Tag Archives: fake etymology

Amadáin na Míosa – Saineolaithe an Idirlín

Is catagóir leathan iad amadáin na míosa seo in áit duine nó daoine ar leith, cé go ndéanfaidh mé tagairt do dhaoine ar leith a bhaineann leis an aicme seo chomh maith. Is é an chatagóir atá i gceist ná saineolaithe Idirlín. Ní saineolaithe ar an Idirlíon nó ar úsáid an Idirlín atá i gceist agam, ach daoine a cheap iad féin mar shaineolaithe ar ábhair ar nós na sanasaíochta agus a bhíonn ag roinnt a gcuid ‘eolais’ ar an tsaol ar fhóraim agus ar shuíomhanna poiblí mar Amazon agus Goodreads. Seo sampla amháin, fear darb ainm Brian McCarthy a thug léirmheas iontach dearfach agus rátáil ceithre réalta do leabhar amaideach Cassidy ar Goodreads. Cibé rud a chuir air teacht ar athchomhairle, scríobh sé an méid seo a leanas mar thuairim ar a léirmheas:

Further to my review – the book has a lot of conjecture (as do dictionaries) so you can’t assume it’s all correct. Some say it’s enjoyable fiction or even 100% false. You can’t prove it one way or the other but if you have an open mind you can learn from it.

Ní gá dom a rá gur rud bómánta é na fantaisiochtaí gan chiall i leabhar Cassidy a chur i gcomparáid leis na buillí faoi thuairim (a bhíonn ciallmhar, den chuid is mó) a dhéanann lucht na bhfoclóirí. Ach an rud is mó a chuireann isteach orm anseo ná an tuairim nach féidir é ‘a chruthú bealach amháin ná bealach eile’. Cén fáth nach dtig leat é a chruthú bealach amháin ná bealach eile? Fillfidh mé ar an cheist sin thíos.

Tá a lán daoine den chineál seo ann agus is dream an-éagsúil iad fosta. Mar shampla, tá an píosa seo a leanas le feiceáil ar Quora, le hiarléachtóir a bhfuil roinnt céimeanna aige, an Dr Robert Jeantet (https://www.quora.com/Where-did-the-term-Holy-cow-originate-from):

When one thinks of expressions as “gee whiz”, “gee whillikers”, “darn”, or even “holy cow”, it is easy to trace them to New York slang of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Their origin, however, escapes the learned minds of most classically-trained linguists who do not know Irish Gaelic. Fortunately some fluent speakers of Gaelic have been able to explain the origin of these terms, including “holy cow”. I quote below from Daniel Cassidy’s book, “How the Irish Invented Slang”.

Ar an chomhrá chéanna, tá tuairim ó dhuine éigin darb ainm Stephen Taylor, a thugann ‘sanasaí amaitéarach’, air féin agus a ghlacann teoiricí amaideacha uilig Cassidy i ndáiríre, rudaí mar Holy Cow ag teacht ó Holy Cathú, Gee Whillikers ó Dia Thoil(l)eachas agus Gee Whiz ó Dia Uas.

Anois, is dócha gur daoine deasa na daoine seo, agus nach bhfuil siad ag iarraidh bheith mioscaiseach (cé nach daoine deasa dea-chroíocha iad gach duine a thacaíonn le Cassidy agus a chuid raiméise ar line, ná baol air), ach sílim féin go bhfuil cáineadh tuillte acu anseo. Cad chuige? Bhal, tá go leor amaidí amuigh ansin ar an idirlíon cheana féin. An dearcadh nach féidir rud ar bith a chruthú agus nach féidir rud ar bith a dhéanamh ach cibé rud is mian leat a bheith fíor a roghnú, níl ansin ach séanadh freagrachta. Nuair a fhoilsíonn daoine ar nós Daniel Cassidy nó Graham Hancock nó Erich Von Daniken rudaí amaideacha, ní mor duit na fíricí a chinntiú go cúramach agus cinneadh a dhéanamh dá réir.

