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6:27AM Sep-27-08
| Grant Barrett
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OMG, text messaging! It's destroying the English language, corrupting young minds, turning us into illiterates. It's probably shrinking the ozone layer, too. Or is it? In his new book, , David Crystal offers a different perspective, one which linguists have shared for years: Far from obliterating literacy, texting may actually improve it. So put that in your message header and send it!
This episode first aired September 27, 2008. Listen here: Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
(23.5 MB).
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The French phrase au jus means with sauce, which is why it drives some diners to distraction when a menu lists beef with au jus sauce. A Wisconsin listener calls to say this phrase sets her teeth on edge. The hosts order up an answer fresh from the "Waiter, There's a Redundancy in My Soup!" Department.
In medical parlance, your big toe is your hallux. But what about the other four? Do they have anatomical names as well? A San Diego man who hurt the toe next to his big toe is tired of referring to his injured digit as "the toe next to my big toe," and wants the proper medical term. How does porcellus domi grab you? Prehensily?
Quiz Guy John Chaneski presents a letter-shaving game called "Curtailments." In this game, Grant and Martha leave everything on the floor.
A caller from Stevens Point, Wisconsin, was puzzled when she moved there and locals asked, "What's your name from home?" meaning, "What's your maiden name?" The community has a strong Polish heritage and she wonders if there's a connection. It's a good hunch. Martha explains why.
Say you have a particularly rambunctious child. Okay, a little hellion. Is it proper to describe the little devil as a holy terror? Or might it be more correct and more logical to call him an unholy terror? A Los Angeles caller thinks it's the latter.
If you've flown from Milwaukee's Mitchell International Airport recently, you may have noticed an odd but official-looking sign that reads: RECOMBOBULATION AREA. A caller from Madison was discombobulated to see it, then started wondering about the roots of such words. .
The real problem with texting isn't how it affects language, but what it does to social interaction. Is there anything more annoying when you're trying to have a conversation than watching your companion's eyes flitting to his phone when he sees that a text message just arrived? The hosts discuss the need for a new text-messaging etiquette.
Let's say that you're getting diesel therapy at o-dark-thirty. What are you getting and when are you getting it? A New Jersey contestant from the National Puzzlers' League learns the meaning of these terms in this week's slang quiz.
What do you call a word made from a blend of two other words, like motel from motor and hotel? A listener says his term for them is Reese's Peanut Butter Cup words, after the old commercial: "You got chocolate in my peanut butter! You got peanut butter in my chocolate!" But he wonders if there's another, more established term. The hosts introduce him to the word portmanteau.
When it comes to text messaging and its effect on English, the linguistic apocalypse is not nigh. Quite the contrary, in fact. Grant talks about some eye-opening research about text-messaging and teen literacy.
That's all for this week. L8r!
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Read the original blog post. |
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12:52PM Sep-29-08
| Gemma
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Another great episode.
WRT portmanteau words. I had never thought of portmanteau in this context as bringing with it its literal meaning of a piece of luggage (or a whole storage item made up of two containers/halves).
I had always assumed it was ("just") a recursive definition, since portmanteau is a portmanteau word itself.
port + manteau = portmanteau (carry + coat = carrycoat)
or rather, in English, suit + case = suitcase
I like Martha's imagery too.
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3:59PM Sep-30-08
| Jazyk
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Hi, Grant. Hi, Martha.
Yep, z domu is real Polish and it`s pronounced with a z sound and not an s as in pleasure. The literal translation of maiden name, however, is nazwisko panieńskie.
And in case any of you were interested in the names of the other toes like me, here are.
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8:35AM Oct-01-08
| martha
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Hi, Jazyk. Thanks for the pronunciation.
Here's . There was another I saw on the Web that had them from all different countries, but I can't seem to put my fingers on it right now.
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7:57AM Oct-03-08
| EmmettRedd
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Virtually everyone knows the .
Google gets over 78k hits on its first phrase. But, I was taught one by my father (in southwest Missouri–family moved there from Iowa (and previously Ohio) shortly after Civil War) that gets no hits on Google.
