-ness <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">(think of </span>attitude<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">, borrowed French for </span>aptness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">), you get the noun <b>inquiétitude</b> (un-quiet-ness) which means <b>worry. </b></span></span></i></b><br />
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BONUS: A commonly used American colloquialism is <i>no problem, </i>or for the Terminator <i>no problemo. </i>The French equivalent of this is <i><b>t'inquiétes </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">[</span>tuhn-KEE-ETT<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">]</span>. </i>It's short for <i>ne t'inquiéte pas.</i></div>
Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-86260695939316796542013-07-05T13:33:00.000-07:002013-07-11T21:47:17.478-07:00naitre — TO BE BORN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>NAY-trr</i>] (v.) Calling someone a San Francisco liberal may be considered insulting in politics, but locals are very proud if they can call themselves true <i>San Francisco natives</i>. But to do that, you have to actually been <b>born</b> within its 47 square miles. The world <i>native</i> comes from the French <i>natif</i> which means <i>born in. </i>Think of the Bible's <i>nativity scene. </i>The verb associated with the noun is <b>naitre</b>, which means <b>to be born.</b><i> </i>Actually, English speakers already use a conjugated—accented even—form of <b>naitre</b> for formal occasions. That's right. When you write Michelle Obama <b>née</b> Robinson to indicate her maiden name fancily, you're using the French for <i>was born</i>. The word <i>nation</i> also comes from <b>naitre</b>. So baseball's <i>National League</i> means "League of the place from which they were <b>born</b>" which, really, is much less specific then the good 'ol <i>American League.</i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-18082717725480392162013-07-04T12:42:00.000-07:002013-07-11T22:02:05.738-07:00incendie — FIRE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>enh-so(n)-DEE</i>] (n. m.) When someone writes an <i>incendiary report </i>it does not means they're going to use the paper and set something on fire with it, although, if they followed the word to the letter, that's exactly what they're letting on. The word actually comes from the Latin <i>incendiarius</i> which means <i>to set on fire. </i>The French, in their inflexibility with language, stuck with the Latin and still use the word <b>incendie</b> to mean <b>a fire </b>(as opposed to just the element of <i>fire.)</i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-76051089051086132102013-07-03T12:46:00.000-07:002013-07-08T16:14:46.902-07:00ombre — SHADOW<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>ohm-BRR</i>] (n. f.) In the classic 1850 book <u>The Scarlet Letter</u>, there's a vivid description of the adulteress Hester Prynne <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;">during a meeting with </span>the minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, who aids her: <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Throwing eyes anxiously in the direction of the voice, he indistinctly beheld a form under the trees clad in garments so <b>somber</b> and so little relieved from the gray twilight into which the clouded sky and the heavy foliage had darkened the noontide that he knew not whether it were a woman or a <b>shadow</b>.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;">If it sounds as though her somber garments are made of shadows, it's not by chance. <i>Somber</i> comes from the French word <i>sombre</i>, meaning obscure or melancholy. But the s- is very telling. It's a shortening of the Latin prefix <i>sub</i> which means <i>under</i> (think of the <i>subcontractor<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; font-style: normal;"> who works on your home). That means that sombre is really </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;">sub-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; font-style: normal;">ombre and <b>ombre</b> is French for <b>shadow</b> which makes a lot of sense if you think of being somber as <i>being under (emotional) shadows. </i></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; font-style: normal;"><i></i>BONUS: What is it about that weird American-English tug-of-war over certain word spellings? Why is it </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;">theatre<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> in the U.K. and </span>theater<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> in the U.S.? Well, it's just that the English, in an effort to remain true to roots, tend to stick with the French spelling of those words. Americans, meanwhile, try to spell things more closely to </span>the way<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span>they sound <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">phonetically. That's why <b>somber </b>is spelled the way it and not <b>-re</b> at the end, because it </span>is<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> pronounced like that. Like they say: KISS, keep it simple, stupid.</span></span></i></span></div>
