BEHOLD! I am the Sun God
But you can just call me Cliff.
A friend and I have embarked on a strike/counterstrike operation, whereby we each send the other the most bizarre homepage links we can find. Yesterday, I sent her this one, (found on Dave Barry's blog) and behold, this day marketh the arrival of the Sun God.
I'm open to suggestions for others. No porn, please. We exchange these links at work.
Note to Poets Everywhere--Basically, You Suck
Found this little story via Drudge, and I'm pissed off. See, I'm what you might call a traditionalist when it comes to poetry: I cut my teeth on iambic pentameter, and I think that William Carlos Williams did more to utterly destroy poetry as a serious art form than any other human being, ever. The stuff being passed off in modern literary magazines is not poetry, it's short stream of consciousness essays arbitrarily cut into sections that "look poetic." The content may be relevant and interesting, but please, don't call it poetry. Pretty please? Because it isn't. Poetry. Just because you think it should be. Poetry is an exacting form, and the challenge is in being able to utilize the form and still get the message across. And that, in a nutshell, is why it's so hard for me to find modern poets that I like--the form has become sloppy, and the thought behind the poetry mirrors the form.
That's how we end up with poets like Amiri Baraka, and the latest hazardous waste from Pinter--when form and content are sub-par, the poetry takes a backseat to the "Poet as Personality." Here it no longer matters WHAT you write, so long as it is somehow controversial or shocking. The fact that the envelopes these folks are attempting to push are by now yellowed and frayed from age and overuse is beside the point. They're still out there, "shocking the bourgeoisie;" except that the bourgeoisie long ago dismissed them as harmless, irrelevant nutters and moved on.
Poetry used to be relevant to daily life. Books of poetry used to actually SELL and were appreciated beyond the tiny little circles of self-congratulatory critics and their "small but prestigious" college presses. But no more. And that's why the attempt to hijack the First Lady's poetry symposium is so ridiculous. There's someone in the White House who cares about the art form, and the choice of poets on the docket are a nice mix. So what do the participants do? Instead of helping to resurrect the country's enjoyment of a literary form that can be uplifiting, edifying and thought-provoking, they turn it into an "All about me"-Fest and ad hoc political protest. Let my next message to these hacks be perfectly clear: Drop Dead.
Walt Whitman's Civil War poetry is haunting and moving in ways that Adrienne Rich should weep over. Why? Because he was a nurse during the war. He saw it and lived it. If you wanted to protest the war in Iraq, why not do so by focusing on Whitman, who, by the way, the First Lady included? But noooooo. Sam Hamill, the brave soldier, instead calls for explicitly anti-war poetry to throw in his host's face, because obviously Whitman is too old and mainstream. Today's poets need to make their modern voices heard. They are boors, rubes, and egotists, little children at the adult dinner party throwing tantrums to get attention. And like little children, they received a "time out" for their trouble--the symposium has been cancelled. Way to strike a blow for poetry, morons.
I'll leave you with this excerpt from the article:
Marilyn Nelson, Connecticut's poet laureate, said Wednesday that she had accepted the White House invitation and had planned to wear a silk scarf with peace signs that she commissioned.
``I had decided to go because I felt my presence would promote peace,'' she said
Marilyn, I have no words. But I can suggest a couple of uses for that scarf.
You Say "Pacific," I Say--THAT'S AN OCEAN, DANGIT!
What with all the hubub over presidential pronunciation of "nuke-u-lar," I feel compelled to insert my biggest pronunciation peeve here:
My direct superior, when he wants to say "specific," says "pacific." In meeting after meeting I sit there, dreading his "pacific examples" of X or a "pacific reference" to Y. His examples and references are neither particularly peace-loving nor oceanic. Like the narrator in the Tell Tale Heart, I am going to go slowly mad, until one day I leap upon the conference room table and start whacking him with a Palm Pilot, shrieking "SPA-cific! SPA! SPA! SPA!"
See why this blog is called Tightly Wound? Yeah, I thought so.
Now, Whose Son Are You Again?
Gratuitous Two Towers post. Read the mangled captions and laugh, laugh, laugh. Ah, who could forget Theoden's inspiring war cry, "Now for Rat!"
If You Think Stanley Fish Chaps My Ass, You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet
Enter Edward Said, Grand High Muckety-Muck of that tired cliche' of lit. crit: Post-Colonialism. Mr. Said has spent his entire scholarly career lamenting the fact that his people have been marginalized by Western oppressors, until they have come to internalize the values of the colonizer and thus, have destroyed themselves through inculcated self-loathing and its resulting impotence.
Let me be frank: in grad school, I found Said's stuff to be useful, mainly because it was simplistic, easy to plug in, and politically en vogue, thus guaranteeing me an A on every paper I wrote using the theory. As long as you stuck to the formula white=imperialistic evil, the Other=purity and fabulousness, you were golden. And since most of the Western Canon was authored by the dreaded DWEM (Dead White Euro Male), why, Post-Colonial theory could apply to everyone from Chaucer to Faulkner. Woo-hoo! Plug, type, get an A. Repeat process as necessary, and still have plenty of time left for bar hopping later on.
Of course, Mr. Said would probably be horrified that I treated his ideas so cavalierly, but what else can one do with racism and self-loathing disguised as critical theory? Yep, I said racism and self-loathing. Mr. Said is guilty of projection. He suffers from the enraged impotence of the Westernized intellectual, and he's dying to take it out on EVERYONE ELSE. My case in point is this little screed in The Guardian, where he begins by delineating the imminent demise of America, but only sustains it for a couple of paragraphs before his real target is revealed: the Arabs themselves.
