(no subject)
Jul. 15th, 2019 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkat1. So, had the whole anxiety thing pop up again today. I thought I'd tell you why, but seriously? You don't want to know. Work. Upcoming Vacation. Enough said.
Anyhow, the solution? I took a long walk to look for bags (didn't find any) and on a whim stopped by a CBD Cafe. I had a Tumeric, Cashew Milk, Cinnamon and Ginger milk shake with 18 mg of CBD. It can be added to anything apparently. And guess what? It worked. Hormonal fluctuation of anxiety went away.
CBD is legal now in New York. Yippe Kai Yay. Although not so sure about growing it being legal. There's a fight against that -- mainly because it smells like skunk.
2. Meanwhile in Australia...author blog from bookview cafe
I suspect I need to give a trigger warning for today. The first few paragraphs are fine, but after that…
I’m writing this on Thursday because we’re getting three blasts of cold air from the Antarctic, starting around now. The morning sun is sneaking in and telling me that there is no snow for Canberra from that, today. This is not so unexpected. What blasts of air from Antarctica give Canberra is snow on the mountains. Since we’re in the mountains (I live near the foot of one) that means the wind chill factor is not something to rejoice over. Outside right now, the actual temperature is seven degrees above the temperature one feels.
I love telling you about the cold, because so many people nod at me when I say “I’m from Australia” and inform me that it must be nice to live in a land with no winter. They also ask me what it’s like to have the sea at my door. They continue asking even when I say “Actually, I live in Canberra.”
Australia has many seasons, different ones in different regions. And our national capital is inland.
I both love it and hate it that the world’s view of Australia tends to be the perpetual summer and the land of the relaxed people who are short on education, high on rudeness, but very kind. I want to argue the beach thing, though, because what continent is all beach? We have so much inland and it’s so varied and interesting.
This week I’m writing non-fiction about how some of the major stereotypes in the West were developed. I’ve been exploring it in my fiction, too. This is partly prompted by me coming from a minority background, but I strongly suspect that I want to know where people get ideas from because of the sheer number of people who will be surprised we have cold weather this week.
I find this interesting based in part on a conversation I had with a co-worker today about the movie MidSommer.
Me: So I talked to someone from Sweden who saw Midsommar and thought it was hilarious and treated it like a black comedy.
Chidi: Really? Wow. We didn't laugh that much at all, except at a few select bits here and there.
Me: The whole theater in Sweden laughed throughout the last 20 minutes.
Chidi: But that was intense. We were dead silent during that period.
Me: Well, in Sweden -- the story is ludicrious. They just have fun during this festival. It would be akin to someone in Sweden, as was explained to me, making a horror flick about Thanksgiving. It's a clear case of cultural misappropriation. They take a folk custom from another country and write a movie about it -- but they know nothing about the folk custom.
Chidi: For someone who hasn't seen this movie -- you certainly know a lot about it.
Me: I find it interesting how various people react to things and why. I like to see other perspectives.
Chidi: Do you do this with all movies?
ME: No. I do find horror films fascinating, I just can't watch most of them, can't get past the gore.
Chidi: I have a feeling you should watch this movie -- although getting past the gore may be a challenge for you. It's realistic gore. Although it is admittedly funny in places -- since it is so over-the-top. But realistically so. Also beautifully shot.
Another example, which I've used before?
Me: My grandfather had three brain tumors, they were cancerous, and removed. He lived for a bit, but with severe brain damage. He was like a toddler.
College Friend: That's impossible. My uncle died with one brain tumor. This is completely exaggerated. How dare you!
3. On the way home today -- I ran into not one but two Amazon Prime vehicle demonstrations of goods. One was of the IRobot Vaccum via Alexa.
Then I went on FB and found out that there is strike going on.
Amazon Prime Day Sees Workers Striking Around the World and Buying anything during Amazon Prime is considered akin to crossing their picket line
Thousands of workers at Amazon fulfillment centers and warehouses around the globe are going on strike today to bring attention to the working conditions they endure. Some are arguing that buying from Amazon during Prime Day is akin to crossing a picket line.
As the two-day bacchanal of discounted Amazon offerings begins, workers at its fulfillment centers around the US continue to complain of extremely odious quotas, limited bathroom breaks, mandatory holiday shifts, and the need for pain medication just to get through their 10-hour work days.
As I get older the parable that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven -- makes more and more sense.
Sigh. Frigging Amazon. I wish they'd do better -- I like the service. And it's the only place that the book I self-published is available.
