oleaginous
(adj.) [ˌoʊliˈædʒənəs] — (1) having the nature or properties of oil; containing oil or an oily substance; oily, fatty, greasy; (2) producing or yielding oil; (3) figurative: exaggeratedly and distastefully complimentary; obsequious, unctuous (OED)
So many oleaginous things! Olives and corn would surely head any enumeration, followed, in no particular order, by flax, sesame or safflower seeds, palms, soybeans, peanuts, cotton or grape seeds, coconuts, açaí, Brazil nuts, jambú, tucumã, buriti, hazelnuts, carapa, passion fruit, not to mention generic “vegetables” as well as whales, seals and walruses, and millennia-old deposits of transformed organic material trapped under the earth and often accessible only through drilling in and despoiling of the dry land or, what is arguably worse, the floors and dependent wildlife of oceans, the extracted oils from all sources showing up from time to time conveniently canned and bottled or pumped through hoses and for sale in various commercial enterprises to meet our cooking, cosmetic, lubricating, heating and internal combustion needs! And that’s just for starters, though this listing does give an idea of the range and scope of oleaginy.
But most interesting to those of us here at WOTD are the metaphoric uses of this word, and more particularly still, its use in describing a certain sort of person, though I suppose one might describe the “atmosphere”—literally after an explosion of a neighborhood chemical plant or petroleum refinery or of a derailed and wrecked freight train transporting tank cars full of flammable, toxic fluids or figuratively at a certain sort of meeting of high-powered business executives—as “oleaginous.” Some might characterize this sort of person and the locations where concentrations of suchlike tend to congregate as “slimy,” but I refer “oleaginous” as it seems so much more substantially contemptible.
In case you have little idea of what such a person might be like, a concrete, albeit literary example might be useful. For those familiar with My Fair Lady who also may be among those who consider it, perhaps, one of the very best examples of the accomplishments of American musical theater, I would remind you of Professor Higgins’s account in song (“You Did It”) delivered with his associate Colonel Pickering of the “coming out” ball at which he introduces Eliza, transformed by his elocutionary efforts, to London society. In his account Higgins describes the scene as Eliza endures the critical scrutiny of Zoltan Karparthy, a fellow elocutionist whose status and opinion as an authority on authentic upper-class English speech is both well established and crucial for certifying as successful Higgins’s efforts in transforming Eliza from a lower-class, begrimed Cockney flower-girl into an elegant lady indistinguishable from the flower (in a different sense) of Mayfair society. But let’s give an ear to the good Professor:1
Higgins: Thank Heavens for Zoltan Karparthy. If it weren't for him I would have died of boredom. Mrs. Pearce: Karparthy? That dreadful Hungarian? Was he there? Higgins: Yes. That blackguard who uses the science of speech More to blackmail and swindle than teach; He made it the devilish business of his “To find out who this Miss Doolittle is.” Ev’ry time we looked around There he was, that hairy hound from Budapest. Never leaving us alone, never have I ever known A ruder pest. Fin’lly I decided it was foolish Not to let him have his chance with her. So I stepped aside and let him dance with her. Oozing charm from ev’ry pore He oiled his way around the floor. Ev’ry trick that he could play, He used to strip her mask away. And when at last the dance was done, He glowed as if he knew he’d won! And with a voice too eager, And a smile too broad, he announced to the hostess That she was a fraud! Mrs. Pearce, et al: No! Higgins: Ja wohl! Her English is too good, he said, Which clearly indicates that she is foreign. Whereas others are instructed in their native language English people aren’t. And although she may have studied with an expert Di’lectician and grammarian, I can tell that she was born— Hungarian! Not only Hungarian, but of royal blood! She is a princess! Mrs. Pearce & Servants: Congratulations, Professor Higgins, for your glorious victory!
In case you’re wondering, Higgins is being credited with a “victory” since he and Pickering had made a gentleman’s bet that Higgin couldn’t convert Eliza Doolittle into a lady by simply training her to speak “properly,” by no means an easy task or a conversion to be effected, one might have thought, on such a seemingly thin reed—the clothes must also have had something to do with it—but one very worth the effort for anyone who wants to hope for genuine acceptance into any group whatsoever (with the possible exception of acceptance by the American electorate), let alone into the English upper class. And so, we have Karparthy, both Hungarian and oleaginous, hoodwinked into being an unwitting accomplice in an entertaining social experiment. Musical theater with a [s]lightly serious purpose.