Especial

Especial (pronounced ih-spesh-uhl)

(1) Special; exceptional; outstanding.

(2) Of a particular kind, or peculiar to a particular one; particular.

(3) In commerce (as "special"), whatever an advertiser wishes it to mean.

1350-1375: From the Middle English especial, from the Old and Middle French especial (pre-eminent, important) from the Latin speciālis (pertaining to a particular kind or species) from species (appearance, form, beauty), from specere (to look).  In French, the forms differed: Latin words with initial sp-, st- and sc- usually acquired an e- when borrowed by Old French whereas Modern French has restored the word to spécial.  The adverb especially emerged in the late fourteenth century, shortly after the adjective.  Especial is an adjective and (in commerce with an initial capital) a proper noun, the rare especialness is a noun and especially is an adverb; the proper noun plural is Especials.

Meanings of special and especial are essentially the same yet usage differs.  Special is common, especial rare, specially is rare, especially common.  Most dictionaries however maintain especial and especially should have a more limited use than special and specially.  Special is always used in preference to especial when the sense is one of being out of the ordinary.  Special is also used when something is referred to as being for a particular purpose.  Where an idea of pre-eminence or individuality is involved, either especial or special may be used,  In informal English however, special is usually preferred in all contexts but especially tends to prevail, probably because it’s a sound which more easily rolls of the tongue.  Special is by far more common than especial; the Corpus of Contemporary American English (COCA) claims special is used some six-hundred times for every time especial is used.  It’s more economical too for unlike especial, special does not demand to be followed by a noun.  However, all of this applies to English and in Spanish the adjective especial is common.  To purists, use of especial should be rare and use confined to particular contexts where it collocates with particular nouns and especially where it avoids conflicts with other specific meanings: An especial interest or an especial value meaning something different than a special interest or special value.  In A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926), Henry Fowler (1858–1933) observed the characteristic sense of especial & especially was "pre-eminence of the particular as opposed to the ordinary" whereas special & specially were used to convey the idea of the "particular as opposed to the general".  However, he proceeded to acknowledge modern practice which tended to use such special for all such purposes, leaving it for the recipient to pick up the meaning from the context, something he seemed to concede was "possible" if not "preferable" and he noted the continuing popularity of especially, lamenting only that it appeared to encourage tautology, constructions like "more especially" condemned.      

Special relativity: Being especially special

Holden, the General Motors (GM) Australian subsidiary, for over a decade had it pretty easy, enjoying a fifty-percent market share despite by the early 1960s its products being, whatever their other virtues, outdated and underpowered.  GM would later respond but in the short-term, resorted to a bit of tarting-up (the term "bling" would come later but as early as the 1950s designers described add-on decorative bits as "gorp", creating a noun & verb from the acronym which stood for "granola, oats, raisins, peanuts", a popular nutritional mix carried by hikers, bush-walkers and such (the designers' notion being the adding of a bit of everything).  Holden had for ten years used the Special designation for their up-market offering but in 1962 added a new top of the range model called the Premier, meaning the Special was no longer so special.  Despite this, the name endured another six years before becoming the Kingswood which was no more special and the new name meant nothing in particular.  Confusing things still further, for most of the years it existed, the Special was actually the best-selling Holden, the other models, the Standard and the shorter-lived Business, enjoyed lower sales so in that sense, the Special was the standard model rather than the Standard.

So, by 1968, GM had in Australia ceased to call anything Special though much of their advertising continued to suggest everything they sold was special in some way.  In the US, GM's use of the Special badge started sooner and lasted longer, Buick using it first in 1936, curiously for their lowest-priced model, a placement similar to that seen sometimes in education where it was applied to classes or schools for those with learning difficulties (although that use has ceased, falling foul of the linguistic treadmill).  Buick of course no more wanted their customers to make a connection with "special education" any more than with Albert Einstein's (1879-1955) theory of special relativity which explains how space and time are linked for objects moving at a consistent speed in a straight line.  Buick's interest in relativity was probably limited to that between the models in its line-up and Special really meant nothing other than being a word thought to have generally positive associations.

With the introduction in 1962 of the Premier, Holden’s Special had ceased to be the most expensive of the line but as competition increased and rising prosperity overtook the land, it was clear “more special” names had to be concocted to convince the middle-class they were buying something for the “upper middle-class” and during the 1960s and 1970s Holden added “Brougham”, “Statesman” and “Caprice”, suffixes like “De Ville” & “SL/E” sometimes appended to versions a bit more special.  In 1971, when advertising the first Statesman De Ville, the company even neglected to include the “Holden” name anywhere in the copy, the corporate logo instead surrounded by a Cadillacesque wreath.  The approach didn’t last and between 1974 and the end of production in 2017, it was the “Holden Caprice” (sometimes as “Holden Statesman Caprice”) which was top-of the-range.

1953 Buick Special's 263 cubic inch straight-eight.  Although it didn't exactly live up to the implications in the "Fireball" name, the characteristics suited the profile of Buick buyers.