An frása Holy Cow, mar shampla. Ní deacair cuntas a fháil ar na mínithe cearta anseo: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_cow_(expression)   Agus is féidir leat foclóirí Gaeilge a aimsiú anseo (https://www.focloir.ie/ga/dictionary/ei/Dia). Sna foinsí sin, gheobhaidh tú amach nach bhfuil fianaise go raibh frásaí ar nós Dia Thoil(l)eachas, Dia Uas, Holy Cathú nó Holy Mac Ríúil riamh ann. Tá said go huile agus go hiomlán bréagach, rudaí a chum Cassidy ionas go mbeadh siad cosúil leis na frásaí Béarla ó thaobh fuaime de. Is é Toil Dé an Ghaeilge atá ar ‘the will of God’, ní Dia Thoil(l)eachas. Ní chiallaíonn cathú brón (cé gur fochiall den fhocal é sin) agus níl fianaise ar bith ann gur baineadh úsáid as riamh mar uaillbhreas. Agus níl an frása Mac Ríúil ann ar chor ar bith.

Ar ndóigh, mhaígh Cassidy gur fíorGhaeilge a bhí sa raiméis seo. Níor thug sé fianaise ar bith dúinn. Níor mhínigh sé cad chuige nach ndearna duine ar bith eile nasc idir na frásaí seo agus a gcomhfhrásaí a d’aimsigh seisean i nGaeilge. Níor mhínigh sé cad chuige nach bhfuil tagairt ar bith do na frásaí ‘Gaeilge’ seo ar Google ach tagairtí do Cassidy agus don leabhar bhómánta aige (ní hionann agus fíorGhaeilge ar nós Dia ár sábháil). Agus bhí nós na cumadóireachta ag Cassidy. Bhí bréagbhunúis ‘Ghaeilge’ cumtha aige do leithéidí Ku Klux Klan, Gunga Din, Abracadabra agus Bailiwick. (Cé go raibh trí cinn de na fantaisíochtaí áirithe seo dearmadta aige faoin am ar scríobh sé an leabhar.)

Lena rá ar dhóigh eile, sílim gur chóir do dhaoine mar McCarthy agus Jeantet agus Taylor an cheist shimplí seo a chur orthu féin. Dá mbeadh dlí ar na leabhair in éadan eolas bréige a scaipeadh, dá dtiocfadh leat fíneáil nó téarma príosúnachta a fháil as sin a dhéanamh, an mbeifeá sásta cliceáil ar an chnaipe bheag sin go fóill, nó an ndéanfá cúig nóiméad taighde roimh chur leis an méid amaidí ar an idirlíon? Más é an dara ceann é, b’fhéidir gur chóir duit sin a dhéanamh cibé.

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Duke and Dukin’

The word duke (meaning hand or fist) dates back to the mid-19th century in English. There are several theories about its origin. The most reasonable is that it is rhyming slang. The word fork was used as a slang term for hand in the 19th century and is also found in phrases like ‘put up your forks’, just as ‘put up your dukes’ was a familiar phrase. It is believed that the phrase Duke of York gave rise to the link between fork and duke. Another (less credible) theory holds that duke came from dookin, a Romani term for palmistry (though the Romani word for hand is vast).

The verb duking developed as a derivative of the noun duke in the 20th century.

Daniel Cassidy, phoney scholar and fake etymologist, ignored these known facts and claimed that duking comes from the Irish tuargain, meaning pound, batter, which Cassidy in various interviews mispronounced as dookin, and that the noun duke for hand developed from this verb. As usual when the facts conflicted with Cassidy’s insane theories, Cassidy simply pretended the facts didn’t exist.

