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6 definitions found
 for saga
From The Collaborative International Dictionary of English v.0.48 :

  Saga \Sa"ga\ (s[=a]"g[.a]), n.; pl. Sagas (-g[.a]z). [Icel.,
     akin to E. saw a saying. See Say, and cf. Saw.]
     A Scandinavian legend, or heroic or mythic tradition, among
     the Norsemen and kindred people; a northern European popular
     historical or religious tale of olden time.
     [1913 Webster]
  
           And then the blue-eyed Norseman told
           A saga of the days of old.               --Longfellow.
     [1913 Webster]

From The Collaborative International Dictionary of English v.0.48 :

  Sagum \Sa"gum\, n.; pl. Saga. [L. sagum, sagus; cf. Gr. ?. Cf.
     Say a kind of serge.] (Rom. Antiq.)
     The military cloak of the Roman soldiers.
     [1913 Webster]

From WordNet (r) 3.0 (2006) :

  saga
      n 1: a narrative telling the adventures of a hero or a family;
           originally (12th to 14th centuries) a story of the families
           that settled Iceland and their descendants but now any
           prose narrative that resembles such an account

From V.E.R.A. -- Virtual Entity of Relevant Acronyms (September 2014) :

  SAGA
         Standards und Architekturen fuer eGovernment Anwendungen (IDA)
         

From The Jargon File (version 4.4.7, 29 Dec 2003) :

  saga
   n.
  
      [WPI] A cuspy but bogus raving story about N random broken people.
  
      Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told by Guy L. Steele:
  
          Jon L. White (login name JONL) and I (GLS) were office mates at MIT for
          many years. One April, we both flew from Boston to California for a
          week on research business, to consult face-to-face with some people at
          Stanford, particularly our mutual friend Richard P. Gabriel (RPG).
  
          RPG picked us up at the San Francisco airport and drove us back to Palo
          Alto (going logical south on route 101, parallel to El Camino Bignum
          ). Palo Alto is adjacent to Stanford University and about 40 miles
          south of San Francisco. We ate at The Good Earth, a ?health food?
          restaurant, very popular, the sort whose milkshakes all contain honey
          and protein powder. JONL ordered such a shake ? the waitress claimed
          the flavor of the day was ?lalaberry?. I still have no idea what that
          might be, but it became a running joke. It was the color of raspberry,
          and JONL said it tasted rather bitter. I ate a better tostada there
          than I have ever had in a Mexican restaurant.
  
          After this we went to the local Uncle Gaylord's Old Fashioned Ice Cream
          Parlor. They make ice cream fresh daily, in a variety of intriguing
          flavors. It's a chain, and they have a slogan: ?If you don't live near
          an Uncle Gaylord's ? MOVE!? Also, Uncle Gaylord (a real person) wages a
          constant battle to force big-name ice cream makers to print their
          ingredients on the package (like air and plastic and other non-natural
          garbage). JONL and I had first discovered Uncle Gaylord's the previous
          August, when we had flown to a computer-science conference in Berkeley,
          California, the first time either of us had been on the West Coast.
          When not in the conference sessions, we had spent our time wandering
          the length of Telegraph Avenue, which (like Harvard Square in
          Cambridge) was lined with picturesque street vendors and interesting
          little shops. On that street we discovered Uncle Gaylord's Berkeley
          store. The ice cream there was very good. During that August visit JONL
          went absolutely bananas (so to speak) over one particular flavor,
          ginger honey.
  
          Therefore, after eating at The Good Earth ? indeed, after every lunch
          and dinner and before bed during our April visit ? a trip to Uncle
          Gaylord's (the one in Palo Alto) was mandatory. We had arrived on a
          Wednesday, and by Thursday evening we had been there at least four
          times. Each time, JONL would get ginger honey ice cream, and proclaim
          to all bystanders that ?Ginger was the spice that drove the Europeans
          mad! That's why they sought a route to the East! They used it to
          preserve their otherwise off-taste meat.? After the third or fourth
          repetition RPG and I were getting a little tired of this spiel, and
          began to paraphrase him: ?Wow! Ginger! The spice that makes rotten meat
          taste good!? ?Say! Why don't we find some dog that's been run over and
          sat in the sun for a week and put some ginger on it for dinner?!? ?
          Right! With a lalaberry shake!? And so on. This failed to faze JONL; he
          took it in good humor, as long as we kept returning to Uncle Gaylord's.
          He loves ginger honey ice cream.
  
