Good TV
Well, if by good you mean alternately horrifying and depressing. I've been watching the History Channel's feature on the Tsars of Russia. We hit the Romanov high spots--Ivan, Peter, Catherine and Nicholas and conclude with the Bolshevik revolution and the beginning of Communism--I guess the idea is we all know what happened next.
The main thing I took away from the series was that no matter who was in power, the one expendable resource they all counted on was the Russian people. They seem trapped in some sort of repeating loop of history--sieze power, become tyrant. Hand rule off to inept fool by accident. Another person comes along to sieze power, become tyrant. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. But what a fascinating country and history. May have to do some reading, as the only thing I remember from 10th grade world history was the Catherine and a horse story.
Gratuitous Whining Self-Indulgent Post
Here's my week thus far:
Boss enters office, notices that I'm obviously EATING LUNCH, sits down (heavily) and sighs (heavily).
Me: (irritated glance trying to pass itself off as politely quizzical) Yes?
Boss: We have a new project. (pregnant pause)
Me: (swallowing bite of Hummus wrap) Yes?
Boss: Well, see, a few millenia ago, there was a thunderstorm. And lightning hit a tree, causing it to ignite. And some cavepeople came by and noticed the flaming branch and thought that it would be a good idea to take it home to warm their caves, so they did. And they figured out ways to keep the fire going, but one day it went out, so they had to try and figure out how to create the fire from scratch.
Me: So what do I need to do?
Boss: Well, eventually they figured out that flint was good for creating a spark, and so was rubbing sticks together, so that was good. And they came up with the myth of Prometheus to explain how we got fire--that was a good one.
Me: Oooookay, so the new project involves fire?
Boss: Sort of. There's this pile of sticks that came from I think a pine tree. They should be dry by now, although we did have that rainstorm last night, so they may be kind of wet.
Me: (gritting teeth in a feral pseudo smile) You want me to build a fire?
Boss: Well, Dr. L thinks that the department would really move ahead. I mean, it's in our compact so we should get cracking on this.
Me: Deadline.
Boss: Well, I don't have a firm....
Me: Is next week okay? I can do it Tuesday morning. Is that early enough?
Boss: It just needs to get done. Here, call Fred.
Me: (never having heard of this Fred) Fred who?
Boss: He's in Environmental Health and Safety.
Me: Why am I calling Fred?
Boss: He originated the project.
Me: Okay.
Boss Leaves. I search the directory for Fred, and realize that there is no employee by that name in that department. There is, however, a Frank, so I call him and discover that not only did he NOT originate the project, he has no idea what I'm talking about. After a 15 minute, embarrassing conversation, I am informed by the secretary to the department head (also NOT NAMED FRED) that the project in question is actually a bonfire to be built three months from now. So then I go check with Dr. L, who also looks at me like I'm insane and wonders why we'd be working on this so early.
I return to my desk and take a bottle of Tylenol to dull the pain.
Neo. And I Ain't Talking Matrix, Here.
So in this whole post 911, Republican in the White House, dusting off the military and getting involved in furrin affairs world, it seems like writers and pundits are trying to define and redefine the shift in American sensibilities from "laissez-faire, hey let's hug a tree or whatever" politics to "don't make me come over there, grow the hell up and let's get moving" politics. In other words, the chattering classes can't seem to figure out why being attacked might cause some folks to re-examine their world view, so they start doing what they do best--parsing words. The latest example is the neo-con kerfluffle. What is a Neo-Con? Hell if I know. I've heard every explanation from "term that was in vogue for 15 minutes in the seventies and is being dusted off again," to "Eeeeevillllle! Pure Eeeeeeeevilllle!" So I took the liberty of consulting some friends of mine...
Me: Thank you all for coming. I had nowhere else to turn regarding the meaning of the whole "Neocon" thing.
Irony: Don't look at me.
Hyperbole: Nope, me neither, although there is some fun hysteria out there that I must modestly take credit for.
Irony: (Rolls eyes.)
Similie: It's kind of like a conservative, only new.
Irony: Thank you, Captain Latinate.
