Tag Archives: lexicon

Welyano—a dialectical diversion used by speakers . . .

Welyano—a dialectical diversion used by speakers

The word welyano, shown and defined above, will be further defined and discussed below. Its definition, the discourse on that definition and its application in our society—is from the latest version of Dean Dyer’s Dictionary Discourses of Different Dialectical Diversions, a publication known by the acronym DDDDDDD. The acronym may be voiced by enunciating the letters separately in sequence, all seven of them, or by drawing out the first D thusly—Deeeeee. I prefer the drawn-out version.

Welyano is a manufactured word that consists of three common words—well, you and know, usually voiced as one word with three syllables. It is used to give the person questioned time to formulate an answer to the question. It serves as a defense mechanism and is used by people that have been asked to voice their opinion on something—on anything—on any subject ranging from AAA, Alcoholics Anonymous to zyzzyva, a tropical weevil of the genus zyzzyva. By immediately responding without hesitation to a question with a single word, Welyano, the user of the word erects a temporary barrier between themselves and the questioner and also between the questioner and any other person present. When a question is asked, the one being questioned immediately says, Welyano then pauses, indicating that the answer is about to be given, and only the rudest of the rude would breach that barrier and repeat the question, and with that repetition interrupt the train of thought being followed by the one being questioned, nor would a third person be impolite enough to intrude into the thoughts of the person being questioned.

The only person I know that would be that rude, in fact the only one I know that is that rude—and I know a lot of people, not intimately but casually, primarily from exposure to their drivel on cable television—is Chris Matthews. One may confirm that by exposing one’s self to his rudeness by gaining a guest spot on his nightly show, MSNBC’s Hardball with Chris Matthews.

Our current Secretary of State, Hilary Clinton, is the most prominent practitioner of the welyano system—she is the definitive user of welyano, whether speaking in the US or abroad, whether in an English-speaking venue or high in the Himalayas—high up, that is. She consistently, almost invariably, begins her response with Welyano, then pauses, appears to be collecting her thoughts, then gives an answer to the question—the accuracy of her answers is not the subject of this treatise.

Welyano is a crutch, used by people whose linguistic ability is crippled by their inability to effectively respond quickly in conversations, particularly in interview situations. They even use the term when the conversation is scripted, when the questions are known to the subject being questioned and the answer that will be given is known to the questioner, a well established and routine procedure for interviews conducted by our nation’s mainstream media with guests whose agendas correspond with those of the venue in which the interview is conducted.

I predict that the term welyano will become part of our English lexicon. In fact, it’s already part of it—it just hasn’t been given the recognition it richly deserves. I cannot truthfully claim that I invented the pronunciation of the term, but I can truthfully claim that I created its spelling, the collection of letters that precedes answers to questions by even the most talented, the most garrulous and the most articulate speaker. The use of welyano is virtually universal, and probably appears in all other languages—spelled differently and pronounced differently, but used for the same  purpose—it’s a ruse to gain time to formulate an answer to a question.

I modestly offer the term to mankind, an offer made with no inclination to ask for monetary compensation or a Pulitzer Prize for this essay, nor will I demand consideration for the Nobel prize for linguistic enrichment of our language.

I’ll settle for the presidential presentation of the Congressional Gold Medal, and continue to bask in the reflected light and warmth of that presentation by our president—yeah, right!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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Posted by on January 15, 2011 in Uncategorized


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Hooters—the future of television . . .

This posting was originally made in January of this year. I am reblogging it for five reasons—it’s timely, it’s well written, Word Press makes its reposting possible, reposting makes it more readily available to newcomers and finally—I like it!

The future of television . . . A few minutes before I started this posting I suffered, and on a certain level enjoyed, my first exposure to a Hooter’s television commercial touting its More than a mouthful Monday offering. The commercial showed a closeup of a tray loaded with a prodigious amount of food laughingly termed a hamburger and served to Hooters’ customers on demand—on Monday. This image does not show the Monday special—the tray appears to be  Read More

via The King of Texas


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Why they call it Garcia’s Cave . . .

In the spring of 1979, a father-and-daughter team (a college student of 18 tender years and a military-retiree father of 47 not-so-tender years) embarked on a memorable sojourn, an excursion into the wilds of Mexico. The start of our trip was discussed in detail in this posting here.

At the conclusion of that posting I promised to return and give more details of the excursion, and here I am, making good on my promise. Check out the other posting—in my completely unbiased opinion, it’s well worth the read.

And here I must digress in order to discuss the word excursion:

The ex in that word comes from the Latin and means out of. I therefore rationalized that since our trip was in to Mexico rather than out of Mexico, it was an incursion rather that an outcursion, but alas—although that seems rational, we are stuck with excursion simply because the words cursion and incursion do not exist in our English lexicon.


My daughter recently sent this message suggesting some details to include in the promised posting:

Hey, don’t forget to talk about the actual ride up, going into the cave, lights being turned off while we were climbing treacherous ladders, you talking in Spanish to the “tour guide” (VERY loosely defined; he was probably the short order cook in the cafe, too) and asking him why they named it Garcia’s Cave, then you trying to cajole me into walking back down to our teeny tiny Volkswagen Rabbit in the desert—seemingly miles away—a bright orange (um, sorry, Panama Brown) speck in the dirt below—then your silence on the tram ride back down—then you finally telling me how the cave got its name.