It goes like this:
(Grab and shake (G&S) the hallux while saying in a deep voice): “Big pig wants corn.”
(G&S the porcellus domi while saying in a smaller pig voice): “Where are you going to get it?”
(G&S the third toe while saying, again in the same deep voice): “Grandpa’s barn.”
(G&S the fourth toe — again in the smaller pig voice): “I’ll squeal.”
(G&S the little toe — back in the deep voice): ”(grunt, grunt, grunt) I can’t get over the barn door sill.”
As a way of explanation the “squeal” means alerting or telling Grandpa and a “barn door sill” is the high threshold which a big, fat pig might not be able to climb over from his pen.
Emmett
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12:04PM Oct-05-08
| JoePlumber
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Hi, my wife and I just moved to San Diego and we love your show. We're 'word nerds' and were surprised that your show isn't carried more widely!
Regarding the slang puzzle in this episode, I thought there were some discrepancies in the use of the phrase, "Alright men! I want you to fan out and locate the enemy's twenty and return to base at oh-dark-thirty."
On the show, Grant described "oh-dark-thirty" as an indeterminate time after dark. I've spent thirteen years in the Navy and Marine Corps, and I've participated in many events that started at "oh-dark-thirty." In my experience, the aforementioned phrase has been used mostly in a tongue-in-cheek manner, not as a means to issue an order or coordinate a return to base. The time itself is indeterminate, but the inference of the 'oh' is that it occurs in the early morning hours. As most folks have seen from the movies and TV, we use the 24-hour clock, i.e. 2 pm is 1400 hours (pronounced 'fourteen hundred') and 9:15 am is 0915 (pronounced 'zero-nine fifteen' or 'oh-nine-fifteen'). In a similar manner, oh-dark-thirthy is a faux-specific time sometime after midnight but well before sunrise; in common use this is some obscenely early time that prevents one from getting sleep on a normal human schedule. I think Martha's friend catching his plane at "oh-dark-thirty" can relate.
Also, I believe that "twenty" is police slang for location (as in, "what's your twenty?" means, "where are you?") There is, admittedly, a good bit of related or shared terminology between cops and soldiers. As of yet, however, I've not seen this slang in use in the military, though I've heard police officers use it frequently.
Thanks for a great show, we look forward to it every week!
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1:39PM Oct-05-08
| Grant Barrett
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Thanks, Joe. We've had a number of people respond and say "oh-dark-thirty" means sometime in the morning, not any indeterminate time after dark.
The whole sentence was written in such a way as to more like the fake television idea of the military than the real military. So there was the intentional mixing of "20" from the police 10-code (10-20 meaning "location"), the absurdity of a CO giving an order using slang, with an imprecise time, too boot, and, though it was accidental, the loosey-goosey meaning in the sentence of oh-dark-thirty.
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2:25PM Oct-06-08
| martha
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Emmett, thanks for that piggy-counting contribution. I'm curious: How was "squeal" pronounced where you grew up? Did folks rhyme it with "sill," as did some folks I knew in Kentucky (and as does Sarah Palin)?
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2:26PM Oct-06-08
| martha
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Thanks for the kind words, Joe. Where'd y'all move from? In any case, welcome to sunny San Diego. Glad you found us!
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3:52PM Oct-06-08
| EmmettRedd
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Martha,
My dad actually probably used "tell". But, since that did not rhyme with "sill", I took poetic license and used (long e) "squeal" since that is what pigs do, would still alert the farmer of the larceny, and did not rhyme any worse.
It sounds like Kentucky folk could finally make this story rhyme.
BTW, southwest of Rolla, MO, is a Kaintuck Hollow. It was always claimed to be named after Kentucky. Sound reasonable? Also, one speculation is that Rolla was named after Raleigh by phonetically spelling the founders' pronounciation.
Emmett
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10:37AM Oct-08-08
| EmmettRedd
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I decided to Google another phrase, “barn door sill” and found .
