I hate jargon. I’m not sure why. But I’m usually a late adopter, and always an early deserter. Some phrases flit in and out of fashion so quickly that I barely get a chance to try them on; they fly off the shelves before I can look myself in the mirror to see how they fit.
But some slang sticks. I’m talking of words with depth and meaning, words that have stood the test of time; the modern patois with the persistence of the pyramids. Someday, thousands of years from now, verbal-archeologists will be guiding awe-struck tourists through the hidden chambers of twentieth century idiomatic treasures.
For example, can any modern jargon match the multi-pillared, monumental endurance of the word, “Cool!”? I heard it first as a fourth grader. I immediately knew it to be the vernacular discovery of the century, comparable to unearthing King Tut’s tomb.
“Cool” had the legs of a fine wine. I sniffed its bouquet and sipped of its liquid resolve. I rolled it about in my mouth. I knew it to be vintage vocabulary.
A ten year old friend asked what I thought of the Beatles’ latest album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I had the perfect answer. I could express the harmonies, lyrics, and rhythm, all with one flawless, monolithic motif.
“It’s cool,” I said.
The self-conscious pretender
We think that our advances in technology mean we can improve anything. Like expressions of greatness. Let’s just admit that “Cool” is king. We can’t improve upon its excellence.
But we try. We tinker with verbal-sparkplugs and install slang-turbochargers, but some things were just born perfect. Sometimes we need to acknowledge that we have reached the apex of linguistic sophistication. No tinkering allowed. It isn’t cool
Take “groovy” for example. It flashed upon the world’s stage and tried to overthrow “cool.” The coup d’état failed because the would-be usurper “groovy” had a fatal flow. It is the catwalk-strutting fashion models that make clothes hip; chic clothes don’t make us supermodels.
I’ve met only one person who could say “groovy” naturally and make it work, my brother’s friend Kevin Ward. Because Kevin was born cool. All other users were self-conscious pretenders; “Groovy” didn’t praise an object as much as reveal the quality of the speaker.
I tried it once, choked, and spat it out. If, “cool” is vintage wine, “groovy” was tepid swamp water. I wasn’t cool enough; I couldn’t turn its water into wine. It needed a supermodel.
The exhausted pretender
Or take groovy’s modern day descendant, “awesome.” Please take it, dig a hole, and bury it. Give it a eulogy if you must. Just don’t describe its life as awesome. It wasn’t even groovy.
I’ve heard people attribute awesomeness to high thread-count sheets and earth-friendly shopping bags. I have news for you. They aren’t awesome. They aren’t even that cool. Though they might be considered nice. (Oh no, don’t get me started on “nice”.)
Awesome has its place. It should be revered. Like fine china, it should come out for high holidays, for those rare magnificent moments when even “cool” falls short.
But, alas; I too am stuck in the rut of “awesome” overuse. So maybe I’m groovy. If not cool.
Linguistic hyper-inflation
I know, I know; I unfairly point fingers out there, when I should be looking inside. One of my own verbal intensification abuses is, “really” as in, “If we really believed God loves us,” or “I really feel bad about….” What can I say in my defense? I really like the word.
I misuse “literally” too, as in, “He literally said groovy.” What I literally meant was, “He really said it.”
But enough about my linguistic shortcomings. Yours are more fun. We use these words—cool, groovy, awesome, and literally (let’s pardon, “really”)—in order to express the intensity of our experience. We wish to share the depth of our feelings with others. And sharing is cool.
The worst intensification offense of the modern era—I bet we all agree on this—is the excessive, abusive, depraved perversion of the simple word, “like,” as in,
“I was, like, going to the, like, bank, like fast, when, like out of nowhere, like crazy-like, I like forgot where I was, like, going; I got, like, lost.”
Let us clue you in. We were lost on the third “like.” There has only been one valid use of the intensifier, “like.” Born in the sixties, it’s enduring magnificence should be chiseled upon Stonehenge:
“Like Wow, man!”
The worst offender
Perhaps my greatest intolerance for jargon is the mumbo jumbo found in business lingo; it’s the over-used, hyper-inflation, ritual-language of flimflam. Here are a few of my favorites:
- It’s time for a paradigm shift. This is usually the preamble to a bold, new vision.
- A bold, new vision. They are seldom bold, never new, and rarely visionary. It normally means, Uh, we’re gonna try to do twice as much work with half as many people. Again.
