Blah Blah Blah: An Ode to Language

Is language the greatest achievement in the history of humanity?

Is it more lasting than architecture? More beautiful than music? More vital than medical science? Yes. Because it is language that made all these achievements possible, and more besides, and more still to come.

Without language, we could dream ideas, but we could not solidify them. Dreams that have names are concepts. And concepts can be shared.

Yes, all manner of other beasties can "talk" to one another. Birds chirp and squawk. Dogs bark and whine. Ferrets honk. But no other animal has devised such an intricate system of grammar as ours. Human language is partly learned and partly evolved, just like other animal languages. But we are the only species that uses language to propel us far, far beyond the limitations of our stage in evolution.

From birth, we begin learning the names of every object we can point to.
From the age of five or so, we are learning how to count, add and subtract things that don't even exist. ("Five" can't be seen or touched, yet already we understand what it means.)
Soon we are being taught about abstract concepts such as history, religion, emotional empathy, and... well, grammar.

You might feel like life can be mundane sometimes. But just imagine how much of it would never have been possible without a complex language. Skills, discoveries, inventions, practices, ideas that came before you - these could never have been shared. Your family might have taught you how to eat, hunt, and defend yourself, but that's about it. Any ideas you had would die with you.

Sir Isaac Newton said his discoveries in physics were only achievable "by standing on the shoulders of giants". These great words apply to all humans throughout history. Each generation reaches higher from the shoulders of the last. And language is our ladder.

Berry Coconut Crunch Cheesecake

FIRST...

Set oven to 160 degrees celcius.
Line the base of a springform tin with baking paper. Grease lightly.

BISCUIT BASE

- 250g plain biscuits, smashed to crumbs
- 125g unsalted butter, melted
- 1/2 cup shredded coconut
Put all ingredients together and combine in a bowl.
Press this mixture flat into the base of a springform tin and refrigerate it.

CAKE

- 500g cream cheese, room temperature
- 3/4 cup caster sugar
- 1 tsp vanilla essence
- 2 tsp flour
- 4 eggs
- 1/2 cup milk
In a large bowl, stir together cheese, sugar and vanilla.
Add eggs one by one. Beat the mixture smooth with an electric beater between each egg.
Add flour and milk, and beat once more, just so the mixture is smooth.
You don't want to get lots of air bubbles in the mixture, so let it sit for a few minutes, then give it a gentle stir to pop any bubbles that rise to the surface.
Pour into the prepared tin and bake for 40 minutes. Cake will still look slightly wobbly in centre after baking, but it will set as it cools.
Let cake sit for an hour or two in the oven after baking, with the door slightly ajar. This will let it cool more gradually and avoid cracking. Then refrigerate overnight.

ICING

- 1/2 cup berries (I used raspberries, blackberries and blueberries)
- 3/4 cup icing sugar
- 3/4 cup shredded coconut
- 1/4 cup sultanas
Mash the berries in a small bowl, then mix through the icing sugar, stirring til there are no lumps.
Add coconut and sultanas and mix.
Apply icing to chilled cake with a spoon. Garnish with whole berries, sultanas or extra coconut if you like.

The Pros and Cons of Having Tiny Breasts.

To all those girls out there who moan about being a lowly B-cup, shush yo' mouth. I wear 12AA. Yes, I have very small boobs. I don't mind particularly, because big boobs can be far more trouble than they're worth sometimes. There are a fair few pros to being a woman of little bust.

• Can get away with wearing no bra if I'm wearing a jumper
• No pain associated with running, jumping, descending stairs
• No bulge issue when wearing tight tops
• Less likely to be stared at / leered at / approached for anonymous sex
• Never get cookie crumbs stuck in my cleavage
• Won't sag in my declining years (yay!)

...however. There's just one niggling little thing that bugs me about having teeny tiny breasts.
The kind of bras they make in my size. Not much variety.
I mean, a typical A-cup, or going on down to B, you'll find plenty of exciting styles to choose from. Simple flat colours, groovy prints, sexy lace, push-up bras, strapless bras, high impact bras.

In Double-A? This is pretty much the range.

I mean, they're absolutely adorable. But, you know. I'm 22.

Sprung.

I went to my mother's house today to steal a springform cake tin, and got distracted by the presence of towering flowering things all over the place. Mum's house (my childhood home) is swathed in greenery. It's rather overgrown but the effect is quite stunning in the springtime.

So I decided to test out that 5-megapixel camera on my new phone.

I also reunited with my mother's insane dog, Woofgang (who I call Wolfgang because Woofgang is lame... my brother calls him Taco). Please do not ask about the white lumps. There was an incident.

Handsome fella, ain't he?
On an unrelated note, I am now absolutely covered in dog hair.

Yay! Spring!

All the Rage.

I hate fashion.

Not because it makes me feel bad about myself or how I look. Not because it's idiotically expensive.
Just because fashion is worse than pointless.

I mean, what's the purpose of women's clothing design? To make us look good, right? Except that designers get so carried away thinking what they're making is "art" that they forget that it needs to be worn by a human being.

Yes, the stuff on the catwalks of Paris is ludicrous, always has been, we all know that. But nobody actually wears that crap. It's the stuff women do wear that bothers me.

Every season they bring out at least two exciting new innovations in girlwear. In summer, perhaps gather-busted cotton tops; then in autumn, short-hem jackets. Come winter we're all buying chunky neon leg warmers 'cause the eighties are so old they're new again; and before you know it, spring is here and it's all about floral maternity shirts.

