The Northeast, Linguistically Speaking

I’ve talked about some of the characteristics of New Englanders,  and some of their activities, but will now touch upon the language, now that I’ve had a chance to get a feel for it. Of course, there is the Massachusetts accent, which is well documented and affectionately portrayed in many a movie. I’m working hard at mastering it actually. But in addition to the accent, there are a lot of linguistic peculiarities that are worth noting:

1) The first is Wicked: ‘Wicked’ is to New England what ‘hella’ is to the Bay Area – you hear it all the time in that specific region but no where else in the world (as far as I can tell).  They are both amusing, immediately identifiable regional markers. We all know New Englanders say ‘wicked’, but one thing you may not know is that there is a very specific way in which they use it.

Everywhere else one might, on occasion, use the word as an adjective, such as the “wicked witch.” But that’s not how they use it here. When I said one day, without really thinking, “Man I have a wicked headache this morning,” my friend Elena said to me, after a pause during which she was clearly searching for some tact, “Um, you’re not really using that word correctly, you know.”

“Really?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “They don’t use it as the adjective… they use it as, what is it, an adverb or something. You could say you had a ‘wicked-bad headache’, but you wouldn’t say you had a ‘wicked headache’.”

So much for trying to play the part. I looked up the part of speech, being the language geek that I am, and it is indeed an adverb here, even though it doesn’t exactly modify the verb, as most adverbs do, but the adjective. So if you want to sound “New England,” make your adjectives pop by putting “wicked” in front of it. Is that wicked-clear?

2) What outshines ‘wicked’ in terms of frequency of use is Wind chill. Out west, the weather report tells you what the temperature will be that day and whether it’s going to be sunny or not, and that’s the end of the story. That is not the case in New England. To New Englanders, the temperature is virtually useless. Well, the actual temperature is useless. There is something far more important to how you will conduct your day than the actual temperature is: it’s called the “wind chill.” How can anything be more important than the actual temperature, you ask? Because the wind chill can make a 30-degree day “feel like” 10 degrees. Or a 10-degree day “feel like” negative 20. In Colorado, 30 degrees feels like 30 degrees. In New England, you will hear, every single day, what the actual temperature is, and then what the temperature feels like, because of the “wind chill.”

Note: You may wonder, quite logically, why they even bother giving you the actual temperature. I do not know the answer to this question. Because when you look up weather for the day, what you really want to know is what it is going to feel like outside so that you know what to wear.  Please, save me the actual temperature; just tell me what it “feels like.” I don’t care if it is actually 32 degrees – if it is going to feel like negative 4 I need to put on my long underwear. Don’t tease me with the fact that it’s actually 32 degrees, and we’re all just being screwed by the “wind chill.”

Also note: In the summer, substitute ‘wind chill’ with ‘humidity’ and you get another weather-related additive with the power to ruin your day.

3) And my personal favorite, the Rippah (ripper): When my friends were moving into their North End apartment owned by their realtor’s Italian family, their realtor asked them if they liked to have parties. That’s always an awkward question to get from a landlord. I believe they gave some vague answer indicating that they were social but not likely to hold any events that would make a landlord worry. “Ok that’s fine,” answered the realtor. “As lo-ang as yaw not throwin’ rippahs every weekend you should be all set.”

And here are some others for good measure:

4) Gross: Gross gets a wider variety of uses out here than it does with the rest of us, who normally reserve it for ‘things that repulse’. (And yes, I know it has all the other meanings like gross revenue, gross injustice, etc.) In New England, gross can describe anything that is extreme in a bad way. For instance, the weather: “It’s gross outside.” Jetlag: “I’m taking the redeye so I’ll be gross that day.” A work project: “You should see all the documentation and diagrams associated with it. It’s gross.” All kinds of things, really.

5) Yankee Swap: What the rest of us call a White Elephant, or Dirty Santa, or just a plain old “gift exchange,” New Englanders call a “Yankee Swap.” It’s the same thing, they’re just Yankees doing it.

6) Frappe: A milkshake. Or a blended coffee drink. I think they draw the line at smoothie.

7) Bubbler: A drinking fountain (not a pipe where you inhale smoke through a water-chamber. I know that’s what you were thinking)

8) Townie: A sometimes derogatory term to describe the blue-collar or bar-fly locals in Boston and the surrounding areas, as opposed to the yuppies and hipsters moving in. In California we just say locals (surfers often use it to alienate surf-tourists), and in Colorado they love the word ‘native’: “I’m a Colorado native.” But in New England you hear things like “It’s a townie bar,” which usually means it’s frequented by either middle-aged alcoholics born and raised in the town or twenty-something dudes in tracksuits, a la Ben Affleck in The Town.

I’m sure there are many more, so if you know of some others, remind or enlighten me in the comments.

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