Lost in Translation

   Language can be a funny thing. Who decides that a dog should be called a "dog" or who assigns gender to certain names but decides others are unisex? Language has gotten me into some trouble in the past, but has also gotten me out of some tight spots.

  I will be the first to admit that I take certain liberties with the English language, but don't we all? I grew up in household where making up your own words was encouraged and still is for that matter. My grandmother remains the uncontested champ. She uses terms of endearment like bouzzledbub or her little love tottle. If you were sitting in on a family meal, you might find yourself needing to console an urban translation dictionary. Unfortunately no published work would help you there. Instead you might expect Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Sterling to show up under the guise of making a new series. But is a family full of word-maker-uppers really that uncommon?

  The answer is no, however, we could be called a "special case". These liberties of language are most common when a small child is added to the family. Pick a family, any family. I bet they each have a different name for a pacifier or for titles given to other family members. Gigi, Great Bet, Grammy Bea, and G'Mae all refer to the same person, my great-grandmother, but each phrase came from a different house hold.

  Some of us, striving to be different, take the same liberties when naming our children. You need only to go as far as the grocery store magazine rack to find horrible examples of this. The top dogs of the entertainment industry are naming their children things like Apple, Sunday, Bow-Ty, Moon Unit and Diva Muffin. Keep in mind, that's only the tip of the tragically-named iceberg.

  That being said, a couple years ago I got a black female puppy. She was the laziest puppy I had ever laid eyes on but had more personality than most humans. After she tried to serenade us with what sounded like singing, I suggested we name her Billie, after the jazz icon. Joe, my boyfriend, after a five hour marathon of Dead Wood, decided Billie was a perfect name for our little cow-girl dog. However, his inspiration was not a famous jazz singer but an equally famous "wild" cowboy.

  Like most names, it morphed into nicknames and was shortened. People have a hard time understanding way I would name a girl dog Bill. Who decides it is okay to name a human boy Kelly but it is not alright to name a female dog Bill?

  And then there are the infamous "lost in translation" moments that make you feel awkward, like Bill Murray taking a shower in a stall that is half his size. If any of you have ever had the pleasure of talking to someone that speaks English from a different country, I am sure you have run into this problem. A family friend's son was visiting from Australia and I was suppose to take him around Boise and show him the sights. This was a short trip considering both of us were only 17 and it was only 50 degrees out. In one of our conversations over the evening we were discussing "getting pissed". I used this phrase a lot to declare anger. He used this phrase too, but I realized too late that his definition was completely different.

  He told me that he rarely got pissed, but when he did he got REALLY pissed. Thinking we were talking about anger, I decided to share that I used to have a tiny road rage problem (being only 5'1", I chalked it up to the Napoleon syndrome). And so I said, "Oh you don't get pissed? Ever?! Geez. I don't know how you do it. I get pissed in my car all the time!"

  There is now an Australian running around that thinks at the age of 17, I would get in my car, drive around and get trashed. Well, that's just fabulous. It took 2 years of watching BBC America to realize my faux pas and by that time it was too late to save any face I might have still had. Let this serve as a lesson for all: name your dog whatever the hell you want (but perhaps take more care when naming another human) and beware of misrepresenting yourself as a careless, alcoholic operating heavy machinery.

What is a Hipster

  Hipster, like any word in any given language, was created by someone. A hipster is not born but made. Hipster is what I would call a "polar word". A polar word would be any word that might confuse and frighten you if you were learning English as a second language.These words came to be, thanks to the regular use of slang far and wide. These words have two or more definitions and those definitions are the exact opposite of each other. Think of the Earth's magnetic poles. They are exactly opposite of each other but if you agree with the polar shift hypothesis, they could inhabit each others' space. There are many polar words floating around out there but since our time is limited, here are only a few examples: wicked (evil; awesome), gnarly (gross; radical), pissed (angry; drunk).
  For me hipster could be considered to be another example of these "polar words". However, hipster falls into a rather large gray area, being that there isn't one black and white definition of the word. You could think of it as floating around in word purgatory. It is not a "bad" word nor is it "good". So it is destined to roam the earth without a definition or a purpose until an English class decides to discuss the word in detail, only to discard it as soon as the semester is over.
  There has always been some form of the hipster throughout history. It uses different disguises and never stays in the same place for long. You could say that "hipster" is in the eye of the beholder. And this beholder thinks that all these hip trends that we are seeing everywhere were originally born of comedy. Someone saw a lumberjack and said, "That guy's outfit is really funny. Could you imagine if we all walked around looking like that?"  And we did exactly that. What was once simply making fun of one very small subculture, has become the new in thing. You cannot escape red flannel print and the furry Russian style hats with flaps haunt you wherever you go.

  Which brings me back to my "Polar Trends hypothesis". What once was hideous will eventually become bitchin. Keep in mind this is only one example how hip has morphed from something lame to something wicked cool. Images of trucker hats, wife-beaters, men in eye-liner, and girls wearing combat boots with a mini-skirt, should be flashing in your head right about now. But have no fear. Just as fate has a fickle finger, so does the hipster. These fashions will soon be dead, only to be replaced with some new monstrosity. Let's just hope these never become hip again. If they do...someone please put me out of my misery! The world can be an ugly place (thanks skinny jeans) without having  to see grown men prancing about in these little numbers.