Gender, sex, Welsh, and wildfires: It’s the news roundup from the UK and the US

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The London Zoo has a baby two-toed sloth to introduce to the world. Truffle was born in August. Nothing I’ve read says whether Truffle’s a male or a female, and I don’t think Truffle cares yet. Two-toed sloths move so slowly that algae grows on their fur, so I’m guessing the parents are in no hurry to announce Truffle’s sex. 

In the meantime, no pronouns were injured in the making of this news item.

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Irrelevant photo: We don’t have any two-toed sloths in the house right now, so I asked Fast Eddie to fill in. You can see where he got his name.

And with that, we slip briefly and so seamlessly you’ll barely notice to the U.S., where some human parents make a production out of announcing their forthcoming child’s sex. They not only want their kid to set the world on fire, even before it’s born the revelation of its sex has to happen with a bang. 

Or so I’ve been reading. Gender-reveal parties, for whatever reason, are having a moment–and that moment pays no attention to the difference between gender and sex. But let’s not go into that. I only tossed it into the conversation because I couldn’t resist complicating it.

I could see the point of staging a show if the possibilities were truly exciting, but at the stage where people first find out what they’ve got in there, the choices are limited. It’s either a girl or it’s a boy. They won’t know for years if it’s actually a girl who’s actually a boy or actually a boy who’s actually a girl or actually someone who’s actually a bit of both. 

Like it or not, for that they have to wait.

In the meantime, what they’ve got is a partially formed human being who’s developing along one of two predictable lines. No wonder parents sometimes feel the need to drum up a little drama. Nine months is a long time. They’re bored. Friends are thinking about other things.

And here, finally, I’m getting to my point: A couple in California looked for that bit of drama by setting off fireworks (or “a smoke generating pyrotechnic device,” as I’ve seen it described) and ended up starting a brush fire that burned more than 7,000 acres of dry, dry land and forced the evacuation of several communities. As I write this on Monday, the fire’s still burning and has involved 500 firefighters, who don’t see any humor in it. I can only write about it because I’ve got an ocean and a continent sited conveniently between me and them. 

The state’s had 900 wildfires since mid-August, and they’ve burned 1.5 million acres, killing eight people and destroying some 3,300 buildings. And if that isn’t enough, there’s a heatwave. Temperatures on Monday were expected to be in the hundreds. That’s Fahrenheit; in Celsius, it translates to very damn hot.

Against that backdrop, the drama of boy or girl? Nyeh. It’ll be one of the two. If you wait long enough, you’ll find out which. And algae will probably not grow on your fur.

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But enough about the U.S. 

In Britain, the Met Office, which tracks the weather and sometimes gets itself confused with the Met, who are the London police–

Could we start that over? Thanks.

The Met Office announced the list of upcoming storm names for 2020-2021 and got itself caught in the high winds of the Welsh language. In an effort to be inclusive, it chose a Welsh name for storm H. If we get that deep into the alphabet, it’ll be Heulwen. And the Met swears it looked up the meaning before adding it to the list, but that hasn’t lowered the raised eyebrows of Welsh speakers. Heulwen means blessed by the sun. Or sun-blessed. Or just plain sunshine. It depends on who you ask.

A comment on social media said, “‘Heulwen’ means sunshine, so I’m looking forward to that one. And attempts by British newsreaders to say it.”

You will not find a pronunciation guide here. I know just enough about Welsh not to be that silly.

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In another great moment in English educational policy (there’ve been a lot lately), the catch-up tutoring that was promised for last summer won’t reach students until this winter. Or in some schools, next spring. (“And in others, never,” she said in her sunniest voice.)

The £350 million national tutoring program depends on schools being able to cough up 25% of the cost of an academic mentor, who may be a newly qualified teacher or a graduate who’s not a teacher at all and never planned to be but who got two weeks of training to be a mentor. Because jobs are hard to come by right now and you can’t blame a person for grabbing what’s available and become and mentor.

Y’know, I’ve come to hate the word mentor. If you spot it in a program description, it signals an onslaught of meaningless verbiage. Run.

But we’re off the subject, aren’t we? 

After the school spends money to bring this golden-tinged individual through its doors, it will pull “disadvantaged” students out of class to meet with this person who’s less qualified than the teacher whose classroom they got pulled out of. And I know individual attention’s good, but there’s something awkward about that arrangement.