It all seems like a good idea at the time, but next year you realise all your warm-weather clothing is way too embarrassing to wear ever again. The problem is that fashion bears far too little relation to beauty. They put pretty models in the dresses and we think we're looking at models in pretty dresses. Wrong way round.

For instance, the waistless yellow dress below looks cute (maybe) because it's being worn by a twig in heavy eye makeup.

The suit with the massive shoulder pads looks almost okay on the angry black woman. But she'd never wear it to the office, because she can't lift her arms more than 45 degrees in those sleeves. Plus it makes her look like a box with a head.

In a previous post, I talked about how waist and hip proportions can influence female attractiveness. It's my opinion that a relatively slim waist is the key to womanly beauty. (Please note relatively - that is, in relation to her other proportions.)
Dresses have generally emphasised these proportions, using devices such as belts, full skirts, bustles, waistline ribbons and so forth. But we're still making a lot of mistakes in the trouser department.

I did not enjoy the "hipster jeans" era. I couldn't find a damn pair of pants that would cover my crack. Those jeans don't look good on anyone. Because they sit so low, they have to be really tight at the top to stay up. Which means all your fat bunches up around the hips and you get a muffin top, no matter how thin you are. Plus they make your legs look weirdly short.

But high-waisted jeans are also a problem. They make bellies protrude strangely below the waistline, and there's too much concave going on around the back.

Know what the problem is? We've forgotten where our waists actually are. Passing fashions don't address our true shapes. If we're lucky, they'll only last the one season, so we can buy them once, learn our lessons and avoid them henceforth.

But not all fashions pass as quickly as they should.

Corsets have been around for centuries. A true corset is a horrible stiff thing that wraps tightly around the wearer's torso, pushing fat and... well, everything else... away from the midriff so that it spills out from the top and bottom of the garment. It is the corset that first promoted the image of the 20-inch waist. Laugh if you like, but people are still wearing them.

How do you like the look of this? Cathie Jung holds the world record for world's thinnest adult waist. She's been wearing corsets for years and has squeezed herself down to a gasp-inducing 15 inches. She might look cool in a fancy old dress, but...

...to put it mildly, you wouldn't wanna tap that. She's had ribs removed, of course, but the thing that wigs me most is the bizarre hump just above her groin. That's where she keeps everything that normal people keep inside their waists.

On a related but slightly less upsetting note, yesterday I read about this former pop star who's had foot surgery (I know, fascinating). Sandie Shaw had her bunions corrected, but she also had toes straightened and shortened. The article emphasises the pain of the surgery, but the real point is that she changed the shape of her toes to fit into nice shoes.

Please excuse me while I scream in vain.  
Don't change your body to fit into these clothes.
JUST CHANGE YOUR GODDAMN CLOTHES.

Take a real good look at your body. It grew like that all by itself - an incredible, beautiful, organic force of nature. As long as you are healthy, you are the shape you should be. Don't wear clothes that conceal or distort that shape.

And if you absolutely must wear the latest fashions, at least make sure you know the difference between accentuating your body and distorting it.

Day of Treats.

Today is a day of treats and joy. I decided to treat myself to some treats, which would hopefully trigger the symptoms of joy.

You might remember that I bought a new phone recently - the Nokia C5-00, a tidy little "candybar" phone with a magnificent battery life and all the simple mobile features I need.

It brought me happiness for about a month and a half. I could actually call people from my house. (My house is one of those black hole zones... like a Bermuda Triangle of mobile reception.) I had mobile email access for the first time ever. It didn't need recharging every two nights. It was simple and snappy and just exactly right.

Until this one day I dropped it and it died.

Just one bloody fall, honestly. Aren't Nokias meant to be like little Volvos? It wasn't even that massive a drop. Not a scratch on it. I've gotta send it back and sort out a refund/repair/credit or something, but it was shipped in from Singapore, so ugh, hassle, and ugh, waiting. Plus I'm going through a breakup and I want treats.
Treats will definitely make everything better.

So I said screw it, I'm getting that purple one.
I went to the Three store today and signed myself up for a basic mobile plan that came with this baby.

Isn't she lovely? She's my very favourite colour. She's really tiny and she snaps open and shut with a satisfying click-clack.

We bonded instantly.

After performing the sacred rituals of inserting the SIM card and battery and playing with the wallpaper options, I decided it was time to indulge in some food-oriented activities.

So I made these magnificent cheese tomato capsicum jaffles and a sultry iced coffee.

Mmmm.

Rabia invited me to tea this evening, and because last time I came over/announced a breakup (yes, I am a mess), she made me these, I decided to return the favour.

Unfortunately, what with all the cuddling of smiley-faced objects I've been doing this afternoon, now I'm running late. Sorry Rabs!

Breaking.

This time it really is the end.
I know; I can feel it. We both know.
I watched myself flapping back and forth these past few months and knew I looked silly. Don't say you didn't think so. We broke up, we're back together, it's falling apart, we're working things out, we're seeing each other, it's never going to work, I love her, it has to end.

I just really, really didn't want it to.
I tried so hard - I did all I could. But it had to.

We were just one month shy of four years.
I am sad. I cry a lot. I miss her - but I have missed her for months.
I guess I know it's really the end, because this time, though I still wish, I do not hope. I won't call or plead, and I don't expect her to do it either. We just can't anymore.

