2 MIN READ

What Is a Verb’s Aspect?

What does Hamlet have to do with the Micronesian language of Mokilese? They both differ from modern English in the way they handle verb aspect — an important part of how verbs work.

by Rachel Gresh
William Shakespeare's Hamlet text

“Oh, I die, Horatio” is a memorable line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, but not just for its drama. For contemporary readers, the verb “die” feels starkly out of place. In modern English, we’d expect “I am dying, Horatio.” The difference lies in a lesser-known yet essential part of a verb’s tense: the aspect.

When it comes to how a verb is presented, the tense will be past, present, or future — but that’s only part of the grammatical picture. The verb’s aspect reveals how the action unfolds over time. There are four main verb aspects in English, each existing in present, past, and future tenses:

  • Simple: an action occurring at a specific time; general or habitual (“I paint,” “I painted,” “I will paint”)
  • Progressive: an unfinished or ongoing action (“I am reading,” “I was reading,” “I will be reading”)
  • Perfect: a finished action (“I have hiked,” “I had hiked,” “I will have hiked”)
  • Perfect progressive: an action that was in progress but was then finished or is still happening (“I have been cooking,” “I had been cooking,” “I will have been cooking”)

The most versatile aspect is “simple”: “I die, Horatio.” In Shakespeare’s time, the simple aspect denoted present-tense action. But it sounds funny to us today because now simple verb aspects describe habitual actions (“I bake” or “I painted watercolors when I was younger”), general truths (“I hike on the weekends”), or scheduled events (“I will paint at the studio on Monday nights”). This aspect has the most variety of them all.

Other languages treat aspect differently. For example, in the Mokilese language of Micronesia, aspect is shown by the repetition of the verb:

  • Rik sakai = “to gather stones” (rik is the verb for “to gather/collect”)
  • Rik rik sakai = “to be gathering stones”
  • Rik rik rik sakai = “to keep gathering stones”

If English worked that way, “I have been reading all weekend” might become: “I read read read all weekend.” Straightforward or more confusing? You decide. 

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2 MIN READ

What Is the Longest Word in Alphabetical Order?

These are the stories of words that stand out, not for what they mean, but for how they were built.

by Rachel Gresh
English letters in alphabetical order

Memorizing strategic two-letter words is a great Scrabble approach, and it’s important to have a solid five-letter Wordle opening, but lengthier words are a fun category of linguistic trivia. Debates over the longest English word abound, from the 34-letter childhood favorite “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” to the ultra-technical 189,819-character name for a protein, “Methionylalanyl … leucine.” But what about the longest English word with its letters arranged in alphabetical order? According to Guinness World Records, that distinction goes to “aegilops.” This eight-letter term refers to a genus of grasses, derived from the Greek aigilōps, also called “havergrass.”

The longest English word with letters in reverse alphabetical order is surprisingly familiar: “spoonfeed,” a nine-letter verb we still use today. But there are other linguistic feats worth noting, too, such as the 27-letter word “honorificabilitudinitatibus,” a lofty Latin word meaning “honorableness.” It holds the record for the longest English word made up of strictly alternating consonants and vowels. It also happens to be the longest word ever used by Shakespeare in his works, appearing in the comedy Love’s Labour’s Lost.

Even everyday words can be record breakers. For example, according to Guinness, the longest English word with only one vowel is a word many of us probably use regularly: “strengths.” Meanwhile, the longest English word consisting entirely of vowels is something less familiar, the six-letter “euouae.” No longer used in modern English, “euouae” is a medieval musical term that serves as a mnemonic device to recall the sequence of tones in the hymn “Gloria Patri.” These alphabetical oddities show that even the most minor details can make a word memorable.

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2 MIN READ

What’s a ‘Moot’ Point, Anyway?

Much like “chips” vs. “fries” or “apartment” vs. “flat,” there are plenty of linguistic disagreements between American and British English speakers. This includes the phrase “moot point,” which has an almost opposite meaning on each side of the pond.

by Bennett Kleinman
People figures with comment clouds above their heads.

If you ask an American to define “moot point,” they’d likely say it refers to an irrelevant issue unworthy of further discussion. But most British people would claim the opposite — that moot points are worth debating further. To understand how such an unusual distinction emerged, let’s take a closer look at the term’s Old English origins.

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, “moot” was coined in the 12th century as a shortened version of the Old English gemot, meaning “formal assembly.” These gemot were meetings of groups of freemen, gathering to debate issues of a legislative or judicial nature. By the 16th century, “moot” evolved into a noun for a hypothetical case for law students to practice. In fact, “moot courts” are still common in law schools around the English-speaking world.