Taifeadadh an focal Béarla duke (leis an chiall lámh nó dorn) den chéad uair i lár an 19ú haois. Tá roinnt teoiricí ann faoina bhunús. An ceann is réasúnta ná gur béarlagair na rímeanna atá ann. Bhí an focal fork in úsáid mar théarma béarlagair ar lámh sa 19ú haois agus faightear é i bhfrásaí ar nós ‘put up your forks’, go díreach mar a bhí an frása ‘put up your dukes’ coitianta céad bliain ó shin. Creidtear gurbh é an frása Duke of York a chruthaigh an nasc idir fork agus duke. Tá teoiric eile ann, nach bhfuil leath chomh hinchreidte, gur tháinig duke ó théarma Romainise ar an dearnadóireacht, dookin (cé gurb é vast an focal Romainise ar lámh).

D’fhorbair an briathar duking ón ainmfhocal duke san 20ú haois.

Rinne Daniel Cassidy, scoláire gobáin agus bréagshaineolaí teanga, neamhshuim de na fíricí mar is eol do scoláirí iad, agus mhaígh sé gur ón Ghaeilge tuargain a tháinig duking, focal a chiallaíonn bualadh. In agallaimh a rinne Cassidy, bhí nós aige tuargain a rá mar dookin, agus mhaígh sé gur fhorbair an t-ainmfhocal duke (lámh) ón bhriathar seo, cé go bhfuil an fhianaise ar fad ina éadan. Mar ba ghnách, nuair a bhí an fhírinne ag teacht salach ar a chuid teoiricí mire, lig Cassidy air féin nach raibh na fíricí ann.

April’s Twit of the Month – Phil Cousineau

I haven’t had a lot of time recently, so I am posting my April Twit of the Month a bit late.

April’s Twit of the Month is Phil Cousineau, an “award-winning writer and filmmaker, teacher and editor, lecturer and travel leader, storyteller and TV host” who is based in San Francisco’s Bay Area. He is the author of some thirty books on subjects as varied as ufology, synchronicity, the myth of the hero, how to be creative, travel as pilgrimage and etymology.

Why don’t I like Phil Cousineau? Well, the fact that he is a major cultural figure in the Bay Area would make me suspicious but isn’t enough on its own.

I don’t like the kind of junk spirituality that is his stock in trade, especially when it’s linked to products like books, TV shows and courses. For example, trite little epigrams like these make me physically sick: “the uncanny discovery that the seeker is the mystery which the seeker seeks to know”; “writing is easy; all you do is pick the scab crusted over your soul”; “if you don’t risk getting lost, you’ll never be found”; “Stories heal the wounds inflicted by the mercurous knife of stainless steel facts”. Yeugh …

There is an air of bullshit surrounding him and his works. To give you one example, he has a significant article on Wikipedia, which tells of his achievements and quotes some of his famous pearls of wisdom. However, when you look at the history, much of the article was written by someone called Wordpilgrim. I wonder who that was? Could it be Phil Cousineau himself, who has written books on words and pilgrimages?

However, even these wouldn’t justify a Twit of the Month Award on their own. The reason why I’m so hostile to Phil Cousineau is the two crappy books of pop etymology he has written as a logophile (lover of words): Wordcatcher (2010) and The Painted Word (2012).

These books focus on words that the author finds interesting. Much of this information is probably correct and, as it’s taken directly from well-researched sources like dictionaries, this is unsurprising. What is surprising is the sheer number of mistakes in these books. Cousineau attributes Play That Funky Music Right, Boy to Sly and the Family Stone. It’s really by Wild Cherry and of course, it’s really Play That Funky Music WHITE Boy. In an article on the word adumbrate, he talks about a film studies course where he learned the importance of shadow in Hitchcock’s work. He refers to an article by a critic called Letich (really Leitch) who was writing about Hitchcock’s film Odd Man Out. Except Odd Man Out was by Carol Reed, not Hitchcock. There are so many clumsy errors in this book. Slanguage was written by Bernard Share, not Bernard Shaw. The word glaum in Scots has no connection with a device for castrating animals. And of course, How The Irish Invented Slang was by Daniel Cassidy, not David Cassidy of the Partridge Family.

These two books by Cousineau, Wordcatcher and The Painted Word, contain a large number of references to Cassidy and his ludicrous book, though the mistake with the name indicates that there was probably no close relationship between these two crap etymologists.