For Said, America is evil because it wants to impose its will on others. That can be our only intention, regardless of stated reasons. Why? Well, because we're inherently evil, but we're only evil because white folks are in charge. Sucks to be us, I guess. Palestine=good, Israel=evil--we've all heard these arguments before, so read them yourself. They aren't the point here--paragraphs like this one are:
Only what we and our American instructors say about the Arabs and Islam - vague, recycled Orientalist clichés repeated by tireless mediocrities such as Bernard Lewis - are true, they insist. The rest isn't realistic or pragmatic enough. "We" need to join modernity - modernity in effect being western, globalised, free marketed, democratic, whatever those words might be taken to mean. There would be an essay to be written about the prose style of licensed academics like Fuad Ajami, Fawwaz Gerges, Kanan Makiya, Shibli Talhami, Mamoon Fandy, whose very language reeks of subservience, inauthenticity and the hopelessly stilted mimicry that has been thrust upon them.
Or this one:
Why is there such silence and such astounding helplessness? The largest power in history is about to launch a war against a sovereign Arab country now ruled by a dreadful regime, the clear purpose of which is not only to destroy the Ba'ath regime but to redesign the entire region. The Pentagon has made no secret that its plans are to redraw the map of the whole Arab world, perhaps changing other regimes and borders in the process. No one can be shielded from the cataclysm if and when it comes. And yet, there is only long silence followed by a few vague bleats of polite demurral in response. Millions of people will be affected, yet America contemptuously plans for their future without consulting them. Do we deserve such racist derision?
Here's where Said slides right off the rails of sanity. It's not racist derision to get rid of a bad guy. No one is sitting around thinking, "Ya know, those swarthy desert dwellers need the firm guiding hand of whitey to set them straight." Our thought processes are more along these lines: "Hey! A bunch of assholes want us dead! Knock that off, you!" We take exception to being murdered, regardless of the races involved. But to Said, anyone stating that idea--particularly if they are of Arab derivation--is "inauthentic," just a subservient tool of the man. Yes, everyone has been hyp-mo-tized by the evil Western colonists. Oh, the horror. Said is angry that his culture isn't strong enough to resist outside influences and remain pure. He is then put in the awkward position of being resentful that brutal dictators are being removed in favor of more freedoms, and trying to state that while freedom isn't bad, it shouldn't be forced on Arabs by outsiders. At this point, most reasonable people are completely justified in this reaction: The HELL?
In order to hold this position, you have to believe that any humanitarian or self-preservation based operation by America is a mere front for those who want TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD. In this equation, we're The Brain, and the UK is Pinky. And the argument is just as ridiculous as the metaphor. The reality is that America will consult with the future leaders of Iraq, will lend humanitarian and military aid, and then will want to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. John Kerry will not be the new Governor of Iraq, installed by coup to rape the land and pillage the mosques and send the booty to Fort Knox on the backs of camels whilst ladies fair wave lace hankies at the brave conquering soldiers. Said's entire idea is based upon traditional models of colonialism, and they no longer hold true. Well, unless you're France, but that's another story.
So let's wrap up. Look, EDWARD. I'm thinking you need to address some personal issues first, before you start attributing differences of opinon among those who share your heritage to creeping Uncle Tom syndrome. Unless of course your aim is to be classed among the fine thinkers of the world like Harry Belafonte. When you make the argument that liberty and equality are inherently wrong, not because of what they are, but because other countries who don't share your skin color bring the ideas to your shores and people from your culture then EMBRACE those ideas--well, you may want to rethink your arguments, is all I'm saying. Come Mr. Tally Man, Tally Me Irony.
Monday Musings
Had a friend over last night to watch the game. He's been our friend since the days of yore and grad school and he's a great guy, but politically we're divergent when it comes to things like money and national defense. Although we realize this, and so don't normally engage in political conversation, it does tend to come up, as it did last night. Generally, the hublet and I just let him ramble, though I do enjoy tossing an occasional barb his way just to egg him on.
So last night we're chatting, and amongst the usual rhetorical suspects, he came out with a couple of ideas that just really irritated me:
1. The idea that "most Americans don't get it--they don't understand what's going on" re: war, foreign policy, etc.
2. The idea that we need a "referendum" on well, everything in this country, apparently.
Let me answer the last one first. When I pointed out that we elect leaders to lead, and that if their leadership proves unsatisfactory we kick them out, our friend was not satisfied. He seems to think that every major policy recommendation should be subject to a popular vote. Ooookay, fine. It sort of goes against the point of having a Republic as opposed to a pure Democracy, but whatever. The reason I mention it is because he was simultaneously making point #1--that most Americans are too dim to know what's happening. So this begs the question, why have a referendum if the folks voting on it are too stupid to take their responsibilities seriously? Why would the "mass of dumbass" be better able to navigate the complexities of foreign policy than folks elected by that same mass to be directly involved?
But over and above this argument is the belief that underpins it--that while our friend is mentally engaged and capable--"the great unwashed" exists and is collectively stupid. Here's my question, then: WHERE, exactly, is this morass of stupidity located? I could argue that hublet's students are a tad uninformed, and that would be putting it lightly. But they're TEENAGERS, and we're supposed to be educating them. You could talk about graduation rates and those goobers that appear on Jay Leno's "Man on the Street" interview, but I could point to examples of intellectually curious non-college grads and the fact that folks who got the questions right probably weren't featured on The Tonight Show.
And as the above arguments from my friend demonstrate, an advanced degree doesn't guarantee superior intellect or information. It's a big country, full of the smart and the not-so-smart; those who want to engage in the big questions and those who frankly don't care. If educators and the media are doing their jobs by making the information available, then I believe those who want to engage in the debate will get said information. If they aren't, or if the information is laced with condescending disdain for the "average Joe," then who is to blame for the much lamented "dumbing down of American society?" Is the only lasting product of the intelligentsia going to be contempt for those who didn't make the cut?