Metaphor: It's merely a mask, a cover, if you will, for the new brand of conservatism--fiscally conservative, socially pretty liberal.
Me: Not according to this chick, it's not.
Metaphor: She misunderstands the basic premise. For her, conservatism is a noxious cloud, preventing those she sees as fun-loving and morally superior from raising taxes, pooh-poohing SUV owners, and feeling smug.
Similie: Noxious cloud? More like a wet blanket.
Metaphor: But you cannot extend the wet blanket comparison as well as you can the noxious cloud. With noxious cloud you can make allusions to "piercing the veil," "drawing a breath," and other...
Me: Ooookay, let's reel that in and get back on topic, shall we?
Irony: Can I go home?
All: NO!
Me: Frankly, if I have to be here, you all do. So metaphor thinks the neo-con label is a smear?
Metaphor: A smear. Yes, yes, I could do things with smear.
Similie: Yo, metaphor. We're not writing a novel here. We're defining a term.
Hyperbole: So why didn't you, like, consult a dictionary? Helloooo! Shiny book on shelf? Lots of pretty words?
Me: It's talking about a movement that started in the 60's, and leaves me as confused as ever about WHY people are so obsessed with it now. I need my labels to be definitively defined and to make sense, dammit, not just be whatever the pundit of the day wants them to be. Look, do any of you have ANYTHING helpful to add?
Irony: It's stupid and needs to die on the vine.
Metaphor: I can get behind that.
Simile: It's like this--yeah, I guess Irony's right.
Me: Okay, so the term neo-con has been hereby banished from our collective consciousness?
All: Hear, hear!
Hyperbole: Great! Now can we talk about this Eagle stuff from Andrew Sullivan?
All: NO!
Touch Not the Cat
Or, eat not the cat-like mammal, whichever. See, I know a few things about cats. The main thing I know about them is that will happily dedicate their entire lives to vengeance if you do them wrong. Oh sure, maybe the actual cat you bothered won't get you, but he or she will certainly invoke Kitty Karma and sooner or later, you will suffer the wrath of the felines.
China is a case in point. So now it turns out that SARS may have jumped from a "catlike" animal--considered a Chinese delicacy, btw--to the human population. Incidentally, the Chinese also farm and kill cats for their skins. Coincidence? I think not. Kitty Karma has arrived, and payback is a giant yowling alleycat bitch.
Don't mess with cats. They will get you. Oh yes, they will get you good.
Vomit. Just--Vomit.
No, that's not a pithy commentary on the quality of commencement speeches at our nation's universities, l'affair Blair, or the latest pronouncements by anyone in Higher Ed. That's a three word summary of what my world is revolving around just now, and an explanation for the reduced bloggage. I had no idea that my child was a tiny walking petrie dish for every single germ floating around the world at large. Color me surprised. Oh yeah, and covered in vomit, so color me smelly as well. Is smelly even a color? Sleep deprivation and Wiggles-induced epilepsy (anyone seen the backgrounds on "Hoop-de-doo! It's a Wiggly Party?" It's an on-the-fly amateur epilepsy diagnostic tool!) have obviously taken their toll.
Back tomorrow. Dammit. Or, vomit. Whichever.
My Sesame Street is WAY More Exciting than Yours
I was watching Play With Me, Sesame the other day, and I had an epiphany: I hate Ernie. No, really. I hate him, with a deep, abiding hatred. Why do I hate Ernie? Because he's The Roommate From Hell.
Look, I might be revealing my inner stick-in-the-mud here, but think about Bert for a minute. He's a quiet neatnik of a guy who likes collecting paper clips and training pigeons. And who does he get for a roommate? Mr. "Hey Bert, let's play a game!" psychotic extrovert Ernie, who tramples Bert's wishes to be left alone, forces him into playing some arcane game, and then abandons him at the moment that Bert decides it's fun to play. Ernie is constantly bringing over univited guests like Cookie Monster who trash the place, installing freaking drum sets in the middle of the living room, and have you SEEN the mess he makes when he bathes? Welcome to Ernie's world, where it's All. About. Ernie. Ernie? You totally suck.
