Unimportant Words about Words

               Words are funny things. Having studied philosophy, I have a deep appreciation for words. It is truly an amazing thing to be able to communicate with another person. One must marvel at why speaking is humanity’s primary mode of communication. It is interesting to think that, if things had been a little different, we might have communicated more through sight, electrical impulses, or even through some specific frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum.

               It is easy to forget that words have specific meanings. There usually is a right word for what is meant. In high school I was taught to vary my vocabulary. After all, one should not repeat the same word over and over again. Philosophy taught me that you should pick a word and stick with it. Substituting in synonyms is detrimental to the real meaning because synonyms, no matter how similar, mean different things.

                I am amazed at how a person can make a statement and the audience infers a meaning which the statement does not contain. Not only do people have the uncanny ability to understand what is meant, they also have a great capacity for misinterpreting what is said. Since society does not consistently uphold language standards, anything you say can be construed as meaning something entirely different.

               Words have layers of meaning. Not only does a word have a defined meaning, but it also carries with it an emotional charge. These connotations allow the reader to relate to an author on an emotional plane as well as a mental one.

               I both enjoy and despise how language rules do not apply unequivocally. For example, why is a breadstick not called a stick bread? After all, in the English language, descriptors precede a noun. If this is the case, a bread stick should denote a stick that resembles bread whereas stick bread would denote bread that resembles a stick.  Of course there is probably some rule that grants exceptions to breadsticks because breadstick is one word and delicious.  

               Similarly, I find it ironic that sawdust is categorized by the tool that creates it. Why is this rule not consistently upheld? Why is dust created from a sander not called sander dust? More importantly, why is the dust not categorized by the material it is made from? Iron bits can be sawdust. Stone can be sawed into dust, as well as dirt, but when someone says sawdust, one automatically presumes that it means wood dust.

               When I mention such concerns to my boss, he just rolls his eyes, hands me a circular saw, and tells me to go make wood dust.