English Oddities

Deconstructing Some of America's Favorite Wordplays

English is a crazy language. Every day, English speakers say things that masquerade as perfectly normal words and phrases that make no sense whatsoever. Logic would tag "fat chance" and "slim chance" as opposites, while "wise man" and "wise guy" should be synonyms. 1 These and many other incongruities of English are the common subject of teen banter, literalist annoyance, and the livelihood of Richard Lederer, author of Crazy English and other books on the subject.

These oddities have several explanations. The examples cited above can be largely accounted for by considering the ironic tone of both "fat chance" and "wise guy." Sometimes there are semantic reasons, sometimes an odd name is the result of the item's appearance, and sometimes it is simply a case of words changing meaning over time.

In the famous case of the hamburger, the culprit is a process known as resegmenting, or folk etymology. An anglophone considering the word sees or hears "ham" and wonders why something with such a name would be made of beef. The all-American food, as it turns out, is thought to hail from Hamburg, Germany. German adds -er to place-names to denote anything that comes from that place. As a result, we have such terms as hamburger, frankfurter, and wiener (from Wien, better known to English-speakers as Vienna). While this may clear up the meat confusion, this instance of resegmenting has spawned its own semantic family. When "ham" was pulled out, it followed that "burger" would be a sandwich (named for the Earl of Sandwich) on a "sesame seed bun." Without this confusion we would not have cheeseburgers, gardenburgers, chiliburgers… The list goes on. How would we survive? 2

Since I am already on the subject of German meat products, let us deal with the issue of the frankfurter, wiener, coney, or hot dog. The first three are taken from locations, Frankfurt, Wien, and Coney Island respectively. But what is this "hot dog" business?

Why is a hot dog a hot dog when it contains no dog?

The question of the hot dog is dogged hotly on all sides. The origination of the food is claimed by both Vienna, Austria, and Frankfurt, Germany. The name of the food leads the curious searcher to theories, counter-theories, and mental cholesterol build-up.

The National Hot Dog and Sausage Council claims that "hot dog" appeared in 1901. 3 A concession stand at a New York sporting event was not making money selling ice cream on a cold day, so the owner turned to "dachshund sausages." A cartoonist supposedly captured the scene, and unable to spell dachshund, he simply wrote "hot dog." 4

The existence of a National Hot Dog and Sausage Council notwithstanding, the claim is disturbing. For one thing, there is no record of the cartoon. More convincing, however, is the appearance in print of "hot dog" as a food in 1895. Six years before the alleged cartoon incident, the Yale Record printed the following:

ECHOES FROM THE LUNCH WAGON
"Tis dogs' delight to bark and bite,"
Thus does the adage run.
But I delight to bite the dog
When placed inside a bun.

This was followed shortly thereafter by a piece of fiction which included students who, in chapel, "contentedly munched hot dogs during the whole service." 5

The basic idea here is that, though we know where "hot dog" did not come from, no one really knows where it did. The best guess anyone can make has already been hinted at. Most likely, the sausage earned its title because of its resemblance to the dachshund. Rest assured, there is no Spot in your dog.

It is certainly nice to know that hot dogs have no dog. English continues to wander through the realm of nonsensicality, though. There are some seemingly ineptly named foods yet to taste. Sweetbread, for example. Hot dogs have no dog. Sweetbread is meat. Somewhat.

Why is sweetbread called sweetbread when it isn't bread, it's internal organs?

Unfortunately for the faint of stomach, it is true. The American Heritage Dictionary gives the rather unappealing definition of "The thymus gland or pancreas of a young animal, especially a calf or lamb, used for food." 6 The esteemed Oxford English Dictionary lists the origins of sweetbread as unknown. However, it was documented as early as 1565. 7

The logical next step might be to become a vegetarian, after all this meat masquerading as something else. How would you like to try something else masquerading as meat?

Sweetmeats aren't meat, so how did they get their name?

The American Heritage Dictionary offers "A sweet delicacy, such as a piece of candy or crystallized fruit" 8 as the definition of sweetmeat. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, "sweetmeat" first appeared in written form in 1480. For perspective, that was twelve years before Columbus "discovered" the Americas. 9

Sweetmeat is a combination of "sweet" and "meat." Sweet as we know it has been around since well before the Norman invasion. It was documented as early as 888. 10 Meat has many senses, including the common sense of "animal flesh." Meat could mean any food, appearing in writing around 900 and maintaining that sense into the early twentieth century. Another likely possibility is the sense of "The edible part of fruits, nuts, eggs, etc." This meaning for meat is documented first in 1420. 11 Since sweetmeats are usually candied fruits, this is the sense I think is most likely. Considering its proximity to the appearance of "sweetmeat," it is not unlikely that the connection of the two parts would quickly follow.

We have several foods in English that tend to confuse us. Not only do we eat hamburgers with no ham and hot dogs with no dog, but eggplant has no egg. Pineapple, well, you get the idea.

