The Northern Hemisphere’s summer solstice – literally, “the point at which the sun seems to stand still” – occurred at 9:24 p.m. Pacific Time on Tuesday, June 20. But for some brands, the solstice never ends.
TK holds your hand and explains ingredients from chickpeas to nooch so you'll feel confident knowing exactly what the f*ck you're cooking.
Nooch? It sounded vaguely salacious, which wouldn’t be out of keeping with the TK style guide. (Chapter titles in the new cookbook include “Freshen the Fuck Up” and “Hot Box.”) But it turns out that nooch isn’t nasty or brutish, it’s just short. For nutritional yeast.
Why do so many robot names sound alike? FastCoDesign put the question to name developer Christopher Johnson, who explained that Kuri, Yui, Yobi, et al. “sound like the kind of names you might give your dog.”
And The Forward’s language columnist, Aviya Kushner, surveyed the whole megillah, observing parenthetically: “Many of us, even if we aren’t senators or linguists, can use a little bit of fun right now, and why not turn to insult-making as stress relief?”
Finally, we bid adieu to the zoo and consider the shit show. Or is it shitshow?
"Shit show" and "shitshow" are neck and neck in our data, and also in the world in general. https://t.co/nFAEvStqG1
“Now that a sneering, orange man-child is sinking his tiny fingers into every aspect of American life, [branding] experts believe activism will become nearly as ubiquitous in the brand world as it is on college campuses.” Let’s see what they have to say.
My new column for the Visual Thesaurus asks: What’s the difference between crisp and crispy? And what do 15th-century language fads, breakfast cereals, and Martha Stewart have to do with the question?
Full access is limited to subscribers, but of course you already knew that (and have already subscribed). Here’s an excerpt:
We may use crisp to describe cold, fresh weather; a starched cotton shirt; a witty line of dialogue; or a dry white wine. We can also use crisp to describe food – bacon, fried chicken, chocolate chip cookies – but we’re equally or more likely to choose crispy in culinary contexts. We even turn crispy into brand names: Krispy Kreme, Rice Krispies, Crispy Critters. There are exceptions, though: Foods with a high moisture content generally don’t make the crispy cut. Apples and certain types of pears may be crisp; they’re rarely crispy.
Post Crispy Critters (1963-1989). The brand name was adopted as U.S. military slang for a burnt corpse.
It wasn’t always that way. In fact, crisp and crispy originally meant something else entirely.
Both words entered English from the Latin adjective crispus, which means “curled,” “wrinkled,” or “having curly hair.” That’s what crisp and crispy meant, too. The OED traces crisp back to the Venerable Bede, who wrote around 900 C.E. about “crispe loccas fægre” (beautiful curly locks). Crispy, or cryspy, appeared in the Middle English period, around 1398. It was used in exactly the same way as crisp: to describe curly hair or, metaphorically, some other curling thing, like an ocean wave.
On January 22, presidential adviser Kellyanne Conway went on NBC’s “Meet the Press” and defended a (provably false) statement by the White House press secretary, Sean Spicer, about the size of the crowd at his boss’s swearing-in ceremony. Spicer wasn’t telling lies, Conway insisted; he was presenting “alternative facts.”
The phrase quickly became a social-media meme and an entry in Urban Dictionary. (Definition: “The worst of the four classifications of lies: lies, damned lies, statistics, alternative facts. Alternative facts are distinguished from the other damnable lies by the addition of gaslighting the listener.”)
For any other political candidate, the campaign stop would not have made headlines. But because it was this cycle’s Republican nominee, who has rarely deigned to perform the rituals of retail politics, it created a bit of a stir.
Spotted on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland: a sign plugging the Jack in the Box Buttery Jack burger.
“Juiciest. Butteriest. Craviest.”
Sticklers will tell you that of those three adjectives, only juiciest is legit. I’m more concerned about the logical fallacy. Juicy and buttery (and their superlative forms, legit or not) describe the burger itself. But who or what is doing the craving?
.@Fritinancy@JackBox So, the burger is juicy and buttery but somehow is also animate such that it itself has cravings and is thus "cravy"?
Also defying logic: the nutritional valueof this sandwich. It contains 820 calories, 470 of them from fat. Its 1150 milligrams of sodium constitute 48 percent of the recommended daily allowance. (Hold the fries!)
Jack in the Box is also proudly serving – and coining – brunchfast, which would seem to require another superlative: brunchfastest.
Risotto: “An Italian dish of rice cooked in stock with ingredients such as vegetables and meat or seafood” (OED). The dish is associated with northern Italy and particularly Milan (risotto milanese). From Italian riso (rice) and the diminutive suffix -otto. ItalyHeritage.com offers alternate etymologies: “Some say it came from an exclamation of Frederick Barbarossa, who praised a ‘Risum optimum’; others maintain it derived from a term used by the Insubres, the Celts that inhabited Lombardy, ‘risott.’”
Risotto was in the news last week because of a tidbit in Democratic National Committee chair John Podesta’s emails, which were hacked and released by WikiLeaks. Business Insider’s Allan Smith tweeted the revelation:
What if business jargon were made literal and tangible? Artists Isabel + Helen take on that challenge with A Load of Jargon, an installation opening tomorrow at The Conran Shop in London’s Chelsea district. The exhibit turns five buzzwords – “thinking cap,” “big idea,” “next steps,” “easy win,” and “going viral” into visual puns. There’s a public-health imperative behind the humor, notes FastCo Design in a story about the show: “[C]orporate speak isn't just funny sounding (and fuzzy in meaning)—it actually can make you less intelligent.” (Hat tip: Silicon Valley Speak.)