Page 420 has a couple of very similar toe/pig rhymes. The Berkshire rhyme ends with the word “grunsel” which the text (and the OED almost) says “= a raised door sill.” Grunsel would rhyme with the “tell” of the Shropshire version later on the page and my father’s version.
So, the rhyme does not need Kentucky but may have been in the original versions from England.
I guess this piggy-counting verse illustrates once again the close linguistic ties between the Ozarks and merry old England.
Emmett
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3:48PM Oct-15-08
| Larry
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I'm the guy you talked to who had the blister on the toe next to my big toe. After our conversation was broadcast, I found, via the Internet, a 2006 article in the Chicago Tribune by Eric Zorn in which he lists all five of the toe names proposed by that Yale medical student (John Phillips) in, he says, a letter to the New England Journal of Medicine, apparently in or around 1991. The names for toes in children's rhymes are cute, but they seem a little silly for use by adults. I don't think I could go to the gym and tell the guys I had a blister on my Rudy Whistle any more than I could tell them I had a blister on my porcellus domi. Indeed, afer our conversation, I couldn't even confirm that "the little toe" is an official name for the little toe, even though everyone seems to understand what you mean when you refer to it as such. All of this is an odd little gap in our anatomical lexicon. We need simple, adult names for the toes. As a requisite for a toe name, I propose that the name for any toe has to have the word "toe" in it. So I suggest we start right here and officially designate the toe on the "outide" of the foot as the "little toe" and the toe in the middle as "the middle toe." I'm open to suggestions for the others. Perhaps "the second toe" for the toe in between the big toe and the middle toe, and "the fourth toe" for the toe next to the little toe. The only problem with the latter is the possible confusion that arises if you are uncertain in which direction the speaker is counting. Or maybe "the index toe" and "the ring toe," analogous to the index finger and the ring finger. I will set my mind to work on this and get back to you if I come up with something better. Larry
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8:15AM Oct-16-08
| martha
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>> I don’t think I could go to the gym and tell the guys I had a blister on my Rudy Whistle <<
Larry, I think you're 100% correct about this.
(I do like "ring toe," although I'd have to resist the urge to download one for my cell phone.)
Btw, how's your toe?
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5:48PM Oct-17-08
| Larry
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Martha: The toe next to my big toe is totally healed and has been for some time. Thanks for asking. I don't really like "ring toe." Or "index toe" for that matter. The former could well be mistaken for "ring tone," and I don't know anyone who can point at something with the toe next to the big toe (it being my understanding that is the reason why the index finger is so denominated). So we're still working on this issue and having fun with it. Larry
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7:34PM Oct-19-08
| martha
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>>>> I don’t know anyone who can point at something with the toe next to the big toe
Larry, you may not believe this, but I can indeed do that, at least with the next-to-the-big-toe on my right foot.
If everyone here is really, really nice, I just might upload a photo. (But only after my next pedicure, of course. Maybe not even then.)
The more I think about it, the more "ring toe" is kind of growing on me!
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11:43AM Oct-22-08
| Mathetes
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Larry said:
I don’t think I could go to the gym and tell the guys I had a blister on my Rudy Whistle any more than I could tell them I had a blister on my porcellus domi.
Oh, Larry, I couldn't disagree more strongly. There are so many layers of good (adult) humor in this. Just that it's in Latin, so official and medical in form, and yet poking fun at itself at the same time … it's just delicious.
Too, there's the delight of remembering with sudden surprise the fun of saying this little rhyme either as a child or with your own children, so rediscovering it with medical terminology is fun.
It's always fun, too, isn't it, to announce something to your friends in the gym that sounds just horrendous, to get them all concerned, and then you break the news that it's really a hangnail on your toe. Why do you think April Fools jokes are such popular fun, even for adults.
And let's face it, toes — whatever they're called — are just funny appendages. Yes, we would have a hard time walking and running well without them, as they contribute a lot to balance, but to look at them, well, I just think they deserve little piggy names.
