OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY SUPPLEMENT: WORD CANDIDATES, CORRECTIONS

OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY SUPPLEMENT:

WORD CANDIDATES, CORRECTIONS

                     by: Francis Baumli, Ph.D.
                        4 Ranch Lane
                        Saint Louis, Missouri
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                    USA telephone: (314) 966-2167

Words listed and defined in this compendium are in the alphabetical order below. Because this is a continuously-evolving compendium, the word list on this page will remain updated, but complete definitions are to be found in the linked PDF and Microsoft Word documents.

(Written: 2011 through the present.)
(Posted: April 25, 2013. Last updated January 7, 2024.)

WORD LIST:

anti-feminist
apple leather
archgrammacian
axiology
back up
barrow pit
beller
bellered
Bethlem watcher
bingbuffer
biomechanoid
bloater
bloused
blowdown
blubbered
blunt-boned
booshway
booted her calico
box
breaking back
bred’n buttered
brinicle
brockle
brockle-faced
bucked
bucking
buckskinners
buckskinning
buggers’ grips
bulbulcitate
bump-out room
bun head
butterflied
butterfly
carpenter’s dream
cat
caulk
charisma (1st zoological meaning: cognitive)
charisma (2nd zoological meaning: emotional)
charismatic (1st zoological meaning: cognitive)
charismatic (2nd zoological meaning: emotional)
cheap deal
check-cast
chits
chub
cork
corruscate
corruscation
coy wolf
coy wolves
coydog
crank
defiance
defiant
devastate
dicasteries
dicastery
disinterest
disinterestedness
dog soldier
double jack
double jackhammer
double jacking
dugout
dust dogs
dustup
eastern coyote
ekstases
ekstatic
ekstasis
fall
fall foul
false dawn
fell
fell foul
feminism
feminist
flops
flubbing
forty-cent piece
foul
frack
fracked
fracking
fresno
fry bread
galoopus
giddy-up
goaded
goddess
golden testicles
gyppo
high-center
holographic
horse collar
hour
hours
hummingbird moth
hunkachunk
jack
jack-hammer
jackhammer
jailhouse ink
Johns Hopkins kid
knacker
land
larged
leapfrog
leather
lilac
masculinism
masculinist
match
matched
measure cake
melt
misandrosist
misandrosistic
misandrosy
moon
1-2-3 cake
one-two-three-four cake
open
painting cards
pan
panyard
pee-waddy-doo
peg
pegged
periwigged
pizzlies
pizzly
plum butter leather
possible
pump
purt-near
QED
rails
rankled
redassed
ripper
roasting shed
roll of the dice
runt-oak
sand
sathin
saved your bacon
scissiparity
scree
screw the pooch
scrub oak
seeks
set (1st submitted source)
set (2nd submitted source)
setting
single jack
single jacking
skreek
slickery
slip
slips
slurry
sneeze shield
snout
snow-day beer
spang
splits
spousify
sprinkle cheese
sugar-tit
sunfishing
sweet hail
tat
three-point
toes turned up
toot
twelve to the dozen
unemulous
wamble
wet boots
whiffle-bird
widdle
widow-maker
women’s
women’s sizes
workaround
yoik
yoiking
young
zombiesat

It was back in the late 1970’s when I began submitting words to the Oxford English Dictionary (also known as the OED). The English language, my very own language, has what is considered the most complete, scholarly, and accurate dictionary in the entire world. No other language has a dictionary that even begins to match the OED in size, comprehensiveness, and ambition.

By “ambition” I mean that the OED’s editorial board is constantly trying to expand its scope—reaching out to include more and more words which thus far have escaped its notice and pine lonely outside of its pages. Since over the years I have many times profited from using this wonderful dictionary, it seems only right that I should, to some degree at least, repay the favor done me by other scholars and do my part—discharge my duty—by helping expand this mighty reference work.

