Language Of Confusion: Meter, Part I

Boy, does this word show up in a lot of places.
 
All versions of meter, whether poetic or a unit of distance, ultimately come from the same place, though interestingly, it seems like the poetic meter is actually the first version to show up in English sometime around the fourteenth century, while the unit didn’t appear until the eighteenth century. The words come from the classical Latin metrum, which means meter in the sense of measure, from the Greek metron, which is traced back to the Proto Indo European me-, to measure. So a meter is a measure. And though you might think that mete is somehow related, no, it’s not even a little.
 
What is related is any word that ends in -meter or -metry. The former means an instrument for measuring—so a thermometer is an instrument for measuring temperature, a barometer for measuring pressure—while the latter means process of measuring. Geometry, for example, is -metry plus Gaia of all things, making geometry literally the process of measuring land. Similarly, symmetry, which showed up in the mid sixteenth century, is from the Latin symmetria, where the syn- means together and the rest is from metron. So a measure together. There’s also metronome, a musical time keeper, which showed up in 1815. It’s not exactly from meter, instead taken directly from the Greek metron, with the addition of the PIE root nem-, assign, allot, or take.
 
Also from meter is semester, which didn’t show up until 1827 meaning a period of six months (it seemed a lot longer in school). It’s actually German in origin, though that was taken from the classical Latin semestris, from the phrase cursus semestris, a semester (or six month) course. That mestris is actually from mensis, month, which is from me-, but we’ll get more into that next week.
 
Finally today, commensurate. Which isn’t really used much these days, but means corresponding in magnitude. It showed up in the mid seventeenth century from the Late Latin commensuratus, which is a mix of the Latin com, together, and mensura, a measure. Commensurate is measuring together? Wait, isn’t that just symmetry?
 
Sources
Online Etymology Dictionary
Google Translate
Omniglot
University of Texas at San Antonio’s page on Proto Indo European language
Orbis Latinus

Sunday Afternoon

So the announcement Sunday afternoon made my brain BSOD with fear as this racist, sexist country will never elect a black woman as president even if she is competent and totally capable of doing the job and the alternative is a senile, child-raping convicted felon.

Some of us actually don't want to die and want people who aren't cis, straight white men to have rights, too. If you're not voting for the democratic candidate no matter who it is, fuck you, you're killing me. I hope you suffer as much as conservatives want me to suffer.

Language Of Confusion: Wait, Part II

The second and final part in looking at the origin of wait, the Proto Indo European weg-, to be strong or lively. Most of last week was easy to see how wait could be related. This week… not so much.
 
I’ve actually done most of these words before, but all of them a long while ago and their relation to wait has to be expanded upon. For example, wicked of all words. It showed up in the thirteenth century  from wick—not like a candle wick but rather an old way of saying wicked that has nothing to do with wicks. It’s from the Old English wicca, which means… witch. And you know that’s where witch comes from, too. Before that, it’s thought to be related to wigle, divination, which is from the Proto Germanic wikkjaz, necromancer, and that word is from weg-. I guess a necromancer is making things lively, as it were.
 
Next, there’s surveillance. It didn’t show up until the early nineteenth century from the French surveillance, monitoring. That’s from the verb surveiller, to watch, which is a mix of the prefix sur-, over, and veiller, to watch, which is from the classical Latin vigilare, the origin word for vigil. Vigil is from weg-, so that’s how surveillance is related to vigil and wait, but not survey.
 
The only one of these words I haven’t already looked at is velocity, and that one isn’t even definite. It showed up in the early fifteenth century from the classical Latin velocitatem, speed, which has an uncertain origin. It may be from vehere, to ride (the origin for vehicle) or it may be right from weg-. Since weg- meas to be lively, I could see it being true, more so than wait. But you know etymology doesn’t make sense.
 
Finally, vegetable. Yeah. Already done that word, too. It showed up in the early fifteenth century, coming from the Old French vegetable, Medieval Latin/Late Latin vegetabilis, and the classical Latin vegetare, to vegetate. That’s from vegere, to grow, which is from weg-. That “to be lively” thing is quite literal here.
 
