ColumnI’m guilty of the occasional selfie. So, I took a new one in honor of 2013’s word of the year—and highlighting one of my favorite words.

The fact that “selfie” is the  2013 Word of the Year doesn’t say good things about how we, collectively, behaved this year.

Selfie. Just look at it sitting there doing nothing and not even being a real word.

As a writer, I admit that I think about words more than the average person. I constantly strive to replace vague words with clear words and wimpy words with strong words because language, when used thoughtfully, is a powerful change agent.

Let’s look at two of my favorite issues for a quick primer: Pro-Life vs. Anti-Choice. Gay Marriage vs. Marriage Equality. We use language every day to pull people over to our side, and to separate ourselves from what we disagree with.

Selfie is static. It’s a photo capturing a staged moment in time. There’s rarely action expected or required on the part of the viewer (aside from maybe clicking “like” or giving it a heart). Unlike the heavily-charged linguistic choices mentioned previously, selfie is a throw-away.

Selfie itself is a structurally wimpy word. Say it out loud and try to sound forceful. It’s impossible and, what’s worse, is that I swear you have to cock your head a little to the side to say it.

You know what’s a powerful word? Cunt. That’s right. It’s so powerful that even Cher stumbled recently and ended up using “c-word” instead of the real thing when describing Sarah Palin. To be fair, Cher was wrong. Palin totally isn’t a cunt. Cunts are powerful and strong. I’d call Palin a twat.

As long as we’re on the topic of words and their origin—and cunts—here’s a little history lesson from Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues. “Cuneiform,” the most ancient form of writing, derives from the Sumerian, “kunta” meaning “female genitalia.” At that time, women were likely to be accountants or administrators of Temple of Inanna in Sumeria. So, it is highly likely that cuneiform was “the sign of the kunta” who kept the books. So, a “cunt” is actually a “queen who invented writing and numerals.” Ta da.

Respect to Cher; cunt was definitely the wrong word for Palin.

So why has cunt (which was good enough for Chaucer and Shakespeare) been replaced by the more delicate sounding pussy, hoo-hah or va-jay-jay in polite (such as it is) company? According to linguists, the answer might be less complicated than the reason some words fall out of favor today—see the ongoing attack on the word “vagina.”

On Slate, Forrest Wickman points out that cunt is a blunt, Anglo-Saxon word, and that many of the most taboo words are Anglo-Saxon monosyllables with short vowels. Just think for a second, you’ll come up with a list.

The Oxford Dictionary Online’s choice of selfie as our word of the year reflects our growing interest in personal technology and dicking about on the internet (as did last year’s winner, GIF), but  is also  a reflection of our narcissism. A selfie is a photo we take of ourselves and post online. It’s rare that we don’t look awesome in these photos, just ask Beyonce. The lighting just so. Chin tipped down to avoid fat-face. Bookshelves lined with smart people books or a lovely natural scene providing the backdrop.

Conceptually, the word of the year is light and silly. It’s supposed to be reflective of pop culture; I get it. If that’s the intent, twerk might have been a more apt commentary on 2013—though if I never have to type that word again I win at life.

In a year when people are constantly using language for their own self-interest (Oh, hi, Obamacare, didn’t you used to be the Affordable Care Act?), selfie might just be the perfect choice.

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The Princess and the Tramp

Blurred Lines and Rape Culture

The post ‘Selfie’ Is Our Word of the Year: That Happened appeared first on EcoSalon.

30 ways to say I love you no matter where you roam.

Ana behibek (to woman) (änä hĕ bēk) / Ana behibak (to man) (änä hĕ bĕk) – Arabic

Obicham te (ō bē′ cham tā) – Bulgarian

Soro lahn nhee ah (sir  län  nē  rock) – Cambodian (Khmer)

Wo ai ni (wō ī nē) – Chinese (Mandarin)

Volim te (vau leem  tĕ) – Croatian

Miluji te (mē lū sēē  chā) – Czech

Jeg elsker dig (yī  el sker  dī) – Danish

Ik hou van jou (ĭk  how  von  yow) – Dutch

Au lomani iko (au  dō mä nē  ēkō) – Fijian

Mahal kita (mä häl  kē tä) – Filipino (Tagalog)

Je t’aime (jĕ  tĕm) – French

Ich liebe dich (ēsh  lē-bĕ  dēsh) – German

Ani ohev otach (to woman) (ä-nē  ōhĕv  ōtäk) / Ani ohevet otcha (to man) (ä-nē  ōhĕ-vĕt  ōt-kä) – Hebrew

Mein tumse pyar karta hoon (to woman) (mĕ  äp-sē  pē-är  kär-tä  hūn) / Mein tumse pyar karti hoon (to man) (mĕ  äp-sē  pē-är  kär-tē  hūn) – Hindi

