Archive for the ‘Words’ Category

Cunts!

Wednesday, March 30th, 2016

Cunt wall

I was just recoiling from the word “lady”when used in neologisms like ladyboss or lady-parts, when I came across this horrifying tidbit about the Vagina Monologues:

Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologue “Reclaiming Cunt” spells out every letter and encourages the audience to see the word as beautiful, powerful and sexy rather than disgusting, degrading and ugly. In one of the most powerful pieces of theatre I’ve seen, the audience is invited to chant the word “cunt” back at the person delivering the monologue.

God. I had no idea.

That’s theater, yelling ‘cunt?’

Not a day goes by that I don’t yell Cunt, several times in fact, either at the TV or my computer. I can’t believe that cunt is still such a big deal. But it is, according to the Guardian:

“Cunt” is still regarded as the most shocking word in the English language. Its consonants are acerbically hard, its meaning unequivocal.

Its meaning is unequivocal?? Not at all. Often, it just means “dude” as in “some cunt took my parking space.” Other times, it might mean bitch, like “Look at what that cunt Hillary just said about Bernie.”

If the Guardian thinks it means “vagina,” that’s just stupid. No one uses ‘cunt’ that way. And if they did, so what?

Why is ‘cunt’ worse than”pussy?” I guess I’ll never understand the negative power of a word I find so useful and even fun!

Getting back to “lady” though, ugh, horrible. Remember ladyboner? Horrible. Ladyboy is kind of cute, though, because it’s confusing or because Amy Winehouse used it, but otherwise lady-anything is just grating to my ear and somehow repulsive.

Here are the other words that have bothered me this week:

jettisoned (used by a blogger who meant ‘threw away’)
China (as enunciated by Donal Trump)
crossbody (a type of handbag)
sneaks (for sneakers, ew!)
substantive (quick. try saying it 3 times)
intersectional ( pc gibberish)

Your turn, if you’ve got anything.

 

 

 

The Famous Writer

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

famous writer

Late in 2012, I became Facebook friends with a famous writer. I considered him one of the most talented writers around, a truly unique and brilliant voice. His novels are dark and disturbing but also hilarious.

He not only accepted my friend request, but he sent me a message to say he liked my blog. It was like being blessed by the Pope, only better.

We started to write messages back and forth and exchanged email addresses, We shared a depressed but cynically amused world view and had many of the same literary heroes. We even shared a love/hate relationship with weightlifting.

We decided to talk on the phone. I loved his deep voice and I loved his ideas. Here he was, a living god, and he seemed to really enjoy talking to me.

Our conversations weren’t sexual or even suggestive, but it was like a love affair based on a mutual sensibility. That’s how I saw it.

We talked about suicide and his experience helping a deeply depressed friend. I told him that I was struggling, and his insights were comforting and useful.

He told me about a crazy girlfriend who had shattered his belief in his own judgement. She had bailed on him without warning and married some other guy. I agreed with his diagnosis of her and we spent many hours going over the awfulness of dealing with Borderline Personality Disorders.

We talked about the reasons I haven’t tried to tackle a serious writing project. He encouraged me to take the plunge despite my fear of failure and all the usual bullshit that people who can’t write a novel like to use as excuses for their lack of effort or talent.

Then, he offered to be my writing mentor.

It was like a beautiful dream where everything you ever wanted plots right into your lap! I was beside myself with excitement. And even hope. Now I would write something long, something that needed to be expressed in words, in order to both ensure my sanity and justify my worthless existence.

I started to write the story of Max.

I started with the end and worked backwards. I recounted every detail, trying to capture everything. the terror and shock and grief and remorse and most of all the love.

I sent him the six pages and he was supportive, although not exactly bowled over. He reminded me that you can’t just report things, even in a memoir. You have to create a whole world.

And then he disappeared.

He didn’t respond to my phone messages or emails. There was only silence.

I began to worry that he thought I was a stalker, that’s how many messages I left. I became paranoid, wondering if someone had turned him against me. I regretted writing the six pages of complete shit. How dare I have such an inflated opinion of myself to try to write something that mattered!

Then he reappeared. He was sorry about the long silence but things had been rough. However, now he had exciting news. He was deliriously in love with a much younger women but everything was perfect. She was incredibly talented and beautiful and was about to move in with him. They had only just become lovers but they were picking out name for their children. He would support her while she wrote her masterpiece. I think he even gave her a diamond ring.

I was stunned by his story, especially after the long silence. I tried to be happy for him even though I was pretty sure the romance would end badly for him. After another long silence, he called me to let me know that she’d disappeared. She left the ring but took the high-end clothes he bought for her.