Why is it called a pineapple when it's neither pine nor apple?

No processed meat products or animal organs here, folks. This one is all about vegetation. According to everything I can find, the first European to lay eyes on the pineapple was the illustrious Christopher Columbus. He named it piña because its exterior is similar to that of the pine cone. 12 Eventually, the fruit made its way to England where it retained the conifer allusion and picked up the rest of its English name, thanks to its "firm interior pulp" that reminded people of apples. 13

I have one question. Why are so many foods impersonating other foods? Do they all have identity crises? Speaking of identity crises, try this one on for size.

If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?

Ouch. Is anyone hungry? Of course, no one actually believes that humanitarians eat people, one would hope, but it is a fun question to ask. This is actually more innocent than it sounds. Vegetarian can be broken into two parts, veget-, the base, and -arian, the suffix. The typical anglophone would take -arian as "one who eats" or something of that spirit, as a result of the word vegetarian. However, these two are not the only -arian words in our language.

Consider, if you will, utilitarian and disciplinarian. Naturally, the latter does not eat discipline. While humans could be eaten, however abhorrent that may seem, discipline cannot. Well, it cannot literally be eaten. Almost anything could be turned into a metaphor, but let us think literally now.

Since -arian cannot mean "one who eats," it must mean something else. The American Heritage Dictionary clears up our confusion by defining -arian as a "Believer in; advocate of." 14 So a vegetarian is an advocate of vegetables. More important, a humanitarian has been restored to its place as an advocate for, rather than eater of, humanity.

Reassured of the morality of American efforts in destitute lands, the public cheers. Crisis averted, our fickle attention is captured by a yellow flutter-by.

Since when does butter fly?

Excuse me, did I say flutter-by? I meant butterfly. That is one of the most common myths circulating about the name of this insect. 15

Butterfly, however, is composed of the words butter and fly, though for what reason, no one can say for sure. The favored explanation at this time goes back to a very old superstition that butterflies, or witches in the form of butterflies, stole butter. 16 This seems an odd way to name something, but when you realize that butterfly is in very much the same form it has had since Old English, it becomes rather plausible. 17 The explanation is plausible, I should say, not the bit about stealing butterflies.

I hope you enjoyed our little jaunt through entomological etymology. Stealing butterflies has an odd sound to it, does it not? It conjures up double images of insects stealing butter and insects being stolen. Ambiguity can be a wonderful form of wordplay. It relies heavily on semantic and syntactic information. These bits of language are not always readily available to the casual observer. Said observer may be able to identify ambiguity. Observer may even be able to explain the different meanings, but most could not explain why the ambiguity exists. Semantic roles are particularly difficult to define for most people.

If corn oil comes from corn and olive oil from olives, where does baby oil come from?

I asked a fellow logophile this question. That was an unfortunate decision, as his answer was, "Squeeze the baby and… [Sound effect deleted]" This is an example of semantic wordplay. Each of these words, corn, olive, and baby, has a semantic role. As you might surmise, baby wears a different hat than corn or olive. To put it simply, corn and olive are both the source of the oil. Baby, on the other hand, is the one for whom the oil is made.

Allow me for a moment to delve into the theoretical world of syntax. Each of the words in question is a noun which, having forgotten itself for the moment, is acting as an adjective. These adjectivals are still nouns. If you doubt me, please insert any of the three into a sentence and force it to be an adjective. Does it work? No. Oh, ye of little faith.

These words, nouns that they are, can be labeled with specific semantic functions. Corn and olive, as stated above, are the source of the oil. Appropriately enough, source is the semantic function of these two words. Baby oil can also be rendered as oil for a baby. This makes the function of baby a bit clearer. The baby is the beneficiary of the oil, or the one for whom the oil is made. The baby is grammatically the indirect object and has the semantic role of the benefactive.

Ok, ok. If you must know, baby oil's source generally includes jojoba and some nut oils such as almond. It is specially formulated from natural oils for sensitive skins.

Another game piece in wordplay that semantics swallows up is homophones. These lovely words are the life-blood of punsters everywhere. They are also the unwitting source of confusion to many.

Why do we drive on a parkway and park in a driveway?

The unfortunate thing about puns is they are only punny if you leave them alone. Park has other meanings besides a gear for your car, or the act of putting the car into that gear. The sense we find here in parkway is "A piece of land with few or no buildings within or adjoining a town, maintained for recreational and ornamental purposes." 18 A parkway is nothing more than a tree-lined street. Driveway is even less amusing when analyzed. In theory, garages are where cars sleep when they go home. This is not always the case, since we often park in the driveway. It may be a dying custom, but driveways are not for parking on, they are the way on which we are to drive to our garage. 19 Assuming, of course, that your garage still has room for your car. Come to think of it, some parkways do look more like parking lots than streets at times!

Why do shipments go by land and cargo goes by sea?