Gráim thú (graw-im  hoo) – Irish Gaelic

Ti amo (tē  ämō) – Italian

Aishiteru (ī shē tā ē rū) – Japanese

Sarang hae (sä-räng  hĕ) – Korean

Saya cinta pada mu (sä-yä  cheen-tä  pä-dä  mū) – Malay

Doset daram (dū sät  dä räm) – Persian (Farsi)

Eu te amo (eh-oo  tē  ämō) – Portuguese

Te iubesc (tĕ  yū bā-sk) – Romanian

Ya tebya liubliu (yä  tĭb-yä  lū-blū) – Russian

Waan ku jecelahay (ooh wan  koo  chet lä hī) – Somali

Te amo (tā  ämō) – Spanish

Nakupenda (nä kū pĕn dä) – Swahili

Jag älskar dig (yä  ĕlsker  dā) – Swedish

Phom rak khun (to woman) (pŏm  läk  kūn) / Chan rak khun (to man) (chän  läk  kūn) – Thai

Seni seviyorum (sĕn-yē  sā vē your rŭm) – Turkish

‘Rwy’n dy garu di (roo-in  dū  garry  dee) – Welsh

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How To Say I’m Vegetarian in 10 Different Languages

Images: Jeff Kubina, biphop, riccardo f.m., Hey Filbert

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The digital age has irrevocably changed the way we communicate, but has it also changed the way we view our friends and relationships?

What’s in a name? In the olden days, when telephones were things that stayed at home connected by wire to a socket in the wall, we all knew by heart the numbers of our closest friends. It was comforting, almost poetic: first name surname number number number, like the rhythmical beat of a train on the tracks. The sound of the phone number of my mother’s house from my childhood, long confined to history and newly replaced with another, longer, less sing-songily elegant number, still invokes in me a feeling of comfort and warmth.
These days, the phone and user have switched places and the phone is definitely in control: I have no idea how to get hold of my parents without my mobile showing me the way. I feel anxious if I leave the house without it, not because I suffer from some kind of modern day Hyper Communication Syndrome, but because if I got lost I would never ever ever be able to find my way back again. Whom would I call? How would I call them? Even if I found a pay phone, what number would I dial?

And worse, I don’t even know anyone’s surname any more so I couldn’t look anyone up. Scrolling through my phone book is like a hilarious litany of drunken nights out, but not very useful for actually getting hold of anyone.

My friend Jen, who I met while organising a friend’s hen party and who was charged with making a cake for said party, is listed as Jen Hen Cake. I’ve now known her for nearly five years. No idea what her name really is.

Caroline Jo is Caroline who was met through Jo. Sophie Tattoo has lots of tattoos. Jenny Flapper Dress was met…well in truth I have no idea who Jenny Flapper Dress is. Maybe I’ll text her and find out.

My husband, my actual husband to whom I am married and share a surname, is listed in my phone as Toby Drums. I met him while he was playing the drums in another friend’s band.

There is a theory that says a person’s name influences their role in society. J. W. Splatt and D. Weedon were the authors of an article on incontinence the British Journal of Urology. The Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales is named Igor Judge.
But nominative determinism is not new. It is, in fact, how all surnames came to exist in the first place. Frank Johnson was John’s son. James Fletcher put the fletching on arrows. Dave Cooper made barrels. All these names were given to identify, to allow others to know their place in society.

Even early in the 1900s, thousands of immigrants to England from Europe changed their surnames in order to better find their place. My grandfather was one of them, changing his Polish name (Schakowsky) to something considerably more Anglicised (Lewis) in order to more fully assimilate into his adopted country.

And today, parents agonise for nine long months to come up with the perfect name for their children, but by the time we get to school we all end up being called what our classmates want to call us, anyway. We all nestle neatly in to a niche somewhere and it makes sense that our names end up reflecting that.

These mutating identities are nothing new, it’s just that now we record things in a different way, often a much more public way (see: Facebook, Twitter, blogs).

It would be easy to assume that our relationships must be diminished because of this loss of personal information. How can you possibly be proper friends with someone if you don’t even know their surname, if you can’t possibly recall their mobile from memory? I would argue that these things are simply the natural evolution of language and culture, and while I don’t expect Jen Whateverhernameis to suddenly and officially change her name to Jen Hen Cake, it is a connection we share, a way we become more fully assimilated into our social circle, a sign of affection that I do actually know who she is and what she does, and our friendship is better for it. Even if I can only maintain it on speed dial.

What do people call you and why, or what odd names have you found in your phone book?

Image: Pink Poppy Photography

The post Of Names and Numbers appeared first on EcoSalon.

QuoteDaily quotes at EcoSalon.

“When I quote others I do so in order to express my own ideas more clearly.” -Michel de Montaigne
Image: margolove

The post The Written Word appeared first on EcoSalon.