Back then, when I first started submitting, the process was simple. By regular post, one sent to the OED’s editors the word, the source—where it came from, and all supporting material for the definition. The only limits were that the submitted words had to come from a printed source, not from oral usage. And a proper noun was not likely to be accepted although they would at least consider it. Also, they wanted to have evidence that a submitted word was not merely a happenstance, i.e., it had to be more than a nonce word. And a neologism would have to move beyond its “neo” status by having at least five instances of usage noted in the English language before it could be accepted for inclusion in the next edition of the OED.

I knew several people who submitted words to the OED. A few of them were quite devoted to the task, found it most rewarding, and they did it in their leisure time. In fact, some of these people were able to lead lives which required nothing else of them but the pursuit of this hobby. One of these people I knew was a virtual invalid, one was a very wealthy and reclusive spinster, one was an emotional cripple who found solace in his lexicographical pursuits. These people were so devoted to their task that they would seek out books to read which they, with some degree of certainty, could predict would contain words that were not yet in the OED. One book might be a 19th-century manual from the British Navy giving advice on how to provision a ship for a transatlantic voyage. Another might involve reading a series of magazines on chicken farming. A book on medieval methods of torture might be another choice. And certainly it was true: Esoteric sources such as these could usually be counted on to yield words not yet in the OED.

There was a second type of person who pursued this avocation: these people I called “word jocks.” They found much glee in every new word they discovered, considered the discovery something of a triumph (presumably over the ignorance of the masses), and spent much time brandishing their results and bragging about their role. A few of these people were even involved in clubs which were strictly devoted to finding new words for the OED. In fact, I would find out that several such clubs existed in Germany. Why? I pondered this for a long while, but never encountered any German members of these clubs so I could ask why Germans would take such an interest in the OED. But one day the reason suddenly dawned on me. And, in one of those happy coincidences which visit us more commonly than it seems mere chance should allow, the very next day I met at my local library a fellow who had belonged to one of these German clubs. He himself was from Denmark, but because of political reasons, had close ties to Germany. He confirmed my speculation. Germany has no dictionary that even approaches the scope or quality of the OED, but since English is, after all, a Germanic language, not a Romance language, Germans could experience a kind of vicarious pleasure (and even chauvinism) by finding new words which would fit into the greatest dictionary in the world.

Members of these clubs, whether on German or English or American soil, seemed to have a good deal of fun in their activity. They worked hard, competed and cooperated with each other, and if their approach involved an odd admixture of smugness, hilarity, and sound scholarship, the fact was that all this resulted in a goodly number of valuable submissions to the OED.

Then there were people like myself. We were scholars, busy with our own pursuits, who did a good deal of reading and who felt grateful for what the OED had given us by way of helping us with our studies. Our gratitude entailed a strong feeling of indebtedness. The OED had been such a boon to our work, the least we could do was now and then give back. So when we would come across a word which we believed was not already in the OED, we would look it up, and if it was not there we would submit it. Sometimes we were more conscientious about this duty than at other times. Occasionally I would postpone this task, because I felt the press of other duties; other times, having let my list of words build up, I would devote many hours to getting them all submitted.

Back then (again, I use this phrase), the process was more personal. For every submission, I received back a short but cordial note thanking me for my input and diligence. About half the time there would be appended a short (sometimes embarrassing) paragraph which would read something like, “If you will turn to the 8th definition of this word, subsection c, you will note that in the 14th quote the meaning you supplied to us is already included in the Dictionary.” And yes; there it would be, tucked away and all but hidden. But about 47 percent of the time, I would get a note thanking me for the submission, remarking that this is the first, or fourth, example of this word they have received, and they would put it on file with plans for including it in the next edition should they receive a total of five examples of this word’s usage. About one percent of the time, the note would please me immensely because they would state that my submission comprised the fifth example they had received, and now I could count on the word being included. Also, about one percent of the time, I would receive a note stating that my submission was unclear, or it contained corroborating evidence that might be spurious, or my supporting documentation did not cohere with other documentation they had. While it was doubtful that this submission would be used, they nevertheless would keep it on file in the unlikely event that it might prove useful.

