“Words are all we have really.”   

George Carlin, 1937-2008

We note with sorrow the passing of the gifted comedian George Carlin.  Carlin was a superb wordsmith who often noted the absurdity of our use of language.  His “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine remains a classic.   The New York Times offered a fine obituary by critic/author Mel Watkins today and a nice appreciation by editor Charles McGrath.  Because, however, Carlin paid such attention to the written and spoken word, I’m going to quibble with one portion of the obit.  It reads: 

“Despite the longevity of his career and his problematic personal life, Mr. Carlin remained one of the most original and productive comedians in show business. ‘It’s his lifelong affection for language and passion for truth that continue to fuel his performances,’ a critic observed of the comedian when he was in his mid-60s. (italics mine)

Mr. Ampolo becomes Mr. Purist here.  Why isn’t the critic who offered the observation identified?  This isn’t Robert Novak protecting Richard Armitage after the latter spilled the beans. (Of course, Plame is the real one whose identity should have been protected.) My only guess is that Mr. Watkins might be quoting himself.  I’m not sure that’s kosher.  

Maybe I have too much time on my hands today.  I went so far as to email the Times’ public editor and ask him what’s up and what the paper’s policy is with respect to such quotations.  If you’ve read this far, stay tuned!

Although it might be hard to believe, Mr. and Mrs. Ampolo have non-Ampolo occupations, avocations, and hobbies. It’s Mrs. Ampolo here today, and I want to share something I discovered during one of my offline adventures over the weekend.

As author of a mystery series (you can check out my website to learn more about that) where my amateur detective, Jane Wheel, works as an antiques picker/junk dealer, I often do research on the weekends. That research consists of attending garage sales, conducted house sales, etc.—anywhere an abandoned object might offer a story or a bad guy might rummage for a murder weapon.

At this weekend’s sale, I picked up an old dictionary—I can never resist vintage reference books. A 1946 “Modern Webster Dictionary and Word Book” with a disclaimer that it is not related to “Webster’s Dictionary”, published by the Haskin Service, Washington, D.C. it has some delightful features. In addition to the A to Z business of a regular dictionary, it features “new words” entering the mainstream. Boondoggle, Fascism, Jitterbug, Reich, Robot and Wirephoto are a few that show how representative a time capsule vocabulary can be. Also, and even more intriguing, I think, is a section in the back which covers the most beautiful words and the ugliest words. Just the subjective nature of such a section in a reference book is something to ponder and relish.

Here are the words they consider beautiful: Melody, Eloquence, Modesty, Honor, Heaven, Hope, Purity, Splendor, Virtue, Faith, Nobility, Love, Harmony, Adoration, Innocence, Joy, Sympathy, Divine, Happiness.

And the ugliest words of 1946? Jazz, plump, gripe, treachery, sap, cacophony, plutocrat, flatulent, phlegmatic, nasty, victuals, and fetch.

This, of course, begs today’s question. For the Ampolo lexicon of 2008, what words would you include as most beautiful and ugliest in the English language?

For most beautiful, I would vote for peace, lily-of-the-valley, and murmuring.

Ugliest? Well, I don’t even like to type the words I find gross.

Henry James opined: “Summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”

How about you? One word or two. Most beautiful or ugliest. Please share.