-by Fish

"Apple jack". What's that make you think of?

Odds are, your answer wasn't "an alcoholic beverage made of concentrated hard cider". Alas.

A century ago, before the advent of breakfast cereal, there would have been one and only one answer. Hard cider had been common in America since colonial times, so it was natural to make a stronger drink from it. Prohibition changed that; apple cider fell out of the American palate, and applejack fell along with it.

But a puritanical amendment to the Constitution wasn't what transformed the word. No, for that we needed one Mr. Kellogg and the marketing power of his company. Kellogg's named a cereal after the drink, and as the sugary kibble grew in popularity, it subsumed the term. The cereal became the default. Today, many folks have never heard of "applejack", and if they hear it mentioned in the context of inebriation, they're likely to just be amused: getting drunk? Off of a cereal? The idea would just make them snicker. (And let's not even discuss what's happened to that word.)

If "carjacking" is hijacking a car, and "skyjacking" is hijacking an airplane, then "applejack" has clearly been... wordjacked.

"Applejack" is hardly the only term to undergo this kind of humiliation. "Sprite" is no longer a kind of fairy; you can't describe something as "sun-kissed" without making the listener think of an orange; "ritz" doesn't connote something fancy, but rather something to hold cheese. They've been wordjacked, transformed from terms into shills. Madison Avenue's taken these words and turned them into Words™.

The worst victim, though, is the Wheel of Fortune. It was once a respected view of Fate: Fate spun her wheel, changing the fortunes of those on it. You might be at the top at one point, but the wheel would eventually turn and bring you back down to the bottom. This philosophical concept was, at one time, so profound that one of the Tarot cards even represents it. And now? You can't say "Wheel of Fortune" without making people think of a glittering studio set, a well-coiffed right-wingnut, a vapid model, and some turning letters. Fate, it seems, has spun the Wheel for the Wheel itself, and it wasn't a very good spin. Or, to use the wordjacked conception, the wheel landed on "Bankrupt."

It's an unfortunate loss for the English language, since the concept of the revolving wheel can help explain current-day changes in fortune. Let us consider, say, Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. Just a few years ago, Jessica was considered the breakout star, the pretty blonde ubiquitous in the media, a movie headliner. Nick, then her husband, was the washed-up boy-band singer along for the ride. Indeed, when the two split, the celebrity blogs and pop-culture shows were quick to predict Nick's quick drop to the bottom of the pond. Instead, Nick's new record has topped the charts, while the celebrity blogs have turned on Jessica: picking on her outfits, highlighting her foibles, and painting her as a semi-talented puppet of her Svengali father. The wheel has turned.

Let us also consider Jessica's sister, who a few years ago was a lip-synching piece of pop product – by all accounts, a less attractive, less talented version of her sister. Now, after cosmetic surgery and a change in hair color, Ashlee's on the rise. The celeb-bloggers increasingly find her to be the more attractive one; Playboy even offered her $4 million to pose.

I'm sure if Jessica were the philosophical type (and I'm going to go out on a limb and assume she isn't), this might give her pause to consider the Wheel. With her ex-husband and her sister on the rise and her own fortunes troubled, she might be wondering if Fate will give her another spin back up to the top, or if she's going to become a washed-up former star, sitting on her couch in her PJs watching the other two on TV, while she finishes off another bowl of Apple Jacks.