Frankly, I think Ernie is playing with fire. Bert is quiet, keeps to himself, talks to birds...I think you see where I'm going with this. I wouldn't be surprised to see the following scenario played out one day:
Ernie: (in bathtub, singing) Rubber ducky, you're the one!
There's a knock on the door, then Bert enters.
Ernie: Bert, old buddy! You startled me!
Bert: What are you doing, Ernie?
Ernie: Well, I'm just taking a bath here with my best friend, Rubber Ducky!
Bert: Your best friend? I thought I was your best friend, Ernie. (Bert's mono brow creases downward in consternation)
Ernie: Well sure, Bert! You're my best pal too!
Bert: You can only have one best friend, Ernie. That's why it's a BEST friend, not bestests friendses.
Ernie: Hey, Bert! Don't be sad, Bert! You are my best friend!
Bert: (approaching tub with hands behind back) Which is it, Ernie? Me or the duck?
Ernie: Hey, Bert? What do you have behind your back, Bert? Bert? AAARRRRRGGGHHHH!
Later, we see Bert dressed as an old woman, sitting in a rocking chair and talking to a pigeon.
Bert: You were right, pigeon. It's MUCH quieter around here now.
The pigeon coos happily, and continues pecking at its meal. Bert reaches into the dish of bird seed and extracts a fuzzy red pom pom nose.
Bert: Sorry, pigeon. Guess I didn't sift it all that thoroughly.
What. A. Shock.
That Phil Donahue would use a commencement address to talk politics, not commencement. Could there BE a more inappropriate venue for the content of his speech? Probably not, else it wouldn't be a Donahue moment. Grr. Contrast the excerpts from Donahue's speech with those from Bill Cosby's speech at UNC-CH. Well, on the bright side, the students will always remember their graduation...
Note to French--Please Stop Digging.
Confession time: it's fun to mock the French. I mean, first of all, it's easy, which is a huge consideration in my life just now, what with my hectic schedule. Who has time to dig up things to mock about, say, Lichtenstein? Secondly, it really seems to get their little panties in a wad, which just adds to the ease of mocking. Look, if your self-worth is predicated on belief in your own intellectual and cultural superiority to the US, and the US, bunch of tubby un-nuanced cowboys that we are, persists in mocking you, well, it's got to be a little galling. Or Gaulling, if you're into the cheap pun (which I completely am not. In fact, I didn't even type that. Lies! All lies! Written by journalists in the employ of the Bush Administration! Oh, wait. Getting ahead of myself here.).
But this is just over the top silly. I truly thought that this article was from The Onion, but unless the International Herald Tribune is code for Onion, I guess not. See, I would think that with a 35 hour work week, a French diplomat would be able to keep busy doing French stuff like striking under the table oil deals with brutal dictators, screwing over other countries for quick cash, or disdaining anything that isn't French. I mean, that's a LOT to do in a week, particularly when you have to stop every few hours to demonstrate solidarity with your fellow public servants back home who are busy striking for more money and less work.
However, I seem to have underestimated French industry, particularly when it comes to generating self-righteous indignation. Ladies and gentlemen, we are Being Monitored for Anti-French Lies Put Forth by the Bush Administration. Hang on a sec, would you? Got something in my throat: Haaaaaaahaaaaahaaaa! Bwaaaaahaaaaahaaaahaaa haa! Heeeeee! Ahem. Better now.
The thrust of the complaint and subsequent monitoring seems to be that newspapers are reporting unfavorably on the French. What are they reporting, exactly?
The impression given, she said, was that France had "protected a tyrant and a bloody dictator" and was "hostile to the United States."
Now WHERE would we have gotten such an idea? Crazy talk! As confirmed by Tom Bishop, professor at New York University, who tells us exactly who's to blame for Jay Leno's recent monologues:
"What's coming out of the right-wing think tanks in Washington, and elsewhere, is not innocent, I think, and is not accidental," he said.
Damn, you, Vast Right Wing Conspiracy! Damn your eyes!