          Now RPG and his then-wife KBT (Kathy Tracy) were putting us up (putting
          up with us?) in their home for our visit, so to thank them JONL and I
          took them out to a nice French restaurant of their choosing. I
          unadventurously chose the filet mignon, and KBT had je ne sais quoi du
          jour, but RPG and JONL had lapin (rabbit). (Waitress: ?Oui, we have
          fresh rabbit, fresh today.? RPG: ?Well, JONL, I guess we won't need any
          ginger!?)
  
          We finished the meal late, about 11PM, which is 2AM Boston time, so
          JONL and I were rather droopy. But it wasn't yet midnight. Off to Uncle
          Gaylord's!
  
          Now the French restaurant was in Redwood City, north of Palo Alto. In
          leaving Redwood City, we somehow got onto route 101 going north instead
          of south. JONL and I wouldn't have known the difference had RPG not
          mentioned it. We still knew very little of the local geography. I did
          figure out, however, that we were headed in the direction of Berkeley,
          and half-jokingly suggested that we continue north and go to Uncle
          Gaylord's in Berkeley.
  
          RPG said ?Fine!? and we drove on for a while and talked. I was drowsy,
          and JONL actually dropped off to sleep for 5 minutes. When he awoke,
          RPG said, ?Gee, JONL, you must have slept all the way over the bridge!?
          , referring to the one spanning San Francisco Bay. Just then we came to
          a sign that said ?University Avenue?. I mumbled something about working
          our way over to Telegraph Avenue; RPG said ?Right!? and maneuvered some
          more. Eventually we pulled up in front of an Uncle Gaylord's.
  
          Now, I hadn't really been paying attention because I was so sleepy, and
          I didn't really understand what was happening until RPG let me in on it
          a few moments later, but I was just alert enough to notice that we had
          somehow come to the Palo Alto Uncle Gaylord's after all.
  
          JONL noticed the resemblance to the Palo Alto store, but hadn't caught
          on. (The place is lit with red and yellow lights at night, and looks
          much different from the way it does in daylight.) He said, ?This isn't
          the Uncle Gaylord's I went to in Berkeley! It looked like a barn! But
          this place looks just like the one back in Palo Alto!?
  
          RPG deadpanned, ?Well, this is the one I always come to when I'm in
          Berkeley. They've got two in San Francisco, too. Remember, they're a
          chain.?
  
          JONL accepted this bit of wisdom. And he was not totally ignorant ? he
          knew perfectly well that University Avenue was in Berkeley, not far
          from Telegraph Avenue. What he didn't know was that there is a
          completely different University Avenue in Palo Alto.
  
          JONL went up to the counter and asked for ginger honey. The guy at the
          counter asked whether JONL would like to taste it first, evidently
          their standard procedure with that flavor, as not too many people like
          it.
  
          JONL said, ?I'm sure I like it. Just give me a cone.? The guy behind
          the counter insisted that JONL try just a taste first. ?Some people
          think it tastes like soap.? JONL insisted, ?Look, I love ginger. I eat
          Chinese food. I eat raw ginger roots. I already went through this
          hassle with the guy back in Palo Alto. I know I like that flavor!?
  
          At the words ?back in Palo Alto? the guy behind the counter got a very
          strange look on his face, but said nothing. KBT caught his eye and
          winked. Through my stupor I still hadn't quite grasped what was going
          on, and thought RPG was rolling on the floor laughing and clutching his
          stomach just because JONL had launched into his spiel (?makes rotten
          meat a dish for princes?) for the forty-third time. At this point, RPG
          clued me in fully.
  
          RPG, KBT, and I retreated to a table, trying to stifle our chuckles.
          JONL remained at the counter, talking about ice cream with the guy
          b.t.c., comparing Uncle Gaylord's to other ice cream shops and
          generally having a good old time.
  
          At length the g.b.t.c.: said, ?How's the ginger honey?? JONL said, ?
          Fine! I wonder what exactly is in it?? Now Uncle Gaylord publishes all
          his recipes and even teaches classes on how to make his ice cream at
          home. So the g.b.t.c.: got out the recipe, and he and JONL pored over
          it for a while. But the g.b.t.c.: could contain his curiosity no
          longer, and asked again, ?You really like that stuff, huh?? JONL said,
          ?Yeah, I've been eating it constantly back in Palo Alto for the past
          two days. In fact, I think this batch is about as good as the cones I
          got back in Palo Alto!?
  
          G.b.t.c.: looked him straight in the eye and said, ?You're in Palo
          Alto!?
  
          JONL turned slowly around, and saw the three of us collapse in a fit of
          giggles. He clapped a hand to his forehead and exclaimed, ?I've been
          hacked!?
  