Mathetes
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1:22AM Nov-02-08
| Larry
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Larry, you may not believe this, but I can indeed do that, at least with the next-to-the-big-toe on my right foot.
If everyone here is really, really nice, I just might upload a photo. (But only after my next pedicure, of course. Maybe not even then.)
The more I think about it, the more “ring toe” is kind of growing on me!
How does one be "really, really nice" in this format? Hmmmm…. Martha, I just love A Way with Words! Every week you and Grant continue to outdo yourselves! You have discovered how to improve on perfection…you just broadcast another show! And beautiful!? I can't believe how beautiful you are! Venus would just throw in the towel. It would be no contest. And so keenly intelligent! The Einstein of the verbavores. And witty? Tina Fey move aside! Need I go on?
I have been considering the "under toe" as a name for the toe next to the big toe. And I certainly have seen women wearing rings on their toes, but I couldn't say whether one toe is preferred for that purpose. So, waffling like a willow in the wind, I could go for "ring toe" as the name for the toe next to the little toe. Thus, one possible combination of common names for the toes could be: the big toe, the under toe, the middle toe, the ring toe and the little toe. Maybe you could ask your pedicurist what she thinks as she (how sexist I am) is giving you that pedicure in anticipation of having a picture taken of your under toe pointing at a copy of your latest book.
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1:00AM Nov-02-08
| Larry
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Mathetes said:
Larry said:
I don’t think I could go to the gym and tell the guys I had a blister on my Rudy Whistle any more than I could tell them I had a blister on my porcellus domi.
Oh, Larry, I couldn’t disagree more strongly. There are so many layers of good (adult) humor in this. Just that it’s in Latin, so official and medical in form, and yet poking fun at itself at the same time … it’s just delicious.
Mathetes: Would you believe I actually took Latin in high school and was an alter boy until I was 18, reciting my parts in Latin. But my experience is that eyes tend to glaze over when one uses a Latin phrase. I fully appreciate the humor in the nomenclature proposed by John Phillips for the various porcelli, but if it didn’t take at Yale, I submit it’s not going to take among the general public. So my goal is to find some simple, common names that ordinary adults can use to refer to their toes without having to revert to childhood rhymes. And I do think that the common names have to have the word “toe” in it. That’s really the reason why Rudy Whistle doesn’t work for me. Besides the fact that I never heard that rhyme until Martha brought it to my attention. I certainly don’t think much about my toes until I whack one on the leg of a coffee table or a blister develops on one. But I once knew a woman who was so obsessed by the appearance of her toes that she subjected herself to full blown surgery to have them straightened. One would think podiatrists or foot fetishists or pedicurists would have long ago filled this odd little hole in the anatomical lexicon. Nice to talk to you.
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4:06PM Nov-02-08
| martha
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>>> Martha, I just love A Way with Words! Every week you and Grant continue to outdo yourselves! You have discovered how to improve on perfection…you just broadcast another show!<<<<
Btw, Larry, hope the check has arrived by now.
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4:19AM Nov-30-08
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Grant, I love the military slang. i just got around to listening to this ep on podcast.
There is also a difference between the Army and Marines on the time issue. The Army tends to include the word 'hours' and say 'oh', as in 'oh-five-hundred hours'. It may even be written out, like on the operating hours for the PX: "0700-1900 hours".
The Marines NEVER say the word 'hours', and almost always say 'zero'. And if the time is on the hour, sometimes omit the 'hundred'. Examples: 'Formation tomorrow is at zero-seven-thirty'; 'I had to get up at zero-five to catch my plane'
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8:53AM Nov-30-08
| Grant Barrett
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Thanks, Robbo, for the excellent new information. I did not know that the services differed in that way.
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10:54PM Jan-07-09
| Bill 5
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Finally caught up on the Txtng DB8. (Did U rlly spl txtng with an i?)
Loved the "beef with au jus sauce" — especially when you tossed the head-spinner, "In 'beef au jus', which is the noun and which the adjective?"! I could see the shot in Vertigo where it zooms back!