Of course, the French are demonstrating their typical verve and devil-may-care attitude toward danger with this policy, because complaining about press coverage carries some Very Real Danger. Yes, the danger that their complaints "...might be seen...as a 'kind of petulance.'"
Oh, those brave risk-takers! You go, pampered, overpaid, underworked, disdainful little French diplomat! Fight the power! Woo!
No, seriously, France? You can stop digging now. You've hit bottom.
Ah, Students
So I'm talking to one of the Housing Assignments staffers yesterday, and she's having trouble placing a student. The student's got a medical necessity form for a single, but the only building with singles available isn't up to this student's standards, because the rooms are Too Big. Say, that's not a complaint you hear every day. When I asked why that would be a problem, I was informed that the student suffers from agoraphobia, defined as "Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets. Fear of leaving a safe place."
Ooookay. Do I even need to type the jokes here, or can you fill them in on your own? NC State has 28,000 students, lots of big, roomy auditoriums, and oh yeah--there's the whole thing with the SKY when you have to GO OUTSIDE to GET TO CLASS!
See? Students are intelligent. They just tend to use their brains for small things, like getting a single in what happens to be the nicest dorm on campus (because coincidentally that dorm has the smallest single rooms).
Ah, Screw It.
Seems to be the attitude of the American Historical Association (AHA) these days. My pal Jim sent me an article from The Weekly Standard (no link) with this news:
Following a series of scandals involving high-profile historians, the leading professional organization in the field, the American Historical Association, is reducing efforts to investigate claims of dishonest scholarship. The AHA said last week it would no longer evaluate claims of plagiarism reported to it, as had been its practice, despite the dishonor brought to the profession by such recent cases of plagiarism as those of Doris Kearns Goodwin and Stephen Ambrose and by Michael Bellesiles's discredited history of gun ownership in America.
So, I decided to check the horse's mouth, as it were. Sure enough, on the AHA homepage is this press release, which states:
The AHA has ended fifteen years of adjudication because it has proven to be ineffective for responding to misconduct in the historical profession. In place of adjudication, the Association will mount a more visible campaign of public education, explaining why the historical profession cares about plagiarism, falsification of evidence, and other violations of scholarly integrity.
There follows a laundry list of "initiatives," which is basically scholar-speak for committee meetings which will produce documents that no one will read. I read the press release several times, looking for the part where the AHA explains how disassociating the profession's national professional body from investigating and adjudicating cases of professional misconduct is a GOOD thing. Alas, I couldn't find that part. I did find this, though:
The Council does not believe that the modest benefits to the profession justify the time, energy, and effort that have gone into the process.
Oh, dear God. I will leave it to you to insert the incredulous ironic comments about the "benefits to the profession" that came from folks like Bellesiles--and while you're at it, add something about truth being a noble pursuit...I'm getting blurred vision here from the twin assaults of Irony and Rage and need to get more coffee. And possibly some heroin.
The AHA defends its actions with a list of "unintended consequences" that their involvement in adjudication had brought about. The upshot is that because they couldn't be everywhere and do everything, and because their sanctions essentially had no "teeth," they must now wash their hands of the whole process. Right. Because they couldn't work to give some weight to their sanctions. And because obviously, being sanctioned by the professional organization of historians bears no signifigance to ANYONE, ANYWHERE, EVER. And because they could never, ever, simply adjust their procedures to be, oh, I don't know--effective?
The boilerplate at the end of the press release concludes with this lovely sentiment:
Over the years, the Association has changed as the discipline and profession have changed, but its central mission has remained unaltered: the advancement of historical knowledge.
To which I would add the following caveat: as long as advancing historical knowledge doesn't include verifying its accuracy. 'Cause that might be, you know, hard.
Things That Make Me Go Raaaarrrrr!
(Raaaarrr copyright Frank J, 2000-something)
Yes, the blog has been fairly dullsville this week. However, I have had a valid excuse. This week is the week that the students leave, or, as it is known hereabouts:
The Week of the Hellish End Of Year Program.