Sources
Online Etymology Dictionary
Google Translate
Omniglot
University of Texas at Austin Linguistic Research Center
University of Texas at San Antonio’s page on Proto Indo European language
Tony Jebson’s page on the Origins of Old English
Old English-English Dictionary
Dictionary of Medieval Latin
Orbis Latinus

From The Spamfiles

I love these posts. They’re so easy. Spam is one item always in abundance.

It’s spam, but probably doesn’t steal as much personal information as Meta does.

I guess they’re trying to tell me my account is suspended? It’s hard to tell since most of it is just random letters. If you’re going to spam, at least make it clear.

Mizmos! It’s just fun to say.

I am immediately suspicious of any one wanting to put a guest post on my blog. I have like three followers. Clearly they don’t know what they’re doing.
 

Free MSG! Get your free MSG here!

Language Of Confusion: Wait, Part I

What am I, a waiter?

Anyway, wait showed up in the thirteenth century meaning to watch for with hostile intent—like lay in wait. It wasn’t until the late fourteenth century that it meant to stay in a place, see to it that something occurs, or to attend to, and from that last meaning, it start to mean to wait tables in the mid sixteenth century. It comes from the Anglo French/Old North French watier, to watch, from the Frankish wahton, Proto Germanic what-, and all the way back to the Proto Indo European weg-, to be strong or lively. Which I guess you need to be if you’re laying in wait for someone.
 
A lot of other words related to watchfulness come from weg-. You know, like watch. That actually comes from the Old English waecce, watch, and waeccan, to keep watch, and that’s from the Proto Germanic wakjan, which is also from weg-. Who would have thought, watch and wait?
 
Also unsurprisingly related is wake—but only the waking up one, the one related to boats is not from the same origin. Wake is actually from the Old English words wacan, to awake, and wacian, to be awake (I guess those things used to be separate), and like watch is from wakjan, wake is from the Proto Germanic wakjanan. Weird that they took on such different sounds.
 
Let’s see what Latin has done to the word. Vigil is also related, having shown up in the thirteenth century meaning the eve of a religious festival—or keeping watch on a festival eve—not coming to mean keeping awake on purpose until 1711. It’s from the Anglo French/Old French vigile, from the classical Latin vigilia (watch), and finally weg-. There’s also vigor, which showed up in the fourteenth century from the Anglo French vigour and Old French vigor, which are from the Latin vigorem, strength. So Latin makes it so we turned the W into a V. Sure.
 
Sources
Online Etymology Dictionary
Google Translate
Omniglot
University of Texas at Austin Linguistic Research Center
University of Texas at San Antonio’s page on Proto Indo European language
Tony Jebson’s page on the Origins of Old English
Old English-English Dictionary
Fordham University

One Fourth

You either get the reference or you don’t.

Granted, it’s better than being bigger on the inside than on the outside, but I still don’t know why it was different each time.

Language Of Confusion: Knot

Inspired by last week, with knot somehow not being related to the Proto Indo European word for bind or tie. Knot actually comes from the Old English cnotta, intertwining of ropes or cords, and at its earliest is from the Proto Germanic knuttan-. You’d think that be related to last week’s ned-, especially since that’s where net is from, but there’s no evidence of that, and as we all know, words are stupid.
 
There actually aren’t any other words related to knot. It’s a total stand alone! But we can still find stuff to talk about. First of all, knot as a nautical measure of speed. That showed up in the mid seventeenth century, and is because of the log line of a sailing ship. A log is a measure of a ship’s progress, because a log, as in a piece of wood, was used on the log line. The log line was let out behind the ship, and it would pull out the rope at regular knotted intervals, and the faster it went, the more knots were pulled out—hence, knots per hour.
 
Still awfully short. How about we look at the Kn combination. Isn’t it weird? There’s just a K there, and we don’t even pronounce it. It showed up in Middle English as the spelling for a common Germanic sound combination—they actually say the K sound there, so in other Germanic languages, it’s k-nife and k-night, and in fact we used to say it, too, but stopped around the mid eighteenth century. In Old English, they used a C in place of the K (which is why it’s cnotta up there), but it was the same sound. Just another reason why the letter C is redundant.
 
Sources
Online Etymology Dictionary
University of Texas at Austin Linguistic Research Center
University of Texas at San Antonio’s page on Proto Indo European language
University of Texas at Arlington
Tony Jebson’s page on the Origins of Old English
Old English-English Dictionary