10.13.08
Posted in euphemisms, humor at 8:17 am by Bill Brohaugh
I like to pretend sometimes that the word euphemism is really a contraction of the phrase “euthenasiac optimism,” kind of a killer blindness. In many cases, euphemisms should pass away . . . no, euphemisms should die.
Or maybe crash.
For a crash-course in weasel wordery, I encourage you to visit JohnnyB’s Late for the Sky entry on a particularly topical euphemism. I shall say no more than that, so as not to telegraph any punch lines. Not that you can truly telegraph JohnnyB’s witty, insightful (and inciteful), creative perspective.
Long aside alert: JohnnyB and I were fellow writers for the recently retired Gary Burbank radio comedy show, broadcast out of Cincinnati and for a time syndicated nationally. The show was very successful, I might add, winning national awards and lasting more than two decades in Cincinnati and for years in other markets before that. JohnnyB and I were ourselves along for the ride for most of those two-plus decades. John started not long before I did, and when the show ended with Burbank’s voluntary retirement, the final comedy bit aired was, of course, John’s. So, I offer high praise for my submitted final comedy bit for the show, which was rejected even though it was much funnier than his, and curse the jackass for topping me once again. Hummph! End long aside alert.
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07.16.08
Posted in Greek sources, euphemisms, language change, unfortunate English, word history at 6:55 am by Bill Brohaugh
Too many people would agree that my posting this blog was a catastrophe.
Now, such catastrophic results could be could be good, and they could be bad, in that catastrophe began as a neutral word and now has negative meanings. This is quite the opposite of the words surveyed in Unfortunate English; those words were once pretty disgusting, but have risen to positive or neutral use. For instance, drat! sounds like such a soft interjection, until you discover that it is a contraction of “God rot you!”
A catastrophe in Greek theatre was the event that led to the conclusion. A loose theatrical/literary synonym for that usage is denouement. Now, much of Greek theatre isn’t exactly happy-go-lucky. Oedipus Rex, for example, is not a rollicking slapstick, and it has led to fewer Broadway musical comedies than, say, even the tale of Sweeney Todd. So you see how catastrophes got a bad name (“Daddy’s dead? And that’s Mommy naked under my sheets?! Where’s Sondheim when you need him?”).
The point is that my posting this blog entry was a catastrophe in that completion was the event that led to the result: the words now appearing on your screen and hopefully not straining your eyes too much. Now, if you’re reading this and agreeing with the modern sense of catastrophe, I thank you for your kind attention and note that the back button is likely on your upper left. If, however, I have convinced you of the innocence of catastrophe and the guilt of drat, maybe you’ll allow me to subject you to additional catastrophes another day.
And if you don’t return—well, then, Drat!
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06.23.08
Posted in euphemisms, humor, language misuse at 7:03 am by Bill Brohaugh
George Carlin is dead.
I had the honor of meeting Carlin in 1975, as part of a small group of student journalists interviewing him after a show in Madison, Wisconsin—physical miles and philosophical eons away from Milwaukee, where he was arrested after a 1972 show. The charge: disturbing the peace, because he had uttered the seven words you can’t say on television.
In that ‘75 group interview, Carlin was relaxed and reflective, talking the craft of comedy . . . and the craft of words. He said something in that interview that I’ve quoted dozens of times in the near dozens of years since that interview: “The funniest number of all is 105.” Then he repeated it, stretching it: “A hundred and faahve.” He paused. Perfect timing. “It takes a long time to go through all the others to prove it to you.”
I wrote up that quote as a humorous brief that I submitted as part of my 1976 job interview with Writer’s Digest magazine. I didn’t get that specific job, but I did well enough to be recommended for another spot at the company, and years later became the editor of the Digest. I like to believe that my love of words was instrumental in landing that position; I suspect that relying on Carlin’s wit and perspective communicated that love better than I did myself. Thanks for speaking so well, George.
I find it sadly ironic that the web page displaying the story that told me of his death had two “Related Video” links. One was headlined in words Carlin would have cheered: “Comedian George Carlin dead at age 71.” Right below it, a second link labeled “Comedian George Carlin Passes Away at 71.” Carlin railed against such empty, soft language as “passes away,” and the headline writer has insulted Carlin’s work by using not only the sort of dodge words but also specific dodge words Carlin attacked. Enjoy one of his tart diatribes against euphemisms—including, yes, “pass away”—at YouTube.
I doubt that I’ll be the only person to say this, or even the first. But when I heard this morning that Carlin had died, I uttered a couple of those words you can’t say on television.
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