Okay, if it Isn't the English Profs, it's the Sociology Profs,
Or,
Yet Another Reason Why I'll Never be Interested in Sociology
From Critical Mass, Duke Visiting Professor of Sociology and Women's Studies (a deadly combination of specious reasoning masquerading as advancing the cause of that elusive animal, "social justice"), Becky Thompson, has stirred controversy over including Laura Whitehorn as an on-campus speaker.
Ms. Whitehorn (Hey! I only detonated the bomb when I didn't THINK there'd be anyone around), who did time for planting a bomb in the US Capitol, "expressed shock at the negative press." And professor Thompson, demonstrating her Soc/Women's Studies "parse the hell out of reality until it reflects what you want it to" mad debate skillz, had this to say:
"'Her work was actually the opposite of terrorism,'" she said, adding that it was protesting other acts of perceived terrorism. "'Part of being patriotic is trying to encourage the government to stand by principles of equality and democracy.'"
The debate is a free speech issue and the definition of patriotism does not exclude dissent, she said."
Okay, out here in the real world, you know, the one where the laws of space, time and physics apply, "free speech" is generally taken to mean, well, SPEAKING. WITH THE MOUTH OR VIA CUTESY LITTLE SIGNAGE, NOT C-4. Furthermore, in this same dimension, governments are not usually persuaded to uphold principles of democracy through explosions. That's why the first Tuesday in November is called Election Day, not Armed Resistance Day.
The tragedy here is not that Whitehorn (who, by the way, still doesn't see the problem with trying to blow up the Capitol), was invited to speak. After all, she's done her time, and in the eyes of the law her debt is paid. It's that people like Thompson can parse and twist reality to such an extent that bald-faced acts of violence against the government become our God-given right in the name of "free speech and patriotic dissent." Evil is making the foul seem fair (to mangle some Tolkien). The greater evil is not just that someone would do that on purpose, but that they would believe their own lies.
But hey, what am I upset about? They're only words, after all.
Notes from the Underground
A few items from a snow day--here in NC, that means about 3 inches. Whee! Day off!
1. Watching Kate Michelman's (sic) speech, I was struck by the similarity of her language to that of the accepted misogyny of the Middle Ages, wherein a woman's value was basically reduced to the produce of her uterus. More on this later, but I think I've finally figured out the main reason I can no longer stomach the feminism being fed to intelligent, liberated, thinking young women by the emaciated vipers in charge. Yes, I do have cabin fever. Why do you ask?
2. Woo-hoo! NC STATE OVER DUKE!
3. Is it wrong to derive pleasure from watching your son stagger around in the snow like that little kid from A Christmas Story? I mean, it was so cute, how his little arms wouldn't go all the way down. Hee! I am so going to hell, I'm sure.
(bad) Poetry Corner
In response to Andrea's call to mock the latest excrescence by Harold Pinter, I give you my take:
(Read the link to get the original; I'll not be sullying my sacred blogspace with the spewings of a doofus.)
Here he goes again,
The Crank with his mindless dreck
Spewing his knee-jerk crap
Getting published across the big world
Shilling for Stalinists.
The readers are all filled with dread
The ones who ask how this gets published
The others refusing to read
The ones who think he's lost his mind
The ones who wish that he'd drop dead
The Pinter writes words which suck
Your metaphors make no sense
Your metaphors self-contradict
Your metaphors--well, they're not
Your talent's gone out and your brain
Spits out non-words like "pong"
And all the blogs are alive
With the smell of a has-been's career.
If I Were a Cynical Person
I'd call this a most telling Freudian slip:
The Council on the Status of Women at N.C. State is hosting the 22nd annual Sisterhood Dinner featuring Crystal Kuykendall. The theme of this year's dinner is "Women Standing Strong in the Face of Diversity."
Yes, sisters, we are strong. Even in the face of such a terrible foe as diversity. The theme comes from the title of the featured speaker's speech. I'm thinking I'll give this one a miss if she can't even figure out that titling a pro-diversity speech "Women Standing Strong in the Face of Diversity" has connotations that contradict her point.
Cruelest. Show. Ever.
Is What Not to Wear on TLC. In the tradition of Trading Spaces, it's another Americanized version of a brit hit, but unlike Trading Spaces, it's essentially just a mean-spirited little bitchfest.
The premise is that a "fashion-challenged" person's friends get together and call the WNtW folks. Then, they secretly videotape the walking disaster going about her daily life. Finally, the WNtW "critics" ambush the woman in a public place and "tell it like it is," then give her money to go buy the "right clothes."
This is pure vicious cattiness dressed up to look like A Makeover Story. The difference is that in A Makeover Story the subject knows beforehand that she'll be at the mercy of stylists and consultants, and is excited about the change. In What Not to Wear, the poor woman is ambushed, insulted, and treated as though she's too stupid to walk and chew gum at the same time. Understandably, the woman gets a little testy--frankly, who wouldn't? She questions whether her friends really are concerned about her, and is therefore obviously resistant to change.
Here's the thing: If you really want to help someone look better, you might suggest a fun spa day and makeover together. If you feel the need to help your friend on national television, A Makeover Story is the way to go. Setting her up to be mocked, unaware, by a woman who looks as if she's been shellacked, her hairstyle and makeup are so hard, and a man who insults her fashion sense--in public, on television--while wearing ill-fitting jeans, 400 year old sneakers, and a Chippendale's-gone-to-seed hairstyle means that you aren't her friend. Particularly if you join in the mockery while making sure you're sporting your best (and only) Chanel suit for the cameras.