In time, “moot” developed a wider use in the general lexicon. British English speakers began using “moot point” to describe any uncertain issue worth debating — formal legal issues or otherwise. But in America, “moot” came to mean something very different by the early 20th century. According to Merriam-Webster, American English speakers adopted “moot point” to describe pointless matters that were undeserving of debate. This newer definition was based on the idea that rhetorical arguments in moot courts had no actual effect on the real world, and neither did moot points.

Whichever side of the debate (and pond) you fall on, a moot point can mean one of two very different things. Just don’t mistakenly spell or pronounce it “mute point.” 

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2 MIN READ

Why Do We Say ‘I Got Egg on My Face’?

Embarrassment is universal. Eggs and embarrassment have been linked since the Middle Ages, but this idiom is a more recent invention.

by Julia Rittenberg
cracked in half, egg yolk

Embarrassment is a normal part of the human experience. Even a small-scale humiliating moment can move me from a slight blush to “egg on my face” territory in seconds. While I’ve used the “egg on my face” phrasing regularly, I was curious to track down the origin of this colloquialism. 

Before getting egg on your face became an idiom, throwing eggs at people locked in the stocks was a common practice in the Middle Ages. Rotten eggs were hurled at religious and political speakers throughout the 1700s and 1800s, the projectiles being an effective method to express disapproval. The practice is represented in fiction as well: In Middlemarch by George Eliot, Mr. Brooke gets aggressively egged during a political speech. 

Although egg-throwing was a common method for dissent and humiliation for centuries, “getting egg on your face” didn’t become an idiom until the mid-20th century. Coverage of Alfred Hitchcock making the movie Notorious in 1946 recounted an instance in which the director stopped filming a scene to tell Ingrid Bergman “that she ha[d] egg on her face.” He meant that she had a moment of looking embarrassed during a lull in the dialogue. It indicated to Hitchcock that the action had slowed and the tempo of the scene needed to be picked up. Oddly, Alfred Hitchcock reportedly had a strong aversion to egg yolks. 

Eggs don’t instill fear in everyone, but having egg on your face may inspire a bit of trepidation. No one wants to be publicly embarrassed. Though we don’t throw eggs at a speaker when we disagree with their opinions anymore, if Hamlet forgets what comes after “to be or not to be,” that might cause a moment of egg-faced unease. But if you do have egg on your face, literally or figuratively, you can remember that embarrassment is temporary and you’ll get through it. 

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4 MIN READ

New Words Suggested By Word Smarts Readers

Have you ever found yourself searching for the perfect word, only to realize that it doesn’t exist? Our readers sure have. Here are a few terms they’d like to see added to the dictionary.

by Bennett Kleinman
Woman thinking

Earlier this year, we published a list of terms coined by our very own staff members — words that we think are missing from the dictionary, but fulfill a unique need. At the end of that article, we encouraged readers to send in ideas of their own, and you answered that challenge in a major way. Based on your many wonderful suggestions, we’ve compiled a list of original terms conceived of by you — our Word Smarts readership. Let’s take a look at a few of those original recommendations.

Drismal

Reader Anne P. told us her husband, Donald, coined the word “drismal.” It describes a state of being both dismal and drizzly, as on those gloomy and overcast days when it’s lightly misting outside. One example of how you might use the word is, “It’s so drismal out; let’s just stay inside.”

Hypertenuse

The word “hypertenuse” comes from our reader Mark P. It’s inspired by the extant word “hypotenuse,” which is the longest side of a right triangle. But according to Powell, this new term designates “a ‘long cut’ between two points that is longer than the straight-line distance.” For example, think of the street layout of a major city — while the shortest distance between two locations may be a straight line, you can’t just walk through buildings. Instead, you’ll probably end up walking around two longer perpendicular blocks (i.e., the hypertenuse).

Fridgables

Not to be confused with the snack brand Lunchables, “fridgables” refers to perishable items that need to be stored in the refrigerator (e.g., meats, cheeses, etc.). This comes to us from our reader Julia H., who tells us that whenever she gets a grocery delivery, she always puts her fridgables away before tackling the other nonperishable items.

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Infanticipation

The word “infanticipation” is a suggestion from reader and retired speech pathologist Ginny N. She relayed a story to us about one of her patients who was struggling to explain that his daughter was expecting a baby. That patient came up with the new word “infanticipation,” as in “the act of anticipating an infant.” Nagy described herself as being delighted by this suggestion, and we are too.