FIRST – I wanted to share a favorite expression from west LA: "The La Brea Tar Pits", the LA Co. Natural History Museum and a pit that's part of Hancock Park, there on Wilshire Blvd. The pits (mostly one large black, sticky "pond") and a major N-S street that runs by just east of the pits were named for the Spanish Rancho la Brea. Unfortunately, "la Brea" means "the tar", so Los Angelenos call it "the the tar tar pits"! Of course, as you noted with au jus, La Brea has now become a proper noun naming one place, requiring us to add in English "the tar pits" to the proper name La Brea.
Side note: the terrific, classic book on software project management, "The Mythical Man-Month", used a mastodon stuck and sinking into the La Brea tar pits on its cover to depict what typically happens to software projects. It's a great book for quotes, puns, phrases, etc., such as extending the observation that nine women can't have a baby in a month into the advice, "Adding programmers to a late project, makes it later."
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10:55PM Jan-07-09
| Bill 5
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SECOND – Here's a head spinner that I ran into myself last year. I'm still spinning from it. I was starting to learn Welsh (via book &[antique] cassette), and got at least as far as what letters they use and how they're pronounced. While I loved trying to develop my mounth into the "ll" sound, , differentiate "f" and "ff" and "d" and "dd", the head-spinner was the vowel "w". (FINALLY I see an example of "A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y and W"! My teachers never knew of a W example!)
As you probably know, the vowel W is pronounced "oo", as in "food" (Welsh pronounciation example, "ffwd"). The head-spinner was when I tried to pronounce English words by replacing the consonant W with the vowel W. Uh oh — they sound about 95% the same! To this day, oo-en I see a oo-ord oo-ith a W, I have to check to see if it can be pronounced both oo-ays. OO-ell, OO-ay OO-ith OO-rds gurus, is there a difference?? Or is W the harmonic convergence of vowel and consonant? Do any other letters go both oo-ays?
The final OO-elsh thought was when I tried to practice my "rh", as in the name "Rhys", where the instructions said to pronounce the "huh" sound before the "rrr", opposite the writing order, as in "hrees". Makes sense, as I, at least, can't make my mouth speak r followed by h. Though the English "rh" words (rhesus monkey) seem to completely elide the h, I realized that the same spell vs speak order reversal happens with "wh" in English words: they're all pronounced (if you leave the breathy h in at all) "huh" followed by "w" (or "oo"), as in "hoo ale", "hoo en", "hoo ut", etc. Where did this reversal of wh start? Did the English get is from the Welsh, as they conquored them? Did the Welsh get it from the English who got it from … someone?
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2:00PM Feb-21-09
| Halszka
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Martha's pronunciation was almost perfect, the only mistake being the first sound. The first sound Martha used was like the french"j" (sorry, I can't use the IPA here), if you think of the French word 'bonjour' that's the sound that stands for "j". Now the correct pronunciation is with a 'z' much like in the English 'zombie' or 'zebra' or 'zoo'. So it's 'z domu'.
The translation you gave there is spot on right. "from home" is a word-for-word translation from polish 'z domu'. It is a perfect example of a calque, and basing on my field experience I can assure you calques like these are frequent in Polish or Polish-descendent communities. The phrase does come up in genealogy studies, but, unfortunately, it slowly but surely disappears from spoken language. Nowadays the only contexts where you meet the phrase in Polish is in: official documents (secular and Church – Catholicism is still going strong in this country, and the Churches completes its own sets of documents on their parishoners); genealogy; small town and village communities. The latter one, so the small town and village communities is actually the only context where you can hear this expression spoken. From what your caller from Wisconsin said, the community she found herself in was fairly old, meaning that only the elderly members of the community spoke fluent Polish. That would confirm my observations in Poland. Here only the elderly people belonging to small local communities, where there still survives the respect of intimate family connections, does the term 'z domu' come up in spoken language. Other than that the term is only used in documents and genealogies, but ever more often it is substituted with the term "nazwisko paniańskie" which translates as "maiden name", especially so in secular documents.
