Ads for Mind Over Manners are starting to pop up in the Globe and the New York Times, and occasionally people besides my in-laws do notice them. (Though only the senior Improbables regularly cut them out for me.) One of the questions that the ad mentions is “Is it acceptable to say ‘Bless you’ to a sneezing atheist”? Which led to this letter:

I felt like your prompt was meant just for me! What DO you say to a sneezing atheist?! My partner is a firm non believer and every time he sneezes my reflexes kick in and I end up getting an eye roll from him when I utter the ridiculous “God Bless You” that I’ve been raised to say. Now, I’m not so worried about hurting his feelings (he knows it’s a reflex more than anything else) but I do wonder about the random people I “bless” on the train. Is there something else I can say to strangers who may or may not believe in a god? And please, something a little less corny than gesundheit!

That’s not the only letter I’ve gotten on that question–there is something about it, somehow, that tickles people in some deep way, like a feather up high in your nose. (I could do this extended and very gross metaphor about how we should keep inhaling that feather-question deeper and deeper into our mind-nose, until we sneeze out all our clogged-up thoughts about it, and then we should look in the Kleenex to see what’s been inside us all this time. But that would be disgusting, and so I won’t, although I do think it would be a great Tracy Jordan rant on “30 Rock.”)

As I said way back when I answered the original question, “Bless you” is actually fairly neutral, as it doesn’t indicate by whom one is being blessed. I don’t really like “God bless you,” personally, whether I look at it from a secular angle or a religious one. Atheists are one of those minority groups that very rarely get a break in our religion-saturated culture, so I’m in favor of allowing them freedom from religion whenever there’s an opportunity. “God bless you” has always seemed like a bit of theological overkill, anyway. Let’s bring God into the equation when I have a mammogram that’s difficult to read, not because I sneezed. Especially during ragweed season. Besides, isn’t there something about the automatic nature of saying “God bless you” that puts it awfully close to taking the Lord’s name in vain?

And yet, we need religious or supernatural language. Even atheists, when announcing good news, will say, “Knock on wood!” or will offer “Good luck!” to a friend about to go off to an important job interview. In the face of potentially changing circumstances, we almost always revert to some kind of magical language to acknowledge that our own fortune may change or to indicate our hopes for others. A few months ago, I had some potential good news coming down the pike, and I requested good thoughts from friends in a status update on Facebook. People responded with everything from fully sincere promises of prayer to simple “Fingers crossed!” to joking pledges to sacrifice a goat on my behalf–but the one thing that no one, Christian or Jew or pagan or atheist, did, was simply to say, “That’s great, I hope you get it.” Such a response would have seemed almost insultingly non-committal. Whatever people’s beliefs, they felt compelled to drag a little magic into their words in order to wish you well.

A while back, in a post about Asperger’s Syndrome, I wrote:

From some folks [with Asperger's Syndrome]–not all, but many–I’ve gotten a vibe of contempt for social norms and niceties: “Your pathetic social rituals are meaningless to me, puny human.” And, you know, I tend not to respond too well to that. But I wonder if maybe some people are, in fact, trying harder than I’ve given them credit for … And for those who really are treating social norms and the people who follow them with contempt? Well, if almost everyone in the world were going around insisting that something I couldn’t perceive is terribly terribly important, and I’m defective for missing it … I might start to have contempt for whatever it is they’re making such a big deal of, too. As a way of making myself feel better, and as a way of letting go and getting on with my life.

In comments, Carolyn pointed out that my description of this defense mechanism also applied to, “a(n apparently) completely different topic, the ‘God debate,’” later noting, “I have wondered why some of my atheist friends sound so hostile to religion, and of course it’s because they’ve met a few too many people who feel sorry for them.”

(I think there are other reasons for hostility to organized religion, as well, but let’s let that go; that isn’t what this post is about, and anyway Carolyn is a complex thinker who I’m sure realizes that almost any behavior has more than one cause.)

A few other commenters also noted that they can no more perceive God than people with Asperger’s Syndrome can perceive unspoken social cues, and agreed that this was a good metaphor.

So I brought up “ignosticism,” which is a concept I think more folks ought to be aware of. Ignosticism isn’t atheism or agnosticism–it’s the straightforward recognition that you can’t define yourself as a believer or a non-believer unless it’s clear what you are supposed to be believing or not-believing in, and that is usually not made clear. From Wikipedia:

A simplified maxim on the subject states “An atheist would say, ‘I don’t believe God exists’; an agnostic would say, ‘I don’t know whether or not God exists’; and an ignostic would say, ‘I don’t know what you mean when you say, “God exists” ‘.”

