Word of the Day: Ubiquitous

(adj.) \yü-ˈbi-kwə-təs\

Originally derived  from the noun, ubiquity, which refers to a presence everywhere at all times, this handy adjective describes something which is, or seems to be, everywhere. It can refer to something universally common, something pervasive in a certain context, or that which is encountered constantly. It is often used with some exaggeration, for things which seem unavoidable. There is also an adverb form; ubiquitously, and an additional noun form; ubiquitousness. That’s English for you.

The company’s advertising jingle is ubiquitous.
Chocolate is now a ubiquitous snack, but it used to be quite rare.
This is currently a ubiquitous fashion trend.
He is ubiquitous at family gatherings; it’s impossible to avoid him.

(n.) He strives for ubiquity/ubiquitousness. (Personally, I think the original is far less cumbersome)
(adv.) The pamphlets have been ubiquitously dispersed by a crowd of volunteers.

Etymology: 1830, from ubiquity (late 16th century), from Latin ubique ‘everywhere.‘ 
And now common things have a bit more flair, thanks to their ubiquitous nature!

Word of the Day: Pareidolia

Hello, all! I am back after an unexpectedly long absence with a word that I adore, and had to share with you.

(n.) /pærɨˈdliə/ /parr-i-doh-lee-ə/

Pareidolia describes the imagined perception of a pattern or meaning where it does not actually exist, often attributing something familiar to random characteristics. This includes likening the pattern of craters on the moon to a human face, seeing shapes in the clouds, or hearing messages in music played at the wrong speed.
It was also likely a useful ability for our ancestors, to make sense out of a world which they did not have the science to explain.
 To demonstrate, here are a few birds flying over a cloudy sunset, but we can’t help but see them as smiley faces. Isn’t pareidolia cool?

Seeing patterns is a handy ability for us primates, but seeing patterns where none exist may well be the source of artistic expression.

Etymology: 20th century, from Greek; para (‘beside, instead of,’ or in this case, ‘faulty’) + eidolon (‘image, shape,form’).

The abuses of ‘literally,’ and how nice thoughts can help.

Normally, I am more of a descriptive linguist than a prescriptive one. Language, after all, is a living dynamic thing that is constantly in use and being changed by its speakers. New words get picked up, old words are forgotten, and over the years, many meanings drift into something else entirely. Occasionally, however, I want to put my prescriptivist foot down in the name of clarity.

The goal of language is to communicate ideas as clearly as possible, which makes the hazards of generic words or multiple meanings all the more challenging. Recently, The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) has accepted the new popular meaning of ‘literally’, which is literally the opposite of the actual definition. This is unfortunate, since it pretty much renders the word useless and condemns it to join the generic emphasis ranks with ‘very’ and ‘really.’

Literally

Words do change over time, and this one may have literally drifted too far to be useful in its older context. It’s sad, because it is such a good word, and has a wealth of nuances and connotations, particularly in its complete rejection of figurative interpretation, which none of its synonyms quite capture. That said, this is English, and if we need a word with a particular meaning, we’ll probably just steal it from somewhere else.

Whenever I get annoyed by changing word usage, I try to remind myself of two things: How much that word has probably changed before I first heard it, and ‘nice.’ I’ll get to ‘nice’ in a moment.

‘Literal’ has a fairly straightforward etymology, considering how long it’s been with us. We got ‘letter’ from Old French in the 13th century, from which we eventually derived literal and literature (Late Middle English), then alliteration in the early 17th century. The French got it from the Latin ‘littera’ which meant either a written communication or an alphabetic symbol, and both meanings got carried through to English. The Latin ‘litteralis’ also tagged along, meaning ‘of a letter,’ which contributed more directly to the derivation of ‘literal’ or literally.’

In essence, the word literally hasn’t changed much until recently, so on we go to ‘nice.’ Here’s a word with a more interesting drift of meanings. It started out as two words in Latin, ‘ne-’ (not) and ‘scire’ (know), which gave rise to ‘nescire’ meaning to not know, or to be ignorant. This gave us the word ‘nescience,’ which we still have in English as an adjective meaning ignorance or lack of knowledge, but that didn’t get added until the early 17th century. Here’s where it gets interesting.

Nescience

Middle English picked up ‘nice’ from Old French around the 14th century with the meaning of ‘simple or silly,’ and it rapidly picked up connotations of wanton and foolish. This can be seen in Shakespeare’s Love’s Labours Lost, where he speaks of ‘nice wenches,’ meaning disreputable women. It developed a range of largely negative senses, from ‘dissolute’, ‘ostentatious, showy’, ‘unmanly, cowardly’, and ‘delicate, fragile’ to ‘strange, rare’, and ‘coy, reserved.’ Around the 16th century, it started to be used in a more positive sense, as ‘fine, subtle or precise,’ as in “a nice distinction.” Then it gently tumbled into ‘pleasant, kind,’ from the mid 18th century on.

So if a word can go through that impressive a range of meanings and connotations without bothering us, I suppose I can put my prescriptive stomping-shoe back in the closet. I’ll just hunt down a new word that I can use instead of literally going crazy. Isn’t that nice?