Then as now, Buick buyers didn’t like change but sometimes progress meant it was forced upon them.  The 1953 Buick Special was the last of the Buick overhead valve (OHV) straight-eights after a two decade run of legendary reliability and smoothness, and it existed to ensure the last stocks of the old engine were used, the new 322 cubic inch (5.3 litre) OHV "nailhead" V8 introduced that year for the rest of the range; the 1953 Special is a footnote also for the last appearance of 6-volt electrics in a Buick.  The straight-eight’s swansong was a bit low key because the big 320 (5.2) unit was dropped after 1952 so the 1953 Specials left the line with a the 263 (4.3) version which although labelled “Fireball”, was renowned for unobtrusive smoothness rather than high-performance and in that spirit Chrysler later adopted the name for V8s equally polite.  The technology of the time required two editions of the Special’s straight-eight, the one using the “Dynaflow” two-speed (semi) automatic transmission rated at 130 horsepower (HP) while the one coupled with the three-speed manual made 125, the only difference between the two the head gasket and valve lifters, the Dynaflow-equipped fitted with a thinner steel shim gasket & hydraulic lifters.  The thinner gasket raised the compression ratio from 7:1 to 7:6 although the consequent additional output was slight and not enough to compensate for the energy consumed by the Dynaflow’s operations.

The 1969 Buick GS Sport Wagon was much more special than that year’s rather mundane Special Deluxe.  Like the similar model from Oldsmobile, the Sport Wagon was notable for the roof-mounted skylights.

After a brief hiatus, the Buick Special returned in 1938, its run in cars of various sizes almost uninterrupted until 1970.  In 1968 however, Buick must have had a moment of doubt that the Special may no longer be special enough and the range was renamed Special Deluxe, a change that lasted but two years.  In the 1970s and 1990s, there would be two half-decade long revivals but in 1996, the Special finally went extinct, not even Buick's entry into the Chinese market enough to encourage a revival, even though consumers in the Far-East respond famously well to bling.  Historically, Buick used the "Special" name in the sense a supermarket labels goods being sold at a reduced price (at least apparently although retailers have many tricks which render this often illusory) in that the Buick Special was almost always the lowest-cost line although mechanical specifications often matched more expensive models.  This approach differed from that used by Holden which (in pre-Premier days) used "Special" to designate "more expensive".

Ferrari and the Speciale    

1966 Ferrari 365 P Berlinetta Speciale.  That translates as "special coupé" and probably everything sounds better in Italian than English.  To the ears of English-speakers, a reading in Italian from a lawn-mower repair-manual sounds like the words of a lyric poet.

The Ferrari 365 P Berlinetta Speciale was a design by Pininfarina shown in 1966 and was both a test bed for a racing project and an exploration of the possibility of a mid-engined V12 road car, the styling taking cues from the designer’s smaller Dino 206 Berlinetta Speciale, built in 1965.  Reflecting the origin of its race-car chassis, the 365 Speciale was configured with three-abreast seating and a central driving position, a layout seat McLaren would later adopt for their F1 (1992-1998).  In a nod to the seating, the car is sometimes referred to as the 365 Berlinetta Tre-posti (three seater).  Among coupés, the three seat configuration has been done, a handful of the early Lamborghini 350 GTs (1964-1966) having an unusual 2+1 arrangement with a centrally mounted rear bucket seat and the Matra-Simca Bagheera (1973-1980) used three-abreast seating.  Most dubious of the 2+1s was the surprisingly popular option of a transversely mounted rear seat Mercedes-Benz did for a while offer in the W113 Roadster (230, 250 & 280 SL, 1963-1971; the so-called "Pagoda").  Though it could accommodate an adult-sized human, the factory listed it as the Kindetsitz (child's seat, code 565) while German men sometimes preferred Schwiegermutterplatz or Schwiegermuttersitz (mother-in-law seat).  That the factory would offer (in a convertible!) a “child's seat” which sat sideways and was fitted with no restraint system is an indication of how things have changed.  Ferrari still use speciale as a name and over the years there have been some quite distinctive models including Pininfarina's 330 GTC Speciale.

1965 Dino 206 Berlinetta Speciale.

The Dino Speciale would influence the later Dino 206 & 246 road cars, produced by Ferrari between 1967-1974.  The relationship with the 365 is obvious but, being scaled up to accommodate the big V12, the lines aren’t as harmonious as the dainty V6 Dino, reflecting the difficulties stylists had applying the layout when using bulky engines.  Still, the 365 P Speciale provided the factory with valuable experience in the then novel concept and traces of the shape are evident in what did in 1971 emerge as the 365 GT/4 Berlinetta Boxer, the prototype which would become Ferrari’s first mid-engined twelve-cylinder car to achieve series- production.  The Boxer's svelte shape was however made possible by flattening the vee to 180^o, something which proved a more satisfactory solution to the problem than the transverse location of the 60^o V12 Lamborghini used in 1966 for the Miura.  Achingly beautiful though the Miura was, its behaviour at speed could be tricky, exactly the reason Ferrari chose not to make the Stradale.       

