A Not Entirely Non-Palindromic TidbiT: An Informal Linguistic Analysis of Such-and-Such

As you may have already noticed, I take an unusually strong interest in words and the things that can be done with them. Strong as my inclination may be, however, I am only a dabbler in the babbler arts. I take as monopoly money what others might make their bread by. For them, the lingua franca will suffice by itself, lending all that is needed to gain currency, to transact, to get whatever is to be gotten in this world. I'll call them "paid writers", generally. But for some, and this includes me in large measure, lingua franca is not enough, it needs to be folded back in on itself, or brought to bear on itself, like smashing matter together in particle accelerators to better find out the nature of the matter. Now, you might be asking, what's the matter with me. To which I would reply, that's a complicated question that begs a separate article altogether. But what makes language tick? How do its nuts and bolts fit together? And, perhaps most importantly, how can we better employ it to enjoy life more? These are the things folks like me want to know and, perhaps, vainly seek answers to.

For now, I will be happy to titillate your yearnings with the invagination of a "tidbit". You heard me right. Sounds dirty doesn't it? And you thought this linguistics stuff would be boring!

As the title to this piece suggests, "tidbit" is almost a palindrome, but it's not. Read backwards, it spells "tibdit", which--while pretty neat-looking--is not a palindrome. On the other hand, it is certainly something. I don't know if there is a name for it, yet. But if there's not a name for it, I'm calling it "invagination", when a word or combination of words is symmetrical when "folded" around a center line. In this case, "tidbit" could be folded as "tid bit" if you can imagine a more symmetrical font being used so that, for instance, the tails on the t's would not cause asymmetry. I suppose I could just call it "symmetry". But that wouldn't do me any good in trying to illustrate the fun of bringing a language to bear on itself--figuratively and literally.

Moving right along then...

Interestingly, I, like our fearless leader of the same first name, have struggled with dyslexic moments from time to time. Only, I like to fancy that my struggles are of a higher order and of a more subtle fashion. Anyway, I once mistakenly wrote "logarithm" for "algorithm" in a piece about the origin of human language (which, if you behave yourselves, I just might share with you later). Two, seemingly similar, or too seemingly similar? They each are composed of the same letters. Only the first four are arranged differently, "-rithm" remaining the same. Such specialty words with such similar spellings and identical endings must have similar roots right? Well, take a look for yourselves....

algorithm

1699, from Fr. algorithme refashioned (under mistaken connection with Gk. arithmos "number") from O.Fr. algorisme "the Arabic numeral system, " from M.L. algorismus, a mangled transliteration of Ar. al-Khwarizmi "native of Khwarazm, " surname of the mathematician whose works introduced sophisticated mathematics to the West (see algebra). The earlier form in M.E. was algorism (c.1230), from O.Fr. Modern use of algorithmic to describe symbolic rules or language is from 1881.

logarithm

1614, Mod.L. logarithmus, coined by Scot. mathematician John Napier (1550-1617), lit. "ratio-number, " from Gk. logos "proportion, ratio, word" (see logos) + arithmos "number" (see arithmetic). arithmetic c.1250, from O.Fr. arsmetique, from L. arithmetica, from Gk. arithmetike (tekhne) "(the) counting (art), " from arithmos "number, " from PIE base *ri- "number" (cf. O.E., O.H.G. rim "number;" O.Ir. rim "number, " dorimu "I count;" L. ritus "religious custom"). Originally in Eng. arsmetrik, on folk etymology from L. ars metrica; spelling corrected early 16c. Replaced native tFlcrFft "tell-craft."

...As you can see, there's plenty to dissect. They do have a similar root in "arithmos". But it's more complicated than it first seems.

Another curiosity of language--and this may be more reflective of the idiosynchratic nature of my own idiolect than anything else--is that every time I see the word "awry" I cannot help but think of "haywire" and vice versa. Everytime I see "haywire" I think "awry". Why is that, I ask. I answer (if only to amuse myself): It must be because their meanings are similar enough and that their constituent letters are similar enough and that their pronunciations are even similar enough that they both occupy neighboring neurons in my brain. Is it only my idiosynchratic, idiotic idiolect, or does anyone else suffer this boner as well?

And last but not least, is one of my own little gems of garbled english. It bears being stated that I have a bit of a flare for the dramatic, that I tend to act out in mimicry what I've heard in the past, much like a child--jokingly, at first, because, for instance, it's somehow funny to talk like mom and dad. But sometimes, that mimicry becomes its own beast, is internalized completely and becomes part of me. Thus spawned, my idiolect, my own language, my own beast comes into its own again and again in a compounding fashion, adding on accents and what-have-you somewhat haphazardly. And so I find my speech can take on myriad shades of separate dialects all at once. Here, in this phrase, it seems to convey a certain blackness--that is, African-American vernacular--melded with ordinary, common white-folksy talk. And I am probably going to be comfortable with that. In fact, the phrase is the previous sentence. Only, when spoken, it sounds like, "Omina prolly be comfterble with at".

And so ends the informal analysis of such-and-such.


© 2005 George Czar