As far as I can figure out, the mentors come to the school compliments of–yes, you guessed it!–a privatized program. Because what’s a program without a private contractor?

When the schools were closed, students whose parents are poor in money, time, and education (choose as many as you like) have fallen behind students whose parents are well stocked in all or some of the above, so catching kids up is an important issue. Trust this government to blow it.

A spokesperson for the teachers’ union asked, basically, why they couldn’t just give the money to the schools. But where’s the fun in that?

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That depressed me. Let’s drop in on France. A French academic has put herself into the running to be the next Catholic archbishop of Lyon. 

Can people nominate themselves to be archbishops? I don’t think so, but since the Church doesn’t allow women priests, never mind archbishops, it doesn’t matter. She’s not expecting to get accepted. She’s making a point. 

Anna Soupa is 73, a theologian, and a biblical scholar, and seven other French women had followed her lead, applying for ministries that are closed to them. A petition supporting her has 17,000 signatures. 

“To exclude half of humanity is not only contrary to the message of Jesus Christ, but is also harmful to the church,” she said.

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[Here’s our virtual quarantine. Don’t cough or we’ll never get out of here.]

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Amazon’s now making a wristband, Halo, that not only monitors your fitness but also your emotions. Are you happy? Halo can let you know in case you don’t recognize that state. Sad? You probably won’t have noticed, so Halo will tell you.  

It can also tell you if you’re hopeful, elated, or hesitant, all based on your tone of voice. 

That’ll be $3.99 a month, please, on top of the $99 you spent for the Halo itself. Or £3 a month, since we’re pretending that most of this is British news.

Halo also invites you to send bare nekked selfies (or possibly underwear-wearing selfies–I’m not sure), in return for which is won’t sweet-talk you but tell you your percent of body fat.

I knew someone who went out with a guy like that once. He did wonders for her self-esteem.

Amazon swears the voice recordings and selfies are all deleted once they’ve been analyzed. But then they all say that.

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British banks have a new way to prevent fraud, which is to make bank transfers so difficult that people will go back to paying in that stuff I’m old enough to remember as cash. It’s called Confirmation of Payee, or CoP to its friends. The idea is that you don’t just enter a string of numbers into the bank website and trust that it’s going to the person you think you’re paying, you (along with the bank’s computers) also check the name on the account.

And with that “along with the bank’s computers” bit, the trouble enters. Computers aren’t known for their flexibility. Left out someone’s middle name? Sorry, not a match. Used the middle name but the account only uses the initial? You’re out. Entered a space between initials? You lose again.

The bank for a business called BowWowMiaow Doggy Day Care will only accept payments to BowWowMiaow Doggy Day Care Ltd T/A BowWowMiaow Dog.

Which is what they get for thinking dogs say miaow. 

People with joint accounts have found that only one name gets recognized–usually (are you surprised?) the man’s if there’s a male/female split. 

Ampersands and hyphenated names send the system into meltdown. 

When the name isn’t a match, the person making the transfer is told they can go ahead at their own risk, but if the money goes a-wandering, they can’t blame the bank. Or expect to ever see their money again.

And we’re all much safer and happier because of it. 

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Speaking of improved service, thanks to everyone who offered advice on how to go back to WordPress’s classic editor and escape the clutches of the evil Gutenberg block editor. I’m no long sure what I did or who told me how to do it, but I’ve located a door to the past and all is happiness and light once again. I really do appreciate the help and the sympathy.

92 thoughts on “Gender, sex, Welsh, and wildfires: It’s the news roundup from the UK and the US”

  1. I have a sports watch and, when I first had it, I forgot to put it on after my shower and went out for the day. When I got back and looked at my stats it thought I had been asleep. It wasn’t at all bothered that it hadn’t registered a heartbeat for several hours. Sometimes it tells me that I’ve climbed a flight of stairs when all I’ve done is go from one end of the kitchen to the other. I think I’ll continue to use my own judgement as to whether I’m happy or sad.

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  3. All the lady theologian has to do is to declare that she identifies as a man….they can shoot her through all the minor and major orders in a day and there she is, Archbishop.
    No problem about which loo to use either…this is France. Unisex holes in the ground for everyone.