Following our guided tour of Garcia’s Cave, my daughter took an interminable length of time to photograph the world that was visible from our location near the mountain peak. While I waited (impatiently) I struck up a conversation with the mule operator, a likable fellow that spoke excellent Spanish.

Although my ability and agility with Spanish was, and still is, far south of excellent, we managed to have a useful discourse by using combinations of our two languages. Mule was the term used in reference to the engine (not the operator) that huffed and puffed and wheezed and snorted and brayed while moving the tram cars up and down the mountain.

Our English term mule is translated as mula in Spanish, pronounced moola with the accent on moo. I once spent an eternity in a small theater in Reynosa, Mexico watching the movie Dos mulas para la hermana Sara, starring Shirley MacLaine and Clint Eastwood—the English title of the movie was Two Mules for Sister Sara.

Yes, I had a lot of time on my hands!

In response to my question concerning the origin of the cave’s name, the mule operator told me that it derived from the death of the cave’s discoverer, a death that occurred when a tram cable broke and Senor Garcia was killed at the conclusion of the car’s accelerated trip to the bottom.


I found a site online that tells us that the appellation Garcia’s Cave is derived from the name of a nearby town called Villa de Garcia—Garcia’s town. I suppose the name is similar to the argument of whether the chicken or the egg came first—in this case, Garcia’s death or the town of Garcia. I submit that the point is moot, especially in view of the fact that our solar system, the one that includes our planet, is hurtling through space at warp speed toward some unknown and unknowable finish—so who cares which came first?

I rest my case.

Okay, where was I? Oh, now I remember—I was visiting with the mule operator while my daughter was taking some outstanding photos of our surroundings. When she had finished, I suggested that it would be ever so exciting to walk down the mountainside, along with the cows and goats that roamed the mountain at our altitude—I reasoned that if they could do it, we could do it.

My daughter was adamant—she refused to take the walk, and I eventually was reduced to begging rather than suggesting (I knew better than to attempt ordering!). We both rode down—I simply held my breath and kept my eyes squinched shut, silently repeating to myself (an always avid listener), Never again, never again—never, never, never!, until the car came to a bumpy stop at the bottom.

There are several web sites that go onto considerable detail concerning Garcia’s Cave, and I suggest that everyone visit the cave through that venue—you’ll find the excursion interesting and educational. Should you choose to make the incursion to the mountain, you’ll find that the railway has been replaced by a modern system of airborne cable cars, a system undoubtedly safer, but not nearly as exciting (and scary) as the old system.

I will therefore conclude this rambling recitation by telling the viewer that, at one point in our guided tour, while deep in the bowels of the cave our guide, without warning, shut off all the lighting, leaving us stranded in an infernal, hellish state of stygian darkness—frozen, afraid to move in fear of sinking farther into said bowels. I wanted to express my feelings in Spanish, but I knew very few Spanish cuss words. I did, however, mutter a few English cuss words, heard only by my daughter—I hope.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

To learn more about Grutas de Garcia, click here.

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Posted by on February 17, 2010 in Family, foreign travel, Humor, Writing


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Controversial—four syllables or five? . . .

Controversial has only four syllables when pronounced correctly.

Five syllables, as in con-tro-ver’-si-al, is wrong.

Four syllables, as in con-tro-ver’-shul, is correct.

Controversial is one of the most often mispronounced words in our English lexicon. It is mispronounced by supposedly erudite people and is one of my pet peeves. The word is improperly pronounced by people in high places, particularly by television personalities such as news anchors, political commentators and visiting pundits.

I am particularly peeved by the frequent and consistent mispronunciation by an attractive—I mean really attractive—lady on the Fox News channel. Were I in the position to do so, I would shake her until her teeth rattled and continue until she learned to pronounce the word with four syllables, not five.

I hasten to add that, once my hands were on her shoulders, I would probably forget my original intention, instantly and completely. (Note that I do not name the reporter because I am not a stalker—I’m just a wisher).

However, that beauty is not alone. One of the most respected men in television, a grandfatherly type and a regular on Fox News, also consistently enunciates five syllables—not that I would ever consider shaking him—he’s far too big for me to even think about doing any shaking. (Note that I do not name him either—in case he comes after me, I can always claim that I was referring to some other grandfatherly reporter).

How many times have you heard someone refer to the martial arts? Do they pronounce the phrase with three syllables, as in mar-ti-al arts? No, they pronounce that phrase as mar-shul arts. And how about the word partial? Does anyone pronounce it with three syllables, as in par-ti-al?

No, of course not—they pronounce it as par-shul.

It’s very difficult for me to understand why someone—anyone—has apparently never advised either the blond or the grandfatherly type reporter on Fox News that their pronunciation of controversial is incorrect.

Because of their consistent mispronunciation of controversial, they are contributing significantly to the corruption of an entire generation of our nation’s children, a demographic that is very susceptible to such corruption, just as are many in the adult demographic.

I rest my case.


Posted by on February 3, 2010 in Uncategorized


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