We laughed about the clothes. I felt terrible for him. Two crazy girlfriends in a row, and I mean crazy.

Then he disappeared again. And I decided to forget about him. Maybe he was like my own crazy girlfriend, the one whose red flags I refused to notice.

I didn’t try to finish the Max story. I guess it’s a story to carry in my heart until I see him again.

First Wordist Manifesto of 2016: Voracious

Saturday, January 23rd, 2016

the marriage feast

In the last few days, my sensitivity to words has been causing problems at home. It’s like a chronic low-grade illness that sometimes becomes acute.

I was starting to read an essay on millennials when the word ‘peruse’ caused me to make a snap judgement: Anyone who would use the word ‘peruse’, in the first paragraph no less, was not worth my time.

I brought this up to my husband, who saw no reason to react to ‘peruse.’

It’s hard for me to accept that some people just don’t care about words that much. Probably most people. It’s such a real, visceral response for me when a word is used poorly or is just intrinsically awful, like peruse.

Some words just make me cringe, even though they are apparently harmless to others. But peruse, come on! There’s just no reason to use it unless you’re deliberately trying to sound stupid. It’s like using ‘loquacious’ when you could just say ‘talkative.’ Or using ‘sans’ for ‘without.’

I wanted to think of a term for this category of annoying words that connote an effort to sound smart. I have only come up with ‘bourgeois’ but I’m hoping for something better.

Meanwhile, someone on the radio yesterday said this about some guy who died:

He was a voracious joke-teller.

My brain went AAAAAAAAAAAAH.

You can’t be a voracious joke-teller, I complained. Maybe the guy was an inveterate joke-teller. Voracious implies an appetite or hunger. It’s bad enough that people always use the cliche ‘voracious reader’ but at least it is used correctly.

I could not get agreement from my husband so I turned to my nephew, a wordist of the highest order. He suggested ‘avid’ for the joke-teller.

Genius, right? Meanwhile, my husband and I retreated into our separate worlds of not caring and caring obsessively about voracious joke telling.

I turned to the Oxford Dictionary online to soothe my nerves.

Definition of voracious in English:
adjective
Wanting or devouring great quantities of food
he had a voracious appetite

Voracious implies something you can take in or ingest, then.  So you can’t be a voracious singer, duh.

But then, there is a second definition:  Having a very eager approach to an activity.  The example given is his voracious reading of literature. Elsewhere I found the example he was a voracious collector.

I’m going to stick to my guns about voracious joke-telling. It is an improper use of a word that was employed just to sound smart but ended up making me furious, but not as furious as those who are sick of my fucking wordist nitpicking.

If you have perused this whole rant, kindly opine on my condition whilst I consider upping my meds.

Cheers.

*extra points if that ‘Cheers’ put you over the top

What Is The Word For Donald Trump?

Wednesday, December 23rd, 2015

donald-trump

The schlonging finally got me.

It’s just too much. The schlonging and the taunt about Hillary Clinton going to the bathroom. The Wall Street Journal calls it ‘potty talk.’

Potty Talk, from a Presidential candidate???

How can we take this, every day, more and more, and still feel like decent human beings? Or even semi-decent?

Every politician and news person who doesn’t object to this shit is complicit somehow.

They need to stand up as one and say, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU MORON!”

The immigrant hating, woman fearing, lying, egotistical stupidity is part of it but not all.

It’s like there’s a hidden factor that elevates Donald Trump from a standard cunt to an actual monster.

What is it, and is it the ‘secret’ to his appeal?

I don’t think his appeal is a mystery actually, it’s just the number of Americans who respond to infantile stupidity that comes as a surprise to the rest of us. We’d like to think that racist, hate-filled, drooling cretins are a small minority, but no. Trump is like a mirror of their own ignorance and repulsiveness, and they are mesmerized by the reflection.

The schlonging sent me looking for Yiddish words to throw back at him but nothing seems adequate to describe how deeply objectionable this cunt is.

‘Traif’ is the best I could come up with, but now I’ve discovered ‘vyzoso,’ a Yiddish word that means both idiot and penis!

If you know a better word, in any language, please, let’s hear it.

Thankful Or Not

Monday, November 30th, 2015

tom turkey small

I have been struggling with inertia, feelings of hopelessness, and general apathy. Thanksgiving made me aware of my resistance to the whole idea of being thankful.

Why do we have to be thankful on demand? Why can’t we just wallow in bitterness and despair?

My Thanksgiving turned out to be a happy one, by the grace of friends who cook and play guitar. I even made a festive centerpiece. But three days later, I’m still coming across lists of Things To Be Thankful For. I just found one with a full 100 things that some idiot or group of idiots managed to compile.