Destrelopment

New construction builds have a reputation of leading to eyesores or shoddy structures. In that case, you could describe the project as a “destrelopment” — a portmanteau of the words “destroy” and “development.” This recommendation comes from Rich P., who adds that the person or group responsible for these projects is called a “destreloper.”

Spatulate

You’ve probably used a spatula to flip pancakes or turn over an omelette. But why not use the verb “spatulate” instead — an idea that comes to us from reader Tim B. He describes the word “spatulate” as a word useful for anything that may require a spatula in the kitchen. You can spatulate pancakes, omelettes, grilled cheese, and more.

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Houseband

Reader Miguel S. tells us that years ago he was a stay-at-home dad but wasn’t a big fan of the term. Instead he coined a new one: “houseband.” This simple alternative works for a full-time father who stays at home with their children, and for husbands who are maintaining a household without children, as well.

Bushifluent

Some people can’t grow houseplants for the life of them. Those who can may want to start using the word “bushifluent.” Reader Teegie H. says this word can be used to “describe a healthy houseplant that is flourishing and really growing.”

Equimonious

Last but not least, we have the word “equimonious,” which comes to us from reader Gale R. It’s similar to “equanimous,” which means “calm and composed,” but it’s used a bit differently. According to Rawson, “equimonious” is used to describe a well-balanced and harmonious household. She used it to describe her friend Larry, who lives among three generations of family members who all get along well. Neither she nor Larry recognized the word when she first said it, but they came to agree that it should exist.

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3 MIN READ

Why Is English an Outlier When It Comes to “Pineapple”?

English stands alone in the way it names a certain yellow fruit. Where did the word “pineapple” come from, and why are other languages’ words so different?

by Julia Rittenberg
Pineapple

At the height of summer, a refreshing, tangy piece of fruit can satisfy a craving like no other. English speakers may cut up a pineapple to snack on. But for those who speak Finnish, French, Spanish, Turkish, Portuguese, and many other languages, the exact same fruit is called ananas (with some slight variations on spelling or accent marks). The name of this tropical fruit is a cognate in virtually every language except English — how did the outlier “pineapple” come about? 

An early version of “pineapple” appeared in the late 1300s in Old English as pynappel, but etymologists have determined that reference was most likely referring to a pine cone. Until at least the 17th century, medieval botanists used the word “apple” as a generic term for any fruit other than berries, and it was used to create new words for any unknown fruit. For example, “pomegranate” comes from the Latin pōmum grānātum, meaning “seeded apple.” Hence, the round “fruit” from a pine tree was called a pineapple. You can see traces of this naming convention in modern French: pomme de terre (“potato”) literally translates to “apple of earth” in English. 

It’s likely that the word “pineapple” developed from the slight resemblance between the scales of a pine cone and the scales of the fruit. We know the word was used in reference to the fruit by the explorer Captain John Smith in 1624 in the Generall Historie of Virginia. However, we also know that the word “ananas” was in use around the same time, because another explorer, Samuel Purchas, extolled the virtues of the delicious ananas in 1613. Two centuries later, both terms were still in use in English. In 1813, the gardener Thomas Baldwin wrote a guide about how to grow the plant and specified both names: Short practical directions for the culture of the ananas, or pine apple plant

Despite the rest of the world settling on ananas, English speakers eventually landed firmly on the side of “pineapple.” The tides likely turned when James Dole opened a pineapple plantation in Hawaii in 1900, and Dole launched ad campaigns in magazines to spread the word about his crop. 

The spiky tops and distinctive tangy flavor make the yellow fruit unmistakable, but if you ask for “pineapple” anywhere in the world outside of the Anglophone bubble, you’re going to get some confused looks. If this is your favorite fruit, make sure to remember to ask for ananas (which, by the way, is etymologically unrelated to “banana”)

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2 MIN READ

Why Is the Game Called ‘Bingo’?

“Bingo” has been used as a dog name, an exclamation, and the name of a parlor game, but despite its ubiquity, its origins are somewhat murky.

by Bennett Kleinman
game of bingo

Bingo is all fun and games — until you realize that just one alphanumeric pair is standing between you and victory. The anxiety builds until you finally hear the magic combination: “N31.” You immediately jump up and shout, “Bingo!” But what does that word mean? Yes, it’s the name of the game of chance in which you need to have the right combination of numbers lined up on your board, but where did the word come from? 

Bingo halls can be found everywhere, and iterations of music bingo, drag bingo, and other themed events remain popular, but the etymological roots of the word are murky. The truth is that we may never know exactly where “bingo” came from, as the theories are tenuous. The best information from the Online Etymology Dictionary links the word to a recreational context, as “bingo” was used as slang for alcohol as far back as the 1690s, prior to making its way into American English around the 1850s.

