Some of the greatest minds in the world have boiled the “date” down to approximately three steps: 1) Pickup date 2) Spend time with date 3) End date. And while there may be some wiggle room on what can be done, correctly or incorrectly, under each step, these great thinkers have attributed each step with a type of play: downplay, wordplay and foreplay.
Now for me, you know, I role up a nice, clean cut, New Balance sneaker, a real classic ride. My date knows I’m cool with that breathable mesh layer, calm with my cushioned step and collected, ready for anything. I start Step Two off with blaring of my tunes on my portable iPod speakers, not letting her get in a word edgewise.
Then, I have the music stops exactly as the movie begins, so there are no awkward silences, and maybe after-words, we go and grab a bite to eat. But for me, this is where my night ends. I never really make it to Step Three.
Because once we start talking, I feel, well, rather how I imagine Andy Samberg feels about eating a grape, or how his partner in crime, Jorma, feels about the breeze coming through the window, because once we actually start wordplay, well, I just can’t help myself: I have neologism, in my pants, and in my head.
You may call it premature, but I just call it ecstasy. Wordplay: it inhabits every moment of our lives. And neologism is perhaps the mother of all its components. Neologism, broken into its Greek roots literally means “new speech,” or rather the creation of new words.
And for me, this usually means puns, and lot’s of them: RaPUNzel, RaPUNzel, let down your long flowing hair so that I might climb up the tower and bore you with more puns. So many puns that most of my friends are drowning in them. And while some may swim along like happy dolphins, splashing and punning along, others are just straight up seals about it. Sad, rotund seals.
But beyond the witticism and wordplay, neologism plays a very real and important role in all of our lives. Everything we say, read, write, all the tiny words we use, are neologisms, or at least they were at one time in their lives. I mean, at some point, many years ago, in a land before time, someone witnessed lighting strike a tree and yelled, “OOGA BOOGA WOOGA WOMBLE!”
The direct translation for that naturally being, “I believe that highly bright electrical discharge just caused the rapid oxidation of the tree, whose highly flammable nature has combusted into light and heat, Womble!”
But it wasn’t until about 6,340,222.3 years later until someone boldly proclaimed “doth protestes too muchest.”
Thy passions of “ooga booga wooga” are but hollow, ancient rites.
“‘Tis they burning tempest that hoards mine eyes with angelic reverence, shall hence forth be called fyre! As such it shall be known to all, I say to thee, my most humblest company.”
Translation: “Let’s just call it fire, Womble.”
And thus all of thee “ooga booga wooga” bells were replaced with new, electrical fire alarms.
Whether or not the historical content of that is accurate or not, we may never know, but it really sheds light on the deep history of all those words we take for granted. And on their futures too:
A future I fear, is rather dull, dark and frightening. Like, totes magoates frightening.
Not only words, but whole sentences are being reduced down to mere syllables and sounds. And not like the old syllables and sounds we learned back in kindergarten. No, these are new, dastardly sounds, with an evil mission. Pretty soon we’ll be communicating with clicks and grunts. And while there might be something to say about the efficiency with which animals and robots communicate, to me, it just seems all wrong. I’m sure Womble was eloquent in his own way, but please, imagine a world without laughter and only “lawlz,” a place where when you’re happy, you hold up a sign that reads “:)”, or in order to say you’re in love with someone you put “<3”. Imagine the mistranslations, the insufferable communications!
“You are less than 3?” “You’re going to eat 3 what?” “You’re having a heart attack!?”
No Thank you. I doth protest. I doth protest!
Maybe all I need is a “Midnight in Paris” to get it all figured out, to see the glory of this innovative speech, this neo-neologism. But I just have a feeling that no matter how far back in time someone takes me, I’ll never lose any faith in words.
So, before I’m shipped off to another IA meeting (Intellectual Anonymous), all I’ve got to say is [insert clicking sound here] before you speak, and neologism with care.
David Fontana is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences and a Fall 2012 columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached atfontad5@bu.edu.
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