There are things I'm angry about. I spent a long time waiting for apologies that never came. There are people - not just her - who have made this so much harder and so much messier. But I've stopped expecting them to apologise. They won't. And I think I can deal with that.
It's not okay - but I can deal with it.

I hope she's okay without me.
She's not stupid. She's not weak. She's not dependent. But I've just been around so long. And, y'know, I'm all amazing and stuff, what with my huge brains and my adorable grin and my reliable automobile. How do you replace a Miriam?

I'm going to be sad for a while, I think.
I have regrets. I didn't want it this way. I have treacherous longings and pangs of foolish hope.
But I'm starting to see a future that has me in it. It's sketchy and unsure of itself, but it's coming into focus. And in it, I'm single. And I'm happy.

Uphold the Clause.

I'm not going to call myself an expert on writing, but I do have a degree on it, so I could if I wanted.

Here's the thing.
Most people - even people who write for a living - suck at writing. They write ugly sentences; bland sentences; confusing sentences. They use long strings of superfluous words. They use heaped spoonfuls of boring, overused, skippable words. They don't know how bad their writing is, because they know what they mean, and it's the knowledge - the information - that counts, right? Who cares if the writing is pretty?

Okay, shut up. Good writing is not about pretty.

You probably read a few poems in school. Maybe you had an English Lit teacher that went into ecstacy over the lyricism of Joseph Conrad. But you're all, "I'm not out to write a cultural classic. I'm just trying to communicate."

So forget the poetry. What you need to know is basic grammar.
I'm not here to teach you grammar, but I'll tell you one thing that's going to improve every sentence you write from now on.

Sentences are made of clauses.

A clause is a group of words that must include a subject (thing or person) and a verb (action). This is an example of the simplest clause it's possible to make.

You smell.

Most clauses also include an object: the thing or person being acted upon.

The proctologist sailed to Siberia.

You can use descriptive words (adverbs, which describe verbs, and adjectives, which describe nouns) to add detail or meaning.

You smell revolting.
The proctologist sailed to distant Siberia.

A sentence can be made from one clause or several. Here's a sentence with two clauses.

I kissed a girl and I liked it.

Above, the subject of both clauses is the same. But it doesn't have to be.

Roger has herpes but Alex is clean.

From there, it gets more complicated and there are lots of different kinds of words and loads of different ways to phrase your sentence. Unless you're actually an editor or grammarian or English scholar you don't need to know all the specifics (and if you are any of these things, you should not be looking to me for help).

But if you understand the basic building blocks of clauses, you can recognise structure within a sentence.

Find the subject. If there isn't one, there should be.
(The exception is if you are writing instructionally - like in this article. The subject of most of these sentences is you, even if it's not stated. Commands like "smell this" imply that the subject is the listener: "YOU smell this".)
Find the verb. If there isn't one, there should be.

Are the subject and verb close together within the sentence? Are they obviously related?
If not, do a rewrite.

Are you not sure which is the subject and which is the object?
The subject should be acting.
The object should be being acted upon.
If this isn't clear, or if the object becomes a subject halfway through your sentence, you probably need to rewrite.

It is possible for something to be an object in one clause and the subject of the next:

Wendy likes Frederick and Frederick likes Patty.
Wendy likes Frederick, who likes Patty.
Wendy likes Frederick and he likes Patty.

But it can lead to ambiguity in some cases.

Wendy likes Patty and she likes Frederick.

In the second clause, who is "she"? Wendy or Patty? I'm so confused! Why even tell me in the first place? Now I'm not sure what to believe, and I'm annoyed at you and I don't want to read the rest of your stupid story.

Sometimes you'll write a  sentence with perfect grammar, but it's so long or so complicated that the meaning is difficult to discern. So rewrite it. Make it into two sentences, or put the subject and verb closer together. Get rid of extra descriptive words that are in the way. Use strong, straightforward verbs (use, not utilise, for chrissakes).

There is nothing more important in writing than upholding the clause. Your spelling mightn't be perfect. You might not have the most extensive vocabulary. But if you treat the parts of your sentence with the respect they deserve, then you'll hold my attention to the end.

A Woman's Work Is Never Done.

Why am I a feminist?
In 1975, Joyce Stevens's answer was:

That was 35 years ago and life is different now. Isn't it?
I'm not in the mood to talk about legislation, and you probably aren't in the mood to read about it, so let's talk about attitudes.

CAUTION: sweeping generalisations ahead.

Think women's work is boring or underpaid? We can study or train for whatever career we choose these days (provided we've got the financial backing). If we're underpaid it's probably because we chose part-time work, or a job with a low-end salary. We can choose. And choice is what makes the difference.

What we look like. Is is still more important? They reckon taller men and conventionally beautiful women are more successful than shorter or plainer ones. Maybe we're not all created equal, but it seems to balance out between the sexes, right? Except that men's height isn't variable - and women's looks are.
I went browsing in the corporate-wear department the other day because I'm worried that 22 is too old to be wearing T-shirts every day. It is unbelievable what passes for office clothing in the women's section. Rich fuschia satin shirts. Floaty floral scarves. Ruffled blouses with skintight elastic waists. I know not everyone wears this stuff, but it's what's recommended in the magazines.
And the endless heels. Can you not wear heels in the workplace? Is it an option? This worries me deeply because it may result in my permanent unemployment.