Ah, the beloved End of Year Program, in which the entire division is forced into an auditorium for Three. Solid. Hours. During these three hours our Vice Chancellor recognizes individuals and gives awards. Okay, so recognition isn't such a bad thing, right? Riiiiiiiight. See, for one thing, we get "recognized" not only for major division and university-wide awards, but also for individual accomplishments, which culminates in a thirty minute litany of mispronounced names and recognitions like this one:
Finally, we'd like to recognize Bob (garblegarblebarble)son for gaining an Honorable Mention in the University Picnic's Three Legged Race last September. As you may know, Bob (garblegarblebarble)son HAS three legs, and so was able to compete on his own. His Honorable Mention is an Honorable Mention to the three legged everywhere! Bob, you truly are a living embodiment of this University's commitment to diversity!
And on it goes, blah blah blah awardcakes. Plus, our Vice Chancellor has a strange penchant for dressing up in costumes during this event and performing bizarre one man "comedy skits" that would be more at home in a Postmodern Pinter Theatre Festival. This year it was an homage to Phantom of the Opera; in previous years we've done wizards, Santa Claus, and drag. What does any of this have to do with the Division Award for Innovative Use of Technology? Well, on this planet, nothing. But I've come to accept that the End Of Year Program is neither conceived nor written here on earth. It's a three hour tour of planet Vice Chancellor, and I can only be thankful that the auditorium isn't called the S.S. Minnow.
Regular ranting will resume after I resume enough sensation in my legs and butt to go outside and give thanks for my freedom from this torture--well, until August, when we have the Beginning of Year Program. Raaaarrrr.
The Dangers of Modern History Writing
From the Chronicle, this story about a new history book that's winning prizes and hullabaloo. The book deals with the "other slavery" in the US involving the Spanish and Native American clashes that occurred out West before and during English settlement. It sounds interesting, and I'll probably give it a read (the funny thing about getting degrees in English is that now I primarily read history books for pleasure...), but the quotes that jumped out at me from the article were these:
Some readers are almost certainly going to be offended by Mr. Brooks's attention to the ambient violence of the history he recounts. The Indians that he portrays aren't New Age icons -- peaceful, egalitarian, in touch with the deeper rhythms of the cosmos. The pre-Columbian slave system was by no means as horrific as the Middle Passage, but it was violent even so. ...
"That's where James is taking something of a risk," says Donald Lee Fixico, a professor of American Indian history at the University of Kansas. "It might be safer not to look at the brutality between the two races, but he's quite willing to go into that gray area."
Okay, so what I got from that was that a guy who did painstaking research and presents actual facts about brutality and history in a book is in danger of "offending people." Yeah, that damn reality. Offensive! I suppose I should be impressed that such risk-taking works are being published, but I'm mostly just disappointed that a seemingly straightforward work like this one is being called "risk-taking" in the first place.
One Question
For those of you who are planning to see X2 but haven't yet--leave lest ye be somewhat spoiled. For those who don't care--ignore this post. But I can't hold this back any longer. I have to ask:
WHY does Jean have to leave the jet to confront the dam? If she can block the Professor, Kurt and everyone else from LEAVING the jet, while simultaneously lifting the jet and deflecting the water, obviously she's powerful enough to do what she did from within the jet. Or couldn't she have just lifted the jet while inside it?
Wait, I lied. There are more questions, like: Helloooo, Bobby? Ice? Water? Freezing it? Oh, and Storm? Controls wind? Can't use the wind to lift the jet?
Basically an otherwise excellent movie was marred by last minute--we have to do these things so we can do the whole Phoenix thing next movie--just "kill" her somehow, consistency isn't a concern! Yes, I do think about useless crap like this too much. Oh, and I REALLY REALLY hate Jean Grey. But you knew that.
Walden School? You're all Wet.
Apparently the administrators of Walden school got a little carried away with this quote Thoreau included in Walden:
"I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute."
And have taken it to mean that they don't have to deal rationally with legitimate parental concerns. Unfortunately for the Chafee family, moving to a pond in the middle of nowhere to ruminate on the situation isn't an option. Neither is tossing the school's administrators into a pond. More's the pity, since they seem to be all wet.
Via Number 2 Pencil, which has more on the issue.