- Right-size. This is the gist of bold new visions. Someday I’d love to see the right-sizing of executive salaries. That might really be a bold, new vision. And cool. Awesome even.
- Let’s think outside the box. This is coded language for, “Everything we’ve tried so far has failed. It’s time for a paradigm shift.”
I’m a jargon curmudgeon (/kərˈməjən/), a word that should never fade from style because curmudgeons are the coolest people on earth. They care not a whit for what is in vogue.
They think outside the box.
Sam
[reminder]Are there other curmudgeons out there? What modern jargon do you dislike? What slang will remain?[/reminder]
I’m Scared of God
That was awesome! Like, really awesome!
Like, literally, man?
Great article Sam. One of my favorite like-totally-misused phrases is ‘learning curve’. Most people use it in the exactly wrong way. A ‘steep learning curve’ REALLY means something that is very easy to learn. Check it out here: http://www.computerworld.com/s/article/61762/The_Learning_Curve
It has been misused so badly that it has almost taken on a life of its own – completely divorced from the original meaning. We should like totally unite to restore this really awesome phrase to its like totally awesome place in our vocabulary.
I never knew that. I was totally, completely, and utterly suckered into the modern hijacking of the meaning of, “steep learning curve.”
But I’m learning fast now.
Sam being an old surfer I tend to break out in surfer speak like “acid-drop” or “YAMAH” or “totally dude” or “totally awesome” or “rad” but then I get asked what did you say or speak English. My kids accuse me of not speaking my age. “Like totally Dad, no one your age speaks like that.”
So good reminder to be fresh, original and not a kook.
Hey, kooks are fine with me. I don’t feel alone.
Sam
As a jargon curmudgeon you may also be a curmudgeon against the ultra predictable three-point sermon… But I read to the end and was left looking for the spiritual nugget. Still looking. Hmmm… Help me out here, Sam. 🙂
Hi Brittney,
I began the jargon article with the idea of poking fun at believers (like me) who overuse great words; we use them to the point of meaning-exhaustion.
I love calling the Father, “Abba” but at a certain point, I need to remember he’s also the creator of the universe, and he’s holy and just (as well as merciful).
But, I didn’t have it in me. Last week’s article (on fear of God) was “heavy” and I just wanted something light-hearted. So … I gave something light-hearted, and still made fun of myself (my favorite kind of humor).
So, no spiritual nugget, except, maybe, the nugget that says we can just have fun once in a while.
Sam
BTW, I like three point sermons. I think I just like triplets, in words and music (though I never had them as kids). Many of my sermons are three point. But many aren’t. I suppose, I’m happy if someone just gets one point!
Hey, Brittney:
I know this isn’t your main point, but I had to comment. Six years ago I spoke at a church that was searching for a permanent pastor. I spole from Hebrews 13:7, “Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you
the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith” (ESV). Try as I might, I could not crank out a three-point outline. Finally I decided to look at what the text said, and discovered its four-point symmetrical outline:
A. Remembering the leaders
B. Those who spoke the word of God
B’. The outcome of their way of life
A’. Imitating their faith
My spiritual nugget was one I should have seen long before. Let your outline come from God’s word.
Gnarly, Sam! Like, TOTALLY tubular! Now I am epically stoked!
Like, totally boss baby, but gotta boogie,
Sam
God like really loves me? That’s heavy man.
Funky too.
One that I’ve found annoying me recently is people saying “I have no idea”, or just “no idea”, to mean “I don’t know.” Sample dialogue:
“Where’s mum?”
“No idea. Maybe in her room.”
Have you heard that one? I wonder if there’s something about our culture (or about human nature generally) that naturally reaches for stronger, more extreme expressions so people will take more notice of us? “Awesome” is a well-known victim of this phenomenon, but I suspect there are others.
Timothy,
I had not noticed that usage (“No idea”) but you picked a perfect example.
As you point out, we could just say, “I don’t know.” And then add, “But I have an idea. Maybe she’d in her room.”
Instead, we say, “I have no idea.” And then we offer an idea.
As I look at your comment, it is hilarious. Thanks. It’s just what I needed, although I had no idea that I needed it.
Sam
Oh, man, I hear ya. I still use “cool” in normal conversation. My daughter’s high school Latin teacher, now well into her retirement years, also uses it. There is something disconcerting and yet–well–cool, when this dignified lady salts her speech with it.
And yes, I too tried to legitimize “groovy” in its day. My roommate begged me to drop the word, and even offered a plea deal. He promised to cease one of his bad habits if I eliminated groovy” from my vocabulary. He won.
