Skip to main content

Wordsmith

It started with a simple discussion about the word fete.  It suddenly seemed "funny" to me.  Fete, in case it seems peculiar or unfamiliar to you, simple refers to a day of celebration; a holiday.  From there it went to a small bundle of words that have been popping up in my reading lately.  New words to the vocabulary are always exciting to try out.  Use them or lose them is the best policy, in my view.
So it was with conservative columnist George Will's recent use of the word bloviate.  Will, obviously displeased with Donald Trump's continual bullying over Barak Obama's birth certificate authenticity called The Donald a "bloviating ignoramus."   Such an elegant way to call someone a windbag.  Perhaps it's the blo in bloviate that adds the onomatopoetic justice to the phrase.
Seems to me that so many of the cable news channels these days are full of bloviators, if I might coin a word.
I read the word gauche in print the other day.  You know this one; it's pronounced with the long o sound like in go.  Some of those bloviating pundits exhibit a bit of gauche behavior more often than not.  Like a Venn diagram, their hot air blows over the plains of insensitivity into the swamp of crude.  Some folks have no social filter, others no social grace.  I've noticed that Facebook, too, contains no shortage of bloviating, knuckle dragging, lecturers.  Trouble is most are too lazy to look up the word, even with an online dictionary.
I've been reading the Julian Barnes novel The Sense of an Ending lately.  Barnes, a British writer, has published 10 previous novels as well as short stories and three collections of journalism.  He has a massive vocabulary and always has me running to the dictionary.  I heard him interviewed a few months ago on NPR while driving across town, and the result was the same.  I went right to the dictionary when I got home.
Last night I read the sentence, "Over a susurrus of awed mutterings, he told us that..."  I read the sentence a few times and since it was late decided to take a shot and then look up the word later.  I think I went with something like frequency, but I was way off.  A susurrus is a whispering or rustling sound.  Lovely, isn't it.  A susurrus of leaves or leaves of paper, or perhaps voices.  I think it would be a real fete when some rather gauche folks replace bloviating with a susurrus of thoughtful sounds.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...