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Post by mabd on Jun 25, 2007 19:05:39 GMT -6
Boll!! Tis a perfectly sound word. It just sounds bad. quin•cunx n. The significance of the quincunx pattern originates in Pythagorean mathematical mysticism. This pattern lies at the heart of the Pythagorean tetraktys, a pyramid of ten dots. To the Pythagoreans the number five held particular significance and the quincunx pattern represented this significance. Quincunx patterns occur in many contexts: • An arrangement of five objects with one at each corner of a rectangle or square and one at the center. (Latin quîncûnx, quîncûnc-, five twelfths = quînque, five + ûncia, twelfth part of a unit.) • In architecture, a quincuncial plan, also defined as a "cross inscribed in a square", is the plan of an edifice composed of nine bays. The central and the four angular ones are covered with domes or groin vaults; the other four are surmounted by barrel vaults. • This pattern carried enough symbolic weight that it appreared on Roman coinage the Second Punic Was (218 to 204). • The quincunx was the standard tactical formation for elements of a Roman legion. • A quincunx is a standard pattern for planting an orchard, especially in France. •An astrology term denoting planets at a distance of five signs of 150 degrees from each other. The term was once generally used to denote a disposition of five objects (especially plants or trees) placed so that there is one in each corner of a square or rectangle with the fifth in the center. The use of the quincunx in various aspects throughout history was exhaustively discussed by the English physician and author Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682) in his book The Garden of Cyrus (1658). Maeve
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Post by Phalon on Jun 27, 2007 5:55:24 GMT -6
Hey! How'd you make those bullets? Sheesh, Maeve boldly makes bullets, Siren can put little accent marks above letters, and I can barely make a full stop - I usually roll through intersections.
Talking about getting wordy - a deadline is looming on an article for that gardening magazine I write for, and I'm having a hard time with it - when finished the article ended up nearly twice the maximum word limit, (go figure - and it wasn't even the least bit turgid!). I've been working with the editor, trying to come up with ideas to reduce its length without losing content, and thankfully it seems we've found a solution: sidebars. Good! I can use a drink - a nice, tall cool one, with lots and lots of ice, please.
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Post by Siren on Jun 27, 2007 21:50:56 GMT -6
I make those little accent marks through the miracle of copy and paste.
Here's another solution to your problem: cut the article in 2 pieces, and call it a series!
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Post by Phalon on Jun 28, 2007 22:40:50 GMT -6
I thought of that, Siren. Or, save myself some work, and send the second half to the other gardening publication that I write for quarterly; they're always happy to receive anything no matter how long or short, (read this one is a non-paying publication, and they are desperate for writers).
I kinda like the sidebar thing though - it reminds me of motorcycle passengers riding in little compartments along side the driver. Yes, yes - I know those are called "sidecars", but that cool drink from the sidebar might have been a bit strong.
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Post by mabd on Jul 2, 2007 9:25:59 GMT -6
Talking about getting wordy - a deadline is looming on an article for that gardening magazine I write for, and I'm having a hard time with it - when finished the article ended up nearly twice the maximum word limit, (go figure - and it wasn't even the least bit turgid!). I've been working with the editor, trying to come up with ideas to reduce its length without losing content, and thankfully it seems we've found a solution: sidebars. Good! I can use a drink - a nice, tall cool one, with lots and lots of ice, please. girl Gams, My Lady Phalon, et al, why don't you us have a crack at it? Maeve
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Post by Phalon on Jul 6, 2007 5:37:34 GMT -6
Not this one, Fipper the Mule, or any other I write for this magazine. I signed a contract, and in that contract it states I am not to share, publicize, or breathe a word of anything pertaining to the subject matter of assignments - gardening is super-secret stuff, ya know, (eye-roll). Not adhering to this super-secrecy results in termination of the contract. I'm sure the GMB, (the editor who I fondly refer to as Garden Mag B!tch), has spies out all over the place. BOLL.
I like the extra play money I get from the articles.....and I'm new enough at this getting published stuff that I still get a kick out of seeing my name in a printed by-line.
In other ABC Word News:
Ever have a word slip your mind; it be on the tip of your tongue, but it stays there and refuses to come out? My brother and Hubs decided they were going to think about making the beer from the kit which I got Hubs for Father's Day, (the pale ale not for sale by those living by a Great Lake; the ale which should never be drank warm except by the feeble-minded).
Reading the instructions, they got to the part which reads, "The hydrometer is used to measure the specific gravity, (SG), or density with respect to water. Measure the SG of the wort before adding the yeast - original gravity, (OG). Measure the SG upon completion of fermentation - final gravity, (FG). Typical hydrometer readings 1.042 OG or 1.006 FG. OG-FG/7.46 +0.5 = approx% alcohol by volume (ABV). 0.5% is added to reflect the addition of priming sugar for secondary fermentation, (SF?). eg. 10042-1006/7.26 +0.5+5.3% ABV.
