Word Nerd: Fun Words

by Tom Conger

Words can be fun. If they aren’t fun, make ‘em fun—as the immortal J. Looney (A’s long-lost cousin) once said: “Iffen yo words ain’t fun, you ain’t fun.” Roget offers this in his Thesaurus: “Fun, n. sport, frolic, gaiety, jollity, amusement, entertainment, pleasure”; you are welcomed to add your own terms—long as it’s fun… words can also be curious (as in odd), and for purposes of this diatribe we are indebted to Barnes & Noble’s Why Do We Say It?

Let’s start with a term with which about 20% of all residents of RVM are familiar, grew up with, or learned in order to survive: Pigeon English. The “pigeon” is pigeon English for business. “It was derived in this manner: bidjiness, bidjin, pidgin, pidgeon, and finally pigeon.” Granted, most pidgin speakers on campus ended their progression at “pidgin”—which was initially the language of commerce in the early days after contact in the Sandwich Isles, as merchants in the polyglot marketplace often spoke their own native tongue and the resulting clamor could have proved chaotic. Thus Hawaiian pidgin was a melange of words drawn from a cistern of English, Hawaiian, Chinese, Portuguese, Japanese, German, and a few other spare parts thrown in for good measure. Hawiian educators have for centuries tried to discourage the use of pidgin by their youthful charges, but ‘twas all for naught: the kids used, yea treasured, their own local patois. And apologies go out to RVM wait staff who might be plagued by old-time displaced Hawaiians who may order “choke” rice and wish their plates removed when they are “pau” . . .

Halcyon days. In my halcyon days I got by speaking pidgin and eating choke (plenty of) rice. How does “halcyon days” denote pleasant times? “The original ‘halcyon days’ were fifteen days in the Spring—the seven days preceding the Vernal Equinox in March, the day itself, and the seven days following it. This is the brooding time of the ‘halcyon’ or kingfisher and since its nest was supposed to float upon the sea, the superstition arose that calm weather always prevailed at this time of the year.” Whether anybody still refers to kingfishers as the halcyon remains to be seen.

Firedogs. As it is clearly not halcyon days in these sub-freezing times, and RVM residents are either hovering at their ersatz fireplaces, or huddled around the flame feature in the Manor lobby, ‘twould seem appropriate to pass on a bit o’ fireplace lore. “Because at one time real dogs were placed in a wheel-cage at one end of a roasting spit and had to run round and round the wheel to tun the spit. Sometimes a live coal was placed inside the wheel to speed up the dogs.” This was clearly before the SPCA was founded, and would certainly arouse the ire of many good pup fanciers in these hallowed confines.

Pup Tent. Speaking of pups, did you ever wonder how those li’l field/camping hovels got the name? Seems the Union soldiers during the US Civil War (1861-65), instructed to inhabit the tiny enclosures, decided they looked like dog kennels and proceeded to bark in unison at their campgrounds. Today’s coddled darlings, not faced with mandatory military service, sometimes choose to go camping in the wild; but we hardened old vets from the Cold War et seq. would rather eat raw halcyon than spend another night in a pup tent . . .

Southpaw. It’s originally a baseball term, but the moniker is appended to any athlete who throws with their left hand. “All major league baseball diamonds are laid out so that the batter will face east, thus putting the afternoon sun behind his back and making it easier for him to see the ball. Therefore, when the pitcher faces the batter he’s facing west and his left arm is to the south.” None of the remaining quarterbacks in the NFL Super Bowl hunt are southpaws, but Tua Tagovailoa of Miami Dolphins is. Rumors prevail that wide receivers have to adjust their catching techniques to accommodate the reverse spirals thrown by southpaw QBs. And certain transplanted Islander RVM southpaws have been heard to demand left-handed chopsticks when served choke rice . . .