Number 1 is :

Your health- because it’s one thing that you should never take for granted.

Really? I thought health was the thing you turn to when you can’t think of any other reason to be grateful, a last resort and kind of a bitter pill. “At least you’ve got your health.”

Number 4 is “scented candles”. Hahahaha! Jesus. In my world, that would come right after paved roads.

“Friends” come in at Number 15. Oh well.

Number 32 is “Free Shipping.” LOL!  Actually, free shipping is a good one, I’m going to make it number 10 in my personal hierarchy of gratitude.

Number 65 is:

A cup of really good coffee.

Clearly these philistines know nothing about coffee.

Number 85 = Hummus. Whereas “Art” is Number 91.

I have to admit this list gave me some good laughs, so I need to put “stupid lists” in my top ten. Let me change my mind about the Thankfulness thing and offer a list of my own. I hope it’s clear that I’m making all this up as I write, okay?

1. Love
2. Art
3. Music
4. Coffee
5. Chocolate
6. Dogs
7. ???
8. ???
9. Stupid lists
10. Free shipping.

Anyone want to share their own top ten? Or to fill in my seven and eight?

 

 

How Much Less Could You Not Care?

Friday, October 23rd, 2015

back_to_the_future-poster

It just occurred to me that too many people online are mentioning Back To The Future. Maybe they’re making a sequel or prequel.

I actually love the term origin story, which I just learned this week. I love it because it’s stupid and pretentious and somehow millennial.  It’s the new way to say prequel as if that term wasn’t hard enough to get used to.

Anyway, Back To The Future was a great film at the time and my kid adored it. We saw it several times.

Now it is 2015 and I could not give a shit about Back To The Future on any level. I don’t care what the original cast is doing or what the remake or prequel or origin story is about. I’ve been done with it for years and years.

Likewise Star Wars. Could not care less. Literally. But too bad for me, because I am doomed to hear about it forever and ever. If I could not have to see the words Carrie Fisher even, I would consider it a small gift from the universe.

I’m through hearing about rape culture or anything remotely related to it. I get it, but I still don’t care. I’m through hearing about how Jennifer Lawrence didn’t get enough money. “Women in Hollywood,” I’m through hearing about your problems. I just don’t care.

Are you finding that your culture is obsessed with stuff you could not care less about? Even if it has gone viral (or especially if it has gone viral?)

Let me know what it is. Please share!

But just one more thing before I forget: How much do you not care about what happened on the Jimmy Fallon show last night? Why do we have to hear about it? Wouldn’t we have watched it when it was on, if we gave a shit about it? I don’t watch it expressly for the purpose of not knowing what was on it!

Christ!

Okay, now you.

Alex James: What a Fucking Cunt!™

Monday, October 5th, 2015

kurt note jacket

Alex James is some cunt who has a menswear line called ‘Pleasures‘ whose first collection features t-shirts and jackets printed with Kurt Cobain‘s suicide note.

Listen you cunt Alex James: Kurt Cobain has a daughter who is a human person, as was Kurt himself. Can’t you find another way to get attention?

I don’t mind that the lookbook for this cheap crap is filmed in a graveyard. Memento mori, I get it.

Show off your dark sensibility, revel in your hipster miserableism, just leave real human suffering out of your attempts at commerce.

What a little fucker.

As a bonus, he is ‘creative brand manager’ for another street-wear company called ‘Publish’ whose manifesto is a classic piece of gibberish that includes the line “Casual with an heir of sophistication.”

LEARN TO SPELL, MOTHERFUCKER!

publish manifesto spelling

To sum up, Alex James is a fucking cunt and he’s ruined my evening.

Fashion Gibberish And A Contest

Thursday, October 1st, 2015

english-motherfucker

My cyber-friend and adopted daughter Annemarie has generously pointed me to a treasure trove of pretentious fashion gibberish that reads like a buzzword generator.

In fact, the high-end shopping site Ssense has just launched such a generator and it’s fun to play with. It needs more variables to be top-notch but I like to see a designer fashion site with an actual sense of humor.

The site Annemarie recommended has zero awareness of it’s over-the-top pompousness, and that is its gift to us. Here is Lagarconne‘s tumbler blog expounding on a pair of frumpy black dresses:

frumpy-mock-neck

With a quirky disposition linked to techie dressing, the mock neck is noted for its scientific past, yet finds new function as a clever tool in the construction of occasionwear. Elegantly revisited, the detail lends analytical air to ultra-sleek fabrics, taking modernity back a step with skilled wit. When cut in silk or satin, the style adds bookish refinement, creating streamlined classics by way of cerebral calculation. From Marni, the neckline gives engineered structure to fluid stretch silk, while The Row further exemplifies the neckline’s transformative powers,lending academic grounding to surfer-influenced attire. From cubicle to catwalk, the mock neck makes new headway as a fool-proof formula for optimum sophistication.

