The New Yorker asked which one single word should be eradicated from English, and lots of people answered. Some popular candidates:

· literally (we should keep this one, but misuse should be punishable by death; we recently got a pitch for a story that said, "The conference was literally mind blowing"—um, NO, BUT TOO BAD IT WASN'T)
· actually (should also be kept, but people should cease overuse [cough PAUL CONSTANT cough])
· awesome (again, overused, and almost always used outside its real meaning, but doesn't it always make you feel good—maybe a little dumb, but good?)
· moist (a perenially unfavorite and amply discussed at the link above)

The winner/loser is after the jump (in case the post at the link is too long for you to read—it's at the end of it).

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"Fun" originally meant "cheat."

fun (n.)
"diversion, amusement," 1727, earlier "a cheat, trick" (c.1700), from verb fun (1680s) "to cheat, hoax," of uncertain origin, probably a variant of M.E. fonnen "befool" (c.1400; see fond). Stigmatized by Johnson as "a low cant word." Older sense is preserved in phrase to make fun of (1737) and funny money "counterfeit bills" (1938, though this may be more for the sake of the rhyme).

Here, according to Google, is where you can have "fun" in Seattle:

• goog

If you're having trouble having fun, you might try the suggestions on this list of "how to have fun." Step four is: "Use a time-planning tool to plan activities for different days."

That, however, does not sound fun.

Our man in Thailand (formerly known as our man in Vietnam) sent a photo of a newspaper ad that contained a word I hadn't seen before: orchiectomy.

• c.

So how did "orchid" and "testicles" get so close? Bam!

orchid

1845, introduced by John Lindley in "School Botanty," from Mod.L. Orchideæ (Linnaeus), the plant's family name, from L. orchis, a kind of orchid, from Gk. orkhis (gen. orkheos) "orchid," lit. "testicle," from PIE *orghi-, the standard root for "testicle" (cf. Avestan erezi "testicles," Arm. orjik, M.Ir. uirgge, Ir. uirge "testicle," Lith. erzilas "stallion"). The plant so called because of the shape of its root. Earlier in English in Latin form, orchis (1560s), and in M.E. it was ballockwort (c.1300; see ballocks). Marred by extraneous -d- in attempt to extract the Latin stem.

Bastard, retard, dastard, dotard... where did all these insulting "-tard" words come from?

First, let's dispense with "leotard," which came from Jules Léotard, a trapeze artist from Toulouse, France—it doesn't fit in with the rest of the words.

The Online Etymological Dictionary says "retard" comes from the Latin retardare, by way of the French verb retarder, which first appears in the 13th century. So how did it come be considered an insulting word?

There is, of course, the whole scientific-political debate about whether certain people should be regarded as "slower" and "behind" or simply differently abled. But there's a linguistic reason, too—lots of insulting nouns in the English language end with -ard. Again, from the Online Etymological Dictionary:

-ard
also -art, from O.Fr. -ard, -art, from Ger. -hard, -hart "hardy," forming the second element in many personal names, often used as an intensifier, but in M.H.G. and Du. used as a pejorative element in common nouns, and thus passing into M.E. in bastard, coward, blaffard ("one who stammers"), etc. It thus became a living element in English, e.g. buzzard, drunkard.

Obviously, this isn't the case with inanimate nouns like "custard" and "mustard"—but it tends to work with words that describe people. "Dastard" came along in the 15th century to mean "one who is lazy or dull," probably from a marriage of daze plus -ard. "Drunkard" (originally "droncarde") came along in the 1500s from a similar marriage of drunk plus -ard, and so on.

This...

Language is possible due to a number of cognitive and physical characteristics that are unique to humans but none of which that are unique to language. Coming together they make language possible. But the fundamental building block of language is community. Humans are a social species more than any other, and in order to build a community, which for some reason humans have to do in order to live, we have to solve the communication problem. Language is the tool that was invented to solve that problem.

Counterintuitively, it may have originated from a world meaning lower-class—the Dutch heiden, "rustic, uncivilized man," which was related to heathen. The first usage in the OED is from 1668, describing what sounds like an orgy for widows: "The Widows I observ'd . . Chanting and Jigging to every Tune they heard, and all upon the Hoyty-Toyty like mad Wenches of Fifteen."