      [My spies on the West Coast inform me that there is a close relative of the
      raspberry found out there called an ?ollalieberry? ?ESR]
  
      [Ironic footnote: the meme about ginger vs. rotting meat is an urban
      legend. It's not borne out by an examination of medieval recipes or period
      purchase records for spices, and appears full-blown in the works of Samuel
      Pegge, a gourmand and notorious flake case who originated numerous food
      myths. The truth seems to be that ginger was used to cover not rot but the
      extreme salt taste of meat packed in brine, which was the best method
      available before refrigeration. ?ESR]
  

From The Free On-line Dictionary of Computing (18 March 2015) :

  saga
  
      (WPI) A cuspy but bogus raving story about N
     random broken people.
  
     Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told by Guy
     Steele (GLS):
  
     Jon L. White (login name JONL) and I (GLS) were office mates
     at MIT for many years.  One April, we both flew from Boston
     to California for a week on research business, to consult
     face-to-face with some people at Stanford, particularly our
     mutual friend Richard Gabriel (RPG).
  
     RPG picked us up at the San Francisco airport and drove us
     back to Palo Alto (going logical south on route 101,
     parallel to El Camino Bignum).  Palo Alto is adjacent to
     Stanford University and about 40 miles south of San Francisco.
     We ate at The Good Earth, a "health food" restaurant, very
     popular, the sort whose milkshakes all contain honey and
     protein powder.  JONL ordered such a shake - the waitress
     claimed the flavour of the day was "lalaberry".  I still have
     no idea what that might be, but it became a running joke.  It
     was the colour of raspberry, and JONL said it tasted rather
     bitter.  I ate a better tostada there than I have ever had in
     a Mexican restaurant.
  
     After this we went to the local Uncle Gaylord's Old Fashioned
     Ice Cream Parlor.  They make ice cream fresh daily, in a
     variety of intriguing flavours.  It's a chain, and they have a
     slogan: "If you don't live near an Uncle Gaylord's - MOVE!"
     Also, Uncle Gaylord (a real person) wages a constant battle to
     force big-name ice cream makers to print their ingredients on
     the package (like air and plastic and other non-natural
     garbage).  JONL and I had first discovered Uncle Gaylord's the
     previous August, when we had flown to a computer-science
     conference in Berkeley, California, the first time either of
     us had been on the West Coast.  When not in the conference
     sessions, we had spent our time wandering the length of
     Telegraph Avenue, which (like Harvard Square in Cambridge) was
     lined with picturesque street vendors and interesting little
     shops.  On that street we discovered Uncle Gaylord's Berkeley
     store.  The ice cream there was very good.  During that August
     visit JONL went absolutely bananas (so to speak) over one
     particular flavour, ginger honey.
  
     Therefore, after eating at The Good Earth - indeed, after
     every lunch and dinner and before bed during our April visit
     --- a trip to Uncle Gaylord's (the one in Palo Alto) was
     mandatory.  We had arrived on a Wednesday, and by Thursday
     evening we had been there at least four times.  Each time,
     JONL would get ginger honey ice cream, and proclaim to all
     bystanders that "Ginger was the spice that drove the Europeans
     mad!  That's why they sought a route to the East!  They used
     it to preserve their otherwise off-taste meat."  After the
     third or fourth repetition RPG and I were getting a little
     tired of this spiel, and began to paraphrase him: "Wow!
     Ginger!  The spice that makes rotten meat taste good!"  "Say!
     Why don't we find some dog that's been run over and sat in the
     sun for a week and put some *ginger* on it for dinner?!"
     "Right!  With a lalaberry shake!"  And so on.  This failed to
     faze JONL; he took it in good humour, as long as we kept
     returning to Uncle Gaylord's.  He loves ginger honey ice
     cream.
  
     Now RPG and his then-wife KBT (Kathy Tracy) were putting us up
     (putting up with us?) in their home for our visit, so to thank
     them JONL and I took them out to a nice French restaurant of
     their choosing.  I unadventurously chose the filet mignon, and
     KBT had je ne sais quoi du jour, but RPG and JONL had lapin
     (rabbit).  (Waitress: "Oui, we have fresh rabbit, fresh
     today."  RPG: "Well, JONL, I guess we won't need any
     *ginger*!")
  
     We finished the meal late, about 11 P.M., which is 2 A.M
     Boston time, so JONL and I were rather droopy.  But it wasn't
     yet midnight.  Off to Uncle Gaylord's!
  
