Humorist Roy Blount Jr. has noted that, unlike the Eskimo, people in the south have just one word for snow. I would add that our descriptive enhancements for that one simple word, however, extend to a multitude of expletive adjectives which are many, regional, and colorful. Most of them are also deleted in professional weather reports but we all know those adjectives are there.
I've heard most of
these adjectives. The least offensive word I have heard describing a southern
snowfall has been "interesting." This was used by a northern friend,
who didn't want to offend any delicate sensibilities among those of us he
imagined were unexpectedly missing our mint-julep-on-the-porch routine in
January.
The blog at Dog
Ear's Visual
Thesaurus have been running excerpts from the anthology
entitled One
Word: Contemporary Writers on the Words They Love or Loathe, edited by
Molly McQuade (Sarabande Books). She had the simple idea: ask writers the
question, "What one word means the most to you, and why?" Here's part
of a reply by Jayson Iwen. Professor Iwen teaches at Central State University
in Wilberforce, Ohio; the word he chose is "interesting."
I've been keeping
an eye on this word for years now, conducting a stake-out in a van across the
street from where it lives. I hate the word in writing, yet savor it in speech.
In writing it's merely a placeholder for better words, while in speech it's
damning praise of a sublime order. Interesting is its own antonym,
its own shadowy other.
But that's not
exactly why I'm watching it. That's not why I'm wary of uttering the word. I'm suspicious
of the root that feeds it. "Interesting" entered common usage in
the century that birthed modern capitalism. In its first appearance in print
the word was explicitly linked to that economic context: "... that Passion
which is esteem'd peculiarly interesting; as having for its Aim the Possession
of Wealth" (Shaftesbury, 1711). Not surprisingly, viewed from this new old
angle, contemporary definitions of the word leap to attention and assume the
stance of marketing terminology: "adapted to excite interest; having the
qualities which rouse curiosity, engage attention, or appeal to the
emotions" (OED).
In short, since
detecting capitalist ideology in this most unassuming and pervasive of words,
I've begun to worry it's inside every word, though its outline may only be
visible in those that poorly conceal it, like sheets draped over ill intents.
... This is the kind of unconscious logic I'm afraid might be firing through
dark channels of my brain whenever I speak.
I fear this
because many days I feel finite. I feel spendable. I see my window into
existence shrinking and the objects of my attention looming in that diminishing
frame. They're either becoming my world or they're blocking my view of it. They
add value to my life or they rub my face in my own inevitable end. I realize,
however, that this is not a truth. It's belief. And, though belief is both
stronger and more dangerous than truth, it is, thankfully, alterable. ...
When I say "interesting" now,
I ask myself, "Exactly what is it you think will repay you with
interest?" And the answer is usually as inevitable as it is startling. So
I sit here, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for it to
appear. Because it would feel so good to put it away forever. Go ahead, I say
to myself. Say it.
Jayson Iwen has
published Six
Trips in Two Directions (Emergency Press, 2006) and A
Momentary Jokebook (Cleveland State University, 2008). A
third, Gnarly Wounds, is under consideration.
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