1965 Ferrari 250 LM Stradale.

The 365 Speciale was actually the second mid-engined V12 road car Ferrari built; in 1965, the 250 LM Stradale (road) had been displayed at the Geneva Motor Show.  Based on the Le Mans 24 Hour winning 250 LM, it was a prototype for what was planned to be a small batch of road cars but Enzo Ferrari (1898-1988), then anyway dubious about the very idea of mid-engined V12s with all-independent suspension falling into the hands of amateurs, vetoed the project, the Stradale still just too much a racing car to let the unskilled rich unleash one on the streets.  The 250 LM (1963-1965) was a contemporary of the Ford GT40 and the pair were among the last racing cars which, slightly civilized, were sold also as road-going versions.   

Mean Girls Special Collector's Edition (2004) on DVD, Paramount Pictures (part number D341604D).

There’s no defined standard for what is included in “special” editions of commercially released films but unlike “director’s cut” versions which to some extent change the actual content of the original releases (cinema, optical, TV or streaming), “special editions” tend to be the original plus a bundle of “extras”.  Assembled usually as “featurettes”, typically, the additional content will consist of interviews with the cast, director or writers, out-takes, bloopers, deleted scenes, advertising and other promotional material and sometimes commentaries from critics or commentators with expertise in some issue of interest.  For nerds, there’s sometimes even content about technical aspects of production, an addition most often seen with product made with much use of special effects but discussions about matters such as the fashions used might also appear.

The Mean Girls Special Collector's Edition included (1) discussions about casting, (2) an interview with Rosalind Wiseman (b 1969), author of Queen Bees and Wannabes (2002) on which the Mean Girls screenplay was based, (3) commentary by the writers and producers, (4) “Word Vomit” (the Blooper Reel), (5) deleted scenes with commentary, (6) “Plastic Fashion” (a discussion about costume design and the use of clothing as a metaphor for character development), (7) interstitials (advertising material created with original material not used in the final cut) and (8) promotional trailers for other Paramount films.

Odalisque

Odalisque (pronounced ohd-l-isk)

(1) A female slave or concubine in a harem, especially one attached to the Ottoman seraglio.

(2) Any of a number of representations of such a woman or of a similar subject, as by Ingres, Matisse et al (initial capital letter).

(3) In informal use, (1) a desirable or sexually attractive woman and (2) in painting, a reclining female figure in some state of undress (contested).

1680s: From the 1660s French odalique (the intrusive -s- perhaps from -esque), from the Ottoman Turkish اوطه‌لق‎ (ōdalik) (maid-servant (sometimes translated as concubine)), the construct being اوده‎ (oda or ōdah) (room in a harem (literally “chamber, hall”) + lιk (the noun suffix of appurtenance).  In French, the suffix was sometimes confused with Greek -isk(os) (of the nature of, belonging to), hence the alternative spelling odalisk where was still circulating well into the twentieth century.  The spread of the Ottoman Empire from Asia to Europe meant useful or intriguing words from Ottoman Turkish entered other languages.  Some use the French or English forms but other variations included the Catalan odalisca, the Dutch odalisk, the German Odaliske, the Hungarian odaliszk, the Icelandic ódalíska, the Italian odalisca, the Portuguese odalisca, the Russian одали́ска (odalíska), the Serbo-Croatian одалиска (odaliska) and the Spanish odalisca.  Odalisque is a noun; the noun plural is odalisques)

An odalisque and the quality of odalisque: Odalisque à la culotte rouge (Odalisque in red trousers) (1921), oil on canvas by Henri Matisse (1869-1954), Musée de l'Orangerie, Paris, France (left) and Lindsay Lohan (2008) in the same vein (right).

Matisse was one of many painters drawn to the exoticism of the orient and painted a series of “Odalisque works”.  There was a time when what white male artists did defined what was art but in recent decades, the depictions by Western artists of aspects of culture east and south of Suez have become controversial, the popular word “problematic” often heard.  Even as historical artefacts, it’s difficult now not to be aware of the complicated legacy such imagery evokes, the Western construct of “Orientalism”, although born of a time when such places were far removed from the industrial society of the post-Enlightenment West, jarring when considered using the twenty-first century standards of representing race and gender.  The objectification by white male artists of women (oriental or not), of course had a long history but it adds another layer when those depicted are the prisoners of a harem, a commodity maintained at the pleasure of a man and discarded at whim.  Did Matisee and the others reveal their colonial attitudes by focusing only on the female body as something which existed aesthetically to please men while ignoring the inherent violence beneath the surface?  There have always been those who argue the artist has the right not to be troubled by (or even know about) such things and the l'art pour l'art (art for art's sake) school will always have a following but the recent deconstructions of patriarchal and colonial structures of power do mean that while such works can still be enjoyed, to admit such an indulgence is becoming harder to sustain.

