Words

Certain words drive me insane. These are usually words that someone in the Marketing/PR abyss gloms on to and then deploys until they lose all meaning.  Some words are completely misused (gift,) some are meant to make the orator sound smarter (myself, utilize,) and others are simply beaten to death (debacle.) But every so often, some marketing genius hands us a word that travels from precise meaning to utter nonsense at warp speed. Last year it was Artisan and all the attendant variations. Originally it meant an object that had been designed and created by a craftsman individually. The meaning slowly transformed into meaning “expensive” and ultimately passed into the zone of non-meaning.  Another word co-opted for the purposes of Marketing. This year I am declaring war on Artisanal’s cousin: handcrafted. I see this word used to in the most ludicrous of circumstances.  I have no qualms with using the word to describe the handmade glycerin soap in the shape of Lego men for sale on Etsy. Nor do I object to it’s use on the webpage of one who casts custom chopper taillights. My main objection is to its use in the area of food.  When a bar announces “handcrafted cocktails” it makes me wonder if they were previously mixed by a machine. Was there a Robby-like robot behind the bar mixing martinis previously?  Because if there were, I would find it more interesting than the hirsute, tattooed mixologist  currently occupying that space.  The non-ferrous keeper of the bar is less likely to tell me about his band, his shitty art that adorns the walls and how much he likes The Smiths. Aren’t all cocktails crafted by hand?  I and my friends consumed hard liquor long before Sex and the City made it trendy and I’m reasonably certain we were never served a drink by a robot. I will admit that my memory is somewhat faded, but I would definitely remember that. Like so many trends adopted by the bourgeoisie, the cocktail has become an affectation, a way of being noticed.

Being noticed is important to some degree, there are social aspects to the practice, but in some cases the need to be noticed is annoying. The most recent example of this is the scuffing/shuffling of feet I hear so much, especially from younger women.  Go to any suburban mall and you’ll see them; unwilling to pick up their feet, their bipedal motion punctuated with the sound of plastic momentarily scuffing tile. In one hand a purse and in the other a cell phone, they move forward in a motion previously seen in Thorazine- laden mental patients.  Only short the drool, these bastions of bad habits shuffle along, leaving their dark graffiti along the floor. Is this a manifestation of man’s need to leave a mark as a reminder of his own existence, or are they simply a bunch of lazy fuckers. In fact, they are a byproduct of a culture that indulges anything and anyone. Who makes the rules about shuffling one’s feet? Are they, like many other social rules, simply a product of the bourgeoisie? Or does one shuffle one’s feet because one has a right? I’ve said it before: just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. The pervasive attitude of not caring what others think about you or your actions could be twisted to imply some sort of Stoic philosophy a la Epictetus, but it’s more likely due to the KarTrashians.