Oh well, getting electronic books doesn't have anything to do with warehouse workers.
4. Took me a while to find this again ....on FB.. Names That Are Unfamiliar to You Aren't Hard They're Unpracticed
Growing up in the United States, I often hear that my name is “hard” to pronounce: N’Jameh (IPA: ˈndʒeɪ me or 'njeɪ meɪ). It is a Gambian name conferred by my father, whose lyrical, West African accent rounds the vowels and punctuates the consonants into inertia. And yet, the syllables that tether my heritage to The Gambia seem strangely unable to make the voyage to my American life. The name I carry with me looks for harbor in the mouths of colleagues — even friendly acquaintances — and sometimes gets lost. My parents did not name me with evil grins and hands wringing: “We are going to make her name hard for everyone to utter!” They named me out of boundless love. In that love is a pride of culture and heritage. And yet, my name is treated like a white elephant in society — an exotic interruption to the conversation among Kristins and Emilies, whose names may be forgettable, but most assuredly don’t make a stir.
I feel the weight of others passing their inability to learn my name onto me like a heavy stone. On it is an inscription that says, “Your problem, not mine,” and I have grown exhausted from the message. It’s time to change the conversation around “difficult” names, and to explore our accountability for learning the names of those around us.
I am sometimes in situations where my name is simply not spoken after weeks of interaction with an individual. As an actor, this happens in the rehearsal room and outside of it. I do not mean that people mispronounce my name. I’m talking about fellow actors, leaders of the creative team and crew members calling me “Hey” or not saying my name at all, after several weeks. It all begins simply enough. When asked, “How do you say your name?” at the audition, I pronounce it, and those in the room say it back, in a little call-and-response repartee. Their attempts are usually correct, but, by the first rehearsal, amnesia sets in.
Too often, I’ve felt the awkward “Good to see you again” when a director didn’t commit my name to memory at the callback. Because of experiences like this, I have learned to reintroduce myself repeatedly on day one of rehearsal. The ability to be genuine and relational precedes all other obligations of an actor — of a person, really. To know and say each other’s name is an absolute requirement for crossing the limen of connection, and to a performance that channels life.
Maybe it’s excusable to forget any name at first, but after a week, a few weeks, even a month, that excuse runs out. There is a moment in time when it is no longer the responsibility of a person to teach their name. The choice made by many not to learn my name renders me invisible. It seeds disappointment and erodes my normally jovial spirit. In these moments, my mind races with questions. Should I have gone by a nickname? Should I confront them? Will I be labeled as too “difficult” if I do?
Like so much in American life, the experience of being named and known is also bound up with issues of race, class and gender. It exists in the systems of how we socialize and interact with each other. For a white person to suggest that a colleague of color adapt their name to make it easier for others in the work environment (“Oh, your name is Masahiko? Mind if we just call you Hiko?”), is an aggression that infers it is socially acceptable for one individual to put a nickname upon another for their convenience. This kind of aggression can largely fly under the radar because our country was built on the backs of people whose names were shortened or erased. The suggestion to shorten Masahiko’s name does not come from the intention of love or respect. It comes from the notion that it’s two syllables too long, an inconvenience for the mouth. If Masahiko changed their name to “Sandra,” this upholds a kind of white supremacy, displayed in ethnocentrisms, that can largely go unquestioned. If anything, it can be encouraged. This is more insidious and socially acceptable than white hoods and neo-Nazi graffiti, but communicates clearly that “white names” are easier and more desirable than names which stretch our understanding of who we — as a cast, an office, a neighborhood, a nation — are.
And
Beyond that, describing a name as “hard” is a general conclusion that dismisses responsibility for learning it at all. Saying “I’m not good with hard names” is wholly different than saying “This name is hard for me.” If a name is hard for one person, that doesn’t mean it’s hard for everyone. Each person’s phonological fluency is uniquely dependent on their life experience and what sounds are in their phonological inventory. Therefore, instead of “hard” or “difficult,” I would like to offer the term “unpracticed.” Rather than connoting hardship, “unpracticed” reflects something new or untested. And, in fact, this exposes the root of the issue. Like learning the piano or playing sports, the level of practice will be different for each individual. Some people may not need practice. And some names have been practiced over centuries or decades in our country. To “practice” places the responsibility on the learner to adapt their ear.
The times when someone has practiced my name reaffirm the immense power for good that holds.
