fulsome blues

( a version of this article appeared in the National Post on Feb 27, 2012)

If I'm fulsomely disinterested and nomplussed, I'm skunked

By

Howard Richler

If an editor gives me fulsome praise should I be disinterested or nonplussed? It totally depends on the meaning I abscribe to the three underlined words. Let me explain my quandary.

When Simon Winchester wrote The Professor and the Madman in 1999 describing how “madman” Dr. William Chester Minor contributed to the making of the OED under the auspices of “Professor” James Augustus Henry Murray, he received fulsome praise from all for his splendid book.

Well, not quite. Winchester was deluged by angry letters from readers of the book because in Chapter 9, he used “fulsome” as a synonym for “extravagant” or “over the top,” upsetting a certain segment of his audience.





Many readers felt that this usage was erroneous because the original meaning of the word was “offensively excessive” and Winchester says that detractors expressed alarm “that an authority on the language would make that mistake and that my use of fulsome eroded the credibility of the book as a whole.” Winchester told me that when he wrote his subsequent book, The Meaning of Everything, which accounts in greater detail how the OED was compiled, he used “fulsome” in a similar fashion “to annoy the pedants who excoriated me for using it in the first.”

Increasingly, however, many people use the word fulsome not to mean “extravagant” or“offensively excessive” but simply to mean “full,” as in a “fulsome head of hair.” I consider this usage incorrect but suspect it will eventually represent the dominant sense of the word.

In the case of disinterested, traditionally it meant impartial but nowadays the vast majority of people use it to mean “not interested.” I regret this modern usage because an important distinction is being lost and would hope that hockey referees are disinterested in the traditional rather than the new sense.

Nonplussed, similarly has gone from meaning “bewildered” to “unfazed.” This was the sense Barack Obama used the word when he stated “I've been really happy by how nonplussed they've {his daughters} been” by media scrutiny.

This also asks the question, (I can`t bring myself to say “beg the question, ”) How long do we insist that older meanings should prevail?

Truth be told, there is no simple answer, because there is no definitive arbiter on what qualifies as proper English. According to Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary and other American dictionaries, many new meanings are acceptable. For example, “peruse” can mean not only to “examine carefully” but to “read over in a casual manner”; “disinterested” can mean “not interested” as well as “impartial”; and “enormity” can mean the same as “enormousness.” On the other hand, some dictionaries and many learned usage commentators regard these positions as linguistic heresy.

Lexicographer Bryan Garner in Garner's Modern American Usage states that “when a word undergoes a marked change from one use to another – a phase that might take ten years or a hundred- it's likely to be the subject of dispute.” He adds that “a word is most hotly disputed in the middle of the process: any use of it is likely to distract some readers.” He characterizes these disputed words as “skunked” as best avoided. Hence, although there might be some ancient pedant who believes that “egregious” should still mean remarkably good as it literally means in Latin, “above the flock,” the fact remains that it has not been used in a positive sense since 1845 and will not make the “skunked” list

Language commentator William Safire started out as a rigid prescriptivist, but even he acknowledged in his book In Love With Norma Loquendi that the masses represent the final arbiter of language: “The rules laid down by elites are to be respected … but in the end democracy, which goes by the name of common usage, will work its will … When the population challenges the order over a period of time, Norma Loquendi – the everyday voice of the native speaker – is the heroine who changes the order and raises a new standard.”

hrichler@gmail.com

run for the ages

(a version of this article appeared in the april edition of lexpert)

Run for the Ages

by

Howard Richler

“The longest entry in the OED2 was for the verb set which required 60,000 words to describe some 430 senses. As entries began to be revised for the OED3 in sequence starting from M, the longest entry became make in 2000, then put in 2007.” Wikipedia

As of 2011, there is a new ruler in the lexicographical world – “run.”

The OED shows 82 distinct definitions of run as a verb and 51 separate ones of the word as a noun but this is only one chapter of the story. In fact, in its primary meaning of “senses relating to locomotion involving the use of the legs, and uses deriving from these,” it shows no less than a dozen forms. Not only, does it mean “to go with quick steps on alternate feet,” it also has eleven more sub-meanings in just this one category including the use of the tongue, riding on horseback and “to partake of the leg (as opposed to the wing) of a cooked chicken or other fowl.”

