As an undergraduate, I majored in cultural anthropology. I loved it. I adored and immediately bonded with the culture concept. I am certain this had to do with having lived in numerous places growing up (Dayton, Washington DC, Okinawa, Cincinnati, the Gulf Coast) and witnessing firsthand how people were diverse from place to place at a young age. I think you can actually feel this diversity internally in their clothes, their mannerisms, and their traditions. So it felt very natural and right to learn that there was a concept and an entire academic discipline completely devoted to the idea of how these things shape people. I was in love! I loved analyzing the microcosms of culture that spring up even between two people. I loved legitimizing the culture of restaurant folks where I worked during college.
And that was where I wrote one of my most fascinating papers. In my linguistics course we had to do a study of a language that was not a formal language. My peers seemed to struggle with this task. I pounced on it and began immersing myself into the role of ethnologist within the Ruby Tuesday’s I was working at (with permission from the staff and management, of course!). For the next two months I audio taped my shifts from various spots throughout the place, and then typed up the transcripts when I got home. I wrote detailed diary accounts of the shifts, trying to analyze the night from an objective viewpoint. On the last week of the class, I typed up an analysis of the “language” used in the restaurant, detailing the special slang, terminology, even the informal curse words, and derogatory slams against customers. I knocked the paper out in about 5 hours, and even included a dictionary. I got a 100 and an A for the course.
Thus began a fascination with words. I love the idea of words and especially how easily we reach for certain, specific ones. We are influenced by that reach by our culture, of course. But even more so, we are influenced by certain things, call them Freudian factors if you will, as well. It’s that reach that I am fascinated by. That stretch for the perfect descriptor to capture the essence of the moment…or that quick nab that elicits that completely wrong reaction and makes us want to hide away.
Equally fascinating to me is the effect that the words of others choosing has on us as individuals, or as groups. Witness so many reactions to calling someone’s death from cancer a “lost battle.” I myself struggle with this. Does it imply that the person did not fight hard enough? Does it not belittle their final days as being nothing but war, instead of peace? One friend has issues with the word “survivor,” a word that many of us embrace lovingly. Many a metastatic person has moved on to “thriver.” Still others question the concept of being labeled at all.
Awhile back I was having a discussion with someone who was struggling with some concepts regarding various organizations and groups. I asked him to describe what he thought they did. He did and the words he used were completely counter to what the mission statements were. I asked him he thought they truly worked against the mission statement or was that simply a slip. He apologized and said that he just was using the words that first came to mind.
Lastly, I will say this. On Sunday, Alison and I were on our bikes riding 60 miles as part of our training for the Tour de Pink for the Young Survival Coalition, to raise money for support for young women with breast cancer. A group of boys in a car drove by and one rolled down his window and yelled at us to “get off the road, you bitches!” Somewhere along the way, this boy has learned that it is perfectly acceptable to talk to women this way. Somewhere, this young man has learned to reach for those words . . .probably to impress his friends.
As I like to say, yet another reason why we still need feminism, and not just the word.
And that was where I wrote one of my most fascinating papers. In my linguistics course we had to do a study of a language that was not a formal language. My peers seemed to struggle with this task. I pounced on it and began immersing myself into the role of ethnologist within the Ruby Tuesday’s I was working at (with permission from the staff and management, of course!). For the next two months I audio taped my shifts from various spots throughout the place, and then typed up the transcripts when I got home. I wrote detailed diary accounts of the shifts, trying to analyze the night from an objective viewpoint. On the last week of the class, I typed up an analysis of the “language” used in the restaurant, detailing the special slang, terminology, even the informal curse words, and derogatory slams against customers. I knocked the paper out in about 5 hours, and even included a dictionary. I got a 100 and an A for the course.
Thus began a fascination with words. I love the idea of words and especially how easily we reach for certain, specific ones. We are influenced by that reach by our culture, of course. But even more so, we are influenced by certain things, call them Freudian factors if you will, as well. It’s that reach that I am fascinated by. That stretch for the perfect descriptor to capture the essence of the moment…or that quick nab that elicits that completely wrong reaction and makes us want to hide away.
Equally fascinating to me is the effect that the words of others choosing has on us as individuals, or as groups. Witness so many reactions to calling someone’s death from cancer a “lost battle.” I myself struggle with this. Does it imply that the person did not fight hard enough? Does it not belittle their final days as being nothing but war, instead of peace? One friend has issues with the word “survivor,” a word that many of us embrace lovingly. Many a metastatic person has moved on to “thriver.” Still others question the concept of being labeled at all.
Awhile back I was having a discussion with someone who was struggling with some concepts regarding various organizations and groups. I asked him to describe what he thought they did. He did and the words he used were completely counter to what the mission statements were. I asked him he thought they truly worked against the mission statement or was that simply a slip. He apologized and said that he just was using the words that first came to mind.
Lastly, I will say this. On Sunday, Alison and I were on our bikes riding 60 miles as part of our training for the Tour de Pink for the Young Survival Coalition, to raise money for support for young women with breast cancer. A group of boys in a car drove by and one rolled down his window and yelled at us to “get off the road, you bitches!” Somewhere along the way, this boy has learned that it is perfectly acceptable to talk to women this way. Somewhere, this young man has learned to reach for those words . . .probably to impress his friends.
As I like to say, yet another reason why we still need feminism, and not just the word.
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