How to speak Cynthia

If Trudy Walsh ever reads this, I’m gonna get the world’s biggest “AHA! YOU ADMIT IT!” but it occurs to me that I occasionally employ terms that might not yet have made it into the OED* and could use some explaining. So, if you ever wondered what the heck I’m talking about, refer to the following:

(Note: Embarrassingly, when I started this page I figured I’d have only three or four terms. Turns out my writing is a wee bit more creative than that. If I’ve said anything else that confuses you, lemme know and I’ll add it to the list.)

Aaaahrt (n). Art, especially trendy art favored by leading art critics, that’s more pretense and publicity than substance. Always initial-capped because it’s far too important for lowercase.

Aaaahrtist (n). One who makes Aaahrt.

Abuncha (adj). Many. Usage: “I’m taking abuncha pendants to the craft fair.”

Anonymize (v). What journalists do when they realize that none of their sources are going along with the story outline they gave the editor, the deadline’s looming, they need quotes…and all of a sudden they forget the names of their sources. Usage: A source who asked not to be named for fear of reprisals, confirmed that the moon is, indeed, made of green goat cheese.

Automagically (adj.). I wasn’t the first to use this one (far from it), but I readily adopted/adapted it. It refers to all the stuff that happens in getting from Point A to Point J that doesn’t seem to have a logical technical progression. (In other words, which you don’t really understand.)

Blujillion (n). Adopted from my mother’s southern relatives, meaning “a whole lot of a lot.” Abuncha gazillions.

Calendar-based dressing. Foregoing a look at the weather report, a glance out the window or even (heaven forbid) sticking one’s hand outside in favor of dressing according to the date. Minnesotans are notorious for this, frequently wearing shorts and sandals on the first day of spring…as they spread their picnic blankets on the snow.

Caster (n). One who makes glass by making a mold, packing it with glass, firing it (and going through Castuary), then coldworking the result.

Castuary (n). That anxious period of waiting between shoving a glass mold into the kiln and taking it out to discover whether you’ve just made heaven or hell in glass.

Cogitatery (n). Analytical reasoning about a problem that seems to be getting nowhere (but could just surprise you).

Five-finger exercises. From Bach, the act of making up something in glass as an exercise in problem solving or just to see what the heck happens.

Frittery (n). 1. The act of making something that is mostly or entirely composed of glass frit. 2. Glasswork that is mostly or entirely made of frit.

Gazillion (n). A whole lot of something, probably more than I can count in a lifetime. So much that it’s not worth counting, anyway. More than abuncha (a LOT more) but not as much as a blujillion.

Glasscraft (n, rare). The uncanny ability some people have, almost like second sight, to understand exactly how the glass will behave no matter what you do to it. Partly gained by experience, partly genetic (I think).

Glasserole (n). 1. Art that uses many different glassmaking techniques., 2. (pejorative) Glasswork that’s stuffed with a kitchen-sink’s worth of cobbled-up techniques, leftovers from other projects and whatever adds bling or didn’t go out with the trash last week.

Glassery (n). A collection of tutorials, explanations and other information relating to the making, using, selling or developing art from glass.

Glassist (n). 1. One who makes stuff with glass. Coined in a desperate attempt to lump artists, craftspeople, artisans, hobbyists and every other person who uses glass in some creative way into a single, all-encompassing term. 2. (rare–far too rare, IMHO) One who loves glass enough to pay lots of money for it.

Glassjones (n). A condition common to many glassworkers, consisting of extreme irritability, twitching, unattractive facial tics and boring, glass-related conversation whenever they’re not making, viewing or partying with glass. I suspect it’s my permanent state.

Glassland (n). The greater Portland metropolitan area, which has at least five different glass manufacturers, and possibly the largest concentration of glassmaking studios, classes, pundits and supplies outside of Murano and Seattle.

Glasslander (n). Someone who lives in glassland, whether or not they actually make or buy glass.

Glasswork (n). 1. Stuff that’s made with glass. 2. Stuff that I make with glass that is purely an intellectual or esthetic enterprise, i.e., stuff that isn’t heartwork.