Do we invite sexual attention? Is it ever okay for a man to say "she was asking for it?" A lot of people still seem to think so. If women are attractive, that makes them fair game. If they are attractive and friendly, that means they want to have sex with you. If they're attractive but unfriendly, that means they're bitches. It's not easy being beautiful.
But if you're not beautiful, no one cares anyway.

Thankfully we're pretty well free to enjoy sex these days. One of the great achievements of women's liberation so far is the widespread acceptance of sex as normal and healthy. And in most cases, it's our business to remain virgins if we choose. There are exceptions all over the shop but the general attitude is vastly improved since the passive days of yore.

Are we selfish for expecting childcare? This one is thorny. Thing is, paid childcare will cost you the majority of your salary. A two-income family can deal with it, but why bother working if you could just do the kiddy care yourself? Well, maybe you've got a career you don't want to flush down the toilet. So. Selfish?
You know, I don't have the perception that men think women are selfish for using childcare services. I don't have the perception that men think anything about childcare services. They just don't seem to consider these things. Why? Are fathers less responsible for their children than are mothers? Can't a father take extended leave to look after the new baby? I don't think men are likely to mind unless somebody actually tries to involve them. Then they're all, "No way, that's not in the script."
What's still wrong is this. Men have agreed to allow women to have careers or husbands or babies or any combination of the three. Sure, honey, why not? But then they expect women to take all the responsibility for keeping it together if they want more than one flavour in the cone.

Okay, so man doesn't spend a whole lotta time on the moon these days, and the pill is much improved from its 1970s fertility-crushing incarnation. And I'm a lesbian and probably shouldn't be talking about straight sex and contraception because I totally don't have the cred. But I still think it's bloody stupid that women are expected to go on the pill in the first place.
Hi, ladygirl. You want a good sex life? Okay, go to the doctor and get a prescription for a drug that will alter your hormonal balance and take it every day or else you'll get pregnant and die. Don't worry your boy with any contraceptive responsibilities. He might not have as much fun if he has to be responsible.
I think condoms are a vastly superior method of ensuring safe sex. Simple, tangible, a shared responsibility. They prevent mess, disease transmission and pregnancy. Only use 'em when you're actually doin' it. No crazy side effects. No hormonal weirdness.
And no guy can say, "But you said you were on the pill."

Regarding abortion, I don't think they'll ever stop guilting us about it. I'm biased because I'm an atheist, therefore don't believe in souls, therefore don't believe a foetus can have one. But regardless. An unborn foetus might have human features (though it looks more like a jellybean with fingers). It might be "alive", in that it's a growing organism. But it doesn't have a life. Not in the sense of living. It loses nothing by ceasing to exist. An unhappily pregnant woman (or pregnant with a malformed/damaged foetus) loses plenty if she loses the choice to change her situation. She might have decided to keep it, cross her fingers, and take responsibility for the consequences. Or she might have decided to abort. For any number of reasons.
You take her choice away, you take her freedom away. You might not agree with the way she lives her life, but does that give you the right to force your control on her? Hands off, father.

*

So, why am I a feminist?
Because of you.
Because you have an attitude about the word "feminist". You think it's an ugly word. You think it means I'm going to rant and rave and complain about my lot, and you don't want to hear about it or think about it.
And that means there's still work to be done.

Time to come clean.

There's something I have to say.
I've known about this for a while. I just didn't want to admit it.
But it's just become too big to ignore.

This blog.
Has a beard following.

I didn't plan this... it just sort of... happened. One day I wrote Beards, and the next, I was getting hits from Google searchers typing in things like

beard fondling
iron man beard
how to grow tony stark beard
how to shave a tony stark beard
growing a tony stark beard
how do i cut the tony stark beard
aunty naked
what is a badger pancake
how to have iron man beard
mans beard exfoliant
peristeronic in a sentence
KISSING BEARDED MEN
beard touching electricity

It is obvious now. I must cater to this booming market who have assembled themselves at my door. How can I pass up the opportunity?

The trouble is - oh, I can't say it - oh, I must - oh, I am so ashamed! - I cannot grow a beard.
My chin is as smooth and hairless as a woman's. But I will devote myself to the pursuit of bearddom - for my fans. For love. For a shot at the big time.

The dream.

Call a Friend.

A couple of days ago I wrote about how we have a great grab-bag of words for male friends, and pretty much none for female ones. But it's interesting to see where these friendly terms actually came from.
(Again, major source be the Online Etymology Dictionary. Go explore, it's fun!)

Buddy
Slang, from "brother".

Pal
17th century gyspy word meaning "brother" or "comrade", brought by the Roma people of Europe.

Dude
They have no idea where it came from, but in the 1880s in New York it referred to namby-pamby dandy types, then to city folk who thought it was deee-lightful to take their vacations in the West. (Hence "dude ranch".) Then somehow it became surfie slang. Iunno.

Mate
Proto-Germanic ga-maton meant "having food together". In the 14th century, the phrase was condensed into the Middle Low German gemate, shortened to mate. It was used as a term for friendly peers and equals - those who sat at the same table to eat, you see?
The sense of "sexual partner" came later, in the 16th century.

Companion
Anyone who's studied French will know that copain, a word for "friend", literally means "someone to eat bread with". So does the English version, companion. Com- is a Latin prefix meaning "with" or "together"; panis is "bread". It really is all about bread, isn't it?