This stll leaves 81 verbal definitions that include “running for office,” (politics), “running the bank,” (making a sudden demand for funds), “running the ball” (football and rugby), “running the scent” (hunting) “running goods,” (smuggling) “run of a show,” (play, film or exhibition) “running a cornice,” (buliding) and “run in families” (familial traits). There are also many senses that relate to functionality such as “run a test,” “run a machine,” “run a business,” and “run a country” and over forty senses that

deal with liquids.

Run is also quite prolific as a noun and aside from the many well-known sports senses it enjoys, there are also nautical, musical, and mining meaning. Even more obscure is its use as a term for an abode of a bower bird. When pluralized and used with the definite article it refers to diarrhoea. There are also countless idiomatic “run” expressions such an “running a table” in billiards, “running off” to be married, “running down the clock” at a sporting event, “running off at the mouth,” “running hot and cold” and “take the money and run.”

Recently, it took OED lexicographer Peter Gilliver recently almost a year to decipher all the myriad senses of the word run in the OED's third edition. Gilliver calculated that the verbal sense alone of “run” ran to 645 separate meanings and that the total number of words for the entry was “over 130,000” – even more than Austen's beloved novel Pride and Prejudice which boasts 128,971 words.

Lest you feel at this point somewhat chastened by your lack of knowledge of so many of the senses of “run,” it should be pointed out that some of them are obsolete.

For example, definition #26 of run as a noun is “fistula” and there is but one citation from 1648 and definition # 9 as a noun “the fact of being visited by customers” is last recored in 1846. Similarly, the verbal sense of getting something hastily carried through is shown as a British colloquialism with only one citation in 1891. Also, some usages are strictly regional such as the noun use of run in Australia and New Zealand to refer to large open tract of land for grazing animals and the verb sense to refer to an uninterrupted period of sheep shearing.

In the OED's second edition completed in 1989 it was the word “set” that ruled supreme taking up more than “run.” “Set” was especialy more prolific as a verb; yet in a mere two decades it has lost its preeminence to “run.” How did this happen?

The answer is twofold. First, whereas in the past people would use “set” often for the placing of objects, in recent years we are more likely instead to use the verb “put.” Secondly, “run” is one of the dominant verbs of the cyber age; when we execute a computer program, we “run” it. It's logical that this computer use of run has led to our proclivity to employ the word in other spheres. But to a greater extent I believe that the increased use of run, compared to the demise of set, reflects a victory of flux over stasis. In our helter-skelter world run reflects our constant frenetic activity. Whereas set might represent a past that was more staid and perhaps classier, run represents a more athletic, sexier future.

The sun has set on “set.” May the new lexicographic emperor have a long run.

Howard Richler's latest book is Strange Bedfellows: The Private Lives of Words.

robert burns day

Scotch spirit not only warms, it burns

by

Howard Richler

January 25^th marks Robert Burns Day and will be commemorated by Scots world-wide (and Scot wannabes) whether they are enjoying a hearty McEwan’s ale or a McCallum single-malt scotch and,alas, even if they are stone-sober. Robert was born in Ayrshire, Scotland, on January 25, 1759 to William Burness, a poor tenant farmer, and Agnes Broun. He was the eldest of seven and spent his youth working his father's farm but in spite of the family’s meager means, William Burness engaged a tutor for his precocious son Robert At 15, Robert was the principal worker on the farm and this prompted him to start writing in an attempt to find “some kind of counterpoise for his circumstances.” It was at this tender age that Burns penned his first verse, “My Handsome Nell” which was an ode to the muses of his life, namely whisky and women.

When his father died in 1784, Robert and a brother became partners in the farm. Robert, however, was more fascinated by the poem than the plow and after having fathered several illegitimate children, he planned to forsake Scotland and abscond to a Caribbean island. Serendipitously for Scotland, his first collection of verse “Poems-Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect” was published at this juncture and received much critical acclaim. He thus remained in his homeland, touring the country before eventually arriving in Edinburgh, where he mingled with the illustrious artists and writers who were agog at the “Ploughman Poet.”