Odalisque au pantalon rouge (Odalisque in Red Pants) (circa 1925), oil on canvas by Henri Matisse, Fundación Museos Nacionales, Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Caracas, Caracas, Venezuela.  The real one is on the left, the forgery on the right.

As commodity however, Matisses remain desirable.  Sometime between 1999-2002, his Odalisque au pantalon rouge (Odalisque in Red Pants) was stolen from the Venezuelan national gallery in Carracus and replaced with a forgery.  The crime remained un-noticed until 2003 and the work was recovered some fourteen years later, the circumstances of the disappearance remaining as murky as Venezuela’s politics but the scandal did attract much attention especially given it was the only Matisse hung in any of the nation’s museums and the only of his Odalisques on display anywhere in Latin America.  After being recovered in 2012 in Miami by the US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), the real and the fake were (side-by-side) exhibited as a kind of installation, accompanied by collateral displays which documented the technical differences between the two, the security protocols by which cultural institutions determined patrimony and the systems maintained to monitor any theft of patrimony, according to the regulations of each country and those of the International Council of Museums (ICOM).

US and Mexican nationals were convicted on charges of attempting to sell the stolen Odalisque but most Venezuelans appeared to draw the weary conclusion that official corruption was involved.  It was only when in 2002 the museum received a message telling them the painting was being offered for sale that a check was made and it was found the one on the gallery’s walls not just a fake but a poorly executed one.  Nevertheless, it had hung there for at least two years, an embarrassing photograph from 2000 emerging which showed then President Hugo Chávez (1954–2013; Venezuelan president 1999-2013 (except during a few local difficulties in 2002)) standing in the museum with the fake Matisse behind him.  An investigation began but, as often happens in Venezuela, it proved inconclusive although it did reveal word of the painting being on the market had been received as early as 2000 but the matter, for whatever reason, wasn’t pursued.  When the FBI made their arrests, the suspects told them the painting had been stolen and replaced by museum employees, something which elicited little surprise in Carracus and nor was anyone much shocked when an audit revealed several other pieces were missing, none of which have been recovered.  Under Chavez, Western art was not regarded as anything of importance and, given the country’s problems in the years since, it’s likely that if ever another audit is performed, a few more things might be found to be missing.

An odalisque and the quality of odalisque: Odalisque (circa 1880), oil on canvas by Jean-Joseph Benjamin-Constant (1845–1902)  Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City (left) and Lindsay Lohan in the same vein, Vanity Fair photo-shoot, 2010 (right).

Ichthyology

Ichthyology (pronounced ik-thee-ol-uh-jee)

(1) In zoology, the scientific study of fishes.

(2) The study of the history, cultural & economic importance of fishes.

1640–1650: A compound word, the construction being ichthyo- + -logy.  Ichthyo- and ichthy- were from the Ancient Greek ἰχθύς (ikhthús) (fish), possibly from the primitive Indo-European dhghu and there may be a relationship with the Old Armenian ձուկն (jukn) & the Lithuanian žuvis and the suffix –logy was derived from the Ancient Greek λογία (logos) (to study).  The English -logy suffix originates with loanwords from the Greek, usually via Latin and French, where the -λογία is an integral part of the word loaned whereas the French -logie is a continuation of the Latin -logia, ultimately from Ancient Greek -λογία (-logía).  Within English, the suffix has long been productive, especially to form names of sciences or departments of study, analogous to names of disciplines loaned from the Latin, such as astrology from astrologia or geology from geologia. Original compositions of terms with no precedent in Greek or Latin become common by the early nineteenth century, sometimes imitating French or German templates; insectology (1766) after the French insectologie & terminology (1801) after the German terminologie.  By the twentieth century, English creations with no Greek or Latin origin (undergroundology (1820), hatology (1837) were frequent, sometimes in conjunction with –ism words.  Ichthyology is a noun, related forms include ichthyologic & ichthyological (adjectives), ichthyologically is an adverb; the noun plural is ichthyologists.

The noun piscatology was an irregular (and jocular) formation dating from 1857, the construct being the Latin piscatus, past participle of piscārī (to fish), present active infinitive of piscor, from piscis, from the Proto-Italic piskis, from the primitive Indo-European peysḱ-, the cognates including the Old Irish íasc, the Gothic fisks and the Old English fisċ + -olgy.  The word piscatology has been used to mean “the study of fish” (and thus a synonym of ichthyology)) but not by scientists and the irregular form is now more correctly casually applied to fishing and those who fish.  In the 1990s, the idea behind the construction of piscatology begat piscetarian and pescetarian (a person who consumes no animal flesh with the exception of fish or other seafood), by analogy with “vegetarian”.  The plural of fish is an illustration of the inconsistency of English.  As the plural form, “fish” & “fishes” are often (and harmlessly) used interchangeably but in zoology, there is a distinction, fish (1) the noun singular & (2) the plural when referring to multiple individuals from a single species while fishes is the noun plural used to describe different species or species groups.  The differentiation is thus similar to that between people and peoples yet different from the use adopted when speaking of sheep and, although opinion is divided on which is misleading (the depictions vary), those born under the zodiac sign Pisces are referred to variously as both fish & fishes.