Wordcatcher (2010) is particularly full of Cassidese nonsense, treated with abject laziness and a total lack of scepticism. He takes Cassidy’s ridiculous made-up phrase comhúdar (misspelling it comh-udar) seriously as the origin of cahoots. He says that Cassidy claimed Irish tuig as the origin of dig (to understand) in Black American English but fails to mention that the Irish association with twig goes back at least a hundred years, while Eric P. Hamp published an article called “On the Celtic origin of English slang dig/twig (‘understand’) in 1981. He takes Cassidy’s dúd origin of dude seriously, though scholars make the eminently reasonable connection with Yankee Doodle. He claims that Cassidy links the word fun to the Irish fonn, though this doesn’t seem to be in the book. (It’s ludicrous anyway!) He recounts Cassidy’s imbecilic theories about the origins of jazz from teas without question. He gives Cassidy the credit for identifying the Irish origins of phoney, when Eric Partridge had already done that a half century ago.

While there is less Cassidese bullcrap in The Painted Word, it is just as bad. His piece on ‘lulu’ from that book is worth quoting in full.

LULU (IRISH)

A remarkable person, thing or event. Tracked down by word detective Daniel Cassidy in Irish-American Slang, this two-syllable dandy derives from the Irish word liu luigh, “a howl, a scream, a vigorous scream of joy,” and more, “A lulu can be spectacular or awful, but it’s always a scream.” More surprisingly still, Cassidy’s sleuthing tracked down its earliest recorded mention, in the New Orleans Lantern, on November 10, 1886, where it was used to describe the shenanigans in a local baseball game: “Farrell’s two baser was a lu-lu.” The citation would have delighted the late, great Ernie Hartwell, Hall of Fame broadcaster and baseball historian, who was married to a Lulu of a wife for over sixty years.”

Where do I begin? Well, I don’t really give a toss whether people misrepresent Daniel Cassidy, because Cassidy doesn’t deserve any better, but Cassidy’s book wasn’t called Irish-American Slang. Anyway, let’s move on. Apparently lulu comes from the Irish word liu luigh. However, liu luigh is not a word in English, it’s a phrase. (You’d think a logophile would know that, wouldn’t you?) It’s a completely nonsensical phrase, of course, but remarkably, it’s not even the nonsensical and stupid phrase that Cassidy claimed was the origin of lulu. Cassidy’s equally daft suggestion was that lulu comes from the ‘Irish’ liú lúith. Liú is a word in Irish for a shout. It’s not the most common word in Irish for that concept. Scread or scréach would be far more common, but it does exist. As for lúith, it’s the genitive of lúth, which means vigour, agility, or tendon. It used to mean ‘joy’ in Irish as well but hasn’t for hundreds of years. Cassidy’s “a vigorous yell of joy” actually uses both meanings, but Cassidy also says that it is figuratively “a complete scream, a howler.” Of course, Cassidy made the expression “liú lúith” up. It is a complete fabrication, unknown in the Irish language, and phrases which don’t exist don’t have figurative meanings. However, the Cousineau version (liu luigh) is even less meaningful than Cassidy’s. Liu doesn’t mean anything without the accent and luigh is the past tense or imperative form of the verb meaning to lie or recline.

Cousineau is doing at least three reprehensible things here. Firstly, he is short-changing his own readership by giving them poorly-researched nonsense instead of real scholarship. Secondly, he is helping to spread the made-up nonsense and fake Irish invented by Daniel Cassidy. Thirdly, he is helping to pretend that Cassidy, a pathological liar who became a ‘professor’ without any genuine qualifications at all, was a real etymologist and university lecturer.

It is for these reasons that I am proud to bestow my April CassidySlangScam Twit of the Month Award on Phil Cousineau of San Francisco.

