A Grain of Salt

Speaking of Porcelain . . .

Catherine here again. Wow. I've been holding this one in for a while, waiting for the perfect introduction to write about the etymology of porcelain, and then Nick goes and mentions porcelain figurines of girls and crabs. Could anything be better?

So guess what, Salt readers? Guess where porcelain comes from? Those of you educated in East Coast prep schools, where Latin is still an integral part of middle school education, might recognize that "porcelain" sounds an awful lot like "porcus," the word for pig. (Those not educated in East Coast prep schools might also have guessed it, what with the first three letters being the same as "pork" and all, but whatever. You still should have taken Latin.)

So yes, you're right! It does have to do with pig! But the connection, it seems, is not as obvious. See, the ancient Italians apparently decided that porcelain's smooth, shiny suface, bore a striking resemblance to cowrie shells--those smooth, shiny shells that look kind of like little change purses. I'll find a picture.

But wait, Catherine, you're saying. A cowrie shell isn't a pig--where are we going with this? Ah, patience, my dears--the ancient Italians apparently spent a lot of time comparing unrelated objects, because the word for cowrie shell itself is related to the word for pig. And why's that? Because the ancient Romans, sick linguists that they were, thought that cowrie shells looked like pig vaginas. Hah! Isn't that the BEST THING EVER??? Think about THAT the next time you take out the fine china! (Then think for a second about why the ancient Romans were spending so much time inspecting pig vaginas to begin with . . . perhaps it's one of the reasons that their civilization didn't make it.)

I've been enjoying this particular etymology for about five weeks now--and my favorite etymological moment was two weeks ago, when I was puking up sushi from food poisoning, was sitting kneeling in front of my friend's toilet bowl, and thought to myself, "Wow, that gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'worshipping the porcelain throne.'"

An Element of Naughty to your Everyday Existence

Sometimes, Latin roots reveal connections between seemingly unrelated words, often to fascinating effect. Take, for example, "turba." Literally meaning "crowd" (first declension), it has the sense of something being shaken up. Agitated, if you will.

Some derivatives are obivious: "turbulence," for example. Or "perturb" (to thoroughly agitate) and "disturb," for that matter.

But "masturbate"? Oh yes. "Manus" + "turba" = to agitate with the hand. This is right up there with testicles being the diminuitive form of testes, making them literally "little witnesses" to your manhood. Etymological joy.

Redundant

Today's Dr. Dictionary word-of-the-day (redound) made me realize that "redundant" is from "redundere"--to overflow--which is from "re" and "unda" (wave). Oh my goodness!

Addict

Addict is from addicere, to appoint or allot.

When I first looked this up in my etymology dictionary, it didn't seem to make sense. What does being addicted to something have to do with an appointment?

A bit of research revealed that apparently, in the Roman army, slaves were appointed to soldiers who had done a particularly good job. These slaves had been "appointed" (or "addicti erant" if my passive pluperfect's correct) to their masters. Eventually, the word "addict" came to mean someone who was a slave to anything.

Just try to tell me that's not cool.