And the online etymological dictionary says:

also hoity toity, 1660s, "riotous behavior," from earlier highty tighty "frolicsome, flighty," perhaps an alteration and reduplication of dial. hoyting "acting the hoyden, romping" (1590s), see hoyden. Sense of "haughty" first recorded late 1800s, probably on similarity of sound.

Maybe it just goes to show that in the old days, the peasants had more fun. And when the landlords started having more fun—and looking down their noses at their renters/peasants—the word switched to them.

Snopes says that the popular etymology—haut toit, French for "high roof"—is false.

I find lists like this fascinating. Hugo Lindgren, now editor of the New York Times Magazine, inherited a list of words, titled simply "Words We Don't Say," from his predecessor at a previous job. It's a list of words that the former editor "found annoying and didn’t want used in his magazine." For example, alphabetically:

AUTHORED
BIGS (meaning “prominent people”)
BISTRO (okay in restaurant reviews, but sparingly)
BOAST (meaning “have”)
CELEB
COMELY
COMFORT FOOD
DUO
DON (meaning “put on”)
DUBBED
EATERY

We do not have a physical list like this in our office, but they exist in editors' heads. For example, our managing editor, Bethany Jean Clement, is opposed to virtually all uses of the word "moniker." I would second that (but less ferociously), and include from the above list "dubbed" and "boast." We've had recent editing discussions about the use of the simple-but-sometimes-necessary word "great" in reviews (some people are pro, some are con).

The post containing the list asked readers which words annoyed them, and Lindgren went ahead and printed a list of all of them and hung that in his office below some skull-and-crossbones symbols for good measure. I love knowing other people's word-related pet peeves ("pet peeve" is one of mine, actually). I have a feeling quite a few people are adding "snowpocalypse" to theirs right now.

A 2009 blog post from the New York Times says the term is Western Washington's own, first appearing in 2006 and snowballing (ahem) from there:

"Snowpocalypse” appears to have made its way into the vernacular; ABC News even used the term in a Web headline on Saturday. However, the word might be more familiar to those in the Pacific Northwest. Urban Dictionary suggests the term emerged in Seattle in late 2008 to describe a Dec. 20 blizzard. But the term seems a bit older than that... our adventure in Google etymology yielded uses of the term in 2007 and even 2006 – both those years apparently referring to northern Washington State storms as well.

That cited 2006 blog post—by one "snickerpants"—claims that the blogger's husband coined the term:

The denizens of the Seattle area are not used to snow. This results in an entire Metropolitan community being physically unable to cope with lots of snow in a short amount of time. In rare circumstances this results in something my husband has termed a “Snopocalypse.”

HOWEVER! I found a 2005 usage on the now-defunct Seattle MetBlog site. So even if the husband independently invented the term, it has older origins. And I'm guessing the word is as old as jokes.

"One day Santorum will join this gallery," writes Slog tipper Blair. My favorite person-to-noun:

Vidkun Quisling betrayed Norway to Nazi Germany and became leader of occupied Norway's collaborationist government. He was executed by firing squad by his countrymen after the war. His very name, quisling, has come to mean "traitor."

Sucked to be a non-collaborating Norwegian Quisling after the war, no doubt.

condolences
"formal declaration of sympathy," 1670s, pl. of condolence. Reason for the plural is unclear; earliest references are to expressions from groups of persons; perhaps the habit stuck.

condole (v.)
late 15c., "to sorrow," from L.L. condolere "to suffer with another," from com- "with" (see com-) + dolere "to grieve." Meaning "to express condolences" is recorded from 1650s.