Compadre
You might have thought the Spanish was the same. It's not. "Padre" is from pater, the Latin for "father". The word meant "godfather", implying a benefactor and therefore a friend. Your compadre is someone who helps you out, supports you. Preferably with cash.

Comrade
How about this one then? It essentially means "roommate". It's from the Spanish camarada meaning "chamber mate". (Guess the Latin root for that one! No idea? Camera, in fact. Camera originally referred to a "vaulted chamber".)

Homeboy
A modern one this time, it was popularised in 1940s black American slang. It meant "man from my hometown" and was originally somewhat patronising. Maybe like when you see someone from high school who still works at the local supermarket.

Chap
Abbreviation of chapman or "trader", dating from the 1500s. A "chap" was a customer or client. You might have addressed him thus if he was a good and trustworthy trader. (It's actually related to cheap, which once was a noun meaning "trade" or "bargain" - the word for goods at a market.)

Fellow
From the Old Norse félagi. "Fe"=money; "lag"=lay.
Originally meant a partner in trade - someone who lays their money with yours. The word still has these connections - as in "fellowship". It's always been a male word, I suppose by the assumption that only men were good investment partners?

Don't Call ME a Lady.

Today I want to offer you a little slice of language history. This one's for the wordsex files: a collection of everyday English words for men and women, and what they meant in days long past.
Some were fairly standard; others surprised me. There were a couple that made me go whooa.

I'm not suggesting that by using these words, you're making reference to their original meanings. I know what they mean now and that's all we mean by them. But it's fascinating to consider the connections they once had. You can really only guess at the attitudes that inspired them.

(Er... disclaimer. I am not an expert... I am a person with an internet connection. Most of these were found at the Online Etymology Dictionary, where credibility is in higher abundance.)

Girl - “kid”
The Middle English gerlys referred to a child of either gender. A knave-gerlys would be a male child. Interesting case of the feminine form being the default.
We aren’t sure where the word came from, but there are possible connections: göre (kid) from Low German, or gurre (lamb) from a Norwegian dialect.
It acquired its female-only slant in the 14th century.

Boy - “servant”
The original English meaning was "male servant".
Boiae was a Latin noun meaning "leather collar" or "fetter", and was linked to slavery and bondage. It appeared in Old French as a verb, embuier, meaning “to bind or put in chains". By the time it appeared in English, it had lost its implications of slavery and simply denoted an indentured worker.

Female - “milk dispenser”
The Latin word fēlāre meant "suck". The Latin word for woman, fēmina, was therefore "a person from whom milk is sucked".
Its diminutive, fēmella, was the root of the English female. Its symmetry with male is a coincidence – the spellings were matched later for neatness.

Male - “masculine”
The Latin masculus meaning “masculine” gave rise to the Old French masle. This originally entered English with the “s” included (it can be found in the works of Chaucer, for instance). Pretty much explains "muscle" and "musk", don't you think? Eurgh.

Master / Mister - “chief”
The Latin root word magus (“great”) spawned the term magister, meaning "chief".
It entered Old French as maistre before passing into English, where it referred to the authority figure within a house (or within a school, as in “schoolmaster”).
Mister arose as an alternate pronounciation of the abbreviation Mr.

Mistress / Missus - “woman on top”
From maistresse, the Old French feminine form of maistre.
Originally its meaning matched that of master - an authority figure, educator or head of the house - but it acquired the sense of “kept woman” in the 15th century.
Missus emerged through shortcutting of speech (much like “gonna”). The abbreviation, Mrs, was supposed to represent “mistress”, but its ambiguous spelling caused the loss of the “tr” sound.

Wife - “adult woman”
The Old English wif meant "female", without implying marriage. Woman came later, as a contraction of wifman, meaning "woman-person".
As you might imagine, hus-wif or housewife is the true linguistic match for husband, but I don’t think it’ll be back in vogue any time soon.

Husband - “house-dwelling peasant”
The original English meaning was basically just "homeowner". It implied peasant or farmer status - not, in any case, a man of rank.
It came from the Old Norse húsbóndi, a compound of hús (house) and bónd (dweller, freeholder, peasant).
It replaced wer, meaning “man” (adult, usually married), in the late 13th century. A shame, really. “Wer and wif” have much better symmetry than “husband and wife”.

Bachelor - “boy with much to learn”
Baccalarius was a Latin word for a farm helper or apprentice; it is probably the root of the Old French bacheler, meaning "squire" or "apprentice of an older knight".
In English and French, the word came to mean “junior member of a guild or university” (hence “bachelor degree” and “baccalaureate”).
The connections with youth, maleness (as only men attended university) and incompleteness brought the word to its current meaning.

Spinster - “sad lonely career woman”
A Middle English word meaning "female spinner". The spinning of thread was usually done by unmarried women, and by the 17th century, the word had come to imply singleness – particularly singleness at an advanced age.
Does anyone know if they put this on marriage/birth certificates anymore? Because ew.

Lady - “she who makes the bread”
The Old English hlǣfdige meant "bread kneader". Hlaf=loaf; dige=dough. This indicated the preparation of bread. Thus lady literally meant "maker of bread", representing her role as a provider of food in the house.

Lord - “he who holds the bread”
The Old English hlaford is a shortening of hlaf-weard, which meant “bread keeper”. Weard is the ancestor of our word “warden”. The lord of the house would distribute food amongst those in his command.