Help! I'm Being Repressed by SPAM!
Got an email yesterday from nhulse.womynkind@version.net. Didn't have to open it to discern the contents; check out the spelling of womyn. But, because I sometimes like a good laugh, I opened the email. Nhulse does a series of multimedia, "SPOKEN WORD" (caps hers) performances about--wait for it--violence against women and rape. Both important issues, to be sure, but I had some questions about her treatment of the topics given the following excerpt from an article she references in her email:
Hulse's "A Rose by Any Other Name," is a multimedia performance dramatizing the forms of rape in our culture. It's graphic, driving home the evils of the crime like a jackhammer. The presentation features dance performances by Hulse, the music of artists such as "Marilyn Manson," "Garbage" and "Hole," scenes from films such as "The Accused" and "Animal House," and telling statistics on such crimes as incest and date, acquaintance and stranger rape, "A Rose by Any Other Name" tells the story of our "rape culture."
Uh-oh. Rape culture. Buzzwords for the radical branch of the feminist tree. I wonder if she considers all acts of intercourse rape? No way to tell, but I thought I'd check out her homepage.
Oh, look! Andrea Dworkin's greatest hits! Plus a list of factoids--many of which have been debunked for almost a decade. The newspaper article also said this:
Hulse noted that she meets with a lot of resistance in her work to educate the public about rape. And, she added, women who have performed with her in the past have even been beaten for their participation.
She doesn't say whether the beatings came from victims who don't appreciate their trauma being hijacked for a cause that ultimately injures rape awareness and prevention efforts by making hysterical claims and polarizing male/female relations. But more importantly, I wonder how long before our campus hosts a performance?
Car Talk
I'm feeling tapped out lately, and I think it's because by the time I finish my 30 minute commute with the Boy, I am done for the day. Here's how a typical afternoon drive goes:
4:15 - Leave Office
4:20 - Arrive at Daycare. Greet Boy by sweeping him into hug and kissing him, then put him down so that he can walk to car ALL BY HIMSELF.
4:25 - Stand by rear passenger door of car as Boy struggles valiantly to get into car seat ALL BY HIMSELF as other cars line up behind us in driveway.
4:27 - Use forearm to brace wriggling, screaming Boy as I secure him in car seat. Hand Boy pre-chilled sippy cup and peanut butter cracker, then get into driver's seat. Ignore peanut butter cracker hurtling past my head as Boy tosses it in a gesture of protest for not being given 45 minutes to explore the car before deciding to settle in for the drive home.
4:30 - 4:38 - Engage in following discussion while waiting to get onto highway:
Jean Grey is a Big Fat Mary Sue
I'm coming out of the X-Men closet right now and coming clean: of all the mutants in all the parallel universes in all the world, I hate Jean Grey the most. Why? Well, I've given this some thought over time, and beyond the inexplicable damsel in distress vibe she puts out, her super-perfect powers, super-perfect boyfriend, and super-perfect flowing red hair, I've finally realized why she bugs me.
Jean Grey is a Mary Sue.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "Mary Sue" was coined by fanfiction writers back in the early days to describe an "original character" inserted into an existing fictional universe who just happens to be the most beautiful, most talented, most amazingly gifted being on the earth. If the Mary Sue didn't end up marrying the lead character from that universe, then she would sacrifice herself in an heroic act that saves everyone else, and expire prettily in the arms of the lead character. Then much angsting would ensue. A Mary Sue is a cipher for the author, and is annoying because she is two-dimensional, perfect in every way (even her flaws are designed for maximum angst potential until she manages to overcome them), and completely unnecessary in an established fictional world.
You can see where I'm going with Jean Grey. Except for the whole "cipher for the author" part, she matches this description perfectly. The X-Men already have the most powerful telepathic mutant in the world in Professor X. He's not a telekinetic, but I would consider that unnecessary given the skills of the other team members. The X-Men would be fine without her. Jean is also perfectly lovely, just happens to be a leading scientific researcher who gets to address panels of government officials on a regular basis, and is in a relationship with the leader of the X-Men, Cyclops, PLUS she has the undying affection of Wolverine, the untouchable badass. Jean even gets to sacrifice herself and cause angsting to ensue with the whole Phoenix/Dark Phoenix storyline (which appears in both film and comic, although in very different form.) And I would argue that while she isn't a self-insertion of the comic's creator, she may very well be a projection of the perfect girlfriend.