By Burns’ lifetime the ancient Celtic language of the Scots had been reduced to a mere dialect and Burns took it upon himself to resurrect Scots to its halcyon level of yesteryear. Many of Burns’ finest poems are composed, at least partially, in Scots and he thus helped re-validate the ancient tongue of his forefathers.

The last years of Burns' life were devoted to penning some poems such as A Red, Red Rose, Sweet Afton and Tam O'Shanter. He died when only thirty seven, of a heart disease perhaps exacerbated by the arduous manual work he undertook when he was young. Here are some of the opening stanzas from Burns’ masterpiece Tam O’Shanter (with translation notes for Scots and archaic English ):

When chapman billies (peddler fellows) leave the street,
And drouthy (thirsty) neebors meet;
As market-days are wearing late,
An folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing (boozing) at the nappy (strong ale),
An getting fou (full-drunk) and unco (very) happy,
We think na on the lang (long) Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps (gates), and styles,
That lie between us and our hame (home),
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand (found) honest Tam o Shanter,
As he frae (from) Ayr ae (one) night did canter:
Auld Ayr, wham (whom) ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).
O Tam had'st thou but been sae (so) wise,
As taen (taken) thy ain (own) wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel (well) thou was a skellum (scamp),
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum (babbler);
That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka (every) melder (amount of grain to be ground) wi the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller (silver/money);
That ev'ry naig (nag/horse) was ca'd (driven) a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sundav,
Thou drank wi Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found, deep drown'd in Doon,
Or catch'd wi warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld,haunted kirk(church).
Ah, gentle dames, it gars (compels) me greet (weep),
To think how monie (many) counsels sweet,
How monie lengthen'd, sage advices
The husband frae the wife despises!

Burns’ simple yet eloquently evocative verse, with its celebration of life, speaks to people everywhere. So let’s all raise a glass in honour of Robert Burns.

Personally, though, I’ll forgo the haggis.

hrichler@gmail.com

words of the year-2011

A slightly shorter version of this article appeared today in the Toronto Star.

And the world of the year for 2011 is...

by

Howard Richler

Since 1990, the American Dialect Society has paid homage to the most sublime, lexiest creations of each year - the new words that grace our lexicon annually. These words have been drawn from a number of varied categories. For example, “ethnic cleansing” was the winner in 1992’s “most outrageous category” and “gate rape” (defined as “pejorative term for invasive new airport pat-down procedures”) reigned supreme in the same category in 2010. “Ebonics” was 1996’s “most controversial” word and “waterboarding” won in the “most euphemistic” category in 2006.

Each year a “word of the year” is chosen and, as one would expect, the worlds of politics and technology have provided us with the dominant neologisms. Some of the sociopolitical selections have been somewhat Americentric, and perhaps as a result, have not exhibited staying power. A case in point is the expression “bushlips,” referencing insincere political rhetoric, which was awarded word of the year in 1990. Similarly, “newt” meaning “aggressive political changes by a neophyte” was this category's co-winner in1995. On the other hand, technological words have not been ephemeral as shown by the following still-used list of words of the year: app (2010), tweet, (2009), Y2K (1999), e-, as in e-mail, (1998). Conclusive evidence of this trend arrived in 2010 when “google” was voted the word of the decade.

On Jan 6^th 2012 at the American Dialect Society convention in Portland, Oregon, it was decided that the word of the year for 2011 was “occupy.” The choice fell to this particular word because it was felt that it became an emblem for the whole protest movement. Ben Zimmer, the language columnist of the Boston Globe stated that although “occupy” is “a very old word, over the course of just a few months it took on another life and moved in new and unexpected directions, thanks to a national and global movement ... The movement itself was powered by the word.” However, I do not agree that “occupy” is being used in a new distinct sense. Starting in the 14^th century it had a sense of taking possession of something by force. By 1920, the verb was used to mean to gain access to a piece of land or building without authority as a form of protest. For example, the London Times on Sept 9, 1920 stated “The men have occupied the works in those cases where the masters have declined the works at a loss. And if I see another dumb joke on Facebook such as “I'm gonna occupy a beer from the fridge now,” I'm going to seriously unfriend some people.