Then there were those rare but glorious responses which went something like, “Yours is the first and only submission we have received for this word, but given the author’s eminent reputation, high literary stature, and importance to English literature and therefore to the English language, we will forego our usual requirement of five submissions for a word and with pleasure plan to include this word in the next edition of the OED.” Over my many years of submitting, I received perhaps as many as half a dozen such notes. I wish I had kept a list of these, but considering my task a humble (even onerous) one, and my discoveries fortuitous, I never felt compelled to keep a record of my submissions.

I do, however, clearly recall two requests that I consider joining their editorial staff. They cited the thoroughness of my scholarship, the efforts I had taken to expunge any errors or obscurity in what I submitted, and whereas the first time they asked me to apply for an editorial position, the second time they straightway asked me if I would seriously consider joining their staff. On both occasions I politely turned them down. For me, lexicography involves discharging a sense of duty, but it definitely does not suit the most enjoyable aspect of my writerly personality, which is to pursue the workings of the unfettered imagination.

“Back then,” I have written. Yes; those were the good old days. Things have changed. Communication became less personal. The responses to my submissions became infrequent, then halted altogether. This lack of personal reciprocity did not deter me, but it did make my task feel lonely, and at times even grim. I still felt excitement over the discovery of new words, but sometimes, amidst the task of clarifying that word’s meaning and bolstering my argument for its importance, I felt rather glum. Those submissions were being sent off into what felt like a void. I had no way of even being sure that the editors received them, or read them.

And then came the unhappy day when, in 2011, I had prepared a lengthy list of words I had let “pile up” and was ready to submit them, only to discover that the OED editors were no longer accepting submissions by letter. Instead, each word submitted had to be sent in by computer using their standard forms, which meant adhering to some rather rigid (and in my opinion, seriously delimiting) templates. I realized that by using this method I would have fewer opportunities for conveying the subtleties, variety of sources, and the importance of my submissions. Also, I realized that I would be spending a vast amount of time just figuring out how to insert all the information that pertained to my submissions into their templates. In fact, I would spend much more time just putting the information into the computer and sending it off (still into the void), than I would have spent doing all the work of discovery, scholarly exegesis, and cross-checking which are necessary for each submission. The work involved with carefully preparing each submission was already almost beyond what I could give in the way of my time. During past years, exercising all due care with each submitted word had required a minimum of one hour per word. Most required about two hours. A few took more than 50 hours. A time commitment this arduous was enough already. I could not double this time commitment. Using their new template method would cause the task of submitting new words to become so huge that, paradoxically, it would cause me to have no time for doing the reading which occasions the discovery of new words.

Would I have to halt my practice? I have read that submissions of new words to the OED have fallen off considerably. I believe I understand why: Being a careful scholar does not allow the time for also being a computer jock. We “old school” scholars prefer the previous method of paper and postal letter over using computer templates. We want to use molecules, not electrons.

But what was I to do with the 50-or-so words I had prepared for submission? I had submitted some words less than a year before, and there had been no problem, so I had prepared this list just as I had always done. But now they would not accept my work.

I made phone calls to people I knew at Oxford University Press, to people I knew at The Folio Society in London, and to underlings at the Oxford English Dictionary I did not know. Along with my many phone calls, I also wrote letters, and at last received begrudged permission to send in this proffering of words. But I was to understand that there would be no more such exceptions to their new rules regarding submissions. (And why did they make this exception? Because I was shrewd. This submission contained words by both Emily Brontë and Charlotte Brontë which had never made their way into the OED. Refusing to state what the words actually were, I dangled this fact as bait. And no, I would not submit these words without the others. So this, I am sure, is why they agreed to allow the submission. I had been manipulative.)

This submission I am sure they read, because it occasioned the second of my two invitations to join their editorial staff. The young (or so she seemed) female secretary who phoned me and made the offer was most amiable, declared that the words by the Brontë sisters had “rung every bell” (as she put it) in their hallowed halls, and all appearances were that I had the qualifications for joining their staff. I could, in fact, bypass the usual time-consuming process of applying, and come to London with assurances of a major editorial job. (It bears mention that in the course of this conversation I discovered that they, in essence, had already reviewed—if not interviewed—me by a “Google search” which yielded so much information about me I had to carefully conceal the fact that I had forgotten so much of my past.)