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  4. I’m in San Luis Obispo, California. Yesterday was a nightmare that topped last week. At least 108F here in the shade, 117F at the airport a mile away and 120 at Cal Poly Uni 3 miles away. I stepped outside about 4:30 pm to drop some more ice cubes in the improvised birdbath. The neighbors were gathered in the street watching the helicopter drop buckets of water on a fire that zipped by here on its way to menace other homes. All of us were supposed to evacuate but we didn’t get the call. Missed my mobile home park by about 100 feet due to wind direction. There I was inside with ac and fans roaring, chatting on the phone. I put my evac plan into motion and found it was almost worthless. Much revision to be done today. The fire you mentioned is now approaching a much beloved u-pick Apple (I hate it when Apple the company always assumes you are writing about them, not about a crunchy yummy bit of food) growing area. Sometimes irrigated land can stop a fire. I’m hoping so this time. I picked apples there 70 years ago and now my grandson and son pick’em. Beyond that is a beautiful oak preserve but Oaks can survive fire. The son of a friend lost his family’s home in the redwoods to that fast moving fire but they got the chickens and cats out. So far The Grifter in Chief hasn’t made any of his usual inane, inaccurate, cruel remarks about our California fire season but I haven’t checked today. Getting hard to turn the other cheek as both are pretty bruised but I don’t want to find myself wishing a Cat 5 hurricane on his Florida den if thieves. It is about 10 am. Temp is jumping up fast even though I’m in the shade. Almost 90 F. There’s other things to obsess about. I hate to see the privatization, especially of education, going on in the U.K. It has been a disaster here along with those much less important but occasionally devastating empty-headed gender reveal gatherings. I’m gonna be like Fast Eddy today and sloth my way through another hot day. Thanks for the comments and humor. It helps. I’m always reading, rarely replying.

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    • Good god. It does sound like the end of the world. I can’t imagine how it feels. All I can say is that I’m so glad it’s missed you. Sending good wishes and as much cool air as I can blow against the power of the prevailing winds.

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      • Thanks. I’m stubbornly remaining outside. The tiny frog Is croaking that lives in the pot of my lemon tree I had to rescue yesterday, it’s new growth and blossoms hanging limp, by dragging it into the marginally cooler shade. You can’t put water on the leaves when it is hideously hot. Water acts like little magnifying lenses, burning holes so I dreamed up an evaporative cooler by draping sopping wet bath towels over a ladder up code to the little tree. It revived somewhat. It is in my shady plant hospital now. The little birds with the pleasant, soft vocalizations are taking turns bathing and drinking from the plant saucer bath. The jay just showed up for walnuts. Must go or he will get all screamy.

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        • That’s a jay for you–screamy and demanding. In northern Minnesota, there’s one (I think it’s a gray jay) called a camp robber. It’ll steal the bacon right out of your frying pan. Assuming, of course, that you have bacon in your frying pan.

          Stay safe.

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  6. All our kids bore the moniker ‘Sparky’ in utero, and each one lived up to their first name. Whenever someone asked if we wanted a boy or a girl—and with four kids, it was a LOT of asks—we said, “Yes.”

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  7. What I love about gender reveal parties is when they get it wrong. A local couple did a reveal with balloons dropping colored paper – pink. They painted the room pink, decorated with girl-type decorations, all the family and friends bought girl gifts…lo and behold someone failed to tell the little kid that he was a she…out he came. Of course, being America, they sued the doctor for messing everything up. No idea if they won, but probably (in case I didn’t say it) this is America.

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      • My daughter watched a show about children’s fashion through the years. Seems that in Teddy Roosevelt’s youth little boys and girls both wore dresses, and pink was an acceptable color for boys, and blue for girls. Seems all of this changed after the world war (they didn’t specify I or II) when the fashion industry wanted to sell more clothing, so they created gender-specific apparel.

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        • The era when very young boys wore dresses went on for a long time and was a British thing as well. It had to do with the diaper problem, and rubber diaper toppers (I can’t remember what they were called) changed all that. As, I expect, did the snaps they began putting down the inside seam of babies’ pants. Before that, skirts were way easier to deal with.