Learning each other’s name is a matter of spiritual will and value. Do we see someone as valuable enough to connect with on a level that involves something more than what they are producing for us? Do we see our collaborators as people? If we are one human family in a nexus of relationships, then the bare minimum of human decency is knowing each other’s name. When we don’t try because we don’t want to “butcher” the name, offend the other person, look bad, be uncomfortable, or are too busy, we are not protecting them. We are doing it at the cost of the other person. Anonymizing each other comes with a terrible price.
Lastly, if you cannot pronounce someone’s name after sharing dedicated time and space with them, don’t think they don’t know. Hearing our names, or not hearing them, up-close or in a crowded room cues our brains to pay attention in a particular way. And when our name is replaced by dead air or generic substitutes, we notice. If you have yet to say your colleague’s name, their lack of comment is likely due to the fact that you are being given time to come around.
I have mixed feelings about this. Mainly it's not just names I struggle with pronouncing but certain words. It took me forever to perfect the following names:
Marquetta (she kept repeating it and correcting me until I got it. My mind wanted to say Marguette. Marg-kita for some reason as opposed to Marquet-ta. I have troubles with certain sounds.)
Turchetto -- I kept wanting to say Turketto instead of Turch (Tor-Chetto)
Asima - I kept wanting to say Azma. As opposed to As-Sim-Ma.
It's not personal. It's not racist. It's how I hear consonants and sounds, and I have to work hard to hear the name right.
Another example?
Gabriele - I kept pronouncing it Gabrielle.
Now, as an aside, I have an easy enough name, but people like to add an A to it, or shorten it in odd ways. Also they misspell it. But it's a common name. And my last name -- which is a very common name -- is misspelled all the time.
I'd be interested in your thoughts on this topic, if you are willing to share them?
Because I was thinking today -- at first, I thought, do names matter? Are they really part of our identity? Then I realized in a way they are. I chose my online name specifically and have not changed it. And my real name is definitively me, in many ways. I grew into it, so to speak. Even if it is an insanely popular one. It covers various parts of my personality. Do I care if people mispronounce or change it? Yes, I do. It's an irritant.
So, I can see why others would feel the same. Now I don't remember names, let along how to pronounce them, unless you repeat them to me a lot. Or I get used to them. I have to repeat how to pronounce them inside my head. I have to "practice them". So the writer is right in this respect, a name needs to be practiced.
I changed my mind and posted on it. Because I've decided the writer is right when she states:
Beyond that, describing a name as “hard” is a general conclusion that dismisses responsibility for learning it at all. Saying “I’m not good with hard names” is wholly different than saying “This name is hard for me.” If a name is hard for one person, that doesn’t mean it’s hard for everyone. Each person’s phonological fluency is uniquely dependent on their life experience and what sounds are in their phonological inventory. Therefore, instead of “hard” or “difficult,” I would like to offer the term “unpracticed.” Rather than connoting hardship, “unpracticed” reflects something new or untested. And, in fact, this exposes the root of the issue. Like learning the piano or playing sports, the level of practice will be different for each individual. Some people may not need practice. And some names have been practiced over centuries or decades in our country. To “practice” places the responsibility on the learner to adapt their ear.
The times when someone has practiced my name reaffirm the immense power for good that holds.
Learning each other’s name is a matter of spiritual will and value. Do we see someone as valuable enough to connect with on a level that involves something more than what they are producing for us? Do we see our collaborators as people? If we are one human family in a nexus of relationships, then the bare minimum of human decency is knowing each other’s name. When we don’t try because we don’t want to “butcher” the name, offend the other person, look bad, be uncomfortable, or are too busy, we are not protecting them. We are doing it at the cost of the other person. Anonymizing each other comes with a terrible price.
Lastly, if you cannot pronounce someone’s name after sharing dedicated time and space with them, don’t think they don’t know. Hearing our names, or not hearing them, up-close or in a crowded room cues our brains to pay attention in a particular way. And when our name is replaced by dead air or generic substitutes, we notice. If you have yet to say your colleague’s name, their lack of comment is likely due to the fact that you are being given time to come around."
I know it is hard. It is hard for me. But I'm beginning to think it is like a drama teacher told me once...when I was struggling with a lisp -- you need to think when you speak, be mindful. Listen to the words. To the sounds. Focus on them. And they will come through.
Still would like to hear other's thoughts on the topic.
5. Co-worker and I had a chat about What We Do in the Shadows.
Me: So, I watched We Who Walk in the Shadows.