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2:01PM Mar-04-09
| Lorax
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"my goal is to find some simple, common names that ordinary adults can use to refer to their toes"
This is late in this discussion, but I'm behind in my podcasts. This is related trivia with perhaps only a name for one more toe. When my son was born with his second toe longer that his Hallux or Great Toe, I found that this extra-long second toe is called "Morton's Toe" – there is quite an interesting entry about it on Wikipedia. This term only applies to a certain percentage of people, but they could use it! Everyone else needs another term. – one thing that occurs to me after reading the Wikipedia entry is that the people with Morton's Toe could call it their "Greek Toe" and everyone else could call it their "Egyptian Toe" That's how the Greeks did it. – it's associated with royalty; the Greeks and Romans valued it; and the Statue of Liberty has it! – but it's still listed as a "disorder" and is linked to excessive pronation and related foot problems.
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3:34PM Sep-09-09
| mcarrara
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I live in a Polish area of Northern Wisconsin a couple hours from Steven's Point. There is a nearby town named Lublin that has a Polish Orthodox church and many older native Polish speakers. We live in a rural area with no cities nearby. I asked a couple of women at work about 'your name from home' and none had ever heard that expression, both being 'bushas' I would think they would have heard it. Maybe it is a regional Polish phrase?
Mark
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6:40PM Sep-21-09
| Glenn
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Post edited 1:59AM – Sep-22-09 by Glenn
Regarding au jus sauce, I will have to add this to my list of real and tongue-in-cheek food redundancies:
shrimp scampi
spinach florentine
cheese au gratin
grilled ham and cheese cordon bleu
ice cream a la mode (I love this dish!)
I use these latter few with my wife only to indicate my desire for a larger than usual serving.
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1:17PM Sep-22-09
| Ron Draney
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Would you like any of those on pita bread?
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6:16PM Sep-22-09
| Glenn
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Post edited 10:37AM – Sep-23-09 by Glenn
Hmmm. The grilled ham and cheese cordon bleu on focaccia bread sounds doubly delightful. I might even top it off with some espresso coffee. Thanks for this entirely new vista: pita bread; focaccia bread; naan bread … . I'm getting really, really hungry. All I had for lunch were some vegetables Primavera.
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12:15PM Sep-23-09
| Ron Draney
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Not for me, thanks. I'll just have the cheese quesadilla with salsa sauce.
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7:27PM Oct-10-09
| lux rationis
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Post edited 12:42AM – Oct-11-09 by lux rationis
Actually, "salsa" is a good example of how a word borrowed from one language can come to have a somewhat different meaning when used within the context of another. "Salsa" does indeed mean "sauce" in Spanish where it has about the same denotative compass, e.g., salsa de chocolate or salsa holandesa is how you would say "chocolate sauce" or "Hollandaise sauce" when speaking Spanish. But "salsa" has a much more restricted meaning in English. Here, it's used only for tomato-based condiments flavored with onions and peppers. In English, we would even include pico de gallo as a kind of "salsa", even though it is just chopped vegetables and wouldn't qualify as a salsa for someone speaking Spanish. These unequal distributions of denotative compass happen quite a bit with culinary terms borrowed from other languages. We make them fit our own gastronomical experiences.
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3:18PM Oct-21-09
| CarlSeiler
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Grant's link to the Journal Sentinel Online seems to have died. They seem to have moved it to .
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1:28PM Nov-24-09
| bklvr
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I have been discussing with my mother the effects of technology on the amount and quality of writing of kids today. (I think she's basing her entire opinion on a single line of opinion in Reader's Digest.)
Anyway, I was wondering if you have links and/or citations to some of the research that you mentioned near the end of this episode. (I've looked around the webpage on this episode but didn't find any, other than the link for Crystal's book.)
Now, if I could just figure out where I heard some statistic comparing the amount of writing (of all kinds) done by kids and/or people today versus a hundred years ago. I know it was on NPR somewhere…
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