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    • Cornering this kid with such stereotyping is disturbing. I was a tomboy and my first ambition was to be quarterback of the LA Rams in the 1950s. I had a deep, dark closet where I tossed all the girly dolls. Then I went outside to play football wearing my 1940s leather helmet and uniform my cousin gave me. I was so happy. As we grew into early teens the boys got muscly and hormonal, dashing my dream with a broken nose and some unwanted touching. I switched to softball but my dad wouldn’t let me join a semipro team. Grew up to be heterosexual but who cares. Pink was big with men 100 years ago. Now at 12 pm an icky 100 F here.

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  8. I just read a mystery where a character received ” a package from the Met” and it took me a bit to realize they referred to the Police. Though not a high-culture person, I had thought it meant The Metropolitan Opera.(assuming that any large metropolitan area would have a Metropolitan Opera). I was not so uncultured as to think it referred to the National League New York City baseball team.

    A friend who worked in the bakery of a large grocery store told of being asked to decorate a cake with a photo reproduced as its decoration (which is often done) The photo : an ultrasound of the baby in utero. I am not overly superstitious, and certainly not a practitioner of image magic, but I thought that a singularly unwise (not to mention unappetizing) choice. But no trees or property were destroyed at least.

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    • That must’ve been one ugly cake. Sorry. I wouldn’t say that about an actual baby, I really wouldn’t.

      My partner, some years back, got me a canvas grocery bag that has a very handy pocket for reading glasses. Unfortunately, it says “The Met” in huge letters on one side. Is it from a museum? An opera company? (I think it was from a catalog.) I must look like I’m shopping for the weather people or the cops.

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  9. Here in Australia we know a thing or two about bushfires aka wildfires and our hearts go out to both those affected and the responders. (And no, eucalypts were not introduced to the US by any evil Australians; they were introduced by a US farmer who wanted to make money from this fast-growing tree.) However many of us are starting to question the wisdom of people being allowed to build on heavily timbered properties in fire-prone hot summer areas, often on narrow roads, and then expecting others to rescue them from their less-than-wise choices. Perhaps the fact that these buildings are rapidly becoming uninsurable may start to turn the tide. (That was all a bit seriousy; I’ll try not to make it a habit.)
    As for Gutenberg, Johannes must be rolling in his grave knowing that the geniuses at WP have appropriated his name for an invention that doesn’t move type effectively any more.

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    • Yeah, poor old Johannes. It doesn’t seem fair. Or respectful.

      The fires: Yes, where planning fails (and the political insanities of our time make sensible planning regulations a tough sell), insurance may save us. In the US, though, the federal government long ago stepped in (or so I’ve been told–I never double checked it) to insure properties in flood-prone areas, so that we continue to repeat the exact same stupid decisions. Just a few weeks ago, I heard someone talking about an old property they live in where they widened the gate because they realized no fire truck would ever get through it. So someone does have foresight. Unfortunately, they may have used up all that was available with that decision. It’s a scarce commodity lately.

      I’ve been told (and again, haven’t double checked) that eucalyptus were introduced to California because they wanted a fast-growing tree to use for railroad ties–what you probably call sleepers, after the British usage. But they turned out not just to be highly flammable but also too brittle. They do smell nice, though.

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  10. You have added 1 more reason why I enjoy your blog so very much…the fact that you clearly understand sex and gender are not one in the same. I have debated so many times with so many people who will never understand this reality so I feel a small weight has lifted from my shoulders Ellen. And, may I say, while I will never disparage a baby two-toed sloth, Fast Eddie will always be tops- sleeping or otherwise.

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    • I thank you. Eddie thanks you (or will when he comes back from wherever his after-breakfast prowl took him; he is often awake, I just don’t take pictures of him then).

      I think I understand how you feel about never getting through to anyone on the subject of gender vs sex. For whatever reasons, I don’t tend to have that particular recurring argument (they’re sort of like recurring dreams), but I do have one about a person’s intent not being the measure of whether something is racist. Sympathy.

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  12. Ellen, the reveal parties are pretty stupid, and add pyrotechnic devices to it and you get exceedingly stupid. The area near LA is burning, and San Diego has a huge Valley Fire burning presently. It’s southwest of where I live, and the air smells like smoke. Unclear how it started, and it’s raging. The Marines and Navy have been called in to help. This is our Fire season!

    Your posts always holds my interest if I can laugh at even serious matters. Life is too challenging nowadays, and humor helps make whatever easier to take. Labor Day is nearly over and the “sales” will continue after, as they did before. Guess that’s the meaning of the holiday—sales abound, spend money!