Co-worker looks at me oddly.
Me: The vampire series -- about the vamps in Staten Island.
Co-worker: What We Do in the Shadows. Walk in the Shadows is a Psalm.
Me: A song?
Co-worker: A Psalm. In the bible.
Me: Oh. (Damn, I hope I put the right title in my DW blog post last night. (Checks later -- yes I did, Whew.) )
Anyhow, the solution? I took a long walk to look for bags (didn't find any) and on a whim stopped by a CBD Cafe. I had a Tumeric, Cashew Milk, Cinnamon and Ginger milk shake with 18 mg of CBD. It can be added to anything apparently. And guess what? It worked. Hormonal fluctuation of anxiety went away.
CBD is legal now in New York. Yippe Kai Yay. Although not so sure about growing it being legal. There's a fight against that -- mainly because it smells like skunk.
2. Meanwhile in Australia...author blog from bookview cafe
I suspect I need to give a trigger warning for today. The first few paragraphs are fine, but after that…
I’m writing this on Thursday because we’re getting three blasts of cold air from the Antarctic, starting around now. The morning sun is sneaking in and telling me that there is no snow for Canberra from that, today. This is not so unexpected. What blasts of air from Antarctica give Canberra is snow on the mountains. Since we’re in the mountains (I live near the foot of one) that means the wind chill factor is not something to rejoice over. Outside right now, the actual temperature is seven degrees above the temperature one feels.
I love telling you about the cold, because so many people nod at me when I say “I’m from Australia” and inform me that it must be nice to live in a land with no winter. They also ask me what it’s like to have the sea at my door. They continue asking even when I say “Actually, I live in Canberra.”
Australia has many seasons, different ones in different regions. And our national capital is inland.
I both love it and hate it that the world’s view of Australia tends to be the perpetual summer and the land of the relaxed people who are short on education, high on rudeness, but very kind. I want to argue the beach thing, though, because what continent is all beach? We have so much inland and it’s so varied and interesting.
This week I’m writing non-fiction about how some of the major stereotypes in the West were developed. I’ve been exploring it in my fiction, too. This is partly prompted by me coming from a minority background, but I strongly suspect that I want to know where people get ideas from because of the sheer number of people who will be surprised we have cold weather this week.
I find this interesting based in part on a conversation I had with a co-worker today about the movie MidSommer.
Me: So I talked to someone from Sweden who saw Midsommar and thought it was hilarious and treated it like a black comedy.
Chidi: Really? Wow. We didn't laugh that much at all, except at a few select bits here and there.
Me: The whole theater in Sweden laughed throughout the last 20 minutes.
Chidi: But that was intense. We were dead silent during that period.
Me: Well, in Sweden -- the story is ludicrious. They just have fun during this festival. It would be akin to someone in Sweden, as was explained to me, making a horror flick about Thanksgiving. It's a clear case of cultural misappropriation. They take a folk custom from another country and write a movie about it -- but they know nothing about the folk custom.
Chidi: For someone who hasn't seen this movie -- you certainly know a lot about it.
Me: I find it interesting how various people react to things and why. I like to see other perspectives.
Chidi: Do you do this with all movies?
ME: No. I do find horror films fascinating, I just can't watch most of them, can't get past the gore.
Chidi: I have a feeling you should watch this movie -- although getting past the gore may be a challenge for you. It's realistic gore. Although it is admittedly funny in places -- since it is so over-the-top. But realistically so. Also beautifully shot.
Another example, which I've used before?
Me: My grandfather had three brain tumors, they were cancerous, and removed. He lived for a bit, but with severe brain damage. He was like a toddler.
College Friend: That's impossible. My uncle died with one brain tumor. This is completely exaggerated. How dare you!
3. On the way home today -- I ran into not one but two Amazon Prime vehicle demonstrations of goods. One was of the IRobot Vaccum via Alexa.
Then I went on FB and found out that there is strike going on.
Amazon Prime Day Sees Workers Striking Around the World and Buying anything during Amazon Prime is considered akin to crossing their picket line
Thousands of workers at Amazon fulfillment centers and warehouses around the globe are going on strike today to bring attention to the working conditions they endure. Some are arguing that buying from Amazon during Prime Day is akin to crossing a picket line.
As the two-day bacchanal of discounted Amazon offerings begins, workers at its fulfillment centers around the US continue to complain of extremely odious quotas, limited bathroom breaks, mandatory holiday shifts, and the need for pain medication just to get through their 10-hour work days.