Mother - “my boobie friend”
The words for mother in languages across the world contain the sound “ma”. You find it in Chinese, Greek, Sanskrit, Russian, Swahili, Icelandic, Welsh Gaelic. It is possibly the most common word root in existence.
In English? A mammary is a breast. A mammal is a species that suckles on its mother’s milk in infancy. We call our mothers “mama”, “mummy”, “mum”. Mother itself is derived from the Latin mater.
Why is “ma” so universal? Because “m” and “a” are the easiest noises for the human mouth, before teeth, before speech, when an infant is still at the breast.
"Ma" is probably the first speech sound you made.

Father - “closest kin”
Originates from the Latin pater.
“Pa” is another of the early sounds uttered by infants; a father would be one of the first people a child would address when beginning to speak.
“-ter” is a common Indo-European suffix, denoting kinship. In some languages, like German, it became “-der”; in French, the consonant was removed entirely. In English, the “p” was transposed for “f” and the “d” for “th” during the Great Consonant Shift of the Middle Ages.
This is a mind-blowing concept. The world over, we name our children and teach them language. But they name us – and they name us all the same.

What Are You Implying?

You might remember that a couple of months ago I was amassing a collection of gendered nouns - dame, chick, harpy; boy, beefcake, gentleman and so forth. I brainstormed a decent-sized bunch of them, made notes of a few origins and older meanings, then sort of forgot about it for a while.

Anyway, I remembered again, so now I'm going to share my learnings with you. Aren't you lucky!

Some Words for Women...

...and Some Words for Men

Of course there's absolutely no way I could list all the gender-denoting English words that ever existed. But if you think of any others, give me a hoy!
(As stated before, I'm excluding trades and professions - "nursemaid", "headmaster" etc.)

I wanted to look at the implied meanings of these words. With the exception of "male" and "female", they all tell you more than just the gender of the person. Some have straightforward implications, like "brother" and "wife"; others are descriptive of status or conduct, like "gentleman" and "skank". Still others are metaphorical: "harpy", "Adonis"; and some are outright insulting: "slut", "whore", "bastard", pansy".

So I broke the list down into the different implied meanings.

It came as no real surprise that there were loads of insulting words on both sides of the fence. There are buckets of nasty nouns out there and I kept thinking of more! But of course most of them aren't gender-specific so I had to leave out "dunderhead" and "doodyface". Naww.

We all love animals, so it's natural that we would like to compare ourselves to them. The lists are about the same length but I'm noticing a disparity. Most of the male animals are suggestive of strength and virility, while the female animals have diverse implications. Cow, sow and hen are all fairly mundane and stupid; a chick, filly (young horse) or kitten suggests cuteness and, sadly, weakness; a vixen or cougar is predatory and not to br trusted.
I debated whether to include "pig" in the male column, but Dad says you could call a girl a pig too. He also says you could call a girl a jackass, but, uhhh, "jack"? Silly Dad.

Ladies, afraid of ageing? Well, here's why. You can't be a strong woman, nor wilful, nor knowledgeable, nor sexual without being slapped with one of these labels.
I particularly loathe the recent emergence of "cougar". Where did that come from? And since when was Hugh Hefner not a gross old man with too much money, anyway?
In fairness, many of the female words have fallen out of common usage. But I was quite surprised to come up with so few words for old men. Have I missed anything bleedingly obvious?

I actually found this quite odd. Women are supposed to be deeply focused on relationship-building, yet there are precious few words for female friends. But male friend-words are in abundance. I've got some things to say about the origins of some of these buddy words, but that's for another day.

No surprises here; this is basic Feminist Rage Food. Luckily many of these battles have already been fought, and you can't really use these with a straight face. The funny part is all the sexy-man words. Ooh, you're a stallion.

Mmmm hmmm.

Well, that's your lot for the week. But don't be sad - there's more wordsex to come!

Network.

The glorious rise of Facebook has brought us together in one enormous chummy chatroom. We can broadcast thoughts, interests, amusing videos, embarrassing photos. We can connect and share with everyone we meet.

Of course, they've herded us neatly into the pen.

We're visiting our accounts every day, checking for social news. Click over to email, trawl through the search engine, check our bookmarked sites. And every web page we visit is fitted with something like...

Share me around! Let everyone know! Be my fan! Bring your friends!
Please... like me?

If you're wise to the current laws of marketing, you'll know what it's about. Viral marketing: let the audience sell the product. If people like it, they recommend it. Their peers will trust them, because they're not being paid to praise it. So the more you can encourage them to share, the more positive exposure you get.
Seed the virus, sit back, watch it spread.

In the commercial world today, it's alllll about social networking. You build a corporate profile not by fussing with layout on your website, but by getting your best people to host a blog there. Make a company Twitter profile. A Facebook fan page. Create a feed of business news about the company. And soon your entourage shall grow.

I started reading about viral marketing when I found Unleashing the Ideavirus, a book by marketing expert Seth Godin. If you click the link, you won't be taken to the Amazon listing. You go to the download page where you can get the whole book free in digital form. (I thought it'd be rude to link you straight into the download.) It's been available online for ten years and is now the most downloaded eBook in existence, by practicing the very message it preaches. Godin explains how to make your ad campaign into a self-replicating powerhouse - how to convert your target market into a fan base that actually want to hear from you.

