Originally uploaded by griffey
I could not resist blogging this photo of my friend Jason assembling a crib, and yes, there is a jargon tie-in (related to yesterday’s request for examples of jargon used by librarians, and thanks for the great examples so far).
All day long we drown in vast rivers of formulaic, jargon-turgid, mind-deadening prose. Library websites, annual reports, signs, flyers, help pages… then the world at large with its plastic fantastic commercialized tsunamis… then the idiot box, with its bright jumping colors and its insistent messages (my favorite being that to be a successful female detective one must wear clothes a size too small; the other day a detective showed up on a crime scene in a nipple-revealing blouse that had dotted swiss sleeves, for crying out loud.)
When we try to freshen our brain, what do we hear? What, I ask you?
To start with, I woke up the other day to hear someone chatter on Twitter that I could go to YouTube and hear the same annoying commercial that has helped keep me from purchasing an iPhone.
The problem with jargon isn’t that it’s merely unclear. It’s that it makes us unclear. It puts us in a jar and tells us what to think and how to think it. It makes us more excited about commercials or the ghastly word pudding of library help pages than we are about the sound of a woodpecker pocking the tree outside a bedroom window or the particular pale blue of the mist that hovers above a warm, wet street after an autumn rain.
Jargon helps make us forget about war and climate change and the small heartbreaks of everyday life.
Meanwhile, I have two captions for this picture.
The commercial world: “Having a baby changes everything.” (How I love hearing that, a clear reminder that as a childless woman I will remain ever-un-evolved. Then again, the company responsible for that slogan isn’t targeting my wallet.)
The real world. “Having a baby changes everything… OMG! OMG! Having a baby changes everything! I am not ready for this! Somebody please HELP! If I can’t get this crib together how can I put this kid through college… Hey, I think they left some parts out of this kit… I feel hungry… I bet there’s a snack in the fridge… I can finish this tomorrow.”
Posted on this day, other years:
- Thanks, ProQuest! - 2005
Maybe he should have purchased his crib from Ikea. No jargon there. No words either 🙂
Having assembled two cribs in my life, he has earned my grin 🙂
Uuugh… setting up a crib. Caption #2 nails it.
On the topic of jargon and useless cliches (and I admit that I use them from time to time), check out Seth Godin’s site:
http://www.squidoo.com/businesscliches/
and for the insight on how to improve the customer experience, check out the Good Experience Blog: http://www.goodexperience.com/blog/
Well, um, having a baby *does* change everything. But that doesn’t mean that those that those who have not been through it haven’t evolved, just that they’re less anxious.
My jargon question, though, is about using “impact” as a verb, when “affect” does the job perfectly. That word may not be jargon, but why does it make me feel slightly nauseous – the way a really ripe piece of jargon does – every time I see or hear it?
“Impact” and “aims” are two verbs I’d be happy to see never appear in a sentence again! I’m not sure they count as jargon, but they do count as bad English.
I can think of a number of things having one baby doesn’t change at all: the Dow Jones average; how well the Mets play; the political situation in Burma… having a baby changes a human’s life quite a bit, but it’s all part of that grandiose me-gen stuff to say that it changes everything. (Now you know how I feel about those turbo-strollers blocking aisles in stores.)
Teeth may be impacted. and that’s IT.
🙂 Glad you enjoyed my temporary insanity…I’m all better now. Promise. Crib even came together really well, and we’re about….oh….1% ready now rather than only .05% ready.
.1%? Game on, dude! 😉