It's Junior High, televised. Color me unimpressed.
Why I Don't Watch Awards Shows.
Or,
My Eyes! My Ears! My God, Just Make it STOP!
Let me make this as brief as possible--awards shows are utter crap. They're all about the profit and the self-congratulations, and they're popular because hey! Everyone likes a freak show, particularly when the freaks are telegenic. But I'm not gonna pay my dollar anymore to see what's inside the garish canvas tent. Here's why:
Exhibit A: Every emaciated actress who insists on draping her bony ass in cleavage revealing dresses. (Cameron Diaz and Gwyneth Paltrow come to mind from last year's Oscars, if you need a visual reference. I've not been able to get past that photo of Lara Flynn Boyle this year to see if there were more crimes against humanity committed--I'm borrowing my husband's retinas to write this, in fact, as mine are now ash.)
Sweeties, the point of cleavage is HAVING SOME. And without implants, that means you actually have to have a body fat index of greater than -1. Those horrific jutting protuberances on your chests? They aren't actually breasts, they're part of your FREAKING RIBCAGE! Not sexy! Not sexy! Put on a turtleneck or something! Jesus, you could put someone's eye out!
Exhibit B: Tibet. It should be, like freed. Africa--did you know that people there are starving? Well, they are! And we should do something about it! OOOIIIIILLLLLLL! Please. Stop. It. Okay? Show up at protests, carry signs around, do whatever you want about your politics but at least TRY to do it in the proper forum. An awards show is not the proper forum for politics. It's like going to Disneyland and having to take a poli-sci exam to get in--incongruous and wrong. Oh, and about the opinions you're foisting on me? Tell you what--read a book, preferably one without pictures, and get back to me. I'll listen then. No, really. I promise.
Exhibit C: Helllooooo! Two Towers? Fellowship of the Ring? One more in the trilogy? Only the most ambitious film project EVER. Could we maybe acknowledge the fact that it has more going for it than a really great score? No? Okay then, bite me.
Andrea (sorry, no direct link to the post--it's all good stuff over there) had it right when she called celebs dancing monkeys. Bring on the dancing monkeys! And take the talking ones elsewhere--that Planet of the Apes shtick is sooooo dated.
UPDATE (or, the Wages of 12-hour Sudafed): The dancing monkeys should be credited to Rachel Lucas, although Andrea is writing along the same lines. Thanks for the correction, Brad!
Laundry Day
Seems that today is laundry day, in that I've spent so much time cruising the blogroll that I can't just focus on one topic. Kinda like ADD for the blog-addicted. So, here's a laundry list o' things that are rant-worthy. Tiny little mini-rants, to get it out of my system and help me ease into a weekend of beta fish buying and movie watching. Anyhoo, here we go:
1. From Critical Mass: the New Age of Puritanism has arrived, shepherded in by none other than dingbat liberal feminists, who, instead of actually taking the responsibility for themselves that they claim is their right, want to use the legislature to protect them from themselves by declaring men some sort of hazardous biological waste. Here's a nice virtual bitchslap for Jennifer Reisch, the Abigail in this modern Crucible.
2. From A Small Victory: Delinking hissy fits in comments. Look, if you hate a blog, LEAVE. DELINK. WHATEVER. But don't delude yourself into thinking that channelling a mid-80s Valley Girl and posting a huffy self-righteous "You are SOOOOO off my read list" is going to have any effect whatsoever on the blogger. Maybe it makes you feel superior, but here's a news flash: It's not about you. Get thee to your own blog and stay there, you narcissistic shit.
3. From Pretty Much Everywhere: War, SUVs, and the vitriol of the stupid. At this point, I think the only way to resolve the whole war debate will be to just have the damn thing and get it over with. Then, we'll be able to better judge war's effectiveness as a part of our foreign policy. Everyone okay with that? Thought so. Moving on...
SUVs. Should stand for Shut Up, Vapidhead! Note to the preachy: you might be better served in the anti-SUV cause if you didn't actually OWN one. Or four. Or whatever--I know math isn't your strong suit, so don't worry about it. Here--have another Zima.
The vitriol of the stupid--see here. Or here. I could go on, but really, why? If we're lucky, their heads will literally explode. Problem solved.
Well! I feel refreshed and ready to take on the weekend.
I Had Such High Hopes
For the relaunch of the Oxford American, which once upon a time was my fave magazine. Of course, like everything else I enjoy, it tanked for awhile, but now it's back and we received our first issue this week. I was all excitement--I'd forgotten that I'd sent in my "resubscribe me in the event you get some cash" card, so it was like a happy mailbox surprise. Until, that is, I began to actually READ it.
Let me give you a little history--for a while, hublet and I had a subscription to The New Yorker. We thought, in our misguided youth, that it would be a useful way to keep up with new and interesting literature, film, etc., and that the essays and articles were well worth reading. Over time, though, I realized that the magazine was merely taking up space in my home, that reading it had become a chore, and that the content was predictable, insufferably smug, and not at all thought provoking. Reading The New Yorker was like hanging out with the same tiresome group of upper-crust snobs every night--eventually, all talk turned to how fabulous the club members were, and how idiotic, deluded and beneath contempt the rest of the world was. The stories were all the same--modernist pieces of angst exploration and navel gazing, with the occasional appearance of poorly written magical realism to "shake things up" and prove editorial hipness. The poetry, well, wasn't. And the overweaning attitude accompanying all of this was that if you didn't fall all over yourself raving about the annointed literary hoi polloi, you were a hick, a rube, and frankly, not worth thinking about.