But no; I still could not talk to one of the editors until after I myself was one of the editors. This was a rule that would not be broken.

We chatted amiably, and I explained that my scholarly commitments already were too involved for me to take on a job so consuming. I also told her—trying to be personal—that with two children and three grandchildren I could not foresee abiding by the stipulation she had stated: that accepting this position would necessitate my moving to London. I did not tell her that, despite my commitment to doing a certain degree of lexicography, I could not foresee being able to do it full time; such an immersion would leave me so sterile I feared there would be nothing left except the shell of a mummified scholar which someone would have to come by and dust off twice a month. After my so politely declining her offer, she left me thunderstruck by merely saying, “Okey-dokey.” An English girl using this phrase? While working for an august institution as prestigious as the Oxford English Dictionary? I have spent much time in the British Isles, and I have never, ever heard this word used by an Englishman, a Scotsman, a Welshman, an Irishman, or any other native. Never. I have never even heard it used by an American except someone who is rural or “hick” and usually both. I have, however, recently been told by several English people that it has an old, though certainly not current, Cockney usage. But there it was: “Okey-dokey,” from the mouth of an English girl. She said other things too, all of them nice, all of them less plebian, but she so confounded me that I did not even retain enough self-prepossession to ask her where she had learned that word. From watching a television show? Had she come across it in a novel by someone like Erskine Caldwell? Had she spent a night consorting with a hot-blooded young American whose speech had seduced her before his body had? I lost my chance to find out, and I will forever be keenly disappointed that I let slip the opportunity for blatantly inquiring as to what would motivate a blue-blooded English girl, whose speech otherwise was most proper and precise and British, to use “Okey-dokey” which is an informal, very slang substitute for “OK” (which is slang already).

I can not recall exactly what it was this girl said which led me to believe that their interest in the words by the Brontë sisters (and also in the regional words by Norman Maclean and Linda Hasselstrom) had caused the editor in charge of my lengthy submission to give less than due consideration to some of the other submitted words. Perhaps this impression was not based on anything she said; perhaps I formed it on the basis of what she did not say. And perhaps my impression is entirely wrong. But I have never trusted that all of those submitted words were taken as seriously as they deserved.

So ... since I remain unconvinced that my 2011 submission was given full consideration for all of its words, and since I can not possibly take the time for following the OED’s new method of submitting which involves using their time-consuming, scarcely comprehensive, inflexible, and even misleading computer templates, there nevertheless remains the fact that I do not want to give up my practice, or forsake my duty, which involves bringing attention to words which I come across and, upon checking, realize are not in the OED.

And yes; I do consider this a duty. As a scholar, I have long reaped the benefits of dedicated lexicographers. Theirs is usually an arduous, thankless, even anonymous task. The least I can do is devote some small portion of my life to doing my part.

How to discharge this duty, and yet not be crushed by the demands of the OED’s new method for submissions? I have elected to take a different approach: Henceforth I shall keep a list of new-found words, and write up all the pertinent information, just as I once did when I submitted by post to the OED. But rather than then embarking upon a soul-killing odyssey of “data entry,” I shall publish this list here online. Thus my entries will, in essence, be a Supplement to the OED. I believe that at times they will even prove more valuable than would the results of what the current OED editors do (or fail to do) when they finally get around to including any of my 2011 submissions in their online publication.

