Psycholinguistics redefined

Psycholinguistics is actually the study of language from the psychological perspective. But I think a secondary definition should exist. It should read as follows:

Psycholinguistics [noun] speech or language that when used is guaranteed to make the listener go psychotic. See also fighting-words.

For me, several phrases pop into mind:

Who told you that you could _________?
Well, don't you think that ...
Who let you (do) ____________?
A reasonable person could only believe/think...

These push my buttons. I am an adult by many standard definitions. The idea that I require permission for any of the mundane activities of life or am required to think as the speaker (any speaker) dictates is repugnant to me in the extreme. The notion that I can be manipulated to change word, thought, or deed by use of these petty, brow-beating phrases is as insulting as it is absurd.

For example, from this evening, no one told me that I could tuck my jeans into my boots. I chose to tuck my jeans into my boots because I felt the jeans were slightly short and because tucking-in showed the good-looking boots to better effect.

For less recent example, a few years ago a baby-doc (that is, a doctor under the age of 35) expressed the following sentiment upon learning that my ob/gyn had provided me with my first Mirena IUD:

He let you get an IUD?

Strong emphasis on the let, moderate emphasis on the you.

So basically what I heard: I can't believe a doctor actually gave a dumb slut like you such a valuable medical device.

I wish my comeback had been more authoritative, but I was unaccustomed to that kind of tone from a medical professional. I think I feebly informed her that I had asked her for it and he had taken my request under consideration. Like I said, quite feeble.

For a more pervasive example, I have a work-related acquaintance who begins perhaps one-third of every sentence she speaks with a passive-aggressive variation on don't-you-think... I absolutely loathe that. The haughty tone is just the bonus plan. Like she cannot even conceive that this world may in some dark and shabby corner contain a thought that disagrees with the one she is about to suddenly and shrilly vomit into the room. I have terrific blood pressure. And yet, I literally feel the blood in my arms SMASH against the artery walls every time she does this.

So that's psycholinguistics for me. Tongue-in-cheek, you know. I bet a word already exists to describe the phenomenon. Shoot me a comment if you know it.

Zombie-ville south central

I live about eight miles or so, depending on the location, from where the show The Walking Dead films.

If you're not familiar, real quick: zombie apocalypse set just south of Atlanta, fairly grim and gory, with characters that are characters. It's based on a series of even grimmer graphic novels, many of which have won awards.

The thing is this...people are coming to the area now to see Walking Dead stuff - the towns and landmarks, mostly - and some places, being in dire economic need, are catering to this zombie-tourism with tours and things. Actually, this is quite cool. My issue is this...I live here and my family five generations (no, really), so is it okay to do Walking Dead tours? I mean, go on them for fun? Or is that weird?

The weather is starting to get nice. It would be something entertaining to do...but then again, it's almost like rubbernecking an accident where you might know the victim. You know?

I just saw an article about the tours...

Friday the 13th

I grew up with a moderate amount of superstition, not including religious matters. My maternal grandmother was superstitious in the extreme. My paternal grandmother was the opposite. I think the level of superstition in a family must be determined by the grandmother.

On Friday the 13th, maternal grandma would scarcely chance leaving the house. She also believed in exiting the house through the same door you entered. And if your nose itched, company would arrive soon. And so forth. She died some years ago.

My non-superstitious grandma is still living and will probably not notice the date unless the evening news makes note of it.

Superstitions are quaint and funny and give life a little more color. Still...I'm glad I don't have any big ones. You know?