As I get older the parable that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven -- makes more and more sense.
Sigh. Frigging Amazon. I wish they'd do better -- I like the service. And it's the only place that the book I self-published is available.
Oh well, getting electronic books doesn't have anything to do with warehouse workers.
4. Took me a while to find this again ....on FB.. Names That Are Unfamiliar to You Aren't Hard They're Unpracticed
Growing up in the United States, I often hear that my name is “hard” to pronounce: N’Jameh (IPA: ˈndʒeɪ me or 'njeɪ meɪ). It is a Gambian name conferred by my father, whose lyrical, West African accent rounds the vowels and punctuates the consonants into inertia. And yet, the syllables that tether my heritage to The Gambia seem strangely unable to make the voyage to my American life. The name I carry with me looks for harbor in the mouths of colleagues — even friendly acquaintances — and sometimes gets lost. My parents did not name me with evil grins and hands wringing: “We are going to make her name hard for everyone to utter!” They named me out of boundless love. In that love is a pride of culture and heritage. And yet, my name is treated like a white elephant in society — an exotic interruption to the conversation among Kristins and Emilies, whose names may be forgettable, but most assuredly don’t make a stir.
I feel the weight of others passing their inability to learn my name onto me like a heavy stone. On it is an inscription that says, “Your problem, not mine,” and I have grown exhausted from the message. It’s time to change the conversation around “difficult” names, and to explore our accountability for learning the names of those around us.
I am sometimes in situations where my name is simply not spoken after weeks of interaction with an individual. As an actor, this happens in the rehearsal room and outside of it. I do not mean that people mispronounce my name. I’m talking about fellow actors, leaders of the creative team and crew members calling me “Hey” or not saying my name at all, after several weeks. It all begins simply enough. When asked, “How do you say your name?” at the audition, I pronounce it, and those in the room say it back, in a little call-and-response repartee. Their attempts are usually correct, but, by the first rehearsal, amnesia sets in.
Too often, I’ve felt the awkward “Good to see you again” when a director didn’t commit my name to memory at the callback. Because of experiences like this, I have learned to reintroduce myself repeatedly on day one of rehearsal. The ability to be genuine and relational precedes all other obligations of an actor — of a person, really. To know and say each other’s name is an absolute requirement for crossing the limen of connection, and to a performance that channels life.
Maybe it’s excusable to forget any name at first, but after a week, a few weeks, even a month, that excuse runs out. There is a moment in time when it is no longer the responsibility of a person to teach their name. The choice made by many not to learn my name renders me invisible. It seeds disappointment and erodes my normally jovial spirit. In these moments, my mind races with questions. Should I have gone by a nickname? Should I confront them? Will I be labeled as too “difficult” if I do?
Like so much in American life, the experience of being named and known is also bound up with issues of race, class and gender. It exists in the systems of how we socialize and interact with each other. For a white person to suggest that a colleague of color adapt their name to make it easier for others in the work environment (“Oh, your name is Masahiko? Mind if we just call you Hiko?”), is an aggression that infers it is socially acceptable for one individual to put a nickname upon another for their convenience. This kind of aggression can largely fly under the radar because our country was built on the backs of people whose names were shortened or erased. The suggestion to shorten Masahiko’s name does not come from the intention of love or respect. It comes from the notion that it’s two syllables too long, an inconvenience for the mouth. If Masahiko changed their name to “Sandra,” this upholds a kind of white supremacy, displayed in ethnocentrisms, that can largely go unquestioned. If anything, it can be encouraged. This is more insidious and socially acceptable than white hoods and neo-Nazi graffiti, but communicates clearly that “white names” are easier and more desirable than names which stretch our understanding of who we — as a cast, an office, a neighborhood, a nation — are.
And
Beyond that, describing a name as “hard” is a general conclusion that dismisses responsibility for learning it at all. Saying “I’m not good with hard names” is wholly different than saying “This name is hard for me.” If a name is hard for one person, that doesn’t mean it’s hard for everyone. Each person’s phonological fluency is uniquely dependent on their life experience and what sounds are in their phonological inventory. Therefore, instead of “hard” or “difficult,” I would like to offer the term “unpracticed.” Rather than connoting hardship, “unpracticed” reflects something new or untested. And, in fact, this exposes the root of the issue. Like learning the piano or playing sports, the level of practice will be different for each individual. Some people may not need practice. And some names have been practiced over centuries or decades in our country. To “practice” places the responsibility on the learner to adapt their ear.