One matter here deserves special emphasis: While I may be the one who initially discovers that certain words are not in the current OED, and writes up pertinent information—including a definition, it nevertheless is the case that I do not own these words. They are not mine. Words belong to everybody. They are there for the taking—for use, for enjoyment, for sharing. They can not be owned; they can only be a part of who we are—both individually and collectively. I state this because I am extending an invitation. These words—these definitions—resulting from my lexicographical delvings, reflect my work and thought, but they belong to everybody. So I expressly invite others to take them and use them. Not only in their parlance, not only to help them with their reading, but also I invite anyone who is so inclined to take these words and submit them to the OED. If you are good with a computer (I readily admit that I am not), if your eyesight can endure the time commitment involved (my very poor eyesight can not), and if you are enthusiastic about this sort of task, then I invite you to take these words, type them into the submission templates for the OED, and send them in. Feel free to convey the impression that you are the first to have “discovered” these words. I myself take no pride in being the first to come upon a word that is not yet in the OED. The word is already in print, languishing forlorn as it waits to be included in the OED’s pages. My discovery of that word is by good fortune, and also, I admit, because of some uncanny ability I have for spotting a word and realizing that a word of this sort is not likely to have yet made its way into the OED. But even if this ability is somewhat “uncanny,” I am not hereby boasting. I simply look upon my ability as a certain attitude or proclivity which I am fortunate enough to possess. If other people are the ones to submit these words, then it well may happen that by the time a reader comes across this list of mine, certain of these words will already have made their way into the OED. As far as I am concerned, that is all for the better. After all, worthy words are to be shared, not hoarded. What matters most is that a person who is looking for the meaning of any one of these words be able to find that meaning.

Do I blame the OED for becoming less personal? Do I blame them for their new method which requires more work on the part of those people doing the submitting, but (I can not judge for sure) less work on the part of their editors? No. Monetary constraints are the real culprit here. I doubt the OED has the personnel for conducting business the way they once did. So if this is the way of the modern world, and if the OED—hallowed and hoary though it be—must follow suit, then so be it. I doubt that their budget allows them any other choice. (I haven’t read in any of the British newspapers that the Prime Minister, or the British Parliament, much less members of the Monarchy, are keenly interested in supporting the OED—despite its importance as a scholarly tool, a cultural repository, and even a national and international status symbol.) As a matter of fact, evidence would suggest that monetary constraints are handicapping the OED not only in terms of their new method for submissions. When one consults the new “online” OED, which has the advantages of being accessible to the minions and of being constantly updated, one finds a distressing plethora of mistakes—typographical, indexical, veridical. Moreover, their search method lacks both precision and focus. The result of all this is that the sacred adjectives “clear and distinct” which once were the sine qua non of OED entries seem to have become historical artifacts. 

There also is the undeniable fact that our world is changing so fast—with what the Internet gives, technology provides, and (Who would have thought?!) the introduction of so many words into our vocabulary because of board games, TV games, and even on-line games. This inundation has caused a vast number of what once were proper nouns to become common nouns. For example, it seems that board games have co-opted the name of virtually every one of the several thousand characters who populate the pages of The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night. So the plethora of new words clamoring for entry into the OED’s pages has overwhelmed its editorial staff. The result is that the OED, as well as the several clubs which contribute to the OED, are now focusing their attention more on finding earlier citations for words that are already in the OED rather than giving sufficient attention toward including new words. One can hardly blame either the OED or these clubs for thus shifting their focus backwards rather than forwards. The English language is glutted, even overwhelmed, with the surfeit of new words shouldering their way into our language, often via the pathway of popular culture, games, and the video entertainment industry. The OED, as a scholarly institution, hasn’t the resources—financial, editorial, or temporal—for keeping up with all that. 

Hence, my own foray into mapping out a lexicon, the contents of which I am fully responsible for. It is comprised of all the words in that 2011 submission I made to an OED editor, and it also includes words I have come across since then.

I do trust that an occasional scholar will find my list useful as a lexicon. Those who enjoy submitting new words to the OED should find this list a goldmine. And I also think it not unlikely that casual readers may find this list enjoyable, edifying, even invigorating.

