Why begin "astonish" with a double S?  Interestingly, the word derives from the Latin tonāre, "to thunder," and the double S glyph of pre-Columbian Mexico is a symbol of clouds, rain, and water.

"I'm looking for the letter C," he said to the door-keeper.
"Why don't you look between B and D then?  . . . What's the matter with you?"
—Robin Llywelyn, From Empty Harbour to White Ocean

The great Australian comedy series Kath & Kim features some hilariously dumbfounding baby names, such as:

• Typhphaanniii (pronounced Tiffany)
• Eppinn'knee Rae¨</i> (Rae is followed by an [umlaut] and a [close italics])
  
• Detestannii
• Paloma
• Papiloma
• Tailuh (pronounced Tai Luh)
• Glen Waverley (after a suburb in Victoria, Australia)
• Aussie
• Fat Free Frûche
• Tiramisu
  

Then there are these baby names, inspired by a hospital visit (and please note that they all sound better with an Australian accent):

• Neil Bymouth
• Cardio Infarction (the downside being the inevitable nickname "Farct")
• Enema (for a girl)
  
• Lupus (for a boy)
  
• Catheter
  
• I.V. (for a girl)
  

"No real idea can be said to exist without the words made to measure." —Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight

"Is all the mythology in the world here?"
"No . . . Only words are here.  They try to make me yield the rest but my words come from the North Country.  They can't be pinned down between book covers.  Our words like to play on the breeze.  They congregate in the hollows of streams and fill the ravines."
—Robin Llywelyn, From Empty Harbour to White Ocean

We're often asked why we blog using the majestic plural (the "royal we").  Truth be told, it's personal.  Our 27th great grandfather, King Henry II of England (so charmingly portrayed by Peter O'Toole in the classic film The Lion in Winter) is credited with the first recorded use of the majestic plural.  Please don't mistake our pronouns for "the patronizing we" (as in, "Aren't we chipper today?") or "the psychotic we" (as in Gollum's "We wants it, we needs it.  Must have the precious.")

Scrabble lovers can save 60% with the iPad edition of our popular Dictionary of Improbable Words (all-consonant and all-vowel words):

http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/wyes-dictionary-improbable/id430260019

Prof. Oddfellow reads some penetrating literature: Jonathan Safran Foer's Tree of Codes.

From our former outpost at Twitter:

Kudos to Gary Barwin for this Googlewhack: "Metaphor, it's really something else!"

A lovely review of our dictionary of magic words, from the Silver Star Journal:

A massive and truly amazing tour de force of linguistic dexterity, merging sorcery, etymology, history, and literature into a global cascade of words of power magical and otherwise, drawn from countless ancient and modern civilizations. The art of Grammarye meets literary erudition, with each word examined, explained, and illuminated by wild and witty quotations from countless sources. Spells, mantras and Qabala meet slang, hokum and poetry. Enormous fun, and about thirty pages devoted to aspects of Abracadabra and its variants alone! Big fun! Hours of creative playtime!

"Language only works when two or more people agree that it does."
—Geof Huth

"It is impossible to understand how millions and millions of people all obey a sickly collection of gentlemen that call themselves 'Government!'  The word, I expect, frightens people.  It is a form of planetary hypnosis, and very unhealthy."
—Leonora Carrington, The Hearing Trumpet

Here's a guessing game. How many pages did a reader make it through Metaphysics of the Supernatural as Illustrated by Decartes before scrawling an expletive in the margin? There are 65 pages, so your guess should be from 1 to 65.

To reveal the bad word in question as well as the correct page number, click the image below.

Is our One-Letter Words: A Dictionary a sham?  Australian secondhand book dealers Huc & Gabet discovered our tome amid Latin and Yiddish dictionaries (we approve), then asked a bookseller and a scientist (who had never seen our book) if such a dictionary must be a sham.  Here's the full report.

We sure do hope their puzzling definition of "dictionary" doesn't reach the ears of Ammon Shea, author of Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages, since he read the Oxford English Dictionary cover to cover, for enjoyment!  (Who'd've thunk it?)

But seriously, we're glad all the recent natural disasters in Australia haven't distracted from the really important issues.

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Mike responds:


June writes:

Allan elucidates:

June adds:

Jeff writes:

Here's a charming reference to a one-letter word in Nabokov's The Real Life of Sebastian Knight:

Poet Bob Grumman [in a suddenly missing blog post] uses the subject of one-letter words as an example of a "knowleplex," defined as a "reasonably coherent unified knowledge, practice, use and understanding of some subject."  There are five kinds of knowleplexes; which would you guess describes our own dictionary of one-letter words?

1. Academically-Approved Knowleplexes (by 90% of academics)

2. Academically-Tolerated Knowleplexes (insufficient data to approve or disapprove)

3. Academically-Unexamined Knowleplexes (too trivial)

4. Academically-Disapproved Knowleplexes (by 90% of academics)

5. Academically-Denounced Knowleplexes (considered a significant danger to right thinking)

From our Magic Words outpost:

Our intriguing magician friend Chris Philpott posed an interesting question about the preponderance of the two most popular magic words:


Chris, there are actually two very different answers to your question about abracadabra's surge in the 1920s.

Here's our first answer:  What we see when presented with a chart comparing word density over time from the Google Books scanspace is both something and nothing at all.  It's certainly something because we can perceive it, i.e. the charts dazzle us with their jagged edges and numerous nodes, suggesting the compilation of many data.  However, the trends that they argue are circular, based as they are only upon the tiny subset of books which Google has scanned from the periods under consideration.  If we had it on reliable word that Google had scanned, say, 95% of all extant publications, we should still consider word density measurements statistically insignificant considering that the missing 5% might contain 95% of the contemporary appearances of "abracadabra" in print.  Moreover, Google cannot estimate the readership of its catalog, which would be necessary to make any evaluative claims about the familiarity of a word or phrase in common culture or parlance, which is really what the word density charts are attempting to demonstrate.  Words used by authors in printed publications which survived until 2010 are not, by themselves, particularly significant.  The field of statistics is famous for its bold sleights of hand.  Most any contention can be illustrated by a sufficiently culled data set and evaluative methodology.  Google's scanned word data are of course too fun not to keep playing with, but we must always bear in mind their inherent balderdash.

Here's our second answer:  The rise of "abracadabra" in 1920s is the exhalation of a meme's biorhythm.  Decades later, the "wizard" meme began its exhalation, and J.K. Rowling rode the wave.  We can't even say that Rowling buoyed the wave -- she is merely part and parcel of a grand expansion cycle.

Chris responds:


Indeed, Chris, one definition of "meme" is an expression that can be copycatted.  (The Greek root is mimema:  that which can be mimicked or imitated).  Without discounting Rowling's achievements, let's remember that she didn't coin the word "wizard"; it was already a charming Briticism for "excellent."  Just as the common cold spreads one handshake at a time (Richard Dawkins has unsavorily called memes "viruses of the mind"), human culture spawns.  Rowling, bless her heart, is simply one node of the complex informational network that enables the "wizard" meme to spread and thrive.

From our Magic Words outpost:

We're honored to have our insights into "hocus pocus" referenced in Software Studies: A Lexicon, edited by Matthew Fuller.  The chapter in question is Marco Deseriis' "Text Virus."