I will admit that perhaps part of the problem was that I was approaching The New Yorker from an outsider's position. It's called The "New Yorker," after all, not "The Literary Magazine That Will Appeal to Southern English Majors Who Favor the Middle Ages and Who Only Visit NY Occasionally and Then Only for a Weekend." But really, that excuse didn't wash. Folks outside of NY read this magazine, not for the "goings on about town" section, but because The New Yorker touted itself as a cultural force. It had become the literary equivalent of the Emperor, and I could no longer escape the fact that it was quite naked (and kinda out of shape, now that I think about it). So, we let our subscription lapse.
Then we stumbled across The Oxford American, sort of a southern version of The New Yorker--fiction, music, essays--which was always a pleasure to read. The yearly Music Issue (with free sampler CD) alone was worth the price of subscription. Wasn't as pretentious, either. We were happy. And then the changes began.
At first, it was just futzing about with the design. The masthead went from folksy, friendly type to hard straight lines and bold faced sans serif type. The interior layout resembled that of Movieline magazine--slick and hip, and if things like legibility were impaired, well, it was a small price to pay for coolness. The content began a subtle swing, as well. I started to notice that most of the featured stories (which always had a flavor of the south that's hard to describe unless you're familiar with southern literature as a whole) were becoming southern fried versions of New Yorker stories, which is to say, they dealt with the south, but with an underlying contempt for the region--you could be a southern writer, but you had to be ironic and postmodern and kind of sheepish about it; I mean, they had slavery here, for chrissakes! The burden of being a good liberal writer in such a tainted atmosphere must have been ponderous, indeed. I wondered if the authors couldn't get published unless they had the good sense to be embarrassed about their southern heritage. Then the magazine went under, and I was strangely relieved.
And now it's back, with a "rant" (even so-titled, how very cutting edge) about the reverse racism of the term "white trash." Convoluted bizarre non-logic aside, I am beyond pissed off about the content. It's exactly the sort of thing a sociologist from NYU visiting Mississippi on a fact-finding mission would publish (after spending all of 5 minutes chatting with a waitress at the Waffle House) as proof that he "knows the region." Southern literature has grappled with issues of race, slavery, and poverty for well over 100 years, and in thought provoking, sometimes offensive ways. We have a handle on our history--we live it, sometimes relive it, every single day in all of its messy violent reality. We have been the battleground for civil rights since the Civil War, and I'm sorry, but the au courant white liberal guilt and southern self-loathing evident in "publishable" modern southern literature isn't gonna further debate, erase the sins of the past, or solve anyone's problems. It's kowtowing to post-modern lit crit sensibilties, plain and simple, and as a southerner, it just pisses me off.
We have a culture and a literary tradition all our own down here, and the fact that it isn't based on "What Would The New Yorker Do" is a POSITIVE. Otherwise, we're just watered down wannabes, which is what I fear the "new, improved" Oxford American may become.
Quotable Huh?
Where would I be without the Chronicle of Higher Ed to amuse me? Well, I'd be bored, for one thing, but my blood pressure would probably be much lower...
On to the fun! Here are this week's examples of scholarly logorrhea (dead tree version only, so quotes will be longish--nature of the beast, I'm afraid):
In the fall issue of Social Text (link is to a review of the journal, not the article itself--sorry for the confusion), leftist perspectives on September 11:
...the works are 'devoted to opening up both the analysis and the interventions, to complicate the terms of good and evil, under the shadow of which we are supposed to think our world and operate within it.'
Of note: the co-writers of this dreck are professors of art/public policy and cultural studies, with nary an english degree between them, apparently. Not that it matters--Stanley Fish is behind this project, and he's never been terribly concerned about things like clarity.
Don't think too hard about how one opens up analysis--to what? Analysis? So we're opening the thing itself to itself--do we then need to open up that analysis to more analysis? That should be illuminating. And good and evil need complicating? Sure, if by "complicating" you mean "turning any existing definition upon its head in order to either make an argument that the folks who died somehow deserved it or to engage in cutesy mental masturbation and demonstrate our intellectual street cred." And we're supposed to "think our world" "under the shadow" of "terms?" Well go right ahead. I prefer to think about the world while I actively engage in living in it. Thus far, my experiments in "thinking my food, clothing and shelter" have been unsuccessful, but your mileage may vary.
Here's the other item that I found befuddling, especially considering its context. In an half-page ad for Luce Irigaray's (Nooooooo! Sudden flashback to theory class, sorry) new tome, The Way of Love (sounds kind of "Xena and Gabrielle do Hinduism again" to me), there's and endorsement for it from Elizabeth Grosz. Here's what it says:
...No other thinker has managed to illuminate the challenge and the mystery that the other, the other of sexual difference, brings to all encounters, and to all knowledges...Irigaray opens up philosophy to the mystery of sexual difference, a mystery inscribed in but covered over in all of Western thought."
This is an ad, and we're supposed to intuit the subject of the book from this glowing (I think) endorsement, which tells us, among other things, that there's sexual difference in the world, and that sexual difference may color thought (maybe--still not terribly clear on the subject of the book. I wonder why that is?). Thanks, but I think I hear Patricia Cornwell calling. I wonder if her sexual differences color her books? Oh, who the hell cares?
Arrogance, Thy Name is Scholarship
From this article about the recently "discovered" writings of Tolkien on Beowulf:
A common opinion among modern scholars of Beowulf is that Tolkien misunderstood the poem, despite studying and teaching it his entire life and drawing heavily on it for his own fiction, referring to the poem in letters as "among my most valued sources." For example, Frodo's relationship with Sam in the Rings trilogy mirrors that of Beowulf with his companion Wiglaf in the poem.
