As a resident of the 22nd wealthiest county in New Mexico, I find it necessary to try to earn some of the big bucks the publisher throws our way.
In case you missed it, of New Mexico’s 33 counties, San Miguel ranks in the lower half, with a median household income of $27,092, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. The latest data reflect incomes from the year 2003.
The average denizen of nearby Los Alamos County, home of the National Laboratory, has an obscene median household income of $93,089 — three-and-a-half times San Miguel’s figures — and that makes it the wealthiest county in the nation.
Fast-growing Sandoval County, home of Intel, comes in second at $46,485, and Santa Fe, home of the Roundhouse, is third with $42,950. Luna County ranks last at $22,449. Neighboring Mora County, at $24,825, comes in 26th, slightly ahead of Guadalupe County, 29th, at $24,161.
In order to get closer to the Hill City’s opulence, I thought of suggesting we at the Optic all do our part. How about if the boss raised all our salaries, thereby elevating the entire county’s median income?
I talked myself out of that notion, however, as I recalled what happened the last time I told the boss, “I expect to be paid what I’m worth.” His reply: “I’d like to pay you what you’re worth, but unfortunately, we need to abide by minimum-wage laws.”
That dose of humility aside, I’ll earn my big bucks by passing on some items sent to the Optic by readers.
�
———
�
I’ve remarked about the odd combination of letters in English that constitute various sounds. In an earlier column, I mentioned how the “ough” sequence can be pronounced like an “o,” as in “though,” and an “f,” as in “cough” and has other sounds as well.
Martha Johnsen submitted a sentence that contains nine pronunciations of that combination.
Here goes: “A rough-coated, dough-faced, thoughtful ploughman strode through the streets of Scarborough; after falling into a slough, he coughed and hiccoughed.”
Martha added, “I shared this with my mom who started to learn English in her 40s and she said, ‘Now you know why it was so difficult for me to learn English!’” Martha’s mother, Sara McWilliams, was born in Mexico.
�
———
�
A Highlands secretary, Jane Quintana, submitted an email (the whole thing’s too long for this column) which cites a panoply of uses for one of the language’s smallest words, “up.”
A portion of the email reads:
“It’s easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP? At a meeting, why does a topic come UP? Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?
“We call UP our friends And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver, we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen. We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
“At other times the little word has real special meaning. People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses. To be dressed is one thing but to be dressed UP is special.
“And this UP is confusing: A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP. We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.”
That prompts the question, “Is ‘up’ merely a filler word?” Can’t we simply polish the silver, clean the kitchen, lock the house and fix the old car?
Yet, the two-letter word appears indispensible in usage at the end of the missive, in which the anonymous author declares it’s time to wrap it UP, for now my time is UP.
�
———
�
In the example, up above, not only does a tiny word represent many meanings, but conversely, we use a bunch of English words to convey a single thought.
The well-known verbivore Richard Lederer in his new book, “A Man of My Words,” writes, “The other day I went to the bookstore to buy a dictionary. The clerk showed me a really cheap one. I couldn’t find the words to thank her.”
And later, “She directed me to a thesaurus. I thought that was an accommodating, altruistic, benevolent, caring, compassionate, considerate, courteous, decent, empathic, gracious, kind, magnanimous, nice, obliging, solicitous, sweet, and thoughtful thing to do.”
According to Lederer, the English language has about 616,500 words, more than three times the total of German words, 185,000. Russian has 130,00, and French and Spanish, tied for fourth, have 100,000.
More staggering is Lederer’s estimation that there are currently 6,800 languages spoken in the world, and up to 90 percent of those will be extinct in 100 years.
Frightening is research pointing out that 96 percent of the average English speaker’s conversation is made up of the most common 737 words in the language.
I wonder how the figure, 737 got to be so high. My observation is that many people play around with perhaps as few as 150 distinct words.
We have a plenitude of words but too often fail to use them.
Ask a typical teen to comment on politics and you’re likely to get, “Well, ya know, like the scene is like awesome. I mean like the war’s not cool, that stuff like that.”
Imagine what “Julius Caesar” would be like if Shakespeare had been a product of today’s education system. The funeral oration by Mark Antony might have read something like this:
“Like friends, Roman, like Countrymen, ya know, like lend me your like ears, and stuff like that.
“I mean like I’ve come to bury Caesar, ya know, not like praise him, and whatever…”
�
———
�
But lest my tone here come across as haughty, I need to mention I ran a word count on this column and discovered more than half of the words are repeats; only about 45 percent of them are unique.
And ya know, like that’s nothing to be proud of. I mean it’s like not a bit awesome to be so like, ya know, repetitious or whatever.