The times when someone has practiced my name reaffirm the immense power for good that holds.
Learning each other’s name is a matter of spiritual will and value. Do we see someone as valuable enough to connect with on a level that involves something more than what they are producing for us? Do we see our collaborators as people? If we are one human family in a nexus of relationships, then the bare minimum of human decency is knowing each other’s name. When we don’t try because we don’t want to “butcher” the name, offend the other person, look bad, be uncomfortable, or are too busy, we are not protecting them. We are doing it at the cost of the other person. Anonymizing each other comes with a terrible price.
Lastly, if you cannot pronounce someone’s name after sharing dedicated time and space with them, don’t think they don’t know. Hearing our names, or not hearing them, up-close or in a crowded room cues our brains to pay attention in a particular way. And when our name is replaced by dead air or generic substitutes, we notice. If you have yet to say your colleague’s name, their lack of comment is likely due to the fact that you are being given time to come around.
I have mixed feelings about this. Mainly it's not just names I struggle with pronouncing but certain words. It took me forever to perfect the following names:
Marquetta (she kept repeating it and correcting me until I got it. My mind wanted to say Marguette. Marg-kita for some reason as opposed to Marquet-ta. I have troubles with certain sounds.)
Turchetto -- I kept wanting to say Turketto instead of Turch (Tor-Chetto)
Asima - I kept wanting to say Azma. As opposed to As-Sim-Ma.
It's not personal. It's not racist. It's how I hear consonants and sounds, and I have to work hard to hear the name right.
Another example?
Gabriele - I kept pronouncing it Gabrielle.
Now, as an aside, I have an easy enough name, but people like to add an A to it, or shorten it in odd ways. Also they misspell it. But it's a common name. And my last name -- which is a very common name -- is misspelled all the time.
I'd be interested in your thoughts on this topic, if you are willing to share them?
Because I was thinking today -- at first, I thought, do names matter? Are they really part of our identity? Then I realized in a way they are. I chose my online name specifically and have not changed it. And my real name is definitively me, in many ways. I grew into it, so to speak. Even if it is an insanely popular one. It covers various parts of my personality. Do I care if people mispronounce or change it? Yes, I do. It's an irritant.
So, I can see why others would feel the same. Now I don't remember names, let along how to pronounce them, unless you repeat them to me a lot. Or I get used to them. I have to repeat how to pronounce them inside my head. I have to "practice them". So the writer is right in this respect, a name needs to be practiced.
I changed my mind and posted on it. Because I've decided the writer is right when she states:
Beyond that, describing a name as “hard” is a general conclusion that dismisses responsibility for learning it at all. Saying “I’m not good with hard names” is wholly different than saying “This name is hard for me.” If a name is hard for one person, that doesn’t mean it’s hard for everyone. Each person’s phonological fluency is uniquely dependent on their life experience and what sounds are in their phonological inventory. Therefore, instead of “hard” or “difficult,” I would like to offer the term “unpracticed.” Rather than connoting hardship, “unpracticed” reflects something new or untested. And, in fact, this exposes the root of the issue. Like learning the piano or playing sports, the level of practice will be different for each individual. Some people may not need practice. And some names have been practiced over centuries or decades in our country. To “practice” places the responsibility on the learner to adapt their ear.
The times when someone has practiced my name reaffirm the immense power for good that holds.
Learning each other’s name is a matter of spiritual will and value. Do we see someone as valuable enough to connect with on a level that involves something more than what they are producing for us? Do we see our collaborators as people? If we are one human family in a nexus of relationships, then the bare minimum of human decency is knowing each other’s name. When we don’t try because we don’t want to “butcher” the name, offend the other person, look bad, be uncomfortable, or are too busy, we are not protecting them. We are doing it at the cost of the other person. Anonymizing each other comes with a terrible price.
Lastly, if you cannot pronounce someone’s name after sharing dedicated time and space with them, don’t think they don’t know. Hearing our names, or not hearing them, up-close or in a crowded room cues our brains to pay attention in a particular way. And when our name is replaced by dead air or generic substitutes, we notice. If you have yet to say your colleague’s name, their lack of comment is likely due to the fact that you are being given time to come around."
I know it is hard. It is hard for me. But I'm beginning to think it is like a drama teacher told me once...when I was struggling with a lisp -- you need to think when you speak, be mindful. Listen to the words. To the sounds. Focus on them. And they will come through.
