The De-Evolution of English

Some prankster had set a wastebasket fire in the boys’ locker room at a high school. A young lady friend of ours was describing what happened.

“First the smoke started pouring out into the gymnasium and then the fire alarms went off, and then here came the boys.

“They came running out of the shower, and all of them were butt naked.”

(Regular readers will already see where I’m going with this.)

The young lady didn’t know it, and probably still doesn’t know it. The phrase she was looking for but couldn’t find was:  “They came running out of the shower, and all of them were buck naked.”

One meaning of the word “buck,” used derogatorily and contemptuously, describes a young man, usually an Indian or a negro.

“Look at the biceps on that buck over there.”

A buck can be a deer, a goat or a rabbit. It can be a dandy or slang for a dollar. As in, “He’s really got the bucks.”

The ignorant “butt naked” has quite likely superseded the phrase “buck naked” in general usage. It’s an understandable mistake, especially considering that the high school boys did reveal “buttocks” or “butts” when running nekkid from their communal shower.

But it’s so sad. The de-evolution of the language is one of the tragedies of my time. I grieve for my beloved English.

A rejection

An acquaintance went for a job interview. It did not go well.

When he arrived, he was asked to sit in a waiting room. There he sat for one hour leafing through copies of “Golf” and “Trailer Life.” At long last, a woman came out and said the person
who was supposed to conduct the interview had become ill and had left the premises.

But the woman said my acquaintance should fill out an application anyway, with an eye to returning later for the in-person interview.

So the man sat down and began going through the application, filling it in with a pencil. Soon the receptionist came back and said, “No, no, no, no. Don’t do that with a pencil. It’s strictly forbidden to use a pencil.”

So the applicant began anew, using the requisite ball point pen. Some of the questions seemed off-subject, so he left blanks.

He turned in the application. The receptionist said, “You can’t leave blanks. Every space must be filled in.”

At this point, the applicant balked. “I’m not answering those questions for anybody,” he said.

“All right,” said the woman. ”We have plenty of applicants anyway.” She put his application in the shredder.

Here comes the point of this longish anecdote. Relating this story to me, my acquaintance said, “I wish I had never stepped foot in that place.”

Erk. The phrase is not “stepped foot” but “set foot.” Alas. This is probably lost as well.

The truth

A newspaper columnist, a high-dollar one, wrote, “The President has not been forthcoming on this issue.”

It gave me shivers to see that in print. I almost went into a swoon. I had visions of fingernails on a chalk board. Menudo and blueberries. Goatheads in the carpet.

Webster says: Forthcoming means “approaching,” as about to appear. “The author’s forthcoming book.” Another example: “The promised money was not forthcoming.”

Had he taken the trouble to look past “Fort Henry,” in the dictionary, the newspaper columnist would have found (drum roll) “forthright.” Right word, two words away from the wrong word he had used.

Forthright means straight forward, direct, or frank. The President wasn’t being forthright. Now that, I believe.

But the word “forthright” may be on its way to extinction. Or it may even be extinct already.

Lost words

A friend wrote me a letter. This guy is intelligent, educated, savvy. He wrote, “I was more tired then I realized.”

Than and then. There is a difference, but the difference is being lost. But get this next one:  “I was so tired, I had to wander why I had worked so hard that day.”

Wander and wonder. Vastly different words, but the difference is gone. I can just see myself wondering in a winter wanderland.

It made me slightly sick to my stomach. I didn’t really feel nauseated, but I sure was nauseous. Get my drift?

For sure lost

The Denver Catholic Register, a good example of a well-written, well-edited periodical, published an article on parenting.

The story purported to give us some hints on overcoming the difficulties in “raising children” in this modern era.

Ahem. We raise goats. We raise corn. We raise cattle. We raise hell.

But dammit, we don’t raise children. We “rear” children. It’s lost, I know it’s lost, but I can’t help grieving.

I think the young woman who saw the butt nekkid boys probably wouldn’t want to say the word “rear” in connection with her children. “Rear” is too much like “butt.” So we cave in, and we say “raise.” True, the first meaning of “rear” is the back part of something, as the rear of the house or the rear of a horse.

“Rear” as it would be used regarding children means to put upright, to elevate, to build or erect, to bring to maturity by educating, nourishing and protecting.

But as sad as I might be by this fact, we just don’t say it that way any more. Moo. Baaaa. Glad my parents raised me right. Moo.

Really hard ones

How about two, too and to? How about sight, site and cite? Don’t get me started.

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Restaurant reviews

Never again will I darken the door of Isla Bonita in downtown Greeley. I’m actually sorry I stepped foot in the place one Sunday not long ago.

Hombre, I favor Mexican food. I like it a lot.

The fajitas came on a hot iron skillet, sizzling, smelling delicious. The silverware with which to eat the fajitas came sometime a few minutes after the sizzling had ended.

My fingers stuck to the table when I went to pick up my water glass. I mean my fingers stuck to the table. But there’s more.

When I stepped foot in the well-vandalized restroom, it smelled like a bus station in Butte Montana. My shoes stuck to the floor. I mean my damn shoes stuck to the floor in the restroom.

Don’t like Mexican food that well. Nope. Won’t step foot in there again.

A.J.’s

For long years in downtown Greeley, there was a Mexican place with sticky floors called “Lucerito’s.”

By and by Lucerito himself left town. Somebody else tried to take over, but you know how that goes.

The building, once painted a gleaming nauseous chartreuse, sat empty for many long months.

Then a young couple came along and opened “A.J.’s” in the cavernous airplane hangar rooms once dominated by Lucerito.

Because the new people promised to contribute to our church if we patronized their restaurant, we tried A.J.’s this last Sunday.

Champagne brunch. Twelve dollars per person. Forty-eight dollars for the four of us? Ooops. The ten percent donation to the church only applies if you buy the brunch. Ooops. Wasn’t what it was represented to be, was it?

Where’s the men’s room? It’s in the other side of the building, past the bar, across the dance floor, up a ramp, around a corner, down another ramp and then a right turn. In the dark. Oops. Sayonara A.J.’s. Or should I say adios.

The Lonely Ranch

I am told this new place, on the first floor of The Hotel of Many Names downtown, serves good
food for reasonable prices.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bar. Live music. The Lonely Ranch has it all.

Only, only, only, it has yet to be open for business when we have arrived. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, but when?

At least the Lonely Ranch won’t get a bad review if I never step foot in the place.

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Word of the week: Satrap. It’s from Latin and Greek, “satrapes,” and old Persian, "shathrapavan," the protector of the land. A satrap as we know it biblically is a petty tyrant, a ruler of a dependency, often a despotic, subordinate official, probably irked by being inferior in power to a stronger, bigger dictator. Do you know a satrap? I can think of several.