Before dismissing the Society's 2012 choice for word of the year, I would be remiss if I didn't mention one particularly shocking sense of “occupy” that has fallen from our vernacular. From the 15^th century to the beginning of the 19^th century, the word “occupy” was used as an euphemism for engaging in sex For example, in John Florio's Worlde of Wordes written in 1598, there is reference to “raskalie whores in Italy, who cause them to be occupide one and thirtie times by one and thirtie several base raskalie companions.”

The other nominees for the 2011 word of the year were FOMO (an acronym for Fear of Missing Out), a description of the angst we feel over the deluge of data we receive on social media; “the 99%,” those regarded to be at a political or economic disadvantage with regards to the top wage-earners, the one percenters; “job creator,” a member of the top 1% of moneymakers and “humblebrag,” an expression of false humility, particularly by celebs on Twitter. This last entry was deemed to be the winner in the “most useful” category.

My favourite category this year was the “most creative” section. Here we sampled “bunga bunga” referring to the sex parties associated with former Italain Prime Minister Sylvio Berlusconi. Its etymology is somewhat murky, however, a German actress claims that “bunga bunga” originated as Berlusconi's nickname for her, and eventually morphed into his term for wild parties with young girls. Another amusing candidate in this category was “Kardash” referring to a unit of measurement of 72 days, a time frame that coincides with the short-term marriage of Kim Kardashian to Kris Humphries. But, the winner in the “most creative” category was “Mellencamp” describing a woman who has aged out of being a cougar. Pop music enthusiasts will discern that the term is named after pop singer John Cougar Mellencamp.

Indeed, eponymous neologisms were popular this year. To “Mubarak” is “to farcically hold on to power,” and if you're “Mubaraked” to your chair it might mean you're stuck in it. Another eponymous term that emerged this year was “Tebowing” lampooning the praying pose of Denver Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow.

Given its geopolitical importance, I was disappointed that the term “Arab Spring,” referring to popular uprisings against dictatorial regimes in the Arab world was not one of the nominees for word of the year. Mind you, it was runner-up in the “most likely to succeed” genre. The winner here was the word “cloud” referencing online space for the large-scale processing and storage of data. Another term in this category that I believe will have legs is “tiger mom” referring to an extremely strict parent. This term derives from Amy Chua's memoir Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

Lest you feel that Canada was given short shrift because neither the verb “to Harper” (to cut off debate) or “to McKay” (to use a military helicopter instead of a taxi while on vacation) did not register with American Dialect voters, I am proud to say that the whole impetus for the occupy movement had a Canadian genesis. It was on July 13^{th ,} 2011, that the Vancouver-based anti-consumer magazine Adbusters suggested online that people “Occupy Wall Street” in lower Manhattan on Sept 17^{th ,} and in a heartbeat the movement went viral and, thanks to the Canucks, the American Dialect Society had its word of the year.

hrichler@gmail.com

Howard's latest book is Strange Bedfellows: The Private Lives of Words.

linguistic meshugass

(A version of this article appeared recently in the legal magazine, Lexpert.)

Linguistic mishugass redux

by

Howard Richler

Recently the Journal of Animal Ethics advised us to refer to our pets as companion animals and to remember that as we are also members of the animal kingdom, we should call our animals “non-human” animals; ergo your pet should really be called a companion non-human animal. We are also advised that the term vermin and pest are politically-incorrect as is the expression “stubborn as a mule,” regardless of the recalcitrance level of the ass. This is reminiscent of some of the preposterous terms proposed by the quasi-oppressed in the late 80s, early 90s. For example, in Language, Gender and Politics, authors Francine Wattman Frank and Paula A. Treichler suggested the addition of the word “ovarimony” to our lexicon to reference statements that women give under oath, because of the supposed etymological link between testimony and testes. This neologism was topped by poet's Betsy Warland suggestion thar "dictionary" should be respelled as “dicktionary,” because DWEMs (Dead White European Males) such as lexicographers James Murray and Samuel Johnson exemplified patriarchal thinking that was controlled by the first four letters of the revised spelling.

I will admit, however, that there is a place for sensitivity in one's choice of words. For those people who find terms such as cerebrally-challenged too euphemistic, I remind them that it wasn’t that long ago that words like “cretin” and even “moron” were used in polite society without compunction. Given a choice, I’d rather be oversensitive than not sensitive enough. Increasingly, “ethnic” verbs such as “to welsh” (to avoid payment); “to gyp”(to cheat) and “to jew” (to bargain) are also avoided. Also, because for some people the suffix -ess denotes inferiority (it's difficult to think of a manageress running a Fortune 500 company), I understand why a female thespian would rather be called an actor than an actress.