Jesus Christ, right? What are they on over there?

Here’s the prose inspired by a grey sweatshirt and baggy cropped pants:

Baggier shirts and widened trousers often instill an unconscious urge for slimmer pairings. Japanese label, Blue Blue Japan, breaks this habit in considered refusal of the customary approach. By pairing the classic crewneck sweatshirt with cropped culottes in signature indigo denim, an effortless balance arises. In a duplicated slack, each item mirrors the other. Nipped only slightly at the hips, a band of knit ribbing adds no constriction, simply linking the unfettered forms.

Considered refusal‘ is killing me. I’m even impressed by ‘slimmer parings.’

I sort of want to master this language, particularly as there are no discernible rules except to string along descriptive words with terms from random academic disciplines like philosophy, architecture and engineering.

So far, I suck at it. I feel like I have no aptitude for it but I’ve been listening to that maniac Joel Osteen on the radio, who insists that a positive attitude is all you need to make your dreams come true, like having a baby when you’re sterile or sending your wife’s cancer into remission.

Never mind about him. Let’s have fun.

Here’s an unremarkable, dowdy-looking pair of shoes from La Garconne. They are priced at $685 but don’t let that determine your reaction. The goal is to create a flowing description that leaves the potential shopper feeling daunted, mystified, slightly shamed but filled with avarice.

Marsell leather slipper

I’ll be working on my caption but let’s see yours!

The winner will be will be selected by votes, and the prize will be something either stupid or good, whichever seems most appropriate.

The Joy Of Trying To Tidy Up

Thursday, July 2nd, 2015

SnowWhiteClapping

In my continuing effort to make life livable, I’ve sunk to self-help books. It’s a poignant conundrum. The more you succumb to self-help books, the more of a loser you are, by definition.

Still. I have high hopes for The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. a worldwide best seller that makes a bold promise:

In this book, I have summed up how to put your space in order in a way that will change your life forever.

The book is slim, like The Prophet, and similarly filled with wisdom, only more useful wisdom. I vaguely recall stuff from The Prophet, like your children are arrows and sadness is a well or something. Great.

But compare that to the revelation that everything you own should spark joy. If you pick something up and you don’t feel any joy, YOU DON’T KEEP IT!

It’s such a huge but simple concept. All the shit you’ve acquired is shit that you have to put somewhere and there’s just too much of it. Duh, you know that. But you don’t know how to cull your stuff, and you’ve tried so many times. You can’t get rid of stuff because you paid good money for it, you might need it, you might lose weight. it’s a memento, it was a gift, it isn’t broken, one day you’ll give it to someone.

Anyway, the first brilliant edict from the author, Marie Kondo, that shook me to the core was this:

Don’t demote clothing to ‘lounge-wear.’

Right?!? Even my husband admitted to this practice. If something is too ugly or worn out to wear in public, you put it with your PJ’s.  Ms. Kondo insists that even when you’re at home, you should be wearing something that sparks your joy. Right now I’m wearing a green tank top that I’m going to throw away later tonight, because the color and cut bring me NO FUCKING JOY, none.

It’s that simple.

So, I’m not following Kondo’s instructions to the letter but I’m making a start. I emptied each drawer of my dresser and picked up each item. If there was a distinct No Joy feeling, I made a contemptuous face and threw it on the floor. If there was a ‘meh’ feeling, I hesitated.

But I did collect two bags of shit to throw away. I have to go around the house and do this with everything. It will be exhausting but I think I can eliminate tons of stuff from my amassed belongings, which have become burdensome.

I also got a book for parents whose adult children hate them. It is somewhat comforting.

Throwing shit out is the way to go, the road to harmony and contentment. Maybe the less I need, the less needy I will seem. I will be spartan, disciplined, and self-contained. I will accept no nonsense from green tank tops.

And throwing shit out puts you in a position of power, which is good. Like George Bush said about Donald Rumsfeld, I am The Decider.

Just No.

Friday, April 17th, 2015

boombox bag

No. No no no no no.

Make a bag shaped like a boombox if you must, Moschino, but not this big. Is the joke, ‘Haha, you can’t even get it into a car?’

Or just, ‘Haha, you bought this!’

I like the words ‘spacious’ and ‘roomy’ in the description.

boombag description

At $3,195, there are only 2 left!

Jeremy Scott must think he’s Andy Warhol. Can someone fire this cunt?