     Now the French restaurant was in Redwood City, north of Palo
     Alto.  In leaving Redwood City, we somehow got onto route 101
     going north instead of south.  JONL and I wouldn't have known
     the difference had RPG not mentioned it.  We still knew very
     little of the local geography.  I did figure out, however,
     that we were headed in the direction of Berkeley, and
     half-jokingly suggested that we continue north and go to Uncle
     Gaylord's in Berkeley.
  
     RPG said "Fine!" and we drove on for a while and talked.  I
     was drowsy, and JONL actually dropped off to sleep for 5
     minutes.  When he awoke, RPG said, "Gee, JONL, you must have
     slept all the way over the bridge!", referring to the one
     spanning San Francisco Bay.  Just then we came to a sign that
     said "University Avenue".  I mumbled something about working
     our way over to Telegraph Avenue; RPG said "Right!" and
     maneuvered some more.  Eventually we pulled up in front of an
     Uncle Gaylord's.
  
     Now, I hadn't really been paying attention because I was so
     sleepy, and I didn't really understand what was happening
     until RPG let me in on it a few moments later, but I was just
     alert enough to notice that we had somehow come to the Palo
     Alto Uncle Gaylord's after all.
  
     JONL noticed the resemblance to the Palo Alto store, but
     hadn't caught on.  (The place is lit with red and yellow
     lights at night, and looks much different from the way it does
     in daylight.)  He said, "This isn't the Uncle Gaylord's I went
     to in Berkeley!  It looked like a barn!  But this place looks
     *just like* the one back in Palo Alto!"
  
     RPG deadpanned, "Well, this is the one *I* always come to when
     I'm in Berkeley.  They've got two in San Francisco, too.
     Remember, they're a chain."
  
     JONL accepted this bit of wisdom.  And he was not totally
     ignorant - he knew perfectly well that University Avenue was
     in Berkeley, not far from Telegraph Avenue.  What he didn't
     know was that there is a completely different University
     Avenue in Palo Alto.
  
     JONL went up to the counter and asked for ginger honey.  The
     guy at the counter asked whether JONL would like to taste it
     first, evidently their standard procedure with that flavour,
     as not too many people like it.
  
     JONL said, "I'm sure I like it.  Just give me a cone."  The
     guy behind the counter insisted that JONL try just a taste
     first.  "Some people think it tastes like soap."  JONL
     insisted, "Look, I *love* ginger.  I eat Chinese food.  I eat
     raw ginger roots.  I already went through this hassle with the
     guy back in Palo Alto.  I *know* I like that flavour!"
  
     At the words "back in Palo Alto" the guy behind the counter
     got a very strange look on his face, but said nothing.  KBT
     caught his eye and winked.  Through my stupor I still hadn't
     quite grasped what was going on, and thought RPG was rolling
     on the floor laughing and clutching his stomach just because
     JONL had launched into his spiel ("makes rotten meat a dish
     for princes") for the forty-third time.  At this point, RPG
     clued me in fully.
  
     RPG, KBT, and I retreated to a table, trying to stifle our
     chuckles.  JONL remained at the counter, talking about ice
     cream with the guy b.t.c., comparing Uncle Gaylord's to other
     ice cream shops and generally having a good old time.
  
     At length the g.b.t.c. said, "How's the ginger honey?"  JONL
     said, "Fine!  I wonder what exactly is in it?"  Now Uncle
     Gaylord publishes all his recipes and even teaches classes on
     how to make his ice cream at home.  So the g.b.t.c. got out
     the recipe, and he and JONL pored over it for a while.  But
     the g.b.t.c. could contain his curiosity no longer, and asked
     again, "You really like that stuff, huh?"  JONL said, "Yeah,
     I've been eating it constantly back in Palo Alto for the past
     two days.  In fact, I think this batch is about as good as the
     cones I got back in Palo Alto!"
  
     G.b.t.c. looked him straight in the eye and said, "You're *in*
     Palo Alto!"
  
     JONL turned slowly around, and saw the three of us collapse in
     a fit of giggles.  He clapped a hand to his forehead and
     exclaimed, "I've been hacked!"
  
     [My spies on the West Coast inform me that there is a close
     relative of the raspberry found out there called an
     "ollalieberry" - ESR]
  
     [Ironic footnote: it appears that the meme about ginger vs.
     rotting meat may be an urban legend.  It's not borne out by an
     examination of mediaeval recipes or period purchase records
     for spices, and appears full-blown in the works of Samuel
     Pegge, a gourmand and notorious flake case who originated
     numerous food myths. - ESR]
  
     [{Jargon File]
  
     (1994-12-08)
  

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