But where does it end? Some years ago when I wrote A Bawdy Language: How a Second-Rate Language Slept Its Way to the Top, I included a section on word play where one of the chapters was titled “'Definitions depend on how you split 'em” Here, I featured a puzzle I called “Animal Split Definitives” where words were defined by their constituent parts. Hence, “aspire” was defined as “venom” by breaking up the word into “asp” and “ire”; similarly “heathen” was defined as “barbecued chicken” by dividing the word into “heat” and “hen.” One of the “animal” words I included was “hippocampus” that I defined as “'university for fat people” and my editors wanted me to exclude this definition as they felt is was insensitive to the horizontally-challenged. While normally I'm fairly open to editorial suggestions, in this instance I dug in my heels and after great hesitation the editorial board at my publisher caved into my intransigence and left my definition unedited. ( I'm not sure if my calling their objections “fatuous” helped sway them.)

Must we avoid the word niggardly that means stingy or miserly because someone might associate it with the dreaded N word notwithstanding it having no etymological connection to it? If I say that I find a “penal institution (and pronounce the first word “penile”’) to be barbaric,” I’m sure there’s somebody out there who thinks I have cast aspersions on the practice of circumcision. If I use the word “pithy” will someone feel I’m mocking lispers? Must I avoid the word “judicious” when among Jews, “dyspepsia” when among French-Canadians and “nervous titter” when in the company of women? Must everyone, except white Protestants, avoid “waspish comments?”

The mind boggles.

hrichler@gmail.com

Howard Richler's latest book is Strange Bedfellows: The Private Lives of Words.

(A version of this article appeared in the Nov/Dec edition of Lexpert under the title 'Twas a Labour of Love')

The greatest story ever translated

                          by

Howard Richler

You can't always be of be of good cheer and not suffer from sour grapes. The stumbling block may be your holier than thou attitude and your feet of clay that won't allow you to either fight the good fight or eat, drink and be merry.

While I'll admit that the above paragraph I concocted does not represent inspired prose, at least it has the distinction of containing italicized phrases that have been immortalized in an English language book that has provided inspiration to billions. Surprisingly, this book is a translation, written by a committee. In case you haven't divined yet the book`s title, I am referring to the King James Version of the Bible (KJB) and 2011 commemorates the 400th anniversary of its release.

King James I commissioned fifty-four Bible scholars for a new version of Scriptures. They were divided into six nine man teams, two at Cambridge, two at Oxford and two at Westminster. The project took seven years to complete and this joint venture created one of the masterpieces of English literature.

The authors believed they because they were translating the word of God; mistranslating anything would be tantamount to heresy. Scholars marvel not only at the accuracy from Greek, Aramaic and Hebrew but also at its lyricism. Its euphony is striking and it is clear that the ruling organ of the prose is the ear. The Bible was meant to be read aloud in churches to the laity and the committee members were conscious that a melodious word flow would attract a larger and more devout following.

A good book must have a snappy beginning and right from the book`s genesis the language is gripping:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form , and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said Let there be light: and there was light.

The KJB translation team were also able to render down to earth language in a majestic manner. Take the following passage from 1 Corinthians that appeared in William Tyndale`s 16^th century Bible:

Now we see in a glass even in a dark speaking but then we shall see face to face.

In the KJB the passage is rendered with greater conciseness and is far grander and clearer: For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face.

For those who find the language of the KJB archaic with expressions such as “art in heaven” and its multitudinous goeths and knoweths, I counter that these touches actually add power to the writing and convey the sense that we are not dealing with ephemeral content. Even during the early part of the 17^th century when the KJB was being compiled some of the grammar and phraseology were out of date. For example, the expression “yea, verily” had been passé for half a century. This, however, was done deliberately because its authors were aware that word fashions change and they wanted a book dedicated to an eternal God to transcend any particular era.