I consider myself a religious person, and I would absolutely define myself as an ignostic. If you ask me if I believe in God, whatever answer you get says more about what I think of you than what I think of the divine. If I already have a fairly good idea what someone means by “God,” or if I don’t care to know, I’ll answer “yes” or “no,” whichever is most likely to lead into a conversation that I want, or away from one I do not want.

If I’m talking to someone who I suspect is not of my particular spiritual bent, but who is the kind of person capable of having a calm discussion about religion and religious differences without coming all over defensive or trying to convert me, I might say, “Tell me what you mean by ‘believe in’ and ‘God’ and I’ll tell you.” (It’s worth noting that, no matter how friendly and non-snarky a tone one might use, there are plenty of folks out there who would take that statement as a direct assault and insult. How dare you suggest there might be more than one notion of what belief entails, or any difference of opinion about the nature of God!)

If you want the truth, and I think you can handle the truth, then I’ll say, “God isn’t something I believe in, God is something I experience.” And the people to whom I have said this either don’t get it at all, and we share a moment of marveling at the true diversity of human nature, or else they get it, and their faces break wide open with joy at finding someone else who feels as they do.

In 2007, the Oxford English Dictionary dubbed “locavore” the word of the year:

The “locavore” movement encourages consumers to buy from farmers’ markets or even to grow or pick their own food, arguing that fresh, local products are more nutritious and taste better. Locavores also shun supermarket offerings as an environmentally friendly measure, since shipping food over long distances often requires more fuel for transportation.

(This is a quote from the Oxford University Press blog; the online 3rd edition of the OED that Harvard has still hasn’t included the term, so I can’t give you their precise definition.)

I got another one for you, that I coined this weekend during a discussion with a friend: mediocrevore. Definition: A person who wants to eat local, organic food that is produced sustainably and without abusing farm workers, but about half the time is too busy and lazy and just grabs whatever is inexpensive and/or convenient.

I think this has the potential to really take off! Please feel free to use it and tell any foodie or writer (prosie?) friends about it–ideally, with a link back here.

Meredith Goldstein of the Globe‘s “Love Letters” column has a wonderful question about a couple’s … sandwich incompatibility. You’ll want to read the comments (how often do I say that?), too.

Naturalizer, though, isn’t content to merely give its shoes random names. Many of their excellent, comfortable, long-lasting offerings have names that are not only pointless, but downright misguided. Is there anything, for example, either flowery or willowy about these?

“Cupid” certainly speaks of romance:

It’s a very practical shoe if you’re going to be flying about all day shooting people with the arrows of blind eroticism. And what could evoke madcap French amour, perhaps in the style of Audrey Tatou, quite like this lovely “Follie”?

Ceci n’est-ce pas folie, c’est tres sensible. And here’s “Levity”:

Maybe the joke works better in red?

No.

Women want exactly two things about themselves to be voluminous. One is our hair. The other is our bust. Neither are our shoes.

And we do not want anything to be tearful, let alone a thong sandal embellished with pointy things:

Tearful? Is that a good name for any product, except perhaps actual artificial tears?

But this–this is the absolute best:

Yes, people, Naturalizer Shoes apparently named their closest equivalent to a f-me pump after Madeleine Albright, the first female Secretary of State. Because she’s powerful, self-confident, and exactly how I want to look when I go clubbing.

I bought a pair of Naturalizer shoes last week–I don’t even know what they call these kinds of shoes, but they’re the ones that are sort of like a cross between a ballerina flat and an athletic shoe. They were so comfortable, and reminded me so greatly of my high level of satisfaction with all the Naturalizer shoes that I have owned, that I decided to go on Zappos late one night and see what else they had.

What Naturalizer has, apparently, is someone in charge of their shoe-naming department for whom English is not a native language. An un-Naturalizered citizen. Or perhaps they just pick words randomly from the dictionary. I mean, I understand Buckled–

because it is. Uninspired, but accurate. As an etiquette writer I suppose I have to appreciate this shoe:

although its social skills don’t seem to be noticeably superior to those of its solemates. (Sorry.) But this?

And these?

If you’re a company trying to sex up your sturdy and sensible brand, I don’t think “Let’s start a Bureaucracy Club line of products!” is exactly the way to go about it.

At least this shoe has a locomotion-relevant name:

although it doesn’t look quite sturdy enough to stampede in. And surely if velocity is your goal you aren’t going to be wearing mules:

Even odder names coming in part II!