Reeling one in: Lindsay Lohan and Hofit Golan (b 1985) fishing off Sardinia, July 2016.  They would be considered piscatologists (those who catch fish) rather than ichthyologists (those who study fish) although there are humorless purists who insist there's no such word as piscatologist.  The modern convention would be "fishers" or "fisherpersons".

In zoology, the modern conventions of taxonomy mean fishes are precisely categorized but the English word “fish” for centuries was used to describe a much wider range of species (although one discerning observer in the fifteenth century did concoct fishes bestiales (water animals other than fishes), presumably on the basis fishes proper should be limited to something like “a vertebrate which has gills and fins adapting it for living in the water”.  As still familiar names like starfish, jellyfish, shellfish & cuttlefish attest, just about any fully aquatic animal (including mammals like dolphins & whales) was thought some sort of fish and attempts by zoologists to rectify things (such as suggesting the starfish should retroactively be named sea star) have made little impact.  The difficulty with such a project is that historically, some fish were also misleadingly named.  The name seahorse (also as sea horse & sea-horse) encompasses dozens of small fish in the genus Hippocampus, from the Ancient Greek hippókampos (ἱππόκαμπος), the construct being híppos (ἵππος) (horse) + kámpos (κάμπος) (sea monster or sea animal).  To be consistent, these engaging creatures would presumably have to be named horsefish (risking confusion with one of Donald Trump’s alleged former associates) or something else less appealing than seahorse and that’s unlikely to attract much support.

Fish was from the Middle English fisch, from Old English fisċ (fish), from the Proto-West Germanic fisk, from the Proto-Germanic fiskaz (fish) and was related to the West Frisian fisk, the Dutch vis, the German Fisch, the Danish, Norwegian & Swedish fisk and the Icelandic fiskur.  The word was linked with both the Latin piscis and the Old Irish īasc although the actual root remains unknown.  Some have constructed the primitive Indo-European roots pisk & peysk- because of evidence gleaned from the Italic, Celtic, and Germanic but it remains speculative and one etymologist maintains that (on phonetic grounds), it may be a north-western Europe substratum word .  The verb fish (to harvest creatures living in water) was from the Old English fiscian ("to try to catch fish) was cognate with the Old Norse fiska, the Old High German fiscon, the German fischen and the Gothic fiskon and was directly from the noun; the related forms were fished & fishing.

Lindsay Lohan with catch.  To avoid cancellation, she posted on Instagram: “Bonding with nature. I let my little friend swim away after.”

In astronomy and (the then respectable) astrology, the constellation Pisces was so described from the late-fourteenth century.  From the mid eighteenth century, “fish” (with modifiers) came to be applied to people in a usually derogatory sense, a shift from the earlier use when it had been positive in the sense of someone being a good (romantic) “catch”.  The original figurative sense was of a “fish out of water” (person in an unfamiliar and awkward situation (usually social)) recorded in the 1610s and in the same vein the phrase “a fisshe out of the see” was noted in the mid-fifteenth century.  To “drink like a fish” was from 1744 and was applied to those over-fond of strong drink while “having other fish to fry” (other things demanding more immediate attention) dates from the 1650s.  In optics, the fish-eye lens was first sold in 1961, fish-and-chips became a staple of English cuisine in the 1870s and fish-fingers were first sold (in frozen form) from 1962, the earlier fish-cake known since the 1910s and especially popular during wartime rationing.

The phrase “plenty more fish in the sea” was a re-assuring line for those whose love was unrequited and like “cold fish” & “queer fish” (both alluding to qualities detected in those with some degree of social ineptitude) was a coining from the early twentieth century.  Usually applied to other soldiers, “queer fish” was a favourite of Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke (1883–1963; Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS) 1941-1946), a perhaps unexpected choice for one of Britain’s more renowned ornithologists.  Why Sir Henry Channon (1897–1958) gained the nickname "Chips" is uncertain but it’s popularly attributed to a photograph taken of him standing on the stairs while at Oxford, next to a Mr Fysch.  Channon’s (almost) un-redacted diaries (1918-1957 (with gaps)), published in three volumes between 2021-2023 revealed him at his best and worst and are an indispensable companion while reading anything about mid-twentieth century British politics.

Memorable cars named after fish.