I hope I can trust that I myself will continue with this task of compiling new words for a (hypothetical) submission to the OED. I note this because I must confess that as time goes by I find the task becoming more discouraging, daunting, even dismal. The sheer number of hours required for researching and recording such words is most difficult, and the hours increase in number simply because as time goes by I seem to become more adept at spotting words which are not in the OED. So the task becomes bigger, more time-consuming, more consuming of my self. There also is the difficulty that when I do come across a new word, occasionally I can not find a definition for its meaning. Such words are usually ones which have been used recently, so the writer is still alive and available for comment. But when, after much exploration for the sake of getting the correct address, I write that author (usually by email—given the modern approach), I too often receive no reply at all—ever. Thus, the one person who could make my research vastly easier does not care to communicate with me, i.e., does not exercise scholarly responsibility, and so I must continue my slow, laborious, and labyrinthine search elsewhere. Thus I discover, over and over, that while email may speed communication, its informal and often lazy usage means that people exercise virtually no conscience about taking it seriously. But when they do reply to my emailed queries, in the spirit of this informal and haphazard means of communication, it too often seems that their replies are haphazard in organization, so incomplete that it seems they consider it optional as to how much of my query they should respond to, and what they write is even capricious (I mean by the latter adjective that when these authors do reply to my queries that often do so with little concern about timeliness, no care exercised about even sticking to the topic, and virtually no concern evinced toward the rudiments of scholarly exactitude.) There is a third difficulty, and this is the sheer discouragement which comes from realizing that these days so few (too few) people care to use the OED (or this supplement I have prepared). They want a quick definition, whereas the option of utilizing the OED or this supplement is time-consuming and involving, and they are content with a mere “Google search” which gives them a basic definition. They believe they have their desired information, even if they have little reason to trust the accuracy of that definition, not to mention the fact that its presentation is too terse, suffers from a dearth of etymological background, and its horizon of implications and subtleties are so neglected as to render that information all but barren.

There is, I confess, another reason I have come to find working at this supplement increasingly onerous. It is, after all, meant for (eventual) inclusion in the OED. But I find myself dismayed, discouraged, even overwhelmed at the words I find that are not already in the OED. Words which should have been put in there decades ago—sometimes more than a century ago! Where are all those scholars who have clamored for the opportunity to submit new words to the OED? Why have these words been overlooked? Why must I spend my precious time putting together definitions and submissions for words that have too long been overlooked? I begin to feel as if I am trying to discharge a burdensome task that should have been shouldered by other scholars and lexicographers long ago. Perhaps selfishly, I begin to feel that, well, if other people did not care enough to do their part of this scholarly duty, then why should I? But then this sense of dismal disillusionment passes, and amidst a scarcely serene admixture of feelings—duty, grim determination, and habit—I continue with my work. And ever so slowly, the results accrue.

Some of the major authors included are here noted. Minor authors are not listed in this introductory table of contents since the search engines which computers use should be able to ferret them out.

Dictionary for Arthur Berndtson
Dictionary for Charlotte Brontë
Dictionary for Emily Brontë
Dictionary for Richard Feynman
Dictionary for Linda Hasselstrom
Dictionary for Norman Maclean
Dictionary for André Maurois
Dictionary for Jean-Paul Sartre
Dictionary for Elizabeth Strout
Dictionary for Daniel Woodrell

Please note that all these submissions are written up in my usual format: Since several authors are involved, the submissions are alphabetized according to author. Since for most authors, more than one word is being submitted, their words are then alphabetized by word as a grouping under each author. There are occasional exceptions, most being those words without an identified author—these are listed alphabetically not by author but alphabetically by word. Any other exceptions to the general rule here listed for organizing words are duly noted.

I give complete bibliographical information for each author on one page; subsequent pages then list each word for that author—one word per page, with brief bibliographical information (according to the instructions for submitting which the OED used in earlier days). 

Please note the importance of this Supplement! It includes several words by the Brontë sisters. (How is it these have never before made it into the OED?!) Also, the OED is very interested in “regional” words these days; there are many such words in this Supplement, several from the eminent USA author Linda Hasselstrom, and others from Norman Maclean (whose book is the first work of fiction ever published by The University of Chicago Press).

For most of these words, I can provide further documenting evidence which I know is often needed—especially when the words come from pamphlets, newsletters, or magazines that are either old or of limited circulation.

And please bear in mind that my “CONTRIBUTOR’S NOTES” are not always intended as proposed definitions. Most often my “CONTRIBUTOR’S NOTES” are intended to give thorough and precise information for those who do write the definitions.