Facebook didn't actually exist back in 2000, but it has since become the most powerful virus-carrier in the world. Facebook gets to know us, then it makes helpful suggestions about who and what we oughta connect with. Ever wondered why Facebook wants us to keep making more friends? The bigger our peer group, the wider our personal reach. Every time we share, we share on a massive scale. We are all wearing digital sandwich boards.

But - we don't bring our wallets to Facebook. We don't go there for stuff. We go there for attention, for communication, for play. If we share things, it's because they're fun. If we like things, it's because they made us smile. And because they're free to be shared.

Yeah, we'll join your group. Sure, we'll "like" your stuff. But we'll never revisit the page. It'll get buried in the big list of 400+ other things we liked and forgot about. You can post updates - little promotional messages - and they'll show up on our feed. But if they're not funny or entertaining, we'll ignore them. Might even block them. Like I said, we're there to have fun, not sift through ads.

Yesterday I saw an article/advertorial that made my heart sink. Don't Feel Like Blogging Today? Well, now you can buy your posts pre-mixed! Just paste in a guest article and keep your followers fed for the day!
My god. What's the damn point of having followers if you haven't got anything for them to follow? The whole concept of creating a "fan base" market has gone way too far. People and businesses are amassing fans for no good reason. If you're too busy to give them what they want, then why try to suck them in? They don't want junk mail; they don't want filler. If you're not here to entertain, get off the stage.

PS. For a cute bit of juxtaposition, I've also dusted off an old post about Facebook, written in 2007. It's actually from before I had a Facebook account. How different life was, in the days of my carefree youth!

Reprint: Facebook WAARGH

Originally posted on  
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2007

at SCRAPS AND SCRIBBLES

So I registered with Facebook under the sizzling alias "Wanda Wells" in order to peek surreptitiously at my friends' accounts and ask myself, "wherefore?". This I did, and a delightful ten minutes was spent. Immediately afterward, I located the "Deactivate Account" button. Click and it's all gone! No evidence I was ever there! Yarp?
Narp. Quoth Facebook:

"Please let us know why you are deactivating."

So I replied, by way of clicking the succinct little bullet option:

"I don't find Facebook useful."

"But wait," said Facebook. "You might find Facebook more useful if you connect with more of your friends. Check out our Friend Finder, or search for them."

I nodded. All well and good. But I still wasn't interested. I searched the bullet list for a more compelling reason to leave the site. Maybe Facebook would listen if I selected:

"I don't feel safe on the site."

How could I stay when my safety was potentially in jeopardy?
Yet Facebook had an answer.

"You can alter your privacy settings to make sure you are more protected."

Oh. Er, thank you. Good to know, I suppose. But still,

"I don't understand how to use the site."

"A tour of Facebook may help clarify how best to use the site. Or email us with your questions. We'll respond within 24 hours."

Facebook really cared about me. It was so generous, offering me this network of support as I was lost, confused and alone in the webly wilderness. But still I didn't want to learn to use the site. I wanted to leave. How about if I just promised:

"This is temporary. I'll be back."

Facebook smiled upon me.

"Remember," it said, "you can reactivate at any time by logging in with your email and password." It added, conversationally, "Just so you know, your admin status in any groups or events will not be automatically restored after activation."

Yet my email is still in the system? How could I ever escape? I needed my email address back. And so I told Facebook a lie. This isn't a betrayal. I'm not leaving. It's just that...

"I have another Facebook account."

Facebook said nothing. I waited, but there was no rebuttal. I'm free to go? I'm really... I'm free?
I clicked "deactivate". Wanda Wells was no more.

Sitting at my monitor, silently exhaling, in the moments that followed, I felt somehow empty. I had escaped, hadn't I? I had no more responsibility to Facebook. And yet I felt as though I had done wrong. I had turned my back on someone that cared for me.

Facebook's farewell page shone upon my downcast face.

"Remember," it said, "to reactivate your account, simply log in with your email address and password."

My email address was still in there somewhere! All could be forgiven! All I had to do was enter my details... all I had to do was repent.

Facebook, I am still out here. Facebook, I am sorry.
Wanda Wells shall return.

Phoenix.

My friend Rabia recently posted about the Salvation Army challenge, Buy Nothing New Month. Basically you're meant to swear off new things (excluding food and necessities of course) for the month of October. Instead you can find alternative means of acquiring your stuff - preferably at Salvos stores of course, but also swapping, freecycling, buying secondhand or *cough* pinching out of hard rubbish.

There's a competition for the best creative efforts during the month. Pretty freestyle. Awesome thrifty outfits, recycled redecorating, transforming an old thing into something totally new.

I haven't decided whether to enter. I'd have to think of a really cool project, and I'd kinda prefer to do it alongside other friends - sharing and comparing and foraging together. Maybe I'll join Rabia in her efforts over summer. The challenge itself probably wouldn't be much of a "challenge" to me, since I'm such a miser to begin with. In fact, with the project to buy things for, I might even spend more than usual!

Either way, it's got my creative parts buzzing. A few months ago I posted about an LA blogger named Angela who gets her readers to send in photos of their secondhand outfits - bought at thrift stores, swapped with friends, reborn from the scraps of old outfits. One of her regulars is this adorable character here:

Her name's Stephanie Casey; she's a fashion fanatic and she has her own blog at thosetricks.com where she shows off her awesome thrift store finds. I stole the above photos from her site. Seriously, marvel at the cheapness! Those are American dollars but there's still no denying. It's pretty funny actually - despite her policy of frugal fashion, Casey now works for the high-end department chain Neiman Marcus.

