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Michael considered fate at 05:11   |   Permalink   |   Post a Comment
Rivet has been everywhere lately. This is strange for a word so.. so.. well, specific. It's on the lips of everyone and on the television and in books. All of a sudden a super-star of a word, rising up like a teenage idol. rivet. just yesterday:

"Hey you," she grabs at the hem of my shirt, pulling upwards as if to sneak a peak at the belly bulge, "do you have rivets?"

"Uhh, no." I'm stunned in silence. That wasn't her word. That wasn't anyone's word. That was a word reserved for machinists and dungaree-makers, metal-workers and airplane manufacturers - not real people in front of you. Rivet is not a word you bandy about on the street like dude or guy or man. Rivet is not the latest that's what she said.


"Yah, you know the jeans with rivets?" Yah, sure lady. Whatever the hell you're talking about. Jeans with rivets. What's the point?

You can't just hijack a word like that, steal it out of someone else's back pocket. Rivet. Contrived, like so much effort at infusing this fake form of technical talk as a new form of hipster speak. It's always the lower class losing out on the deal, even if it's only words that are being stolen.

"Yah, I know exactly what you're talking about." If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

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