I lost my streak in Writestreakpt. I added a text yesterday which was number 181, but I started this daily text on a Monday, so Sunday texts should always divide neatly by 7. In other words, I should have been at 182 😱. I looked back and I seem to have skipped a day in mid-week and now I should be back at about 4 or 5. Frustrating…
If you’ve been learning Portuguese for a while now, you’ve probably heard of the Acordo Ortográfico 1990 (AO) which was an agreement between the Portuguese speaking countries to standardise spellings, because it was confusing to have different words spelled different ways depending on the author’s nationality. It was a bit like the US and UK, except the difference is even wider. Standardising the spelling has helped somewhat in reducing the linguistic confusion but as you can imagine, it wasn’t hugely popular. Brazil is a bigger country and seems to have dominated the negotiations and had its spellings accepted as default in most cases. Portuguese people liked this as much as if Boris Johnson passed a law saying brits all had to write “color” and “aluminum”.
Aaaaanyway, that’s all well and good, the accord have been on force for quite a whole now so you probably won’t see the old spellings much since the law has succeeded in suppressing them in most printed and online materials. So most learners can just ignore them while being aware that they might occasionally come across a luddite still spelling “reaccionário com dois cês” or whatever.
But did you know that that wasn’t the only time in history the Portuguese have rearranged their written language? In fact, I think this is the fourth time! There was a move in 1971-73 to suppress unnecessary diacritical marks that were responsible for most of the differences between Brazil and the rest. Before that, there was a process in the early forties, resulting in a new orthographical agreement in 1945. That makes me laugh. The rest of the world is at war, but Portugal and Brasil have time and energy to expend agreeing the way to spell words.
But the granddaddy of them all was A Reforma Ortográfica de 1911, which was a pretty thorough revision of all aspects of the written language. I’ve got a book published in the lawless time of 1902 and… Well, I daren’t actually read the thing, but just leafing through it is a bit of a strange experience because although it’s largely familiar, quite a lot of the words just look like they’re refugees from some other language. Here’s the title page and a random chapter heading, for example.
Right from the start, what really surprises me is the name of the author: Camillo Castello Branco had double Ls in both his names back then, which he certainly doesn’t now. The AO has actually changed someone’s name! I mean… Your name is your name! If someone told me I had to start spelling my name differently I’d tell them to shove their extra letters up their bum. I asked around about this and was told that while people are alive they will usually keep their original names, regardless whatever linguistic regime-change that takes place around them. Still though, changing someone’s name after they’ve died? What?
But the weirdness doesn’t end there. “Principaes” for “principais”, “ella” and “elle” for the two subject pronouns, “ahi”, “sáem”, “corôa”, and half a dozen others. Even the nationality doesn’t escape – it’s written as “portuguez”. Modern printings of this same book would have standardised all these words of course.
English orthography is a right old mess of course, but we like it that way. OK, I joked about standardising the spelling with America, but that’s nothing: imagine a more thorough change that would standardise all spellings, or even make it into a phonetic language as various idiots have suggested over the years. Now imagine that change being imposed on all subsequent reprintings of Shakespeare, say, or Chaucer, or Dickens. How would you even understand the historical evolution in a language if you erase the past like that? How would you understand the Shakespeare had invented hundreds of new words if the plays had been printed in such a way that the spellings of those words had altered radically to something he wouldn’t even have recognised.
I dunno, Portugal, I see why you did it but I’m not sure I approve.
I just wondered how to say “male pattern baldness” in Portuguese so I googled it because it seemed like one of those things that would have a Wikipedia page and by looking across to the Portuguese version I could be sure that was the real term, not some shonky version from Google Translate. Now I’m going to be getting baldness cures pitched at me on every page I visit and every YouTube video I watch aren’t I. Damn you, technology.
Anyway, in case you’re wondering, it’s “alopécia androgenética de padrão masculino“. Pretty unwieldy, eh?
This must be my 400th title based on that song. I love it though. Anyway, the Social Media Find of the Day is this suggestion for ending the Russian invasion of Ukraine:
A mãe Putin vir com uma chinela dar taotao ao menino Vladimir.
Putin’s mother coming with a slipper to give her kid Vladimir tautau.