Dug a little deeper and discovered this gal who has pledged, Julie and Julia style, to create 365 outfits over 365 days on a paltry budget of 365 dollars. She's got 85 days/dollars/dresses left. Mostly, Marisa gets her fabric from old baggy thrift store clothes, cuts out the stains and sagging waistlines, and reshapes them into something cute and contemporary. A couple of examples:

Click the pic to visit her blog, newdressaday.wordpress.com, and see the whole year's-worth.

I also came across the work of Meg, a Portland-based craftmistress, who makes purses and bags from salvaged fabric. She sells them at etsy.com/shop/MegExpressions. A sampling:

Food for thought, Rabs?

I love the idea of using old things to make new things. Sometimes it takes a lot of imagination, sometimes a lot of skill. But it's such a thrill to be able to say, "Oh this? Actually it didn't cost me anything... I just threw it together from some old gift boxes."

The funny thing is, I'm trying to think of stuff to make other than clothing/accessories, and it's making me realise how many of my material "needs" are power-driven (electric, electronic, gas, fuel, pixies). In an average day (not including work), I use clothing, dishes and furniture. Aaaand my phone, my laptop, my car, the microwave, the coffee machine, the TV, the heater, my debit card. Okay, and maybe a pen.

Dammit, I can't make any of those.

But I'm determined to implement this somehow. I don't like waste and I don't like needless spending. I've got the needless spending sorted (it's easier if you don't have a shoe fetish) - so now... Project Waste Not! Who's with me?

Scribbles.

You know that feeling you get when you've left your mobile at home? I feel that way if I can't find a pen in my purse.

I carry a pen with me everywhere. I try to make sure there's more than one kind - a ballpoint, a red pen, maybe a Sharpie or a pencil too - because I'm always getting the urge to doodle or scribble or jot. I have an idea that must be recorded, or I need to explain something visually, or I'm seized with the desire to caricature my guest lecturer.

But my need for pens is diminishing. Everyone's phasing them out; penmanship is on a rapid downward slide. The various pen-based tasks in our lives are being digitally upgraded or just fading away.

You don't need to take lecture notes anymore, you can just download the slides and the audio recording. You don't need to write lists when you can put reminders in your phone. You don't write a letter, you type an email. Or you could just "text", because that way you only have to type half of each word! Even signatures are being phased out, replaced by PINs and usernames and personal logos.

I feel sad about this. I love handwriting. Handwriting has personality. It has flavour. No matter how many pretty typefaces they design, beautiful handwriting trumps the lot.

But it's not just about looks. It's about skill. It's about symbol. The written word is humanity's greatest acomplishment. It's our legacy to ourselves. We can conceive and explore abstract concepts, because we have given them form.

Our First Words: Ancient Mesopotamia

These tablets come from Ancient Mesopotamia where the written word was born. The stone on the left is one of the earliest pieces of writing on Earth. It says "ten goats".

You can see how the writing changed over time, from beginning as drawings and carvings of real-world objects. A simple sketch could convey a simple statement. A certain picture represented a certain concept. The pictures morphed as they passed through generations of scribes. The meanings grew in complexity and abstraction.

This is part of the twelve-tablet Epic of Gilgamesh, made sometime between 1300-1000 BC.

It's written in cuneiform, which is a script created by making marks in soft clay. The marks were straight and wedgelike, so all the letterforms had to be made up of straight lines. Here you can see an idea of the "translation" process from realistic drawing to cuneiform symbol.

Beyond Death: Immortal Egypt

If you want pretty, here's the original and the best. The pictographs of the Ancient Egyptians are immense, breathtaking, vibrant. Like the Mesopotamians, they began by drawing objects from life, but they used paints and dyes and vast expanses of wall, and their pictures were exquisite murals depicting the life and work of their time. The drawings became symbols, and the symbols became abstract, and then the Egyptians invented paper. And writing prospered.

On the left, you see hieroglyphics etched in stone. On the right, script on paper. It's called "hieratic script", and it represents the birth of cursive writing.

These two cultures started a trickle that erupted into a flood of language onto paper. The proto-Sinaitic alphabet of the Canaanites (developed in Egypt circa 2000 BC) used pictographs to represent ideas. The Phoenician alphabet  (circa 1000 BC) was stylised and efficient, with each symbol representing a consonant sound. The Greeks adopted this alphabet and by 800 BC they had added letterforms representing vowels. Then came the Romans; then on down the line to the Mighty British Empire.

Many of our modern letterforms can be traced right back up this line to find the pictographs from which they originated.

Or, we could just make up new pictographs.

(click above for the whole alphabeard!)

So it really would be an awful loss if we were to put down our pens.

I know that type is the next stage of alphabetic evolution. Neat, efficient, uniform. Typed language serves us perfectly well in most of our daily tasks. But it does not inspire. It does not improvise. It cannot be tinkered with. You can download any number of fancipants display fonts, but you're still just pushing buttons, stamping stamps.

I've always loved making marks on paper, and the most beautiful mark you can make is one that has a meaning. I begin to feel that handwriting could be an art. Done well or done badly, but always unique.

____________________________

WANT TO READ MORE?

The origins of abc

Passing the Texts: From Script to Print

The History and Development of Writing

A History of Information Technology and Systems