Math and chemistry, and I left the room. Too quiet in there after awhile, and like it is with kids left to themselves, I figured trouble. I came back in the kitchen and they were pouring over my dictionary and the Joy of Cooking cookbook - a contradiction of terms and an oxymoron in this house.
It seems they got hung up on a word neither of them could remember, and could go no further until the word came to them. What is the concave crescent shape at the top of a volume of liquid? Hibiscus, Hubs says, (he's been subject to too much garden talk it seems). Measure the lobiscus, not the hibiscus. Ubiscus? Ibiscus, we-all-biscus. Something iscus. Trying to remember the word was causing them to iscuss.
Time for the two-minute drill. Amateurs. They Googled things such as basic chemistry terms, test-tubes, and beaker measurements. Pfft. Give it to me. I prefer Yahoo over Google; Yahoo understands me. "Measuring liquids+the bottom of the dip". They laughed. HA! Number one, right up on top - Meniscus. Ppbbllltttt.
It's all in the wording.
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Post by Siren on Jul 7, 2007 13:43:35 GMT -6
You have all sorts of colorful characters in your life, Gams - first, the Dental Dominatrix, and now the Garden Mag B*tch. Lol!
"..the Joy of Cooking cookbook - a contradiction of terms and an oxymoron in this house.." - lmao!
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Post by Phalon on Aug 19, 2007 5:43:37 GMT -6
I'm enjoying the book "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues", written by Tom Robbins - quite funny and full of quirk. One of the quirky things is the author's random injection of his thoughts throughout the story while he tells the story, and one of the more "getty wordy" injections about "getty wordy" follows. It made me laugh.
"Happily, your author is not under contract to any of the muses who supply the reputable writers, and thus he has access to a considerable variety of sentences to spread and stretch from margin to margin as he relates the story(s).... For example:
This sentence is made of lead (and a sentence of lead gives a reader an entirely different sensation from one made of magnesium). This sentence is made of yak wool. This sentence is made of sunlight and plums. This sentence is made of ice. This sentence is made from the blood of the poet. This sentence glows in the dark. This sentence was born with a caul. This sentence has a crush on Norman Mailer. This sentence is a wino and doesn't care who knows it. Like many italic sentences, this one has Mafia connections. This sentence is a double Cancer with Pisces rising. This sentence lost its mind searching for the perfect paragraph. This sentence refuses to be diagramed. This sentence ran off with an adverb clause. This sentence is 100 percent organic: it will not retain a facsimile of freshness like those sentences of Homer, Shakespeare, Goethe et al., which are loaded with preservatives. This sentence leaks. This sentence doesn't look Jewish . . . This sentence has accepted Jesus Christ as its personal savior. This sentence once spit in a book reviewer's eye. This sentence can do the funky chicken. This sentence has seen too much and forgotten too little. This sentence is called "Speedoo" but its real name is Mr. Earl. This sentence may be pregnant, it missed its period. This sentence suffered a split infinitive - and survived. If this sentence had been a snake you'd have bitten it. This sentence went to jail with Clifford Irving. This sentence went to Woodstock. And this little sentence went wee wee wee all the way home. This sentence is proud to be a part of the team here at Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. This sentence is rather confounded by the whole damn thing."
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Post by Siren on Oct 24, 2007 21:12:10 GMT -6
Came across this one today:
dystopia
noun 1. state in which the conditions of life are extremely bad as from deprivation or oppression or terror [antonym: utopia] 2. a work of fiction describing an imaginary place where life is extremely bad because of deprivation or oppression or terror
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Oct 28, 2007 14:14:23 GMT -6
I just learned something interesting....
The reason your English teachers tell you not to split infinitives is because the origins of English have a basis in Latin. In Latin....all infinitives are ONE word.
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Post by Phalon on Oct 28, 2007 21:29:58 GMT -6
Though I like banana split infinitives, (lots of whipped cream, minus the cherry), I don't know a thing about inifinitives, split or whole. At least now I know why: I don't understand Latin; it's all Greek to me.
Then again, it can also be said I know nothing about English either.
I wish there were a make-it-up as you go language. I'd have mastery of that.....I think. Probably not.
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Post by Phalon on Nov 7, 2007 23:13:50 GMT -6
On the Food Network's Unwrapped the other night, they discussed pies. In this discussion of pies, the term "Upper Crust" was used.
The term "Upper Crust", referring to society's highest class, the wealthy, or the upper class, the show stated, is just a bunch of lard. Ok, so not really; the television show never uttered the word "lard", but isn't that what crust is made from? I wouldn't know.
