Endangered Species

I chose chemistry over biology in high school and college, so my understanding of how plants and animals become endangered or extinct is pretty much limited to what I read in the paper. I know that “extinct is forever”, except in the case of the ivory-billed woodpecker. Maybe.

The species I do understand, at least for the most part, is palabra utilius, or the common everyday word. (Yes, I did make that up.)

Words are disappearing from the lexicon at an alarming rate. Look at the word ‘too’. The last time you heard it from anyone over the age of three was during the Reagan administration. Now it’s been completely replaced by the stilted ‘as well’. As in, “I took little Hayden to his yoga class and to the playground as well.” I’m thinking she took him to both destinations with equal skill, but we all know that’s not what she meant. I mean, there’s a perfectly useful word, elegant in its simplicity, and it’s gone. And we just skipped right over ‘also’. Two iterations later, everything is ‘as well’. Wake Meredith Vieira up in the middle of the night, and see if she says, “The alarm went off and the lights are on as well!” Most doubtful.

Another endangered (and flirting with total extinction) bit of our lexicon is the verb to say. Does anyone “say” anything any more? No, you might “go” something, or you may even “be like” something, but when did you last say something? This has been going on for at least twelve to fifteen years, and there has been no public hue and cry about it. Why not? “To say” has held us in good stead since time immemorial, but it’s whoosh, out the door. (Rumors persist that this was caused by widespread backlash against the old Nancy Reagan motto “Just Say No”.)

Meanwhile, NPR goes on interviewing the people who edited, published or critiqued new dictionaries and books of new words being added to our national vocabulary. Many of them are related to new technologies and scientific advances. Two years ago, it was words such as podcast, biodiesel, and mouse potato, and pop culture gems such as bling and unibrow. This year it’s edamame (immature green soybeans), pescatarian (a vegetarian who eats fish) and garburetor (garbage disposal).

Is there a great ledger book in the sky that keeps the newcomers equal to the disappeareds? How do we know we don’t come up a few words short at the end of the year? Do we need approval to add more than we drop? Is this how Enron got into trouble?

Which brings me to the big question: Why are people loath to use the word woman? Since the 1970’s feminists (self included) have been struggling to keep people from referring to females over the age of 18 or so as ‘girls’. Now we have a whole generation of people who insist on using the awkward ‘gal’. Some argue that this is the counterpart of the ubiquitous ‘guy’, and therefore a benign choice. Puh-leeze. Not only does it sound like the old west, when guys and gals gathered at the waterin’ hole, but it feels like a purposeful avoidance of woman.

We’re also peculiar about the adjectives we will apply to women. One that’s sure to bring to mind the scratching of fingernails on a chalkboard is, “She’s a bright gal.” Never smart, never intelligent, we could be talking about Madeline Albright, Ruth Bader Ginsburg or Marie Curie. Too many people would place a forefinger on their chin, nod thoughtfully, and say, “Now there’s a bright gal.” If only someone would explain to me why it is seemingly impossible to describe a smart or even a brilliant woman as just that.

Even Condi Rice can’t get a break. Here she is, holding the highest position in the Cabinet of the United States of America. She is the former provost of Stanford University. She earned a Ph.D. and a Phi Beta Kappa key as well. (See paragraph three.) My father-in-law will continue to call her a bright gal. Maybe she just needs more bling.

Bereft and Befuddled

For a veteran news junkie such as I am, the question must be asked: How do we learn to live in a world without Tim Russert?

The face of Oscar the Grouch, and the heart of Elmo. (Wow, I appear to be having a flashback.)

This is someone who will not be easily replaced. Pity the poor newscaster who attempts to fill his shoes.

Every time I look at my own dry-erase whiteboard, I will envision Tim Russert with his tallies of delegates. This will be a strange election year (well, it would have been anyway) without Tim's insights and analyses.

Happy trails to you, Tim Russert. Boy, will you ever be missed!

Ready or not...

So this is my opportunity to speak my piece, put it out there, let you get to know me. In for a dime, in for a dollar, they used to say, so here we go.

I think of myself as a humorist, but perhaps I'm kidding myself. If you ask me if I'm a poet, I'd say iamb.

I'm a freelance writer who has avoided the blogging format, despite my enjoyment of reading others' blogs. I'll post some of my work as soon as I figure this out. In the meantime, I now have a blog. I blog, therefore I am.

I'm a baby-boomer, married to an engineer (slide rule, not choo choo), mother of four (two mine, two his), and grandmother of two. My husband and I are celebrating fifty years of marriage: twenty-five for him, seventeen for me, and eight together. He's thinking of retiring, but first he has to prove that he has tired in the past. I've established my solidarity with the sage words of Rosalyn Carter (former First Lady, if you're under 40), "For better or for worse, but not for lunch." Maybe he'll keep working a little longer...