It’s not hard to guess from the context, is it, but my wife confirmed that yes, tautau means a smack – although she, and everyone else in the universe – spells it with a u, not an o. There’s a song called Vais Levar Tautau (you’re going to get a smack). Not my cup of tea, but if you’re interested it’s here
First of all, bué. Bué is a word that entered Portuguese via Quimbundo, a language spoken in Angola. It can be used an adverb or a quantifier meaning “a lot”. “Leio bué” =I read a lot, and “Há bué gente” means “There are a lot of people” . This seems to be pretty well known. I first came across it as part of “bué fixe” – very cool.
And what about Abesbilico? I’d never heard of it before.
Tia Branca
Apparently it’s used a lot by Tia Branca who is a presenter on some kind of sex advice show on RTP. It seems to mean something like “gobsmacked”. Hunting around, I can find people asking about it in 2009 when it seems to have surfaced. Nobody seems to be quite sure about its origin. Possibly a splice of “Abismado” and… Something else. I definitely hadn’t seen it in the wild till I saw this but it might be a generational thing: if you search twitter for it, it seems to be getting used about ten times a day, so it’s out there, and I even came across memes of Tik Too teens lipsynching to Tia Branca saying “Este silêncio é propósitado, estou abesbílica”
Unfinished business from yesterday’s moorhen-related content: suppose the birds who wanted to body shame the moorhen had decided to call him a fat duck instead of bigfoot? How would they do that? They could say “pato gordo” or “pato gordinho” of course, but is there a shorter option?
Portuguese speakers tend to use the -inho ending on a lot of words as a diminutive, so patinho is little duck, gatinho is little cat and so on. Augmentatives – endings that make a word bigger or stronger are a little rarer and less regular, but substituting – ão for the final o is quite a common way of doing it. Or -ona if it ends in an a.
So in this case, patão would be a chonky duck. You probably won’t hear this very often in Portugal. Things are more likely to be – inho than – ão, but there’s a supermarket in Brazil called patão, and the word does exist in priberam, so it’s not just a Brazilian thing.
I’m trying to think where I’ve heard these kinds of endings: garrafão is a huge bottle, facalhão is a big kitchen knife, and I think I’ve seen it used for outdoor work knives (maybe even a machete?) in some contexts too. Barrigão is used to mean a big belly, whether it’s big because there is a baby in there or because the owner is too fond of Sagres.
You have to be a little careful with these though. I think, because they are quite rare, they might be used for humorous affect and you probably don’t want to accidentally say the wrong thing. Mulherão, for example: how’s that going to come across? Tall woman? Great woman? Fat woman? Coarse woman? It might depend on the context or that tone of voice, so unless you’re supremely confident I’d just leave it out if I were you.
There are other endings too. I can’t really do justice to them without, basically, rewriting this article from Practice Portuguese word for word, so if you want to know more, I’d say toddle on over there and see what the boys have to say on the subject.
Here’s another nugget from social media. I saw a meme on Instagram about depressed animals which, unfortunately, I can’t really reproduce here because it had someone’s user name in it, but no worries: the interesting bit was off to one side, where a sad-looking moorhen was thinking “As outras aves chamaram me patudo. Body shaming é tão 90s”
What were they saying to body-shame the poor moorhen? Well, my first thought was that pato means “duck” so maybe patudo is like an exaggerated form of that word, meaning something like “big duck” or “fat duck”. But I looked it up and after an initial double-take when I saw that there is a kind of tuna called a patudo, I saw what was really happening. The root of patudo isn’t from “pato”, it’s from “pata”. It means big-footed. And it’s true, moorhens really do have massive feet for wading through the bogs. Poor moorhen! Coitadinha de gallinula!
One of the annoying things about being on twitter in Portuguese mode is that I often see things in English I want to reply to but I don’t want to break character and can’t be bothered logging into my normal account. Solution: I just reply in Portuguese, knowing full well that the person won’t understand.
I upbraided someone for a pet peeve of mine: posting made up Orwell quotes. I mean, if you are going to post a bold quite about the importance of truth in a world of fake news, at least take the time to find out if it’s a fake quote.
The guy took umbrage, told me I should “speak English” and said I was showing my stupidity. So I replied with…
Childish? Yes, but I’m calling it homework so it’s allowed.