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Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-73853234949814437742013-07-02T22:32:00.000-07:002013-07-08T15:21:06.526-07:00marquise — MARQUEE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>mahr-KEEZ</i>] (n. f.) The pop star is upset and pouting in her dressing room. Stuff was broken and her entourage's gotten an earful. It all started when she got to the venue and her name on the <b>marquee</b> was <i>next to</i> the opening act's, not on top of it. This is one pop star who wants to be treated like a monarch and it's fitting in a way: see, the term <b>marquee</b> was gleaned from the French <b>marquise</b>, a noblewoman. It all goes back to the 17th century when an officer's tent in a French military encampment was distinguished by having a linen canopy placed over it, indicating <i>a place suitable for a marquis.</i> They called that canopy a <b>marquise</b>. Come the early 1900s when Americans wanted to name those fancy canopies in front of a hotel, or theater. They grabbed the French <b>marquise</b>, mistakenly thought the <i>s</i> at the end made it plural, lobbed that off, and called it a <b>marquee</b>.Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-91740015568141725062013-07-01T15:23:00.000-07:002013-07-01T14:14:41.419-07:00siège — SEAT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">[</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">SEE-ehj</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">] (n. m.) The surest way to conquer a fortress is to take a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">seat</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. If the enemy's feeling all cozy in their keep, behind their moat, all your army does is just wait it out. Starve them by </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">seating</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> in camps around the castle, depriving them of supplies or communication. This is called a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">siege</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and it was named after a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">siège, </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">the French word for a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">seat. </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The folklore surrounding King Arthur's Round Table makes use of the French word in its original meaning. The table had twelve seats but one was left empty for a knight who would achieve the Grail. They called it </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Siege </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Perilous. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Some say it was Galahad who took the seat with the French moniker, others say it was Percival. But that's got nothing to do with anything. </span></span></span></i></b>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-17089428099256296322013-06-30T14:54:00.000-07:002013-07-11T21:48:06.397-07:00moufle — MITTEN<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxnSOYhiwz8ixfyMFi6hdoNeIaOZNrERbcL2WYUYTjXyzt3oKjXZzVJT-k4Sfh8gxXyW1p4vbimshJJIWLaA2Px6OybdFcE5dyD06xFZbfkr1xWi0K-D6w_pdLK3PgYMFO1OpRvl3Bt8M/s1600/Mitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxnSOYhiwz8ixfyMFi6hdoNeIaOZNrERbcL2WYUYTjXyzt3oKjXZzVJT-k4Sfh8gxXyW1p4vbimshJJIWLaA2Px6OybdFcE5dyD06xFZbfkr1xWi0K-D6w_pdLK3PgYMFO1OpRvl3Bt8M/s400/Mitten.jpg" width="338" /></a>[<i>MOO-fleh</i>] (n. f.) To <i>muffle </i>a kitchen fire the housewife throws a towel on it, smothering it. To <i>muffle </i>a scream the murderer puts pillow on his victim's head. To<i> muffle</i> is to wrap something to conceal or protect. Its French origin is the <b>moufle,</b> an item of winter clothing meant to conceal or protect only the hands: a<b> mitten</b>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px;">Okay but where does that leave us with <b>mitten</b> which doesn't resemble <b>moufle</b>? The word was borrowed phonetically from the French <b>mitaine </b>(pronounced exactly the same way) but with some confusion: that's the word for <i>fingerless</i> glove. Go figure. </span></div>
Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-16713834908846465172013-06-29T14:24:00.000-07:002013-07-01T14:03:25.169-07:00travaille — WORK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>[</b><i><b>TRAH-vah-y(e)</b></i><b>] (n. m.</b>) <i>Travel</i> in the Middle Ages was real <b>work</b>: slow, hard, uncomfortable and dangerous. Pot holes existed then because peasants would borrow cobblestones from roads to patch up their houses. Going 55 mph? It would take two days by horse to cover 55 miles. Forget about <i>travelling </i>at night, lest you got robbed. Most people never <i>traveled</i> more than 10 miles away from their birthplace, their whole life. <i>Travel</i> was such a laborious endeavor the Middle English speakers took the French word for work, <b>travaille, </b>to describe it. Knowing this, bilinguists might have fun calling the <i>travelling salesman,</i> threading miles door-to-door<i> </i>to sell<i> </i>a few wares, a <i>travailleur traveler</i>, a <b>working</b> traveler<i>. </i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-88118864702600107382013-06-28T23:42:00.000-07:002013-07-01T14:02:27.526-07:00baraque — SHABBY HOUSE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>BAH-rha-KK</i>] (n. f.) In the late 18th century, a young Napoleon was given command of the French forces in Italy. He gave them a speech in which he acknowledged their sacrifices. "Soldiers, you are naked, ill fed," he said, "You have made (...) forced marches without shoes, camped without brandy and often without bread." He should have mentioned the shoddy <b>barracks</b> soldiers often slept it, these musty, provisory huts they put together for camps. The French word <b>baraque</b>, technically still means <i>temporary constructions</i> but less in the military realm and, rather, refers to a building that won't last long because it's flimsy and poorly made.Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-12133613619394632592013-04-16T00:06:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:11:44.681-07:00gentil — NICE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>chj-anh-TEE</i>] (a.) In formal speech, a <i>genteel</i> person has the qualities of a gentleman, a person of noble birth. The word is an anglicized version of the French <b>gentil</b>, which means <b>nice. </b>The British did this often; in order to aid pronunciation, they simplify the spelling of borrowed words. "Wait, the last syllable of <i>gentil </i>is pronounced <i>-tee </i>with a silent L? Nonsense, we'll just spell it with two Es<i> </i>and speak that L too! <i>Genteel: </i>that's much better." Within a century, <i>genteel </i>was squeezed out of common usage in favor of <i>gentle</i> (think of the theater/theatre debate). But it wasn't just adjective that was borrowed: <i>gentleman</i> is a cognate of the French <b>gentilhomme</b>, a simple switch: gentle for gentil and man for homme.<b> </b><br />
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So, you see, a true <b>gentleman</b> would be incapable of insulting a woman, not only because of his noble birth but because he's a <b>nice man. </b>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-7844212142641505132011-12-14T23:28:00.000-08:002013-06-17T15:01:47.392-07:00cabriolet — CAB<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>KAH-bree-oh-leyh</i>] (n. m.) Cabriolets certainly are jumpy roadsters. And it makes sense because the cars are named after the 16th Century French verb <i>cabrioler</i>, which means "to leap or jump in the air like a goat." That's because an old French word for a young goat is cabri. So, picture a goat and it makes perfect sense they'd name the light horse-drawn carriage of the 1820s <i>cabriolets</i>. The term was extended to automobiles you hire to make short leaps about town, also known as taxi<i>cabs.</i><br />
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But what about <i>taxi</i>, you might wonder? Also from French: it's short for <i>taximeter</i>, which was used in London starting at the turn of the 20th Century and it's the anglicized version of <i>taximètre. </i>As in "tax by the meter." That's right, not taxi<i>yard.</i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-78320654596841153442011-12-12T20:01:00.000-08:002013-06-17T16:40:43.247-07:00morceau — MORSEL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>mohr-SO</i>] (n. m.) A strange case of shifting spellings, or not in English's case. Going way back, the Latin <i>morsellum</i> means "a small piece" and is made up of <i>morsum </i>(piece) and the diminutive <i>-ellus. </i>To get horribly specific about what kind of piece this is, it's good to know the word is derived from <i>mordeo</i>, or "to bite." Right away, the French had the good sense to ablate the word from <i>morsellum</i> to <i><b>morsel</b></i>, which is where the English left things.<br />