"Upper-Crust" apparently came from the idea that the poorer classes could not afford the extra crust to make a top layer on their pies. Poor pies went topless.
A two-minute drill on topless crust-nots vs. the wealthy crust-haves proved futile. The Upper Crust apparently had lots of bread though.
Dough, and bread, and when speaking of wealth they mean the same thing. "Upper-crust" may have its roots in bread. Way back when, when Scrappy's Uncle Willy Shakespeare ruled the air-waves, bread was baked in hearth ovens, and the bottom portion of the loaf nearly always burned. The servants got that portion; the middle of the loaf for the family, the top - or upper-crust was reserved for guests. Or, if one was so surly as to not have guests, the servants got the bottom, and the surly one wealthy enough to have servants got the upper-crust.
Pfft, says one two-minute drill authority - both theories are myths. Pies and bread are nothing but starch and artery-clogging cholesterol. Upper-crust, in reference to the upper portion of a loaf of bread dates to at least 1460, but using the term to refer to the upper-class is an early 19th century American term, simply referring to society's upper layer. When pie-drilling I also came across a possible origin for the word "pie". "Pie" may be a shortened form of magpie, those birds who collect all kinds of shiny things, and though shiny things are not necessarily found in pies, pies do contain all kinds of ingredients. It's as believable as "upper-crust".
Or as believable as "Phalon bakes". The last day of the season for the berry farm, I stopped by on my way home from work, and stocked up for the winter. Not a member of the Upper-Crust, I bought a couple of frozen "Rustic Pies". They are topless....the tarts! Just left-over pie-crust dough, rolled out, and heaped with filling, (triple berry: blueberry, blackberry, and raspberry....Mmmmmm.) They are just ugly enough to pass off as my own when serving to company. Until they're tasted.
Another myth dispelled.
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Post by Phalon on Nov 10, 2007 8:01:44 GMT -6
This is a fun website - the "authority" I used to dispell the Upper Crust pie/bread origin (information which was listed under Haute and Crusy on the site), during my two minute pie-drilling venture. www.word-detective.com/index.html
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Post by Siren on Nov 14, 2007 9:55:48 GMT -6
Hadn't thought of this word in a long time. (Gives you an idea of my general level of discourse!):
co·gent Spelled Pronunciation[koh-juhnt] –adjective 1. convincing or believable by virtue of forcible, clear, or incisive presentation; telling. 2. to the point; relevant; pertinent. [Origin: 1650–60; < L cōgent- (s. of cōgéns, prp. of cōgere to drive together, collect, compel), equiv. to cōg- (co- co- + ag-, s. of agere to drive) + -ent- -ent]
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Post by Phalon on Nov 19, 2007 1:26:38 GMT -6
I ran across a word today, I'm not sure I've ever run across prior, (there are no obvious tell-tale tire marks).
modicum - not a mediocre roll in the hay, but a noun of small or modest proportion, or limited quantity. Then again, one could be the other depending on the level of mediocrity, I suppose.
Anyway, it's fun to say.
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Nov 27, 2007 22:24:31 GMT -6
Had to define for someone today a word that I thought was fairly common.
Pariah
pa·ri·ah (p-r) n. 1. A social outcast: "Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard" Mark Twain. 2. An Untouchable.
Not to be confused with..
Noun 1. pariah dog - ownerless half-wild mongrel dog common around Asian villages especially India
*singing* "And they called wind pariah!"
Useless bit of info alert! I had a stuffed dragon once that I named Tess. Ten Scrappy points to the first person who can tell me why.
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Post by Phalon on Nov 27, 2007 22:51:29 GMT -6
A hint? You know how bad I am at riddles.
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Nov 27, 2007 23:03:00 GMT -6
Small hint...it has something to do with the afore mentioned but badly mangled song....
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Post by Phalon on Nov 27, 2007 23:17:03 GMT -6
Now I have to think and sing badly and in a mangling sort of way. That shouldn't be too hard...at least the second half.
I can see you, you know, dragon that poor thing around the house by a tuft of its hair....calling it your Lock Tess Monster.
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Nov 27, 2007 23:21:06 GMT -6
*snort* Ok that was kinda funny...but not the answer we were looking for. (loud buzzer noise) Thank you for playing!
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Post by katina2nd on Nov 28, 2007 6:29:20 GMT -6
Errrr because you like the rain? *The rain is Tess, the fire's Joe and they call the wind Mariah.* "Mariah, Mariah , they call the wind Mariahhhhhhhhhhh."
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Nov 28, 2007 11:15:42 GMT -6
*DING DING DING*
Give that man 10 Scrappy points!
The whole answer is this. When I got it neither my mom or I could remember if fire was called Tess or Joe. Mind you this was BEFORE super quick internet access. And since I wanted a girl dragon we named her Tess....after the fire from the song.