But modern theorists believe Beowulf is best understood as a study in iconography, rather than as a tale of moral struggle. Its greatest insights, they say, are about how we describe the heroes of the past, not about how we triumph over evil.
Riiiiiigghhht. And all that stuff at the end, about Beowulf's eventual decline and the results of greed leading to sorrow and death is merely an Anglo-Saxon version of our posthumous deconstructions of historical figures like Jefferson. Hey, modern theorists? You Can Bite My Fat White Ass. Study the time period. Take a moment to research the ancient tropes of the warrior code. Now re-read the freaking poem. Notice anything, like, oh, I don't know, Judeo-Christian morality? Now pull your head out of Derrida's ass and listen to me:
Just because "modern scholarship" has declared certain subjects "unfashionable" or "simple-minded" does not mean that these subjects do not, in fact exist, or that anyone who dealt with them before you must be wrong, due to his or her unfortunate situation in the timeline. Tolkien was not a moron, and neither is anyone who finds moral themes in this poem--know why? Because they're IN the poem. You don't have to be a christian to recognize the content, people, and mentioning it in polite society does not make you some sort of religio-fascist.
Modern theorists and scholars are so concerned with "making their mark" on the discipline that they have completely lost sight of, well, reality, not to put too fine a point on it. Stop trying so hard to be revolutionary and to prove your intellectual superiority, and focus on the damn task at hand, which is reading and understanding a great literary work. There's enough there to keep any intelligent person busy for quite some time. Yes, it's been done to death--but so what? It's not like the world as a whole has suddenly reached the limit of knowledge re: Beowulf. See those freshmen? They've never read it. You want their only encounter with Beowulf to focus on your cynical deconstruction of morality to the detriment of the poem itself?
Oh, wait, what am I saying? Of course you do. Beowulf isn't nearly as morally complex as, say, Amiri Baraka. Hey theorists? On second thought, I retract my ass. You can bite Beowulf's instead.
Rogue Singing Vegetables Have Eaten My Brain
I suppose I should be glad that the boy has thrown over the hellspawn Fisher Price Little People in favor of the VeggieTales Silly Songs Collection, but frankly, I'm not. The problem is not that the songs are vapid or stupid or anything, it's that they're so dang catchy they stick in my head. Hublet and I find ourselves bursting into spontaneous choruses of "Oh Where is My Hairbrush" as we perform our morning ablutions. I fear for my job if this continues--yesterday, I had to physically restrain myself during a meeting in which a rather corpulent co-worker spent a good deal of time mashing himself into the ergonomic chair from suddenly singing: "A great big squash just sat upon my hat! A great big squash just squished my hat real flat! He squished my hat, he made it flat he crushed my snack now what of thaaaaaat?"
As the meeting droned on, my internal monologue went something like this (my thoughts appear in italics):
Corpulent Co-Worker: So, vis a vis the marketing strategy, what's our timeline?
Me: Well, we're kicking off with the pre-marketing brochure at the groundbreaking, A great big squash just sat upon his hat! A great big heavy squash squished his hat so flat he squished his hat he crushed it flat he mashed his snack now what of thaaaaaaat? ahem, with the giveaways. As soon as the construction site is underway and we get the webcams operational and the 360 tour online, we'll start the mailings. Now tell me everybody, whaddya think of that?
CCW: Great. Now, onto budget.
Me: Barbara Manatee--manatee, manateee! You are the one for me--one for me, one for me.
CCW: What do you think?
Me: That's doable. I just need to make sure we don't go over the limit before the end of this fiscal year. We are the pirates who don't do anything, we just stay home, and lie around. And if you ask us, to do anything....we'll just tell you...we don't do anything!
CCW: Well, it's getting near lunchtime. Any last items to cover?
Me: You are his cheeseburger, his precious cheeseburger, he'll wait for you-ooo, oh, he'll wait for you-oo, oh!
After the meeting...
CCW: I think that went well, don't you?
Me: Sure thing! Now tell me Mr. Nezzar, now whaddya think of that?
Sigh.
This Man Must Be Stopped. No, Really. Now.
Aside from the fact that John Edward's only actual qualifications for a presidential bid are:
a) He's a southern democrat, and
b) He's telegenic
He's also a dangerous moron. See this article from NC State's student paper, check out the reader comments at the end.
His proposals all sound pleasant, but that happy ringing you hear is the sound of All The Money In The World being spent on education policies that won't work, because as soon as he moves away from the idea that the schools need more money and into the realm of teacher quality and accountability, the NEA will obstruct his ass all over the place. End result? Your cash down the tubes, another generation of ill-educated students inexplicably earning diplomas, and more stories like these (link is to an Acrobat file) from the public school system.
Self-Absorbed, Much?
Funny nugget about how Madonna & Co. have banned TV from their home because they want "to avoid seeing any unpleasant news stories about themselves." Yeah, I can see how that 24-hour bash Madonna station can get tiresome. Coupla notes here for the big M:
1. It's not actually all about you.
2. You might avoid bad press if you stopped being Geena Davis to Guy Ritchie's Renny Harlan.
Just a thought.
Random "the Hell?" Moment
As I was sitting in the Jiffy Lube, reading Patricia Cornwell's latest on Jack the Ripper (because I finished Bruce Campbell's autobiography, am taking a break from Victor Davis Hanson and am not in the mood for Simon Schama just yet), I happened to glance up at the TV in the waiting room as The Price is Right was signing off.
Between the usual vapid game show host exhortations, like "See you next time" or "Thanks for watching," Bob Barker came out with "And remember to get your pets spayed or neutered!" The hell?