    Wanted to ask about your book you mentioned a way back. You were looking for an agent. Any progress to share? Have a good week. 📚🎶 Christine

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    • Sigh. The book. I sent it to a first round of agents and got no interest. At that point, I kind of lost track of things. My partner’s had gallstones, which migrated to her liver (who even knew that was possible?), and she was first in terrible pain and then in the hospital. The gallstones are now gone but the gallbladder’s still in place. We’re threatening it and it’s threatening us, and we’re waiting to see who’ll win. She’s lost a lot of weight and is still working to get her strength back. I’ve been able to keep up with the blog (and occasionally shoveling out the house), but that’s about my limit. I have got to get back to submitting the damn thing. I suspect it’s going to be a hard sell. I’m not a historian. I’m not well known and don’t (as far as I can figure out, and I keep looking for some hidden connection) have influential contacts. And the book’s episodic, which isn’t in style just now. ‘All of which may be more than you wanted to know–sorry, but even if it was, thanks for asking. It’s on my mind lately.

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  13. Yes, here in California, we have problems for each day of the week. That makes three horrible years of wildfires out of the last four years. Thank goodness we have our stable genius advising us that what we need to be doing is raking the forest to prevent wildfires. Right! I think I’ll listen to the guy who doesn’t acknowledge climate change and thinks he’s done brilliantly during the pandemic.

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    • Agree. Following #CreekFire closely, I see that the army of climate change denial propagandists are out in force on Twitter. Looks organized to me. But then Wyoming and Colorado are getting snow today after temps over 100F just a couple of days ago. They somehow fail to note that. A grass fire zipped across the hill behind me yesterday while I sat inside reading deafened by the roar of ac and fans. Still haven’t heard a word of attack or support from The Grifter. Maybe he is busy buying rakes for us. Oh to be in Cornwall or Lewes or Durham or even London. I’d be respectful and wear my mask and giggle quietly at Ellen’s posts.

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        • Thank you. I’ll get there. I’m old. I’m tough. I’m determined. In the meantime I watch Escape to the Country, more for the area info but the houses are interesting, too, especially those giant, colorful kitchen ranges. Always makes me laugh when a looker peers around a kitchen that looks to be at least an acre in size with miles of counters and declares it to be too small for the retirement vision of hosting hordes that Henry VIII would envy. I asked Jules Hudson an email question last March. He responded. We chatted back and forth a bit and he sent me two of his books. I have them here beside me as comfort and fun new English info. Time to mask up and go wash the ash out of the birdies’ water. I’ll get there. I will, Ellen.

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          • You will.

            Those huge ranges are called Agas–a brand of massively overpriced stoves that are a major status symbol for the lifestyle set. There’s even a genre of writing called the Aga saga, set among the kind of people who own Agas. In addition to being overpriced, they–or at least one category of them–are on all the time, wasting a huge amount of fuel. They were–or so I’m told–originally meant for farm kitchens, where you might need a warm oven to revive a struggling newborn lamb.

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  14. I don’t know why some parents-to-be shroud their unborn child in such secrecy. As you say, it’ll either be a boy or a girl. At the end of the day, who really cares apart from the parents? And often the names have to be kept secret too. Why?

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  15. You pack so much into these post I think of several comments and then forget them all by the time I get to the end, maybe that’s a sign of something else, like demetia? Anyway, wierdly some people have a problem reading their emotional states, its called Alexithymia.

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  16. I have quite a lot of opinions on gender reveal parties, they involve words such as stereotyping, nonsense and why don’t we just let the child decide when it gets older…
    but then I’d abolish gender in its current form anyway…or at least talking about it and the typical roles and dress codes and behaviors that go along with it.
    Also blowing things up to tell the world which set of socially constructed norms you are going to try to force your child to conform to is ridiculous and possibly just an excuse to get people to buy you presents.

    I have quite a lot of opinions on sending selfies to google to get your body fat percentage analysed too…they involve words such as stigmatising and shaming and a lot of swearing…

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    • You’re wonderful. Now, I’ll put this someplace safe so that when the time comes I’ll–

      Okay, let’s be honest here: I don’t stand a chance in hell of putting it someplace I’ll find it again. So when they take away the old editor and I burst into public tears, please remind me. And understand that it wasn’t that I didn’t take you seriously, it’s only that, short of painting it in large black letters on the side of my house, I will not ever remember where I stored this information.