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Post by Phalon on Nov 29, 2007 7:35:11 GMT -6
Uhmbrella.....so did Tess rain on your parade when you found she was washed up as a fire breathing dragon?
Dithery.....heard someone say it yesterday and it made me smile just because you don't hear it often.
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Post by Phalon on Dec 5, 2007 14:29:48 GMT -6
Collied Catfish.....sound appetizing. No, no......it's not a cross between collies, cats, and fish: The Bluepet Special. Colly means "black as coal" or to blacken, and I think Collied Catfish sounds more appetitzing than Blackened Catfish - which sounds charred. I wonder if it'd catch on. No - prolly not. And prolly not something you'd send to your true love for Christmas either.
You would though, on the fourth day of Christmas send four colly birds.
In the original version of the song, "The Twelve Days of Christmas", on the fourth day the true love did not send "four calling birds" - something so lovely as singing songs bird or canaries, but sent "four colly birds": the Common Blackbird. Shoot, twenty more and you could have “four-and-twenty colly birds baked in a pie” for Christmas dinner.
Oh, and care to guess just how many birds total this true love ended up sending by the end of the song? It may not be what you'd think; it is somewhat of a trick question.
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Post by Siren on Dec 6, 2007 8:57:27 GMT -6
"Bluepet Special" - boll! Gaggie would be proud, Gams.
I avoid even remotely mathematical questions. H*ll, I can't even balance my checkbook. But it occurred to me long ago that the feed bill for all these loving gifts must've been huge. And that things must've gotten messy pretty quickly.
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Post by Siren on Dec 7, 2007 9:22:58 GMT -6
sump·tu·ous Pronunciation[suhmp-choo-uhs] –adjective 1. entailing great expense, as from choice materials, fine work, etc.; costly: a sumptuous residence. 2. luxuriously fine or large; lavish; splendid: a sumptuous feast. [Origin: 1475–85; < L sūmptuōsus, equiv. to sūmptu(s) expense (see sumptuary) + -ōsus -ous]
I had assumed, through context, that this word meant "rich", as in rich food, or a luxurious fabric. I never knew its origin was so literally about expense.
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Post by Phalon on Dec 10, 2007 23:39:40 GMT -6
Sumptuous - that is a word that begs to be used more often. That's a problem I have....all these wonderfully sumptuous words to choose from, and I end up repeating the same words over and over in conversation. <slaps forehead V8-style> I could have said "sumptuous"! Seems I often suffer from....from....damn, what's that word again? It's right on the tip of my tongue... Lethologica: the inability to articulate thoughts by temporarily forgetting key words, phrases or names in conversation. The word comes from the Greek words letho, which means forgetfulness, and logos, which means word. In Greek mythology the Lethe, the river of oblivion, flowed through Hades. The dead were forced to drink from it to foget their lives on earth. Lethologica also had something to do with Jung; I forgot what...probably has something to do with dwarves. But anyway, Siren, since I've got this word up in front of me now, before I forget.... ....here, a nice sumptuous feast for you.
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ubernut
Whooshite Apprentice
Posts: 104
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Post by ubernut on Dec 14, 2007 19:33:37 GMT -6
Oh, and care to guess just how many birds total this true love ended up sending by the end of the song? It may not be what you'd think; it is somewhat of a trick question. I get 200, if she gets a partridge every day etc. ...I think ... daaamnEdit: Thought I'd include my figuring: 13 partridges 2*12 = 24 turtledoves 3*11 = 33 french hens 4*10 = 40 colly birds 6*8 = 48 geese 7*7 = 42 swans = 200 fracking birds (And, yes, clearly I do have too much time on my hands, but this took me less than 5 minutes. ...I think I'm trying to make up for freezing on my stat final today. )
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Post by katina2nd on Dec 14, 2007 20:30:08 GMT -6
Now that's impressive Ubernut, and all in five minutes as well, give me five days and a calculus and I d still be scratching my head tryin' to figure it out. Welcome to the Nuthouse, aka Whoosh by the way, always nice to see a new face here, I thought a little prezzie wouldn't go astray to make you feel welcome, so here ya go...... Oh and if you're not sure exactly what you're supposed to do with the dang thing, check the "Snowball Fight....Whoosherlie Style" thread, that should point you in the right direction ..... or, you could just click where it says "click me" and that will achieve the same result I guess.
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Post by Mini Mia on Dec 14, 2007 22:35:16 GMT -6
Ubernut: Find a victim and pass it on to them. Type :snowball: or :snowball2:
You can't throw it at who threw it at you, so Kat is off your list for this throw.
PS: You have to name who you're throwing it at.
Edited to add the 2nd snowball, and the PS.
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