She doesn't even have a good backstory--Professor X takes her in as a protege when she manifests her mutation and almost goes mad, she becomes Perfect Woman, blah blah blah Phoenix-cakes, insert alternate universes and pseudo romantic triangle stuff here. Rogue and Storm are far more interesting (here I'm talking about the comic Rogue--the movieverse version is toothless and pathetic), with real conflict written into their characters. They develop more over time, as well. And as a bonus, they don't spend all their time in battle situations exchanging these bon mots:
Scott: "JEAN!"
Jean: "SCOTT!"
(something blows up)
Jean: "Scott......" (faints prettily, gets kidnapped or otherwise imperiled)
Scott: "JEEEEEAAAAAANNNNNN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Logan: (running up just in time to espy the trauma of Jean) "JEEEEEAAAAAANNNNN! NOOOOOOOO!" (to Scott): "How could you let this happen?!?!"
(much manly glaring, while Rogue and Storm finish kicking everyone's asses and wander off, shaking their heads at the stupidity of Scott and Logan)
Not that I'm bitter.
Tunnels, Oppression and Programming, Oh MY!
Erin O'Connor posts a letter today from a student organizer of a "tunnel of oppression"--a travelling exhibit that attempts to educate people about the horrors of oppression through photos and graphics and multimedia hoo-ha. The letter was earnest, and asked for comments on how to better the program. In truth, the best way to do that would be to eliminate it utterly, as several commenters on Erin's site point out, with varying degrees of civility. But that is neither here nor there. To me, the most remarkable thing about the entire communication is this section:
I have helped in the organization and facilitation of the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire version of the Tunnel of Oppression for three years. I agree that it is probably a very unintelligent and mindless method of educating the general student population. However, life in Eau Claire consists of a mostly white, heterosexual, Judeo-Christian, suburban, upper to middle-class society. Most of the students that attend the University come from backgrounds that follow this same societal structure/pattern.
The Tunnel is aimed at the students that don't realize that life elsewhere is any different from the Suburbia that they grew up in. Ignorance is dangerous. The goal of any baccalaureate is the irradication of the ignorance that they still harbor, though in most cases the targeted ignorance is solely "book knowledge."
Look at the assumptions here. As one commenter on Erin's site pointed out, participants in the tunnel of oppression may tend to display apathy toward it precisely because of the organizer's attitudes, and wonder where they (the presenters) got their "special", enlightened point of view. I don't know this student, or his/her course of study or background, but s/he has certainly internalized the old "bourgeoisie bad" idea--the only things missing are the sneer quotes.
The writer admits to the stupidity of the program, but defends it because he or she has so little regard for the "white, heterosexual, Judeo-Christian, suburban, upper to middle-class society" types on campus that the only way "those people" can be educated about evil in this world is by dumbing everything down to pictograms. I'm surprised that the students at Wisconsin - Eau Claire are even capable of locating the exhibit, much less appreciating it. After all, with a background such as that, we should all be amazed that they've dragged themselves far enough from the primordial ooze to walk upright.
And get the misspelled Orwell-speak at the end. The goal of a baccalaureate is not the "irradication" of ignorance, it is the development of the mind. One may lead to the other, but please don't get this particular cart before the horse. Traditionally, books, lecture, and discussion have been more than adequate to the task of mental development and its corollary in the eradication of ignorance. I suppose the real question here is what has changed about college education that makes these approaches seem inadequate, and why proselytizing has taken the place of encouraging the natural intellectual curiosity of students.
Road Hazard
Do you want to know why I have absolutely no memory of the last 5 miles of my drive home yesterday afternoon? Well, I don't care--I'm going to tell you anyway, and I'll tell you in three words:
Bobble. Head. Dogs.