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  18. Congratulations on your successful return to the old classic WP editor. I also use the classic, but I would have had no clue how to direct someone else on going back to the past. Mas. preferential.
    Forgive me for focusing on the trivial but I was so happy to hear about the Halo (or at least I might know I was happy if I had one). Leave it to the imagination of Amazon to not only sell me the music but also to sell me another app that tells me how the music makes me feel.
    Halo, how does Help Me Make It Through the Pandemic make me feel??

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    • It makes you feel like taking the ribbon from your hair.

      Wait, you don’t wear ribbons in your hair. This makes Halo feel anxious. You don’t want to make Halo feel anxious. Bad things happen when Halo feels anxious. Halo will erase all your music. How does that make you feel?

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      It’s a good thing I didn’t go into computer programming, isn’t it?

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      • Someone named Doug sent me a comment about your search for the old classic WP. I was shocked but wasn’t sure how that would register on Halo. And I don’t want all my music erased, please whoever.
        Yes, thank goodness you didn’t go into computer programming. Don’t quit your day job, as they say.

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    • Hi, Sheila. Re WP, I sent this to Ellen as a comment in a previous post. ‘When you start a new post, the menu on the right offers the option of either Post or Block. Choose Block. Then click on the + sign in the top left corner and scroll down to Classic Editor and click. You’ll then see the old editing menu at the top and continue as usual.’ Of course by then she’d worked out her own solution, which she has painted in large black letters on the side of her house ;-)

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  20. Such an amazing post Ellen. I am not a “news person”, but your wit and entertaining writing kept me to the end. I doubt if I will ever subscribe to something like Halo. Technology is good, but sometimes I do feel we rely too much on it. I had a running watch that showed the heartrate. On the trails it would show the rate climbing over 220 beats per minute. After 6 months of being paranoid I was going to drop dead on the trails, I ended up learning it was defective.

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    • That tale about the watch made me laugh out loud. We had a sat-nav (are they called that in Canada? or do you go with the US and call them GPSs?) that was trying to kill us. In the middle of a bridge between Cornwall and Devon, it told us to turn left immediately, and when we didn’t it got quite insistent. We decided it was time to replace it with one that didn’t hate us, but we’ve still had times when its replacement chased us all over Cornwall’s many back roads in the dark. We finally shut it up and found our own way. After that, I decided never to be in the car without a map. Remember them? Those things they print on paper? They’re amazing.

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      • They call them GPS here in Canada Ellen. And sometimes it is navigation system. That is so funny having it telling you to drive off the side of the bridge. My wife uses it in her car, I’m very “old school” and still rely on the paper road map when I’m driving. I don’t have media on my phone, and sometimes I will “Google-map” directions and write it down on the back of an old envelope or something. And take those directions with me on my drive. 😀🗺🚗

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        • That would make you (relatively) safe in Cornwall. Something about this county messes with GPSs. They take people down roads that haven’t been roads in living memory. In one area, they try (or at least tried–they may have fixed them by now) to take drivers down a motorway exit into oncoming 70 mph traffic. That was serious enough that they put up signs saying things like “Ignore your SatNav.” They’ve also been (throughout Britain) to take huge trucks down narrow lanes, where they get stuck. Every so often the papers run photos. They’re funny as long as you’re not involved yourself.

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          • Wow, that is incredible Ellen. Driving on the opposite side of the road here in Canada it would actually “feel” normal to be directed onto a road with oncoming traffic…lol. Hoping there hasn’t been any serious accidents or fatalities that resulted from following their SatNav too closely!

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  21. I think that gender reveals would be a lot more fun if all of the babies weren’t human. It would be pretty awesome to find out that you were going to have a gorilla or an orangutans. Of course we’d need a lot more colors

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    • It would add an element of– Um. I’m not sure we have a word for that. Excitement doesn’t even come close. Mayhem? We’re inching closer. Anyway, it would add an element of [ ] to the parties. Not to mention to family life. And to all that stuff people do to prepare for a baby.

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  22. Pingback: Gender, sex, Welsh, and wildfires: It’s the news roundup from the UK and the US – Bdlaed

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