I have nothing against the sentiment, but the setting was bizarre...I had no idea that Bob was an animal rights dude, but apparently he's enodwed Harvard Law with half a mil for the study of animal rights. There's even a course offered now--an excerpt of the description follows:
We discuss the sources and characteristics of fundamental rights, why humans are entitled to them, why nonhuman animals have been denied them, whether legal rights should be limited to humans and, if not, what nonhuman animals should be entitled to them under the common law, and to which legal rights they should be entitled. Finally, we examine in detail the arguments for and against the entitlement of chimpanzees and bonobos to the common law rights to bodily integrity and bodily liberty."
I feel like I should have a big earth shattering point here about celebrity, causes, and individual choice, but I find that I am tired, and still a little weirded out. Plus, it's Friday.
You Say Intentional Strategies, I Say Gobbledygook
Inspired by this blurb from The Corner, I think I'm going to start a new weekly feature in which I bring you an example of complete gibberish masquerading as sophisticated rhetorical eloquence within the higher ed milieu:
Example #1: Intentional Strategies.
At first glance, it looks impressive. When used in a sentence, such as in a description of an enrichment program, like this: "Social ease and interaction can be facilitated through intentional strategies that enhance self-understanding and relationship building," it looks mighty impressive indeed. But let's pause for a moment and dissect the phrase "intentional strategies." What do we discover?
Well, for starters, that it's redundant as hell. Has any strategist ever sat down to create an "unintentional strategy?" No, because if you think about and create a strategy, you've intended to do it. If you do end up with something that can be referred to as an "unintentional strategy," then that would be what we call an ACCIDENT, and probably not something you'd want to crow about in a publication. So why not just call it a "strategy?"
Because it doesn't sound impressive enough, and because people who read a sentence like this one: "We'll help your kid make new friends in college by doing some role-playing in a classroom" might think twice before committing junior or juniorette into the capable hands of the college administrators, secure in the knowledge that these people Know What They're Doing. Well, that, and the fact that the grant money might stop flowing like water if the folks reading the proposals actually understood their fatuous nature.
Good to know that all the bs skills I picked up in college are being put to good use by my fellow educators, isn't it?
It's Called Sense. Act Like You Have Some.
There are 3 certainties in this world: death, taxes, and the fact that there will inevitably be a wreck during the morning commute at Exit #298 that will block the two inside lanes and trap me, sardine-like, in a 45 minute hell-crawl to my exit, exactly one mile farther on.
I will not deny that this particular exit is especially dangerous--it has traffic entering the expressway and trying to accelerate at one end, and traffic decelerating to use the exit ramp portion at the other, and it's really not long enough to serve this function. But here's my beef: if you're using this entrance/exit at about 7:00 a.m. on a weekday, it's because you either a) live downtown and are heading out to work, or b) live in the suburbs and are heading to work downtown. So this exit ramp and its attendant dangers should not be a surprise to you, as travelling to and from work and home is a fairly routine business.
I further realize that this particular ramp should be lengthened/widened/fixed, and that the Department of Highways should "definitely be DOING SOMETHING" about it, but so far nothing has been done, and the ramp doesn't appear inclined to defy the laws of physics and magically fix itself.
So, could everyone just please NOT drive like morons when dealing with this situation? If you're exiting the highway, don't have an impromptu drag race to get in front of the folks trying to get ON the highway, only to discover that you've run out of room and must now slam on breaks and wrench the wheel to the right to make the exit. It's not productive, it's not polite, and it frankly tempts me to acts of road rage unparalleled in recent history. I'll say it once, slowly: To Exit The Highway: Go. Behind. The. Cars. Getting. On. The. Highway. Or. I. WIll. Hunt. You. Down. On. Behalf. Of. Everyone. Sitting. Motionless. On. I-40. As. A. Result. Of. Your. Stupidity.
No really, I will. I mean, what else have I got to do with my time while parked on the beltline?
Relative, Shmelative
I was reading about Michele's travails with the public school system's "zero tolerance" violence policy (which is translated "zero tolerance for the victims of school violence because we'd much rather blame you for being a quiet law-abiding citizen than confront someone who may actually, you know, react in a way that would make us uncomfortable--eek!"), and was getting depressed enough over the state of education in this country when my husband decided to add to my despair.
Hublet has recently changed jobs and become a high school english teacher. I am pleased to report that he made it through his first semester relatively unscathed, and that 14-18 year olds relate well to him--insert joke about relative maturity levels here; I certainly have. So this semester he's picked up a class of college-level seniors, and he's all excited about being able to teach British Lit., wandering the house pulling books off of shelves and muttering about how there's just not enough time. I heart my little lit-geek hublet, I do.
However, his excitement was somewhat dimmed when he picked up the "standard text" for literature as approved by the edu-honchos and noticed, next to an essay by Milton, a piece by Anna Quindlen. Now, here's the thing--content, politics, or anything else aside here, Anna Quindlen's name should NEVER appear next to Milton's, not because I'm trying to say she's a no-talent hack with a series of bizarre axes to grind, but because they are apples and oranges. However, in the relativist world of pc-mandated education, the fact that both writers produced essays within their lifetimes makes them equivalent.
Where do I even start with this? There's SO MUCH WRONG with a worldview that completely erases the great gulf of complex differences between the author of Paradise Lost and the author of Thinking Out Loud that I shouldn't even need to write about it. But apparently these differences are lost on the folks RESPONSIBLE for EDUCATING the YOUTH OF AMERICA. Who cares about any of that esoteric culture and history stuff? They both wrote, and this way, women writers can't complain about getting short shrift.
Would someone please explain that the reason women and minorities are underrepresented in the Western Canon is because they weren't taught to read and write on a regular basis until about 100 years ago? Why must we overlook the realities of history, which would incidentally give students a much larger appreciation of writers like Jane Austen and Frederick Douglass, in order to make everyone "feel good about themselves?"
