(no subject)

For those of you playing along at home: yep, looks like "orcing" is just what I thought it was, a variant on trolling with icky racial overtones.  I ... words fail me.  And here I was hoping this my usual inability to turn off the deconstruct function rearing its head again.  Of all the concepts we didn't need a word for ... what's the female/feminist equivalent, do you think.  Nixying?  Sirening?  Something else we should not need a word for?

I like to teach about neologisms in my classes.  I think they're nifty little signifiers of the things preying on our hindbrains, and they're often incredibly telling as to the issues we're having as a society.  Why the hell did we need Bridezilla as a portmanteau?  Because it took too long to explain that we as a people had some major anxieties about women and weddings and consumerism and control.  Why did we invent the bromance?  'Cause homophobia is alive and well and in conflict with our collective push towards a happy Neverland of weed-smoking man-boys.  And so on and so forth.  So, orcing ... indicates that we apparently now need a word to demonstrate our disdain for the people who won't shut up about racial injustice?  Oy.

I get that we're* anxious about our privilege and I get that it'll lead to more and more specific terminologies, but ... orcing?  I weep.

*I would really love to distance myself from this, but then, my ass too would be showing,** since "No, no, it's those other people-who-share-my-circumstances who are being bad!" is one of the telling signs of retro-cranial inversion.

**This whole thing is really expanding my vocabulary.  The whole ass-is-showing/put-on-some-pants - I get what it means, but I'm not sure where it comes from.  Fandom slang?  Cultural slang?  Suggestions, as always, appreciated.

(no subject)

For those of you playing along at home: yep, looks like "orcing" is just what I thought it was, a variant on trolling with icky racial overtones.  I ... words fail me.  And here I was hoping this my usual inability to turn off the deconstruct function rearing its head again.  Of all the concepts we didn't need a word for ... what's the female/feminist equivalent, do you think.  Nixying?  Sirening?  Something else we should not need a word for?

I like to teach about neologisms in my classes.  I think they're nifty little signifiers of the things preying on our hindbrains, and they're often incredibly telling as to the issues we're having as a society.  Why the hell did we need Bridezilla as a portmanteau?  Because it took too long to explain that we as a people had some major anxieties about women and weddings and consumerism and control.  Why did we invent the bromance?  'Cause homophobia is alive and well and in conflict with our collective push towards a happy Neverland of weed-smoking man-boys.  And so on and so forth.  So, orcing ... indicates that we apparently now need a word to demonstrate our disdain for the people who won't shut up about racial injustice?  Oy.

I get that we're* anxious about our privilege and I get that it'll lead to more and more specific terminologies, but ... orcing?  I weep.

*I would really love to distance myself from this, but then, my ass too would be showing,** since "No, no, it's those other people-who-share-my-circumstances who are being bad!" is one of the telling signs of retro-cranial inversion.

**This whole thing is really expanding my vocabulary.  The whole ass-is-showing/put-on-some-pants - I get what it means, but I'm not sure where it comes from.  Fandom slang?  Cultural slang?  Suggestions, as always, appreciated.

I love my tailor.

I may bitch about living out in the boonies, but all things considered, our house is pretty rad:  the geography is convenient to everything a d_aulnoy  needs to feel at home.

One of my favorites?  My tailor.  My tailor has replaced the linings of two perfect coats that I was about to give up for dead because they no longer had any pockets: my beloved shiny peacock-blue princess-line coat, and my black H&M trenchcoat that fits like a dream (the former in cherry-red, the latter in pitch-black: I now sort of wish I'd had both lined in red, but c'est la vie).  My tailor is going to put a slit up the back of the glorious, incredibly narrow, black, floor-length velvet Kay Unger skirt that was supposed to go for $250 but that crept down to a startling $15 bucks (I can only assume because every woman who tried it on tried taking a step that spanned more than 6 inches, came up short thanks to the hobbling function, and said "Haaaaaaaaaayll no").  My tailor is going to fix the belt on the vintage silk brocade ice-blue wrap dress from the '50s that I found at the Rose Bowl flea market.  My tailor is awesome.

I think that everybody needs a tailor, but sadly, in this day and age, few people seem to have them.  It's like, either you know how to sew (which is fabulous if you do, but I was too busy with the blowtorch to pick up the needle ... a state to be rectified should I ever have the time, along with my deplorable lack of cooking skills, and my lamentable inability to belly-dance, blow glass, or do that thing where you clamber gracefully around on a long drapery of silk before winding it around yourself and letting it dramatically unfurl as you plunge 50 feet), or you throw all your clothing away when it wears out, or you walk around like a shlub, tripping all over your hems and watching sadly as your spare change pours out of the holes in your pockets.

Which unsung professions do you applaud?  Which ones could you just plain not live without?

I love my tailor.

I may bitch about living out in the boonies, but all things considered, our house is pretty rad:  the geography is convenient to everything a d_aulnoy  needs to feel at home.

One of my favorites?  My tailor.  My tailor has replaced the linings of two perfect coats that I was about to give up for dead because they no longer had any pockets: my beloved shiny peacock-blue princess-line coat, and my black H&M trenchcoat that fits like a dream (the former in cherry-red, the latter in pitch-black: I now sort of wish I'd had both lined in red, but c'est la vie).  My tailor is going to put a slit up the back of the glorious, incredibly narrow, black, floor-length velvet Kay Unger skirt that was supposed to go for $250 but that crept down to a startling $15 bucks (I can only assume because every woman who tried it on tried taking a step that spanned more than 6 inches, came up short thanks to the hobbling function, and said "Haaaaaaaaaayll no").  My tailor is going to fix the belt on the vintage silk brocade ice-blue wrap dress from the '50s that I found at the Rose Bowl flea market.  My tailor is awesome.

I think that everybody needs a tailor, but sadly, in this day and age, few people seem to have them.  It's like, either you know how to sew (which is fabulous if you do, but I was too busy with the blowtorch to pick up the needle ... a state to be rectified should I ever have the time, along with my deplorable lack of cooking skills, and my lamentable inability to belly-dance, blow glass, or do that thing where you clamber gracefully around on a long drapery of silk before winding it around yourself and letting it dramatically unfurl as you plunge 50 feet), or you throw all your clothing away when it wears out, or you walk around like a shlub, tripping all over your hems and watching sadly as your spare change pours out of the holes in your pockets.

Which unsung professions do you applaud?  Which ones could you just plain not live without?