We call each other “lady,” but that rankles some. Some people find “gal” offensive while others are bothered by “girl.” “Chick” means fluffy little creatures meant for cuddling and light thinking. Or does it? What do women call each other these days? More to the point, what’s offensive and what’s not?

When feminists were making their mark in the 1970s, “chick” and other terms were considered insulting. For chick in particular, many felt the term sought to infantilize women. Consequently, a generation of women threw off the term as a marker of patriarchal oppression. Now, chick is a common tag amongst third wave feminists who embrace the term as an endearment. Repossessing a word that was initially meant to demean has become a mark of empowerment and even sisterhood.

Still, not everyone agrees. So where has this left us? For some, walking a minefield of linguistics while waiting for a bomb to detonate without warning. And yes, don’t women have bigger fish to fry than worry about what people call them? What about the Great Recession, reproductive rights, climate change, or Madonna’s impossibly high bar of fitness for the age 50 and over crowd? Some might argue that we just need to get over ourselves. After all, sticks and stones – it’s just words, right?

Perhaps. But at the same time, to argue that words are nonchalant ignores the very power of language. Just a brief look at “chick” brings up an interesting historical narrative. First, it’s now become an adjective as much as it is a noun. But are you praising or insulting a book when you call it “chick lit?” In the 19th century, women like Fanny Fern, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Maria Susanna Cummins led in sales, enough so that Nathaniel Hawthorne famously remarked “America is now wholly given over to a d-d mob of scribbling women”.

When I just threw a Google on this subject, I found a site referring to Fern and others as “chick lit writer babes.” Was Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, really a “chick lit writer babe?” And what is the intention of calling her that – is she being praised or demeaned? Sometimes, it isn’t clear. And this is where people get into trouble.

And WWGSD do? (And that would be, yes, What Would Gloria Steinem Do?) She vetoes chick here. But I have many feminist friends who use the term with aplomb, and I never flinch to hear it from them. Why? Because I know their intention. And yet, I don’t think there’s a definitive line to draw in the sand over who should say what. But I do strongly respect a person’s right to care. And because of that, I stick to “lady.” Or “girl.” Or even “man.” Who am I offending with that? I’m sure someone will let me know soon enough.

What do other think about this? We asked these women and one man of words how they felt.

Starre Vartan, author of The Eco-Chick Guide to Life
So, regarding chick, I have been asked about this before. (Actually, I was accosted by a woman at a panel discussion, an old feminist who was so angry I used chick.) To me, using words that were previously considered insulting or demeaning to women, and using them to name ourselves takes their negative power away. I hope that by using the word “chick” for a blog about women’s green interest topics, we are giving it new life, and changing the definition over time. This has worked for other words, like fag, and I think it can work for feminist words too.

Gretchen Jones, Winner of Project Runway Season 8, Designer of Mothlove
I suppose I think this question is a ridiculous question in itself!? I think being bothered by such casual [and trivial] titles plays into the satirical element of being “PC.” Being offended by such terminology to me is a waste of time. We are all and any of these at any given time. Embrace them, accept them as nonchalant – and let go.

Julie Gabriel, author of The Green Beauty Guide
Girl, gal, chick are most depressive and diminishing. I’d rather hear “ma’am” or “ladies”. Why do you really need address your readers based on their gender? It makes as much sense as writing one article for women and one for men. Or making one bus entrance for Caucasians and another one for non-whites. What do women call each other here in England? “Luv” and “gorgeous,” and between very close friends it’s “princess” and well, luv. But mostly by name.

Robin Epstein, author of God Is in the Pancakes
I’m not really the take offense to language type, so I’m okay with being called anything except “spinster.” (I prefer “lady in waiting” to describe my state of matrimony or lack thereof.) I’ll also use any of those terms to describe women, though I rarely use “girlfriend” since it sounds dated and I don’t want people thinking I’m a spinster because I’m stuck in the 1995.

Anna Brones, Contributing Writer, EcoSalon
All my 20-something, independent, no-frills, upfront female friends call each other lady. Preferably said “hey layydee!” Although if anyone of the male gender ever said it to us, it would probably be returned with a raise of the eyebrows and a mental note to judge said man over ladies coffee later in the week.

Brian Clark Howard, author and journalist
The truth is that I often call women “chicks” when talking among my guy friends but I try not to use it in front of women because I have gotten bad reactions. When in front of women, I usually say woman or women unless they are obviously quite young, then it is girl. I try to find out what each person prefers.

Kim Derby, Contributing Writer, EcoSalon
These days I think we’re lucky to be called anything at all, with people texting and IMing so much and not even using names when they talk to people. So I’m not offended when called chick or gal or girl or lady. Just don’t call me “ma’am.” All kidding aside, life is too short to get upset about stuff like this. The word someone uses says more about THEM than it does about me anyway.

Anna Getty, author of Anna Getty’s Easy, Green Organic
Call me anything but don’t call me dude.

Image: samdogs

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