 

 

 

Puipéad Stoca Eile

Mar atá luaite agam cheana féin i roinnt postálacha ar an bhlag seo (Another Cassidy Sock Puppet; Mr and Mrs Sock Puppet), foilsíodh roinnt léirmheasanna bréige ar leabhar Cassidy i roinnt áiteanna ar an idirlíon sa tréimhse idir Samhain 2007 agus Eanáir 2008. Seo sampla eile ó 28 Samhain 2007. Is féidir é a aimsiú ar an Thomas Pynchon Wiki. Cad é mar a thig liom bheith chomh cinnte sin gur caimiléireacht de chuid Cassidy atá ann?

Bhal, tá an dúspéis ag an duine seo i mbunús Gaelach an fhocail jazz, go díreach mar a bhí ag Cassidy. Maslaíonn an duine seo an OED, mar a dhéanadh Cassidy. Tá an seanrud sin ann faoin Gorta Mor (recte an Gorta Mór nó an Drochshaol do dhaoine a bhfuil an Ghaeilge acu). Tá an raiméis gan chiall sin ann faoi bhunús Gaelach na bhfocal bunkum, hoodoo, spiel agus baloney. Níor mhaígh duine ar bith ach Cassidy gur focail ón Ghaeilge iad sin, agus is léir nach bhfuil sa tsanasaíocht seo ach cacamas.

Agus ansin, tá an líne sin atá caite isteach aige ar nós cuma liom ag an deireadh. Ní Cassidy mise, atá sé a rá, ach tá mé díreach i ndiaidh scéal a chloisteáil faoi leabhar Cassidy agus tá mé cinnte go bhfuil an tsanasaíocht seo – agus a lán eile nach iad – le fáil sa leabhar sin!

Tá sé an-tábhachtach go dtuigfeadh daoine cad é atá ar siúl anseo. Ní hamháin nach raibh an ceart ag Cassidy. Bréagadóir agus caimiléir gan náire a bhí ann agus is fíorannamh a thagadh rud ar bith ach bréag amach as a ghob gránna.

 

Jazz / Jass

The OED lists the earliest print usage of “Jazz,” originally a dance and not, as in current use, the musical form, as 1909. The exact dating of this episode is unclear, though it seems likely to have occurred earlier. The usage is not anachronistic though its precise usage(as a musical form rather than a dance)may be unknown. As for the unusual spelling, the OED lists “Jass” as a variant, though with no information as to where or when it was prevalent. see OED article above.

In my music student days, I was told Jazz was a Creole word. It’s no secret that the Empire builders made sure to extirpate or pervert language and culture from countries under their protection. (See discussion of Tartan on pg. 220) Not that one shouldn’t trust the OED, but it is an ENGLISH DICTIONARY. New Orleans was the third largest disembarkation port for poor Irish fleeing An Gorta Mor (or ‘Famine’ as some would have it) They came as ballast on returning trans-Atlantic cotton ships. They liked N.O. because it was a Catholic city and the City Fathers liked them because they worked for next to nothing on projects like the New Basin Canal and were also content to work and live with the Black population. Quite a few slang words came into American English from the original Irish (galore, baloney (as in foolish talk, not meat), bunkum, hoodoo, spiel, and those gangster words for face and mouth: pus and gob!) There is an Irish language word spelled teas in Irish letters and pronounced tjazs in our letters. It suggests excitement or passion and could be connected to the blend of dance that led from Irish step to American tap.

I learned today of a book, How the Irish Invented Slang:The Secret Language of the Crossroads by Professor Dan Cassidy [1] which I’m sure has these and more.

Ditch

This is one of the silliest claims in a very silly book. I mean, how stupid would you need to be to believe that the word ditch (as in ‘she ditched him’) comes from the supposed Irish phrase de áit? The phrase de áit isn’t in use in Irish and never has been.

The two words exist independently, of course. De means from or ‘off of’, ‘from the surface of’ (bhain siad an pictiúr den bhalla – they took the picture off of the wall), while áit means place. And occasionally they occur together in phrases like an phrochlais sin de áit (that dump of a place) or taobh amuigh de áit (outside of a place) but in the standard language, this would usually become d’áit and it isn’t anything to do with displacing or dislodging or dumping in these cases. If you want to say that someone displaced something or put it out of its place you would use as áit, not de áit: cuireadh na brící as áit nuair a thit an scafall orthu (the bricks were dislodged when the scaffolding fell on them). So, de áit is pretty much impossible as the origin of ditch.