1964 Plymouth Barracuda (left), 1968 Plymouth Barracuda convertible (centre) and 1971 Plymouth Hemi ‘Cuda (right).

Introduced in 1964 17 days before the Ford Mustang, in the narrow technical sense the, Plymouth Barracuda was the first “pony car” but it didn’t capture the imagination or achieve anything like the Mustang’s success which is why the segment picked up an equine rather than an ichthyological nickname.  The early Barracuda (1964-1966) was created by grafting a fastback rear-end on to the compact Valiant and while ungainly when compared to the charismatic Mustang, is remembered for being fitted with what was at the time the largest (and heaviest) piece of rear glass ever to appear on an automobile.  The second series (1967-1969) featured Italianeque lines and deserved to be more successful but the pony car ecosystem had been become congested with Mercury, Chevrolet, Pontiac and even AMC also with purpose-built entrants so what was still a “modified Valiant” remained something of an also-ran although some truly awesome versions were built.  The third generation (1970-1974 and this time accompanied by the substantially similar Dodge Challenger) is by many regarded still as the best-looking of all the pony cars and was a curious mixture of sound basic engineering and penny-pinching although what accounted for its commercial failure was the conjunction of rising insurance rates, various government regulations and changing tastes.  Though its life was ended early in as sea of red ink, as a used car the rarest and most desirable of the third series Barracudas (actually sold as ‘Cudas) have sold at auction for several million dollars.

1963 Chevrolet Corvette Sting Ray coupe (left) and 1971 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray ZR2 convertible.

The Sting Ray name was introduced with the debut of the second generation (C2) Chevrolet Corvette in 1963, the first time a coupé was included as a companion to the convertible.  The 1963 coupé was notable for its “split” rear window, at the time a matter of controversy within the corporation and the “anti-split” faction prevailed because the idea lasted only the one season, a single piece of glass appearing for 1964.  The “splitists” did however, in a sense, have the last laugh because the 1963 coupés are now highly sought and command a premium, becoming one of the few exceptions to the “when the roof comes down the price goes up” rule, joining a handful of machines like the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing, certain air-cooled Porsches and the MGA Twin-Cam.  The C2 Corvette lasted only four years and it would have been a season less had not problems with the aerodynamics of the C3 delayed its introduction and when the C3 appeared as a 1968 model, the bifurcated Sting Ray name was “corrected” to “Stingray”, the standard spelling in ichthyology for the various large, venomous rays, of the orders Rajiformes and Myliobatiformes.  The C3 Corvette had another connection with fish in that the styling closely followed the Mako Shark II concept car, displayed in the GM (General Motors) Futurama Pavilion at the 1964-1965 New York World's Fair.  The Stingray name continued to be applied until 1976, by which time the Corvette was a much-diminished machine (though remaining popular) and it wasn’t until the C7 appeared in 2014 it returned.

1970 Opel Manta with Mantafahrer and his blonde Friseurinnen-Freundin.

The first generation Opel Manta was built by GM’s European operation between 1970-1975 and used the highly profitable model applied to create machines like Ford’s Mustang and Capri (1968-1986): drape a sexy body over the platform of a more prosaic, mass-market family car.  The design was not ambitious and was at the time called “derivative” but it was well-executed and provided GM with an import of a desirable size to offer in the US market where it proved a success until the price was rendered uncompetitive by the strengthening of the Deutschmark against the US dollar after Washington DC’s various inflationary adventures in the 1960s, Richard Nixon’s (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974) sundering of the currency’s linkage with gold and the first oil shock on 1973; the Opel marquee was retired from the US market in 1975.  As a machine the Manta is something of a footnote in the history of German manufacturing but is remembered because of the Mantawitze (Manta jokes), all based on the character of the stereotypical Mantafahrer (Manta driver), said to be working class, poorly educated, unintelligent, macho and most interested in his football team, his Manta and his blonde girlfriend who is a hairdresser.  The idea was the Manta appealed to the Mantafahrer because it was “sporty” (albeit not especially fast) yet cheap enough to be afforded by those without the funds to buy a BMW or Porsche.  Interestingly, a similar profile may have been able to be attached to drivers of Ford Capris but there seems never to been a genre of “Capri humor”.

1970 Monteverdi Hai 450 SS.

When in 1970 the Swiss boutique manufacturer Monteverdi displayed the Hai (German for “shark”), one journalist acknowledged the stunning speed but noted the lack of practicality, storage space judged to be adequate for a “topless bikini” (a numokini or unikini in the modern parlance).  Peter Monteverdi (1934–1998) claimed the Hai was “a pre-production prototype” and listed it in his catalogue at a then hefty US$27,000 (more even than the coach-built two-door versions of the Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow and while they would have attracted a very different buyer-profile, the comparison was indicative of market relativities).  The consensus is Peter Monteverdi never intended series-production because the Hai was really just an impractical show-piece built to generate publicity (and in that it succeeded) though four eventually were made with only the first fitted with the charismatic 7.0 litre (426 cubic inch) Chrysler Street Hemi V8.  The other three, two of which were built shortly before Mr Monteverdi's death, used the less powerful but also less cantankerous 7.2 litre (440 cubic inch) unit.  As a footnote for trivia buffs, although it's accepted orthodoxy "the factory never installed air conditioning (A/C) in Street Hemi-equipped cars", Monteverdi did fit A/C to the first Hai so the true truism should read "No Chrysler factory ever..."