Heartwork (n). Stuff that I make that isn’t purely an intellectual or esthetic enterprise (such as glasswork), and that usually cuts a bit too close to the bone to show people. I’m slowly getting over that “show people” thing.

Honeymix (n). A particular combination of colored glass powders that I use in pate de verre to obtain an extremely warm, translucent neutral glass that, not surprisingly, looks like whipped honey. (It’s roughly 50-50 mixtures of BE Crystal Clear and BE Light Peach Cream powders, or a 25% mix of BE LPC powder with 75% BE CC fine.)

Kilngod (n) (also kilngoddess). 1. The supernatural folk who, even in this very rational day and age (yeah, that was a joke), seem to control the outcome of all our hard glasswork on a whim. 2. Someone who builds kilns for a living. If he doesn’t deliver them after you’ve paid him, see kilnjerk.

Kinda (adv). Qualifier used when I don’t want to commit myself, but I’m pretty certain. Usage: “I kinda like that painting but maybe this one is better–I’ll wait to say until I’ve seen it.”

Meaningfulless (adj). Comments, pronouncements, opinions or advice that appear to be profound and useful but, on closer examination, are probably claptrap repetitions of what somebody’s third cousin’s wife’s best friend’s boss’ brother heard an expert say.

Nevereverland (n). The place where people go when they’ve not only made up their minds incorrectly (according to me), but are so stubborn that a rational presentation of facts won’t change their minds and a sharp whack over the head with a blunt instrument won’t do much good, either.

Politicoentertainery (n). The ability of many politicians and legislatures to amuse us with their antics.

Statement art. Art whose primary purpose is to illustrate platitudes, i.e., “war is bad,” “you shouldn’t abuse women,” etc. Frequently employs startling juxtapositions for the shock value, rarely has much staying power once you get the punchline, and usually seems silly or even meaningless within a few years. See also trite, boring, banal.

Traft (n). Art or craft that employs high-tech gadgetry to add some oomph to the work. Although it’s difficult to do well, (i.e., so that it’s not just a novelty), it can be awfully cool.

Vignettes (n). Didn’t make this one up, either, but in my world it’s both word portraits and sculptural portraits.

Vitrus interruptus (n). Being pulled out of a warm creative glassmaking fog to do something totally mundane and irritating, like going to work, grocery shopping, answering the phone or having a baby.

Warmwork (n). What more official sources call “kilnforming,” i.e., glass that at some point in its creation is processed in a kiln. I’m not sure I agree with the idea that the term “warm” has no place in glass–the term is always relative. In warmwork you almost never get the glass as molten as you do with “hotwork,” i.e., glass formed at roughly 2300F in a furnace, and it certainly isn’t coldworked. Besides, there’s a symmetry–coldwork, warmwork, hotwork–that tickles me.

Weirdicle (n). An unusual or strikingly out of place point that should provoke a lot of thought and possibly some action but probably won’t until I point it out. Like its cousin the wavicle it encompasses matter (or at least stuff that matters) and energy (or should), but doesn’t get on your wavelength unless I particle-ularly point it out. (sorry about that)

Yarg (intj). An expression of dismay, possibly also of mild revulsion. Variation: Yargle.

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*For those of you who aren’t clued-in, that’s the Oxford English Dictionary, the bible of English words, as far as wordsmiths are concerned. I have the honor of being credited for adding a word, submarining, to the OED. And that’s thanks to Trudy.

She was the copy chief at Government Computer News, and almost weekly accused me of making up words in the articles I submitted. This I indignantly denied. “It’s a common industry term that every knowledgeable techie uses,” I’d say loftily, and with just a touch of pity for the uninitiated copydesk.

That worked about 25 percent of the time. For the rest, the copydesk grimly edited out the offending term and made me provide a less esoteric explanation. It did work with “submarining,” the tendency of a cursor to disappear in one place and reappear in another when you moved the mouse too fast on a slow LCD screen. Either Trudy was having an off day or I was especially convincing, because she allowed it.

Sometime later I came to work to find my cubicle stuffed with balloons and other items of celebration, and a copy of the OED’s news bulletin plastered to my computer screen. There was a big red circle around the entry crediting me as the first to publish a brand new word just added to the OED: Submarining.

Ooops.