The English ditch, on the other hand, is a very likely source. A ditch, meaning a kind of trench at the side of the road (or sometimes the bank beside the trench in Ireland), comes from the Old English word dic. And in the old days, when you had some rubbish you dumped it in the ditch, or ditched it. In time, this became a general term for discarding or dumping.

This isn’t rocket science. I do have academic degrees but you don’t need a degree (or even the high-school certificate that Cassidy had instead of a degree) to work out that Cassidy’s claim is nonsense. All you need is reasonable literacy skills, access to the internet and an open and sensible mind. Which is why I find it really strange that so many people are prepared to support a book that contains so many transparent stupidities like this.

Seo ceann de na rudaí is bómánta dá maíonn Cassidy sa leabhar amaideach seo. Bheadh ort bheith millteanach ramhar sa réasún lena chreidiúint gur ón fhrása ‘Gaeilge’ de áit a thagann an focal Béarla ditch (mar shampla, sa fhrása ‘she ditched him’.  Níl na focail de áit le fáil sa Ghaeilge agus ní raibh riamh.

Tá an dá fhocal ann leo féin, ar ndóigh. Ciallaíonn de ó ó dhromchla ruda  (bhain siad an pictiúr den bhalla), agus is ionann áit agus ionad. Agus bíonn an dá fhocal ag teacht le chéile corruair i bhfrásaí mar an phrochlais sin de áit nó  taobh amuigh de áit ach sa Chaighdeán, dhéanfaí d’áit de sin, agus ní bhaineann sé le rudaí a dhíláithriú sna cásanna seo.  Bhainfeá úsáid as as áit, ní de áit le sin a rá – cuireadh na brící as áit nuair a thit an scafall orthu, mar shampla. Mar sin de, níl seans dá laghad go bhfuil de áit ceart mar bhunús an Bhéarla ditch.

Ar an láimh eile, tá an focal Béarla ditch thar a bheith fóirsteanach agus thar a bheith soiléir mar mhíniú. Tagann an focal ditch, a chiallaíonn ‘díog’, ón fhocal Sean-Bhéarla dic. Agus sna seanlaethanta, nuair a bhí bruscar agat, dhéantaí é a dhumpáil sa díog, nó é a ‘ditcheáil’. Leis na blianta, fuair an focal ditching an chiall chéanna le dumping.

Ní rud deacair casta é seo. Tá céimeanna ollscoile agam ach níl céim de dhíth ar dhuine (ná fiú an teastas ardscoile a bhí ag Cassidy in áit céimeanna) lena oibriú amach gur raiméis é an méid a dúirt Cassidy faoin fhocal seo. Níl de dhíth ar dhuine ach scileanna réasúnta litearthachta, teacht ar an Idirlíon agus intinn oscailte chiallmhar. Sin an fáth a gcuireann sé a oiread sin iontais orm go bhfuil a oiread sin daoine sásta tacú le leabhar a bhfuil a oiread sin bómántachtaí follasacha ar nós an chinn seo ann.

 

 

 

 

 

Nincompoop

This is another really stupid Cassidy suggestion. He claims that the word nincompoop comes from the Irish naioidhean ar chuma búb, which he says is pronounced neeyan [er] um boob and (again, according to him) means “a baby in the shape of a blubbering boob.”

Let’s examine this claim carefully. Firstly, does the ‘Irish’ phrase sound like nincompoop? Not much. Is there any evidence of anyone ever using this expression before Cassidy? No, of course there isn’t. Is it likely that anyone would use it? Think about it. Insults need to be clever or punchy. They need to be effective as ways of putting someone in their place, which is why you very rarely find people saying things like “He is a man who seems to have the appearance of a dolt.” If you want to insult someone, you simply call them a dolt. Because of this, the chances of Cassidy’s claim being correct are vanishingly slight.