1965 Rambler Marlin (left), 1966 AMC Marlin (centre) and 1967 AMC Marlin (right).

Had one not had one’s blindfold removed before taking the wheel, one’s first experience of driving the 1965 Rambler Marlin would likely have been positive because the two-door (somewhere between what was in size (in US terms) between a “compact” and “intermediate”) was in most ways at least as good as the competition and superior in certain aspects, notably the build quality.  The critical issue with the Marlin was not the engineering on the on-road dynamics but the appearance, the fastback grafted onto a structure much larger than the two-seat coupés to which the lines are most suited.  The Marlin recalled the vaguely “humpbackish” look of the big fastback sedan of the 1940s and that was a trend which faded from use for a reason.  It was however practical in that it provided a way to combine a fastback with rear compartment with adequate headroom and even those not especially tall who sat in the back seat of the 1975 Chevrolet Monza can attest to what happens to one’s head in cars where style has been allowed to prevail.  What the Marlin’s designers did was the only way adequate headroom can be provided rear-seat passengers but, as the rather unhappy 2+2 version of the Jaguar E-Type illustrated, it does compromise the look.  In 1966 AMC (American Motors Corporation) ceased to use the “Rambler” name for the Marlin, part of the phase out of the marquee which would be retired from the US market by 1970 although it was retained in Australia until 1976 and Mexico until 1983.  The 1967 Marlin was released with the same styling motifs but used instead on AMC’s well-regarded, full-size platform and the consensus was it was better looking but the already modest sales dropped further and the model was dropped with year’s end and not replaced.

Collage

Collage (pronounced kuh-lahzh or koh-lahzh)

(1) The technique, most associated with visual abstract art, of composing a work of art by pasting on a single surface various materials not normally associated with one another, as newspaper clippings, parts of photographs, theater tickets, and fragments of an envelope.

(2) A work of art produced by this technique.

(3) An assemblage or occurrence of diverse elements or fragments in (1) and unlikely or unexpected juxtaposition or (2) a coherent result.

(4) In film, a series of seemingly unrelated scenes or images or shifts from one scene or image to another suddenly and without transition.

(5) Any work created by combining unrelated (or at least definably different) styles; in literature, a combination of styles within the one work; in music a combinations of genres.

1915–1920: From the French collage, the construct being coll(er) (paste, glue) + -age.  Coller was from the Ancient Greek κόλλα (kólla) (glue) of uncertain origin but may ultimately be from the primitive Indo-European kol- and cognates included the Russian кле́й (kléj) and the Middle Dutch helen. The –age suffix was from the Middle French -age, from Old French -age, from the Latin –āticum (influential in words like rivage and voyage) which was used to form nouns or collective nouns in the sense of "action or state of being (a) X, result of Xing" or (more rarely), "action related to X".  Although the historical suffix has had many applications (eg family relationships or locations), it’s now almost wholly restricted to the sense of "action of Xing", and many terms now have little to no connection with the most common uses something especially notable in forms descended from actual Latin words such as fromage and voyage.  Collage & Collagist are nouns, collaged & collaging are verbs (used with object); the noun plural is collages.

Of the accidental & intentional

It not certain exactly when collage was first used in the sense its modern meaning.  It's sometimes credited to English painter and critic, Wyndham Lewis (1882–1957) who used the term in a 1919 publication but that’s contested given the word had appeared earlier though there’s some doubt whether that was in reference to the mechanical technique or the final product.  What became known as collage certainly long pre-dates 1919; papier collé was used by both Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) and Georges Braque (1882–1963) early in the century and artists, authors & painters had for centuries been producing work from disparate components.  In the digital age, the somewhat misleadingly named software eCollage (and many others) allowed collages to be created on screen although, technically, these programs were as often used to render photomontage as collage.  The opportunistically named iCollage is an image-assembly app for iOS.

A montage of Che Guevara collages.  The difference between collage and montage is that while a collage weaves together things of difference to create a unified whole, a montage uses complete things of some similarity to create something visually coherent although, with some modern artists, coherence can prove elusive.

Colleges by Giuseppe Arcimboldi; Left to right: Four Seasons in One Head, oil on canvas, (circa 1590), Fire, oil on wood, (1566), Rudolf II, Holy Roman Emperor painted as Vertumnus, Roman god of the seasons, oil on canvas, (circa 1591), The Librarian, oil on canvas, (1566) & Summer, oil on canvas, (1563).

In Western portraiture, the collage is not a recent form.  Although also a conventional court painter of portraits and sacred art, Italian artist Giuseppe Arcimboldi (1527–1593) was noted for his portraits rendered as collages, the heads fashioned from objects such as vegetables, fruits, flowers & fish.  Very much the modern art of his day, his fanciful work seems to have been well received and critics have linked his work to the tradition of Mannerism.  Examples of collage have been found which pre-date Antiquity and the idea of assembling some representation of something from whatever items fall to hand is thought likely to have been one of the earliest forms of human artistic expression. 