Around the early 20th century, “bingo” became used as an exclamation to indicate completion or correctness. Lexicographers from the Oxford English Dictionary speculate that “bingo” might be a shortened version of the phrase “bingo-bango,” which has been used since the 1880s to describe a series of quick blows.

It wasn’t until the 1920s that an already-popular game of chance embraced “bingo” as its title. One (possibly apocryphal) origin story claims the name change came about because of a mistake. Prior to bingo, people played a variant called “beano,” in which players covered their numbers with dried beans. It’s said that a winning player got so excited, they accidentally shouted “bingo” instead of “beano,” and a new title for the game was born. The next time you’re playing bingo, try the old-fashioned version with some dried beans and see how your luck holds.

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4 MIN READ

9 Redundancies Created When English Borrows From Other Languages

The English language is full of loanwords, but sometimes these can cause redundancies that lead us to essentially repeat ourselves in two different languages.

by Tony Dunnell
woman eating curry and naan bread

The English language has never shied away from borrowing foreign words. It has adopted or adapted words from other tongues with great enthusiasm, with more than 350 languages now represented in English. This borrowing process, however, can result in some peculiar linguistic side effects, one of which is the use of word combinations that say the same thing twice — but in different languages — creating what we could call a bilingual tautology (a tautology being “needless repetition of an idea, statement, or word”).

Here are some examples of common linguistic redundancies that have developed as a result of English’s multicultural roots. Many of these redundancies have become so embedded in everyday speech that we don’t even realize we’re repeating ourselves. 

River Avon

One classic example of a bilingual redundancy is the River Avon in the United Kingdom. “Avon” comes from a Celtic word meaning “river,” so the River Avon is essentially a tautology meaning “River River.” Another U.K.-based example of loanword adoption is the village of Torpenhow in Cumbria. The village name can be parsed out as a combination of the Saxon word tor, the Celtic pen, and the Old Norse how, all of which mean “hill” — meaning that Torpenhow translates as “Hill-hill-hill.”

Sahara Desert

In Arabic, the Sahara is called Al-Ṣaḥrāʾ al-Kubrā, meaning “the Great Desert.” The Anglicized name of the desert derives from the Arabic word ṣaḥrāʾ, which simply means “desert.” So, when we refer to the Sahara Desert, we are in fact saying “Desert Desert.” 

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La Brea Tar Pits

The La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles are among of the world’s most famous locations for fossil discoveries. They also happen to be a common example of linguistic redundancy. In Spanish, “la brea” means “the tar,” so when we say “La Brea Tar Pits,” we are actually saying “the Tar Tar Pits.” 

Lake Tahoe

The magnificent Lake Tahoe straddles the border between California and Nevada. The lake and its surrounding area have long been home to the Washoe people, a Great Basin tribe of Indigenous Americans. Lake Tahoe was naturally important to the Washoe, who named it da ow ga (or da’aw), a term literally meaning “the lake.” European settlers mispronounced this as “Tahoe,” and in turn named the large body of fresh water Lake Tahoe — likely unaware that they were essentially saying “Lake Lake.”

Mississippi River

The word “Mississippi” comes from the Indigenous Ojibwe word mshi-ziibi, meaning “big river.” So, when we talk about the Mississippi River, we are saying “Big River River.” The Mekong River in Southeast Asia is a similar tautological example; in Thai, me means “mother” and khong means “river,” leaving us with “Mother River River.” 

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Naan Bread

The culinary world is home to many tautologies that have arisen when English borrows words from other languages; naan bread is a prime example. The Urdu word nān translates as “bread,” so when we say “naan bread,” we are saying “bread bread.” As many viewers pointed out during a 2018 episode of The Great British Bake Off, saying “naan” on its own is enough. 

Chai Tea

Around the world, people tend to use variations of one of two words for tea. In English we say “tea,” while the French say thé, the Spanish , and the Dutch thee. The other variation has a slightly different sound: chá in Mandarin and Cantonese, chai in Hindi, shay in Arabic, and chay in Russian. So-called chai tea —a black tea of Indian origin, often spiced with cinnamon or cardamom — has become popular in the United States. But in India, chai is not a flavor of tea; it refers to tea in general. Saying “chai tea” is redundant, as it means “tea tea.” 

Koi Carp

If you fill your garden pond with “koi carp,” you are engaging in an aquatic tautology. “Koi” is the Japanese word for “carp,” making the “carp” in “koi carp” redundant.