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During the Middle Ages, the French went through a period of systematically (that is, with a semblance of consistency) altering the spelling of Latin words they borrowed. One of these so-called Latin rules as they are called in Auguste Brachet's 1868 Dictionnaire Etymologique is that the <i>s</i> before a vowel often became a <i>c. </i>Hence, the Latin <i>salsa</i> became <i>sauce</i> and <i><b>morsel</b></i> begat <i>morcel. </i>Another Latin rule was that long vowel sounds should be shortened and the natural way of doing so was to slide down the vowel ladder which, both phonetically and alphabetically, goes <i>a, e, i, o, u. </i>(Brachet even points out that <i>a</i> starts at the base of the larynx while <i>u</i> expires on the lips, a natural order.) So the -<i>el</i> sounds often become an <i>o</i> sound and <i>agnellus</i> became <i>agneau</i> (lamb) and <i>morcel</i> became <i><b>morceau. </b></i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-56180050474380295372011-11-18T20:00:00.000-08:002011-12-12T21:02:09.796-08:00remords — REMORSE[<i>REUH-mohr</i>] (n. m.) We've gone at length on the history of <i>morsel </i>(<a href="http://wordgoggles.blogspot.com/2011/12/morceaumorsel.html">see entry</a>) and we know that the word is derived from the Latin <i>mordus </i>(in French<i> </i>simply <i>mord</i>) which means <i>to bite. </i>See, it's a poetic thought here that pressed <i>remorse</i> into usage. It's the feeling you get when something comes back to bit you, in little nibbles eating at your tranquility.Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-82321524852615034852011-10-12T01:43:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:12:14.741-07:00jetter — TO THROW AWAY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[jhe-TEH] (v.) When one is on a sinking ship (a literal one), it behooves one <b>to throw </b>things overboard in an effort to buy some added buoyancy and a little time. Once sunk, a ship will often also spill its load. As all this washes ashore or ends up on the ocean floor it can be divided into <i>flotsam </i>and <i><b>jet</b>sam. </i>The difference is of great interest to Marine Insurance writers who consider things that floated off (flotsam) to be a free-for-all. However, things that were thrown off purposefully—or <i><b>jettisoned</b></i>—are considered the boat owner's property and can be reclaimed. These are called <i><b>jet</b>sam</i>, a word derived from the French <i><b>jetter</b></i>, which means<b> </b><i><b>to throw away</b>. </i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-60413354681128014292011-01-25T22:37:00.000-08:002013-06-19T22:22:55.703-07:00guerre — WAR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[<i>gh-AIR</i>] (n. f.) The 10th century Normans, those conquesting descendants of Vikings conquerors (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...), were the first to take early French and start making it sound like what English is today. While the rest of France was speaking <i>Françoys, </i>the Norman were altering the pronunciation of words and taking those with them to vanquished England.<br />
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It's fitting to consider the French word <b>guerre</b>. While most of the country was pronouncing that "<i>gh-AIR</i>" with a hard G, the Normans in their province of Normandy saw that "gue-" and thought it sounded more like "gweh" to them. That Norman accent was also responsible for transforming the French surname "Guillaume" into "William." The rest was just a process of simplification: from <i><b>guerre</b> </i>to "<i>gwerre</i>" to "<i>werre</i>" and finally <i><b>war</b>. </i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-74934808004580081222010-09-03T13:43:00.000-07:002010-09-03T14:09:39.743-07:00jaune — YELLOW[(<i>d)JOAN</i>] (n. m.) You know you've got issues if your ears are turning red from guilt, your face is green with envy and you've got <i>jaundiced </i>eyes. The latter is thought to mean that you have a prejudiced view and it's the only one of these symptoms of real medical concern. <i>Jaundice</i> occurs in people that have an increase in bilirubin, a <b>yellowish</b> compound found in urine and bile, in the extracellular fluids. It gives the afflicted a<b> yellow</b> tint to the face and, more obviously, the eyes. <i>Jaundice </i>comes from the phonetically similar French word <b>jaunisse</b>, which means <i>yellowness</i>, and its cousin <b>jaune</b>, which means <b>yellow.