Although we don’t have any solid evidence about the real origin of nincompoop, there is nothing to suggest that it comes from Irish. It is first found in English in the 1670s. Some dictionaries conjecture that it probably comes from the phrase non compos mentis (a legal formula meaning not of sound mind). Others dispute this. But Cassidy’s ridiculous suggestion is just another confirmation that he was far from compos mentis himself.

 

Seo tuairim bhómánta eile de chuid Cassidy. Maíonn sé go dtagann an focal Béarla nincompoop ón ‘Ghaeilge’ naioidhean ar chuma búb. Dar leisean, ciallaíonn an bolgam gránna seo “a baby in the shape of a blubbering boob.”

Tá an teoiric seo gan bhunús, ar ndóigh. Níl an frása ‘Gaeilge’ seo cosúil le nincompoop an Bhéarla ar chor ar bith. Agus ní gá dom a rá nach bhfuil fianaise ar bith ann gur bhain duine ar bith úsáid as ‘naíon ar chuma búib’ riamh. Ní dócha go mbainfeadh duine ar bith úsáid as, ach oiread. Caithfidh maslaí bheith cliste, gonta. Ní mór dóibh bheith éifeachtach mar dhóigh le duine a chur ina áit. Sin an fáth nach ndeirtear ‘Is duine é a bhfuil cosúlacht an bhómáin air.’ Más maith leat duine a mhaslú, déarfaidh tú gur bómán é, gan fiacail a chur ann. Agus sin an fáth nach bhfuil ciall ar bith leis an raiméis bhréag-Ghaelach a chum Cassidy faoin fhocal seo.

Cé nach bhfuil aon fhianaise chruinn againn maidir le bunús fíor an fhocail nincompoop, níl fianaise ar bith ann gur Gaeilge é, ná go bhfuil baint ar bith ag an fhocal le hÉirinn. Fuarthas é sa Bhéarla den chéad uair sna 1670í. Tá barúil ag cuid de na foclóirí gur leagan as a riocht é den fhrása dlí Laidine non compos mentis (a chiallaíonn nach bhfuil duine ina chiall cheart). Tá daoine eile ar a mhalairt de thuairim. Ach is ábhar gáire é míniú Cassidy, agus cruthaíonn sé nach raibh Cassidy féin ina chiall cheart.

Twits of the Month – The Organisers and Sponsors of the Irish-American Crossroads Festival

In a couple of days time, the Irish American Crossroads Festival will begin in San Francisco. This festival was founded by Daniel Cassidy and a number of his friends and enablers. That is why the festival’s organisers continue to lie about Cassidy.

The facts about Cassidy are well-known. Cassidy had no degrees, having flunked out of Cornell in a narcotic haze in 1965. He had no degree from Cornell and he never even attended Columbia. He had a life full of failures and then managed to bluff his way into a job as a professor at a diploma-mill called New College of California by lying about his lack of qualifications. After drawing a lecturer’s salary which he was not entitled to for twelve years, he published an absurd book called How The Irish Invented Slang, in which Cassidy, who didn’t speak any Irish at all, invented hundreds of fake Irish expressions such as béal ónna and gíog gheal and gearról úr and pá lae sámh so that he could pretend they were the origins of American slang expressions.

Cassidy was a pathological liar who invented all kinds of nonsense about his life and work – not just his fake degrees – and anyone who reads this blog carefully will quickly realise what a humungous liar the man was.

Unfortunately, the organisers of The Irish-American Crossroads have decided that the truth isn’t what they are about and that Cassidy should continue to be promoted as a role model and that his malicious hoax at the expense of the Irish language and Irish culture should continue to be treated as a valid piece of scholarship. This nonsense is still in the In Memoriam section of the festival’s website.

This is why I am happy to bestow the title of Twits of the Month on the organisers and sponsors of this festival. Anybody with any common sense or decency would avoid Cassidy and all his works like the plague.