Still would like to hear other's thoughts on the topic.
5. Co-worker and I had a chat about What We Do in the Shadows.
Me: So, I watched We Who Walk in the Shadows.
Co-worker looks at me oddly.
Me: The vampire series -- about the vamps in Staten Island.
Co-worker: What We Do in the Shadows. Walk in the Shadows is a Psalm.
Me: A song?
Co-worker: A Psalm. In the bible.
Me: Oh. (Damn, I hope I put the right title in my DW blog post last night. (Checks later -- yes I did, Whew.) )
no subject
Date: 2019-07-16 08:36 am (UTC)Also, have people never looked at the map of Australia? there's a lot of middle there! (I'd like to take the Ghan train that goes across it.)
no subject
Date: 2019-07-16 12:29 pm (UTC)Also, have people never looked at the map of Australia? there's a lot of middle there! (I'd like to take the Ghan train that goes across it.)
Apparently not. I also think people tend to build their opinions of a place based on film and media they've seen on it? Most Australian films are about a very hot outback with no mountains or snow. So they think, oh, Australia is a desert. Or the films are about the beaches and surf -- so they think - oh it's all surf and beaches like Sydney and Melbourne. It's a tendency to assume that what they've seen of a place is all there is?
no subject
Date: 2019-07-16 10:31 am (UTC)I saw that about the strike at Amazon. I'm supporting the strike. A bargain isn't worth it.
no subject
Date: 2019-07-16 12:25 pm (UTC)It's not even that great a bargain -- depending on the item. I rarely buy during prime week, more trouble than its worth.
Names
Date: 2019-07-16 02:47 pm (UTC)There are still thousands of languages and many more dialects in the world. For instance the author doesn't identify which of several languages in Gambia the name N'Jameh comes from. It's possible the folks a few miles up the Gambia River from where the father came from might not pronounce it 100% 'correctly.' I don't blame the father for giving the child the name, but he should have had the sense to teach this person to be both proud of their name and very tolerant of the fact few and far between in the culture where the author grew up ever saw such a name, and only a few more can manage the combination "N'j" without a lot of practice. Like it or not insisting every one learn an (at least temporarily) unpronounceable name is off putting.
I've spoken with many people in a variety of languages, enough to have them ask for a name they could call me. I *never* would expect them to pronounce my name as in English. I know enough to realize there is a sound in my name just like the "n'j" above that if you don't speak English like a native you would probably pronounce all wrong. If we're speaking English I don't suggest they learn to speak English better. I accept what they can say. If we're not speaking English, I don't ask people to try. I pick a name that would be both acceptable and pronounceable in their culture and have them call me that. If they'd also want to use that name when we spoke English that would be fine with me. I can't make up the author's mind or decide what's acceptable for them, but if they were willing to have folks call them 'Jamie' they'd avoid a lot of nonsense.
There is nothing magical about names. It's just a tag. Your name may mean 'The gorgeous bird with shining feathers that flies over the clear waters of our ancestral land' to you, mom and pop, but to other human beings your name might as well be a plain name like 'Sam' in English, which they can associate with you and that they can fill in the blanks on themselves... Sam is considerate; Sam talks too much; Sam wears her hair funny; Sam is my friend, but no friend of so-and-so... That's what names really mean to others and that often is more important than what you think of your own name. Your name doesn't have to be unique for people to think of you as unique.
Re: Names
Date: 2019-07-17 01:34 am (UTC)While it is true people are unnecessarily lazy about names. For example, there is no excuse for an English speaker to call a woman who goes by Clara -- Claire. They can pronounce Clara. They are just being lazy and using a tag they prefer. They should not be surprised that Clara doesn't respond to Claire.
On the other hand, it is understandable that people may shorten William to Bill, without thinking. Or Richard to Rich. Or Christine to Chris. Or Douglas to Doug, or Josephine to Joe and often acceptable.
My difficulty with the author is the assumption that it is easy for someone who doesn't know their name to pronounce their name. And the assumption that it is automatically racist or disrespectful that they don't do it. N'Jamesh -- and the way they showed the pronunciation? I can't pronounce it. Also this isn't helped by a lot of names being spelled in a manner that is difficult to pronounce.