</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "></span>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-75406979338559902992010-08-30T16:34:00.000-07:002010-08-30T17:11:37.739-07:00las — WEARY[<i>lah</i>] (adj.) In many cases, the English simply incorporated French words without changing a thing about them. Other times (think of <i>entree</i>) the meaning was contorted. Modern American speakers often memorize these terms before taking SAT tests, promptly to forget them afterwards.<b><i> </i>Lassitude,</b> spelled the same way in French or English, is such a word and it means <i>lethargy</i> or <i>listelessness. </i>Now, snip off the end of the word and you're left with the French adjective <b>las</b>, which translates to <i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">weary<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">, and is pronounced just like the sixth solfège syllable, la</span></span></b><span><span>.</span></span> </i><div><br /></div><div>BONUS: That's not all. Ever heard of poets or great dramatists use the expression <i>alas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">? It's the Anglicized version of the French expression </span>hélas, </i>which was made up of the interjection <i>hé </i>(think of our own <i>hey</i>) and <b>las</b>. It's all about connecting the dots. </div>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-28493178807179593472010-08-16T10:55:00.000-07:002010-08-16T11:11:31.806-07:00draps — BED SHEETS[<i>drr-AH</i>] (n. m.) Now, you've got your first apartment, err—let's not get ahead of ourselves—your first rented room in a college boy flat frat. So let's cover the basic needs: a mattress, a book shelf, a desk, halogen floor lamp and two sets of <b>sheets</b>. Why two? Well, one for the bed and one to hang as curtains, of course. The age-old slacker-boy practice of eschewing proper <b>drapery </b>for <b>sheets</b> pinned up with tacks probably comes their knowledge of the French language (I mean, right?). The meaning of French word <b>draps </b>evolved from simply <i>cloth </i>to the modern <b>bed sheets. </b>Furthermore, if you want to say <b>drapery</b> in French you say <b>draperie. </b>Now, go buy some. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-7941050718473445662010-07-26T10:49:00.000-07:002010-08-14T20:32:18.221-07:00vitre — GLASS[<i>VEE-tr</i>] (n. f.) Behind glass walls that guaranteed a controlled environment, the biochemists tried to do what Mr and Mrs Kornbluth had failed to do in the comfort of their own home: create a Baby K. Should they be successful, it was decided that the story of this <i>in vitro </i>fertilization would be kept within the <i>vitreous</i> confines of the lab and not become subject of Thanksgiving Dinner ribbing from future cousins of the unborn Baby K. Keeping cells <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b>in </b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">vitro</span> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">means that they're <i>in </i><i>glass</i> (it's strictly Latin) but <b>vitreous</b> means <i>made of glass </i>(and that is from the French word <b>vitre,</b><i> </i>which of course means <b>glass</b>.) </span></i>Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-1280695435289816032010-07-22T21:20:00.000-07:002010-07-22T22:08:40.283-07:00crasse — DIRT[<i>KR-ass</i>] (n. f.) The man was so <i>crass</i> he was like an evolutionary detour off the Homo Sapiens route and, wherever he wandered, he made the partygoers cringe. He palmed his glass in a grubby hand and gulped wine sloppily. He never made a joke you didn't cringe at. He ogled the ladies in their evening dresses with a self-satisfied grin. Nobody could remember inviting the oaf. "Look at that brute," they would say, "He's so <b>crass<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Although it has come to mean so much more in English, the word </span></span></i></b>was culled from the French <b>crasse, </b>which vulgarly means <b>dirt</b>.<b> </b>Fitting no?Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996973805979867823.post-10427291178673589202010-07-21T21:51:00.000-07:002010-07-21T22:01:05.646-07:00fil — THREAD[<i>fee-l</i>] (n. m.) Besides fetching coffee, filing documents is one of the more mundane task office lackeys are asked to do. At least the method's become more sophisticated: in olden time, they would string documents on a wire for reference, just like laundry. They called that <i>filing </i>after the French word for <b>thread</b>, which is <b>fil</b>.Perry Francis Shirleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13670431254750390217noreply@blogger.com