Colleges by Jason Mecier; Left to right: Sigmund Freud, Frida Kahlo, Barack Obama, Lindsay Lohan & Donald Trump.

Los Angeles based pop artist Jason Mecier (b 1968) operates in a particular niche of the collage world, his mosaic portraits fabricated from unconventional materials, sometimes thematic (Sigmund Freud rendered in pills) and most famously, trash.  Perhaps surprisingly, Mr Mecier seems never to have fashioned a likeness of crooked Hillary Clinton; even when working with trash, presumably one has to draw the line somewhere.

Aroint

Aroint (pronounced uh-roint)

Begone (as imperative verb) (obsolete).

1595–1605: Of uncertain origin, it survives in English as a curiosity in the lexicon of the obscure, only because it was used by Shakespeare (as an imperative) and the etymology has thus over the centuries been subject to much conjecture, none ever escorted by enough evidence to impress the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) which has never budged from origin unknown.  There are many words which, however neglected, are not entirely forgotten only because they were used by Shakespeare, aroint appearing in both Macbeth and King Lear.  Aroint, arointed and arointing are verbs; the noun arointment is non-standard but, if used, the noun plural is arointments.

“Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed runnion cries!”
 (Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 3)

“And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!”
 (King Lear, Act 3, Scene 4)

In the right circumstances, a useful word still:  Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) and crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) in the third of the debates during the 2016 US presidential election, Washington University, St. Louis, Missouri 9 October 2016.

For the debates, crooked Hillary Clinton’s campaign team themed her in patriotic red, white and blue pantsuits, red for the first, blue for the second and white for the third; whether that sequence was random or deliberate isn’t known and what Mr Trump wore was neither noticed nor commented upon.  Of course, were crooked Hillary to be asked, she'd claim the photograph above was taken during the first debate or the second, not because there's anything to be gained but because that's just what she does and students given a "compare and contrast" assignment about "habitual vs pathological liars" will find her pattern of behavior a useful case-study.  

The origin of aroint has long intrigued scholars of Shakespeare.  One nineteenth century theory linked it to a regional dialectical use in Cheshire where rynt, roynt & runt were recorded, milkmaids saying the phrase “rynt thee” to a cow, the beasts so used to the sound that swiftly they moved from her path.  In 1674, some sixty years after Macbeth and King Lear were first performed, “rynt you” appeared in a provincial dictionary without further elucidation but the speculation continued.  English philologist John Horne Tooke (1736-1812) cited ronger, rogner & royner, claiming “from whence also aroynt”, all meaning a “separation or discontinuity of the skin or flesh by a gnawing, eating forward, malady”, offering a comparison with the Italian rogna (scabies, mange) and ronyon in Macbeth.  Other early candidates for the etymon are the French arry–avant (away there, ho!), éreinte–toi (break thy back or reins (used as an imprecation)), the Latin dii te averruncent (may the devils take thee) and the Italian arranca (the imperative of arrancare (plod along, trudge)).  Perhaps most obviously, many have mentioned aroint being an expected phonetic variant of anoint or acquiring in some contexts the figurative sense “thrash”, convincing to some because it hints at the common account of witches who were said to perform their supernatural acts by means of unguents.  There was also English diarist and prolific antiquary Thomas Hearne (1678–1735) who in his Ectypa Varia ad Historiam Britannicam (Selected Illustrated History of Britain (1737)) included an illustration of a devil, driving the damned while chanting “Out, out Arongt.”  Arongt resembles aroint and the sense is close but that’s never been enough to satisfy the etymologists.

Threatened with arointment.

In 2018, while operating the Lohan Beach House in Rhodes, Greece, Lindsay Lohan threatened to aroint two employees, their transgressive behavior being photographed wearing two different styles of shoes, one in nude heels, the other in blocky white platforms.  They were otherwise matching in cream robes but not content, Lindsay Lohan posted "Wear the same shoes please.  Or you’re fired."  Shoes were a serious matter at the Lohan Beach House.

One favourite theory of origin is the Rowan tree.  As early as 1784, it was suggested aroint has something to do with rauntree, one of several variants of “rowan tree”, an alleged virtue of which, mentioned in myth and folklore from Ancient Greece to Scandinavia, was its ability to deter witches, protecting people and cattle from evil.  The origin of this handy attribute lies in Norse mythology for Thor was once almost drowned in a river at the hands of a witch but he threw at her a great stone and was carried ashore, pulling himself from the depths by grasping at the limbs of a tree, forever after known as “Thor’s rescue.”  Thus began the tradition of shouting rauntree or rointree to chase away witches, of which there are many.  Rowan is a noun of Scandinavian origin (the Icelandic reynir; the Norwegian raun), the suggestion being an imprecation like a “raun“ to “reyn to thee” seems effortlessly to have slurred to become “aroint thee.”  Some are convinced, some not.