And I do agree -- names are essentially labels or tags. Humans like to label things -- it gives us a sense of order, and self-importance. But do they define who we are? I don't think so. I mean my parents named me, and they did it somewhat arbitrarily. I was supposed to be male. So they just flipped the first and middle names and gave me the female versions of the names. And when I did the ancestry research, I was struck by how many of my ancestors had the same name. (A lot of people like the name Absalom for some reason that escapes me, also Isiah. Although one got creative and called my great-grandmother Moss, and her sibling Rocks. Or maybe just lazy?) My own name is hardly distinctive -- there's over 400 people online who have the same name, from all over the world and various ethnicities.
But..in some cultures, specifically the African, Caribbean, and Indian cultures -- names have an insane amount of value. And they get particular when you can't pronounce it correctly. (One of my close friends is like that, along with various co-workers, and online friends on FB.) I think the reason for this -- is the British and Europeans came in and basically tried to change their names. So for this culture, their name is a way of fighting back? I mean, if I had some nasty imperialistic country coming into my home country, telling me that my fellow citizens are bunch of Barbarians and mispronouncing our names -- I can see where one might get a bit upset about it.
So, unfortunately there is a racial connotation to it -- because we have a history of en-slaving folks and changing their names in order to make them property. Or changing the names of migrant workers, or immigrants. Many immigrants had to change their names to more acceptable English names.
Yet, in Hollywood, Kirk Douglas changed his name, as did Judy Garland, and various others -- because they had names that did not work. Cary Grant was actually Archibald Leach. So N'Jamesh doesn't realize that in their profession, many many actors had to change their names. It wasn't until recently that they didn't. And that wasn't racial back then so much as just...what they did. Also, they didn't like Jewish sounding names back in the 1920s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s -- so there was that.
Is there a racial component to this? Yes, I think there is a historically.
But at the same time, I think you are correct that the mispronunciation and difficulty in doing so isn't always racial and mostly across the board. You can't expect everyone to be able to pronounce a difficult to pronounce name, particularly if they don't speak your language. Any more than you can expect everyone to speak your language -- particularly if you've moved to another country that speaks English or a language that isn't your own. If you were living in Gambia -- than sure. But you are living California in the US, where English is the primary language, so hello?
Re: Names
Date: 2019-07-17 02:20 am (UTC)Re: Names
Date: 2019-07-17 01:29 pm (UTC)Great story!
We did the same in French class -- in which we each got to pick a French name. It helped with pronunciation. This was in high school though.
no subject
Date: 2019-07-16 05:48 pm (UTC)That's...given what I understood the movie to be about, it seems to undermine the whole message of the movie. Why not just make a ritual/festival up?
It's been a long time since I smelled pot (never smoked it myself) but while I wouldn't describe it like skunk, I definitely agree it smells awful. It reminds me of how historical time travel stories never have the time travelers spending their time retching from how awful everything around them smells.
no subject
Date: 2019-07-17 01:54 am (UTC)I wondered the same thing. Although technically, I guess he did make it up? Or took bits from Medieval England and Germany?
He liked the idea of a horror flick during the daytime, I guess. (shrugs)
I don't know. The whole thing seems really odd to me. And from the reviews I've seen -- it's an odd movie. Extremely gory, not all that scary, and sort of an absurd feminist revenge flick with poorly developed male characters, so hardly that effective or believable.
I may watch it some day on television - and fast-forward over the gory bits. Or not. The fact that the director is doing an extended cut...boggles the mind.
Why? Apparently he's upset that the ratings board wouldn't give him an R rating and let him keep in all the sex orgy stuff and graphic violence. (Making me think less and less of the director...to be honest. And appreciate the ratings board a bit more.)
2. It's been a long time since I smelled pot (never smoked it myself) but while I wouldn't describe it like skunk, I definitely agree it smells awful. It reminds me of how historical time travel stories never have the time travelers spending their time retching from how awful everything around them smells.
Depends. I live in an area where there are a lot of pot smokers -- so smell it occasionally. And the cheap stuff smells like skunk. The better stuff which I got in college -- doesn't.
I smoked it in a bong in college, and did hash -- both made me a bit dizzy. I'm sensitive to drugs. A little goes a long way for me.
CBD is nifty, because it comes as a liquid, you don't smoke it. Or an oil. You can put it in drinks, or under your tongue or sometimes a cream on the skin. Or in food. It also comes in drinks in health food stores. That's how I sampled it.
My mother got it in oil form, but it under her tongue and it's helping with leg cramping.
But apparently the pot farms in California are rather stinky? And smell like Skunk. My brother is against legalized growing of it -- for this reason.