鈥榊ou know you can鈥檛 kill them all, right?鈥�
She was on the deck, watching me uproot dandelions from the back lawn. Dozens and dozens of dandelions that suddenly flowered from nowhere, just like all those buy-cheap-masks scams that pop up in your e-mail.
鈥淚 know,鈥� I replied, 鈥渂ut I can flatten the curve.鈥�
This is my self-isolation goal now, staying on top of the dandelions before they spread out of control. As soon as those little yellow heads appear, boom, out they come, expelled from civil society like a Costco hoarder.
Then, every day at 3 p.m., I聽drag a makeshift podium into the middle of the lawn and announce the daily tally: 鈥淭oday we identified 55 new dandelions, which were immediately isolated in the old garbage can next to the wheelbarrow. This brings this spring鈥檚 total to 268.鈥�
A month ago such behaviour would have been seen as nuts. Today, it鈥檚 simply divorce-worthy. People understand the reference. They get what you mean when you talk about flattening the curve, a phrase that first appeared in the sa国际传媒 just a few weeks (really? wasn鈥檛 it years?) ago.
We have, in fact, adopted a whole new lexicon, comfortably spitting out terms we had never wrapped our tongues around before: 鈥渃oronavirus,鈥� 鈥渟helter in place,鈥� 鈥淧PEs鈥� and 鈥淭rump said what?!?鈥� (OK, that last one鈥檚 not new).
We can hair-split the difference between 鈥渟elf-quarantine鈥� and 鈥渟elf-isolate,鈥� know the distinction between 鈥減andemic鈥� and 鈥渆pidemic,鈥� and will confidently weigh in on whether it鈥檚 better to refer to 鈥減hysical鈥� rather than 鈥渟ocial鈥� distancing.
So common have some terms suddenly become that Merriam Webster, which usually only recognizes new words once they have proven their staying power, revamped its online dictionary March 18, adding or redefining the likes of 鈥渃ontact tracing鈥� and 鈥渃ommunity spread.鈥�
鈥淏ecause the COVID-19 crisis has developed at such a rapid pace and some of the words and ideas associated with the crisis are themselves new, we have made an unscheduled update for words connected with the disease and responses to it,鈥� the publisher announced. Note that the name COVID-19 itself was used for the first time on Feb. 11.
Maybe our familiarity with this new, strange vocabulary will be a short-term thing, similar to the way we all start talking like English soccer (er, football) commentators when the World Cup rolls around every four years: 鈥淔rance led one-nil at the hour but Nigeria equalized in stoppage time.鈥�
Not likely, though. Chances are 鈥渇lattening the curve鈥� and 鈥渟ocial distancing鈥� will become embedded, just as such words as 鈥渟taycation,鈥� 鈥渕icroblogging,鈥� 鈥渢urducken鈥� and 鈥渃heeseball鈥� (the human variety) have all stayed with us since being added to the Oxford Dictionary of English in 2010.
On the other hand (and speaking of the World Cup) you don鈥檛 hear much anymore from one of that year鈥檚 other additions, 鈥渧uvuzela,鈥� the annoying noisemaker/horn whose monotonous drone provided the soundtrack to that year鈥檚 soccer finals in South Africa.
Words and expressions come and go. 鈥淵ou sound like a broken record鈥� and 鈥渁 penny for your thoughts鈥� are now as obsolete as 鈥渉old your horses鈥� (though we still talk about 鈥渄ialling鈥� numbers and say 鈥淚鈥檓 hanging up now鈥� even though rotary phones with actual hooks disappeared around the same time as your Bay City Rollers album).
Similarly, allusions to historical events can become meaningless as history fades. In newsrooms, journalists are now admonished to refrain from appending the suffix 鈥済ate鈥� to every scandal du jour. Where it was once common to default to Tunagate (1985), Bingogate (1995), Shawinigate (1999) or Casinogate (also 1999), by the time Tom Brady played with his balls and gave us Deflategate (2015) many had forgotten, or never heard of, the Watergate break-in of 1972. The kids in Grade 12 today weren鈥檛 even born when 9/11 happened, so聽how are they supposed to remember Richard Nixon and G.聽Gordon Liddy?
Pop-culture references have even narrower windows. After a burglar was convicted of breaking into Burton Cummings鈥� Saanich Peninsula house, but not sent to prison, I wrote what I thought was a brilliant headline: 鈥淗e got, got, got, got, got no time.鈥� For those of you staring blankly at the page, Cummings was lead singer for a popular band called the Guess Who, and they played a song that went. 鈥� Oh, never mind.
I鈥檓 going to hang up now and go do my best to flatten the curve. Language adapts. So can we.