Instead, students are spoon fed crap like The Country of the Pointed Firs alongside Sister Carrie, and told, when they notice the great gulf in quality, that these pieces of literature are merely "different, not better or worse than one another." Students don't buy this lie on an instinctual level, but because of the need by educators to help human nature overcome itself by simply erasing inconvenient facts like "for the most part, men produced better literature than women in the 19th century, and here's why," they are not given the critical vocabulary that would help them articulate their feelings. So they feel cheated and lied to, and become cynical A-seekers, divorced from the joy of literature.
When we read, we want a story that speaks to us on many levels. You may have to struggle with Shakesperean language, but once you do, the rewards are innumerable. No one sits down to read a novel on the basis of the race or gender of the novelist--well, except for the folks at the Department of Public Instruction. And that, friends, is the problem. Milton wept.
Head/Posterior Separation
Proving either that it is possible for college administrators to see the idiocy of blanket pc policymaking, or that fear of negative publicity can force morons to act properly (your call, dear reader), here's an update on the UNC-Chapel Hill case from FIRE--for the original story, just scroll down. I'm not even gonna try with the whole Blogger direct link thingy. From FIRE:
Victory for Religious Liberty at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill
CHAPEL HILL, NC -- The University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill (UNC) has reversed its threatened withdrawal of recognition and benefits from a student group, the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship (IVCF). IVCF had been ordered not to use its religious beliefs as criteria for the selection of its own leaders. On December 30, 2002, the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education (FIRE) drew widespread public attention to UNC’s denial of constitutionally protected religious liberty. On December 31, 2002, UNC Chancellor James Moeser announced that IVCF would not be punished for organizing around its beliefs.
"We are pleased with UNC’s decision, which bodes well for the constitutional and moral rights of UNC’s students," said Alan Charles Kors, president of FIRE. "The swiftness of this victory emphasizes the profound truth of what Justice Louis Brandeis observed so well: ‘Sunlight is the best disinfectant.’"
On December 10, 2002, Jonathan E. Curtis, assistant director for student activities and organizations at UNC, wrote to IVCF, stating that UNC objected to a provision in the IVCF constitution "that Officers must subscribe in writing and without reservation to ... Christian doctrine." Curtis told IVCF to "modify the wording of your charter or I will have no choice but to revoke your University recognition."
FIRE wrote to Chancellor Moeser, explaining why UNC’s threat was injurious to authentic liberty: "To insist that a religious student organization not discriminate on issues of faith and on matters of voluntary association that flow from its practice of its faith -- to insist, in short, that a Christian organization not be Christian -- not only deprives the individual members of that organization of their rights under the free exercise clause of the First Amendment, but also imposes upon them an ideology alien to their conscience, in violation of the First Amendment. [IVCF] has as much right to freedom of expression as the conveners of the discussions of the Koran at UNC-Chapel Hill had to their First Amendment rights." FIRE also cited Supreme Court decisions that explicitly prohibit institutions and agents of the state -- such as public universities -- from forcing a group to admit an unwanted person or from requiring that a group express allegiance to a particular orthodoxy.
Nuggets O' Wisdom--Or, Why I'm Just Not Interested in Sociology
From the sociologist Richard Sennet (in the Chronicle):
There's more, you can read it yourself if you're so inclined. But basically it boils down to fuzzy recycled Marxism, disdain for capiltalism, ignorance of basic human nature, and statements of the blatantly obvious delivered as though they were divine revelations (see last item on list above for example). There's a reason why all the folks interested in an easy A gravitate toward Sociology, and it ain't the cool decoder rings you get when you join up.
Carolina on My Mind
Brought on in part by this post from Tony Woodlief, in which he threatens to bring the pain if students at the University of South Carolina don't stop trying to impersonate the REAL Carolina (that would be UNC-Chapel Hill to those of you from elsewhere), I must also point out that there are those of us IN North Carolina who are more than a little annoyed by the fact that every sports broadcaster on the planet seems to think that they can call ANY NC university "Carolina." See, no.
As someone who attended and works at NC State, let me just inform those of you out there who are or want to be sports broadcasters that if you refer to NC State as "North Carolina" or "Carolina," you will be set upon by a horde of red-clad alums who want to smack you around. And I can't say I blame them. For some bizarre reason, folks outside this state think that "Carolina" can be used interchangably for both UNC-CH and NCSU. It can't, and it's laziness, pure and simple. It's not like these universities have never been heard of for their athletic programs--are you familiar with basketball and football? Well okay, then. You should be aware that Chapel Hill doesn't switch uniforms from light blue to red for road games, so USE THE CORRECT NAMES when you call the games they play in. They're even printed on the helmets and jerseys, just to help you out.
This doesn't happen to Penn State and U Penn, or to any of the numerous California universities and teams, so what's the problem? We're being mocked and oppressed by the evil ESPN, that's what it is, and quite frankly, I'm not in the mood to take a dissing from a group of "commentators" whose idea of pithy play calling involves the constant, cutesy overuse of self-consciously "street" terminology. (Note to everyone everywhere--a stadium is not a house, nor is a ball a rock or a brick. If you want to spice up the lingo, you may want to try a Thesaurus.)
FYI, the team that crushed Notre Dame yesterday was NC State. That's EN, SEE, ESS YOU for the phonetically challenged, or just plain "State" if you're around here. You might want to have it tattooed somewhere, as NCSU will not be going away any time soon.
And as for you, South Carolina--don't even try. Because if you further confuse this issue, I will hurt you. A lot.