WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORD, AND WHY?
My favorite word? Oh! There are so many; all so good, each unique... rather ask a parent which, of all his children, is his favorite. He might secretly harbor an especial fondness for one in particular, but be loath to admit it even to himself for fear of endowing that favoritism form and legitimacy. He might instead choose to name his offspring by turn, telling the poser of the question what it is he most loves about each. Take "fecolith," for instance. A term from paleontology, fecolith was coined to provide the technical world with a properly dignified term for fossilized dinosaur turds, but it's marvelously suited for describing certain character types as well. How many of us suffered through European History or Inorganic Chemistry at the hands of some sourly-disposed old fecolith? While "coprolite" seems to be on the ascendancy towards the favored euphemism for petrified excrement, I admit to a particular fondness for "fecolith", whose first two syllables proudly proclaim its heritage.
Or "borborygmy." This is my youngest, the most recent addition to my brood. Borborygmy is the gurgling noise made by gas on its journey through the intestines towards its destiny as flatulence. Borborygmy is the clown of the family, the mischievous Puck, always on the lookout for a pompous ego to deflate in moments of quiet solemnity. Borborygmy never fails to appear and embarrass in church or other requisite moments of silence; yet it manages to do so without recourse to the simple-minded boorishness of a fart. Borborygmy can terrify a pubescent youngster on a date without even showing up; the prospect alone is enough. Though Borborygmy's antics can at times be tiresome, what's a loving father to do other than roll his eyes, shake his head, and sigh, "Oh, that Borborygmy!"?
Lest one get the impression that all my children are scatologically inclined ("scatological" itself being a fine word, though not strictly a member of my household - a favorite nephew, perhaps), let me introduce you to "disquieting." In these days of Hollywood hyperbole, "disquieting" would seem to have no place. "Shocking!" "Horrifying!" "Gut-Wrenching!” Unspeakable Terror!" "Wicked Scary!" Wooooooo! These ill-behaved brats of my neighbors see fit to make their point by shouting, bellowing, and brandishing exclamation marks like truncheons. They embed themselves in your brain by assaulting your ears at high volume. But my "disquieting" can raise your hackles without ever raising his voice. He subtly alters your mood from within. He is the Zen master of fear, and his subtle intensity endears him to me.
"Japery" is a choice word. Those same neighbors who verbally pound our sensibilities into submission are also fond of inquiring by telephone whether or not our appliances are running, and of setting paper bags of dog doo afire on our doorstep. They think they are "joking" and "kidding around"; but my wise youngster knows that they are engaged in japery. "Oh," he says regarding the bottom of his shoe with a wan smile after answering the doorbell. "What a fine jape!"
"Yeah, what you said!" they shriek with delight, completely unaware that they have just been run through with an acupuncture-fine skewer. "Jape" IS what it purports to define: a turnabout for the would-be wit, devoid of all but the barest essence of irony and sarcasm. What a fine "jape" indeed.
"Gibber." Ah, gibber. I know of no other word quite like her. Merriam-Graves might lead one to believe that "babble," "blather," and "gibber" are interchangeable words meaning to talk incessantly and foolishly; and after a fashion they are. But "gibber!" To me, "gibber" possesses a unique flavor note implying a complete loss of composure, such as one might experience after falling victim to a particularly disquieting jape. For a few delicious moments after the mask is removed, revealing one to be what each of us is - a weak, soft-bellied creature no longer well-suited for jungle survival - one might gibber with fright. Wouldn't you, just once, like to reduce those distasteful next-door neighbors to such a state?
Those children of mine you've met so far might strike you as being rather gaudy or pretentious; but "liquid" enchants with her plain, simple beauty. Some words when repeated over and over become so worn out that they lose their meaning. Some even come to sound strange and ugly. Not so "liquid"; she becomes lovelier with each repetition. She rolls tenderly across your tongue like warm honey, caresses your ears like a small mountain trickle giggling unseen between moss-covered boulders. "Liquid" describes the music that she is, the soft pearl of "L" and "UI" surrounding the firm glottal "-Q-". Some words might have chosen a baser consonant for that stop: the dull, utilitarian hard "C", maybe, or that cheap, trailer-park "K"; but not "liquid." She instinctively chose mysterious and exotic "Q", that odd letter never found in English without a companion vowel tightly bound to it. And not just any vowel: not sluttish "E" or "O", who would just as gladly join with one of their own, but the aloof and aristocratic "U". As common table salt is composed of dangerous, incendiary sodium metal and deadly, corrosive chlorine gas, "QU" is a stable and immutable union of two of our language's rarer elements, around which my lovely and charming "liquid" has instinctively nucleated. Liquid. Liquid liquid liquid!
So many strange and wondrous words in the extended family! My college roommate learned the hard way never to ask me to look up a word for him when he was in a hurry, even if the dictionary were lying open upon my desk. Webster's is so much more than a cold catalogue of words; it's a family album. A bestiary. "Oh, look! Crenulate! `adj: notched, scalloped.' And here's Mycophagy! `n: fondness for eating mushrooms.' Ululation! Remember ululation? At the very end of H.G.Wells' `War of the Worlds'? Ululation! Great word!"
Look it up. See for yourself.
Sun 12-12-1999