This one usually follows on the heels of the parkway question. I am not one to mess with a perfectly good tradition, so here goes. Cargo is a descendent of the Latin carricare. Cargo, according to American Heritage Dictionary, is "The freight carried by a ship, an aircraft, or another vehicle." 20 Note the presence of another vehicle. Although cargo is generally used in the sense of freight on a ship or plane, it can technically be any freight. Perhaps this word is undergoing specialization. Perhaps sometime in the future it will only apply to ships.

To complete the picture, a shipment is "A quantity of goods or cargo that are shipped together." 21 Not only does it not specify a means of shipping, it calls the goods cargo! In my defense, I scoured every dictionary within reach for this one. The American Heritage and Merriam- Webster dictionaries had variations on the same theme, neither including a means of transport.

Puns are better left alone. Close scrutiny tends to destroy the humor. In the future, please let sleeping dogs lie.

Why do they call them apartments when they're all stuck together?

This one is rather interesting. The "apart" in apartments really is apart, meaning "to separate." It comes in part from the Indo European *ad by way of the Latin ad-, both meaning "to, near, or at." Part can mean "segment" (noun) or "to separate" and comes from the Indo European
* meaning "to grant." 22 This gives a very nice explanation of the word, but it does not answer the question at hand. Nor will it, for try as I may, I cannot find anyone who answers this one. The only thing that makes sense that I can come up with at this time is a complete guess on my part. Perhaps they are "apart"ments in opposition to being the entire house. In other words, the living quarters of a specific person or persons are separated from those of the others, though within the same building. Take this guess with the proverbial grain of salt, guess that it is.

Can someone be whelmed, gruntled, or combobulated?

English speakers really seem to enjoy playing with affixes. That is what this is a question of, after all. It seems perfectly logical that if one can be disgruntled, they should also be able to be gruntled. A person can make a concerted effort or be disconcerted. Why do we never hear of someone who is combobulated? This is known as back-formation. The assumption is that a base that could stand on its own but has affixes probably once did stand on its own. A related assumption is that a base with a negative (or comparative, etc.) affix implies the existence of a corresponding un-marked word.

Can someone be whelmed? "Whelm" actually shows up in some dictionaries. It is not, however, what you might expect. To be overwhelmed is literally to be in over your head. Whelm is defined as, "1. To cover with water; submerge. 2. To overwhelm" by the American Heritage Dictionary. 23 It would be acceptable to say that one is whelmed, then, but at this time it would mean the same if we used overwhelmed.

Perhaps gruntle and combobulate will fare better in the logic department. After several dictionary searches, the answers are yes and no, respectively. Disgruntle is another case similar to overwhelm. It was originally gruntle, meaning to grumble. It received a dis-, according to American Heritage Dictionary. 24 This dis- evidently did not alter the meaning. However, Princeton's WordNet lists gruntle as a synonym of pacify. 25 I am unable to find this back-formation documented in any other dictionary at this time. This means only that the word has been used but is not yet widely accepted. Combobulate, as the implied antonym of discombobulate, has not been recognized at all that I can find.

Back-formation is one of the most common ways of forming new words in English. Because language is a living organism, it is constantly changing. The fact that this question is asked tells me that one or more of the three is on its way to becoming an accepted word in our language.

If con is the opposite of pro, is congress the opposite of progress?

If we were all perfectly happy with the government, I doubt that this question would ever appear. When one asks this question, one might wonder if this analysis could be too good to be true. If one wonders such things, one would be correct. My apologies to all whose fondest linguistic hope I just shattered.

On the surface, it seems perfectly logical. Pro and con are most certainly antonyms. Pro-gress most certainly has that pro- in it, meaning "supporting." Con-gress, though, does not have the same con-. The con in "pro and con" is actually a shortening of contra, meaning "against," as anyone who has quoted this joke knows well. The base in both, -gress, comes from the Proto Indo-European *ghredh-. This root means "To walk." 26

For a contrast, I will use a word that does use the contra- prefix. Contrast means "To set in opposition in order to show or emphasize differences." 27 The opposition there comes from the contra element of the word. In contrast, congress has no such opposition in its definition.

1. A formal assembly of representatives, as of various nations, to
discuss problems. 2. The national legislative body of a nation,
especially a republic. 3. Congress a. The national legislative body
of the United States, consisting of the Senate and the House of
Representatives. b. The two-year session of this legislature
between elections of the House of Representatives. 28

There is no concept of "against" in "congress." In fact, this con- means "with." They could not be further apart. Interestingly, both con- and contra- descend from the same PIE root, *kom. 29 With our new knowledge of word meanings, we can rewrite the definitions of these words. Progress might become "In favor of moving," while congress could be rendered "moving together."

English is a crazy language. Many of the things we say sound crazy. Maybe some of them are crazy. But many of them have very good explanations for being what they are. Next time someone asks one of these questions, you can blow them away (or scare them away) with an answer!

Bibliography

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12/04/01