"Condolences" feels like such a formal word these days, but at its heart it doesn't just mean: "I pity your sorrow from afar." It means: "I suffer with you."

felon

late 13c., from O.Fr. felon "evil-doer, scoundrel, traitor, rebel, the Devil" (9c.), from M.L. fellonem (nom. fello) "evil-doer," of uncertain origin, perhaps from Frank. *fillo, *filljo "person who whips or beats, scourger" (cf. O.H.G. fillen "to whip"); or from L. fel "gall, poison," on the notion of "one full of bitterness." Another theory (advanced by Professor R. Atkinson of Dublin) traces it to L. fellare "to suck" (see fecund), which had an obscene secondary meaning in classical Latin (well-known to readers of Martial and Catullus), which would make a felon etymologically a "cock-sucker." OED inclines toward the "gall" explanation, but finds Atkinson's "most plausible" of the others.

Fecund, which is etymologically connected to felon, female, and felix (happy), also means one who sucks and one who suckles, via the Proto-Indo European root dhe.

This sentence is still my favorite, about a documentary by Peter Ustinov:

... highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector.

But this one is pretty good, too.

Courtesy of Slog tipper and sometime Stranger copyeditor Jesse Vernon.

WSJ:

JOPLIN, Mo.—Ninety of the people unaccounted for after Sunday's devastating tornado have been located and are alive, officials said, as this hollowed-out city of 50,000 people began rebuilding its school system and making other tentative steps toward recovery.

An example: A diner in a small town.
Trucker: Why is that man at the counter looking at me funny?
Waitress: Don't pay him no mind. He means no harm. He is a Dorother.
Trucker: I see. I see. Thanks for letting me know.

Jamaica is having a big debate about whether to teach patois in its schools. A refrain in the articles about the situation in the Jamaican Gleaner say: "The language I speak, I cannot write; the language I write, I cannot speak."

Professor and self-described "public intellectual" Carolyn Cooper has written a series of columns supporting patois—written in patois. In "Dear God, Is Me, Bruce," she writes a prayer from the prime minister, arguing that when Jamaicans talk to their God, they talk in patois. The first paragraph:

NO BOTHER mek mi get ignorant, yaa, Maasa. How yu mean, "Which Bruce?" Is how much 'Bruce' yu know so, a bawl to yu morning, noon an night a beg fi deliverance? Cho, man, no treat mi so bad. Mi cyaan tek di crosses. Tongue cannot tell. Di people dem all bout dis a wash dem mout pon mi. Yu no see di joke dem pon di Internet? Dem have one wid Hitler a gwaan like seh im a mi. Wat a liberty! Yu fi hear di breed a ting dem im a seh bout Tivoli. Mi shame so til. An yu a go tun pon mi to?

And that pissed some people off. Here's a letter to the Gleaner (which, by the way, is an awesome name for a newspaper):

Talk about blinded by self-importance! The 'Great Ideator' has now enlisted none other than the GREAT CREATOR on her side!! 'Even God speaks patois' thunders the headline, but what follows is nothing short of shameful! Apart from being most irreverent, it is a sloppy piece of journalism. Her attempts to write in her favourite second language did little more than confirm the fact that Patois is no more than broken, misspelt English, despite her attempts to use a 'K' where most writers of Patois would use a 'C', in a futile attempt to camouflage its origins. What I cannot understand is what would drive someone to such extremes for such an unworthy quest. Such zeal correctly applied could accomplish a great good.

I am, etc.,

Carlton A. Reynolds

All of the letters to the Gleaner seem to end with "I am, etc."

In the end, it doesn't really matter whether or not the Jamaican schools teach in patois. The history of language shows that the state cannot control it—in Spain, Franco tried to kill Catalan (jailing people who spoke it, etc.) but he failed. Attempts to save traditional Irish by teaching it in school have had small impact on the day-to-day speech of young people. Irish is fading in the Gaeltacht but a new kind of hybrid Irish—call it Irish patois—is rising in the cities. But traditional Irish speakers and new/urban Irish speakers have trouble understanding each other.

All of which is to say: languages live and die by their own logic. States cannot promote them and states cannot crush them. So teach patois or not, Jamaica: patois will do what patois will do.

And now, please enjoy "Fake Patois" by Das Racist. ("Whatchuknow 'bout Shuan Bridgmohan? Whatchuknow 'bout Shuan Bridgmohan? First Jamaican in the Kentucky Derby, first Jamaican in the Kentucky Derby.")