Ahi Tuna

Another commonly cited fish-related tautology is “ahi tuna,” which derives from the Hawaiian word ʻahi, referring to tuna, especially the yellow-fin tuna. In this respect, the “tuna” in “ahi tuna” is redundant. But there is a caveat: ʻAhi also means “fire” in Hawaiian, and Hawaiian fishermen used the word to refer to tuna because these powerful fish could pull on lines with such speed and strength that smoke would arise at the point where the fisherman’s line met the side of his boat. So, while “ahi tuna” can be considered a tautology — “tuna tuna” — there’s also a case to be made for “fire tuna.” 

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2 MIN READ

Is It ‘Deep-Seated’ or ‘Deep-Seeded’?

Homophones are confusing enough to begin with. But in the case of “deep-seated” vs. “deep-seeded,” things are made more perplexing by the phrase’s literal definition.

by Bennett Kleinman
Sprouting plant with roots

If your family is firmly established in a community, you may describe them as having laid down roots, much like an old oak tree. You might want to refer to your family’s position as “deep-seeded” — but while there’s an undeniable botanical connection between roots and seeds, there’s a clear grammatical distinction between the two.The proper spelling for this adjective is actually “deep-seated,” and there’s an etymological reason to help you remember. 

“Deep-seated” comes from the verb “to seat,” with one definition meaning “to install in a seat of dignity or office” and another being “to put in a sitting position.” According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the adjective form dates to 1741, when it more literally meant “having its root far below the surface.” Despite the connection to roots, the usage was always intended to be related to “seat,” not “seed.” By 1847, “deep-seated” developed a figurative meaning of being “firmly implanted.” People often refer to a person’s strongly held convictions as “deep-seated beliefs,” or old customs as being “deep-seated traditions.” All this is to say that “deep-seeded” is the incorrect spelling, despite the possible path you could trace from the act of planting seeds.

There are times when it’s OK to use the word “seeded,” but it should never follow the prefix “deep-.” For example, in sports, the concept of “seeding” appeared in tennis tournaments in the early 20th century. The term’s origin is unknown, but one idea is that players were “planted” in a certain spot so that players of certain desired rankings would end up playing each other. “Seeding” has since expanded to other tournament sports, namely college basketball, in which fans might talk about “the fifth-seeded UCLA squad.” 

As a final reminder for choosing the correct spelling of the adjective, think of the well-established outline of your rear end in your favorite recliner. This is perhaps the most literal example of something that could be considered “deep-seated,” as it’s a depression that took hundreds of hours to produce. So if you’re ever confused about whether it’s “deep-seated” or “deep-seeded,” just remember the idea of leaving a souvenir of your seat in a comfy chair.

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2 MIN READ

Why Do We Say ‘Fly Off the Handle’?

“Flying off the handle” isn’t often a good thing — literally or figuratively. To better understand how this phrase came about, let’s go back to the early 19th century.

by Bennett Kleinman
Person chopping wood with an axe

There are a lot of ways to say that someone has lost control of their emotions. Maybe they’ve “blown a gasket” or they’re “freaking out,” or maybe they’ve “gone beserk!” With so many different idiomatic examples, one might be feeling a little frantic just thinking about the choices. But among the most popular options is the phrase “fly off the handle.” This expression can be traced back to the early 19th century, and has a specific literal association with the backwoods.

In a very literal sense, the phrase “fly off the handle” refers to how a loose axe head can come undone mid-swing while chopping wood. There are few things more dangerous than a sharp piece of metal flying through the sky, so it’s understandable to feel a loss of control and some anger in that situation. The idiom developed out of that literal action, but it encompasses more general contexts. You don’t need to be a lumberjack to fly off the handle — though you certainly can be.

“Fly off the handle” gained popularity as a figurative idiom for situations of heightened emotions in the early 19th century, and we see early printed examples reflecting the shift. The Oxford English Dictionary cites an 1832 article in the Boston Investigator: “He soon had a call at Cincinnati, Ohio, as president of a theological college, and, of course, flew off the handle.” Gary Martin of the blog Phrase Finder adds another figurative example from Thomas C. Haliburton’s 1843 satirical novel The Attaché: or, Sam Slick in English: “He flies right off the handle for nothing.”

There was no axe wielding to be had in either example, so the phrase seemed to have shed its inherent connection to woodworking by the mid-19th century. Today, people rarely say “fly off the handle” in reference to literal axes, though the phrase would certainly still be applicable in those rare circumstances.

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