I love it, a Latin teacher exclaiming, “Cool.”
She probably is.
And I thought I was the only one! How about “These changes will take us to the next level.” The word “premiere.” That’s the new adjective for “cool,” but again, it falls short. You covered my other peeves. You’re just too cool!
I’m adding “premier” to my list.
24/7. Really, everything is 24/7 now. I don’t like it! (But apparently I’m with you on “really.” )
A friend once spent an evening railing against Christians over-using the word “just” in their prayers- it has made me overly sensitive to the word ever since. “Lord, we “just” ask that you would bless Tommy and Sue. “Just” let this circumstance work out for their good, Lord. “Just” bring them peace and healing…. Actually “just” seems to be the spiritual version of “like,” reserved for prayer.
Jill, just as repetitious as the word JUST is in the prayer is the word LORD – If you start the prayer with “Dear Lord, please just hear my plea…” shouldn’t that be enough? once you get His attention, why do you have to keep using the title. just saying
Your prayer listing of “just” is hilarious, and I have heard it a million times (well, a few dozen–oh no, is my “million times” another example?).
But I also like “just” and probably use it too much. I’ll say, “I didn’t shout, I just whispered,” and “I just don’t get it.” The first usage is probably okay. The second probably unnecessary.
Cool is still cool, groovy is still trying to figure out how to tie dye a shirt and awesome is still trying to recover from “Fast times at Ridgemont High” The jargon word that causes me to think very bad thoughts is “whatever” – about as dismissive as it gets – if I had a vote to kill a word – that’s it!!
Also, I still glean spiritual nuggets even when you’re playing the flip side, you just have to drag the record backwards
How could I have missed, “whatever”? It is the teenager’s verbal equivalent of “F U” (sorry for my profanity acronym). You are absolutely right. It is usually accompanied by shrugging shoulders and rolling eyes. Together they chorus, “You are an idiot and I am brilliant but patient.”
NOT!
Uh-oh. 75% of the phrases on your “worst offender” poopy list are regular members of my working vocabulary.
But I only use them MEANINGFULLY.
And never at work.
And never when talking to you, anymore, I guess.
Hooray!
Because, you know, most of those times when I’ve taken a growth leap with God were essentially paradigm shifts.
And most of the times that I finally realized I really could do what God was asking of me, or that I finally understood a difficult scripture passage, were times I allowed myself to “think outside the box.”
I think these phrases caught on everywhere just because they give vivid expression to unusual experiences. For that very reason, I appreciate your exhortation to not use them meaninglessly. Their popularization has trivialized them and lessened their usefulness.
Remember “off the wall”? I don’t hear it any more, but I remember glibly using it for years before I suddenly realized what it meant while playing a game of racketball.
I read the article and all the comments. Laughed and giggled throughout them all since I am guilty of both overusing and being bothered by other’s overuse of almost all of those words. Then I logged out, got up from the computer, and said to myself, out loud, “That was the best!” Stopped in my tracks and laughed even harder at myself. “The best.” Probably the worst of my over use offenders. We are funny people. We must keep Abba in tears of mirth some times.
My sister-in-law is staying at our house for a six week break from mission work. I explained my article (she doesn’t subscribe) and then I read your response.
Like my reaction, she laughed uproariously. You are hilarious.
And I’m not overusing that word.
Thanks.
“Driving sales, driving profits, driving results.” Usually used by sales managers in much the same manner as a pile driver.
Forging relationships. Forging is done with high heat, a cast iron anvil and a big hammer, none of which should be thought of as instruments of relationships. But there they are, for the world to see in many corporate “mission statements,” another tired term.
Great points on a “non-spiritual” subject. As an English major, I agree on all points, and as a Christian I would add that something that makes me crazy is when people say Jesus in every other word of their prayers, as if that makes them seem more spiritual: “Oh Jesus, we ask you to come Lord Jesus and speak to our hearts, and Lord Jesus fill this place Jesus…” Jesus knows that you’re talking to him! This might be a tad extreme, but I might even suggest that it’s borderline taking God’s name in vain. What do you think?
Hi Havs,
Wonderul! A fellow Curmudgeon! Yes, that one bothers me too. I’m not sure why people do it. Maybe nerves? It’s almost like saying, “Uh” every few moments. Hmmm.
Of course, this makes me curious. What do I say that bugs other people? I’ll have to ask my family.