Louis Roney: Big words

I’ve got to admit it: Big words impress me. I can’t help associating the easy use of big words with minds that are king-size, superior.

You see, until now I’ve been stumbling along on a lean vocabulary, having been misled by Ernie Hemingway—an adjective hater— when I was an impressionable kid. Now I want to grow up word-wise and build myself some self-esteem.

For instance, “fat” is for faint-hearted talkers. “Obese” is better. But “adipose” and “corpulent” really start to get somewhere.

I’ll never be important. I know that. But I want to sound important.

A big word is a true nepenthe for me. Come on, you know what nepenthe means: It’s “something that makes you forget sorrow and suffering.”

Let’s just say that my nescience was beginning to bug me. (Nescience is a lot sexier word than ignorance, isn’t it?) I don’t wish to seem querimonious (“complaining”), but I find it quisquous (“puzzling”) that more people are not redivivus (“restored to liveliness”) by sapid (“flavorful”) conversation. Boy, when somebody talks like that, you gotta sit up and listen, don’t you?

Learning to use big words with a seemingly natural flair allows one to say highly derogatory things that may be taken as compliments.

For example: “Dean Smith, for years I have marveled at your determined nepotation.” Nepotation means, “squandering money on riotous living.”

Be sure you are tenured before the dean gets to the dictionary.

“Mrs. Jones, has it ever occurred to you that your 5-year-old son is ready for thorough lapidation?” Well, inasmuch as lapidation means “stoning,” the kid must really have gotten on your nerves.

“We’ll be happy to have you come down to Florida to see us in December, but I must ask you not to nidificate in our guest bedroom.” That’s fair enough, isn’t it, in that nidificate means, “to build a nest and settle down.”

“I think I’m enjoying my secret nikhedonia sessions more than is good for me.” Well, nikhedonia is “pleasure from the anticipation of success,” and is harmless enough if you don’t let it sidetrack you from achieving success.

“Rest assured, Cardinal Montese, that not one of your parishioners is more devoutly henotheistic than I.”

The Cardinal may fool you by knowing that henotheistic means “believing in one God without necessarily accepting that He or She (or It) is the only God.”

“Mollie, my favorite niece, you’re as lovely as any firkin I ever saw!”

Now a firkin is a tub of butter. Maybe Molly ain’t so hot... Don’t worry, she ain’t your kid, anyway!

“Mom, the vet says that Spot is seriously felicidal.” And that s.o.b. charged you $25 to tell you your dog is a “cat-killer.”

I knew a talented bass-baritone, long deceased, who performed under his real name: James Pease. Jimmy not only pleased lovers of fine singing, but he may have brought special happiness to active comiconomenclaturists. Comiconomenclaturists are people who enjoy saying the names of real people such as Mollie Panter-Downes, Dingle Foot, Learned Hand, Luke Warm, Preserved Fish, or Ima Hogg.

“I admit to being a practicing parisologist, although my wife didn’t know it until our wedding night.” Parisology is the deliberate pursuit of ambiguity in one’s language.

Repeated use of the words in this article will help you become proficient at it.

Keep at it long enough and you could perhaps someday excel in paronomasia. Paronomasia is a fancy word for a punster, or one who likes to “play around” with words.

“Dr. Jones, I am surprised you have not been made department head, a position for which the whole faculty knows you are eminently manqué.”

Manqué means “having achieved something you’re not deemed suited for,” but the eminent Jones may not know that just yet.

“Boss, the whole office is looking forward to your eventual complete resipiscence.” Of course, you are wishing the boss well, for resipiscence means “recognizing one’s own errors.” Just the same, you might want to keep your eyes open for new employment.

Observing your girlfriend’s very large feet, you might comment. “You are the most distinctive remiped on the beach.”

Remiped means “having feet adapted for use as oars,” and, if your girlfriend stops and looks up that word, pal, you are not holding her attention as you should.

Next time someone sticks his nose in your business, tell him, “You are an ultracrepidarian jerk!” That’s a jerk who oversteps the boundaries of polite jerkiness.

“I feel a vague velleity to get out from between the sheets and go to work.” Velleity is about the gentlest urge you can feel, but it might save your job one day. You’ll win respect by not being understood anymore.

I’d better stop. I am beginning to vellicate. That simply means “to twitch.” Helluva good word though, isn’t it?