Although I am an atheist, I recognize that the Bible, and other sacred texts, have brought great solace to many people during life`s inevitable dark moments. In the BBC documentary The Making of the King James Bible, narrator Adam Nicolson speaks to a fisherman whose twenty-four year old son had recently perished off the coast of the Outer Hebrides. When he asked the fisherman how he was coping with the loss he told him that Psalm 77 “expressed everything he could think or feel.” Intrigued, Nicholson read the passage in his KJB: “Will the Lord cast off for ever and will he be favourable no more?” Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fall for everyone?... Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters,​ and thy footsteps are not known.”

It is remarkable that verses penned millennia ago in Hebrew and translated four hundred years ago into English can speak so poignantly to the human heart.

I therefore heartily offer sweet counsel (Psalm 55:14) to read a segment of the King James Bible, even if it represents a mere drop of the bucket of its contents. (Isaiah-40:15)

hrichler@gmail.com

Howard Richler's latest book is Strange Bedfellows: The Private Lives of Words.

haboob

Arizona haboobs cause quite the hubbub

Howard Richler

November 2011

Not since the debacle some years ago when some Americans suggested renaming French fries “freedom fries” because of France’s lack of support for the invasion of Iraq, have we seen the same level of linguistic jingoistic meshugas. Let me explain.

This summer, Arizona experienced massive dust storms caused by thunderstorms emitting enormous gusts of wind across the desert.
Some local weathermen referred to this phenomenon as a “haboob,” which is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “A violent and oppressive wind which blows at certain seasons in the Sudan, and which brings with it sand from the desert.”
Haboob derives from the Arabic habub, “blowing furiously.” No apparent controversy there, and yet the use and derivation of haboob prompted several angry letters from Arizonans.
Typical of such was the following to the Arizona Republic: “After living here for 57 years, I have seen an ‘Arizona dust storm’ or two. I am insulted that local TV news crews are now calling this kind of storm a haboob. How do they think our soldiers feel coming back to Arizona and hearing some Middle Eastern term?”
This sentiment was echoed by other irate letters to the editor.
To be consistent, however, there are a number of other words that should be avoided to protect the sensitivities of Arizonans:
Algebra: This word derives from the Arabic al-jebr, which means “the reuniting of broken parts.” When algebra entered the English language, it referred to the setting of broken bones, and sometimes to the fractures themselves.
As late as 1623, we find an OED citation that only refers to algebra as “bone-setting,” but the mathematical sense of the word entered our lexicon in the 16th century and quickly became the dominant sense.
Zero: “Zero” ultimately descends from the Arabic çifr, from which we also get the word “cipher.” Its first citation to denote the number 0 in English occurs in Edward Grimstone’s 1604 translation of José de Acosta’s widely cited Historia natural y moral de las Indias, where he states: “They accompted their weekes by thirteeene day marking the dayes with a Zero or cipher.”
As mathematicians remind us, the invention of nothing (or zero) was one of the more important discoveries in math history.
Alcohol: Cleopatra probably applied an antimony paste to her eyelids called al-kuhl, the al part meaning “the” and the kuhl ending meaning “powdered antimony.”
Arab alchemists (another Arabic word) gave the name al-kuhl to any finely pulverized powder obtained by sublimation and thus to all compounds obtained through the distillation process. The word came into English as “alcool,” referring to any fine powder. Given the Islamic prohibition against drinking alcohol, it is ironic that this word derives from Arabic.
However, it was not until the 19th century that the word alcohol became used exclusively to denote the West’s favourite liquid.
Magazine: This word ultimately derives from the Arabic makh zin, the plural of makhzan, “storehouse.” Its first sense in the OED is “a place where goods are laid up; a storehouse for goods,” and this sense of storing lives on in its ammunition reference: a gun’s magazine as a holder of bullets or cartridges.
Its sense as a periodical emerged almost accidentally in 1731 when the editors of the Gentleman’s Magazine used the word because they said that they intended “to treasure up, as in a Magazine, the most remarkable Pieces.” The term caught on almost immediately to refer to a periodical publication and this became the dominant sense of the word.
So those who feel insulted by the borrowings from Arabic should bear in mind that English didn’t get to be the global language it is today by being pure. Long may it sleep around.
Howard Richler’s latest book is Strange Bedfellows: The Private Lives of Words.