You see, I was just tooling along in the purple pickup truck (don't go there--it's a long story involving a seven fingered man and a traffic accident, but it's been a reliable vehicle), reflecting upon my recent viewing of X2, when I noticed a green Chevrolet something-or-other in front of me. The Chevy was going a mite slower than the speed limit, and my annoyance began to grow, until I noticed the decor in the back window of the car. There, arrayed before me like some primitive dog-worshipper's shrine, was a line of 7 bobble-head dogs, craniums busily nodding to the rhythm of the road. Well, 6 of them were bobbling--one seemed to have gotten his bobble hung on something, and looked like the victim of a ninja neck-breaking attack, with his head cocked at an unnatural angle and his grinning face staring at something above me and to the right.
So I began studying the bobble doggies. They were all a different breed--there was a bulldog, a dalmation, a couple of indeterminate terrier-things (one of which was the wounded bobbler), a collie, dachsund, and I think either a rottweiler or pit bull. But in the center of the display, in the place of honor above the rear window brake light, was a tiny grey terrier. Now, perhaps because I had been hypnotised by the bobbling, I became obessessed with the grey dog's position: why did IT get the place of honor? Did the driver have a terrier? Had she lost a beloved pet and this was her way of commemorating the event? Did she in fact own real dogs in the models represented in her back window? Or did she spend a lot of time at truck stops and had absolutely no taste in tchotchkes?
These questions burned in my mind as I hung a right and the bobble Chevy continued onward--and they still do. Oh, bobble-head mystery woman! WHY must you torment me with your cryptic plastic dog decor? What is the signifigance of the breeds chosen? What is up with that one dog's HEAD? Where the hell did you even find this crap, and what possessed you to share it with the world at large? What does it all MEAN?!?!? Well, aside from the fact that bored english majors tend to read too much into things, I mean.
Sigh. A mystery for the ages.
Anti-Semitism Question of the Day
Why is it always a "sinister cabal" of Jewish advisors? Or even just a "cabal?" What, these words aren't good enough to use instead (from Thesaurus.com):
bunch, cabal, camarilla, camp, circle, clan, club, coterie, crew, crowd, faction, gang, in-group, insiders, mafia, mob, organization, outfit, pack, ring, set, society
I'm pulling for more use of the word "crew;" you know, to drag anti-semitism into the hip hop era. I mean, just because someone's racist attitudes date from the middle ages, it doesn't mean that their language needs to be similarly ancient and stilted.
Or I guess it's just a play on Kabbalah, right? I mean, if you're going to insult a race based largely on religious differences, might as well get in that dig from the get-go, right? How very clever. Not.
My. Damn. Sinus.
Dear Sinus Located on the Right Side of my Forehead:
It has recently come to my attention that you might be upset with me for something I may have subjected you to in the past. As I am ignorant of the cause of your rage, let me give you an opportunity to meet with me and discuss what's bothering you, face to cranky body part. I am a reasonable person, sinus, perfectly willing to compromise with you on the issues most important to your kind--pollen, dander, perfume, and even mold and dust. In short, I am hip to the sinus jive. So, if it's not too much trouble, could you please explain why you insist on swelling, throbbing, aching and draining into my ear on a daily basis? Your next door neighbor, the Left Hand Sinus, doesn't seem compelled to mimic your behavior, so I can only conclude that you, Right Hand Sinus, are being unreasonable.
I've given you every attention, Right Hand Sinus, including enough Sudafed to fuel thirteen crystal meth labs, nasal sprays, steam treatments, and anti-inflammatories. And yet my overtures are rebuffed--was it really necessary, Sinus, to cause me to look like a stroke victim during the entirety of a very important meeting? To suddenly begin draining with the force of a fire hose during the same meeting, causing me to honk and sniff and drip and water and still look stroked out? I think not.
Frankly, Sinus, I think your continual raging against the machine is making you look bad. In fact, I have taken steps to ensure that if you do not see fit to shape up on your own, you will be compelled to do so by Allergists, Inc. Surgery is not out of the question, Sinus. I don't mean to threaten, but you have forced my hand.
Sincerely,
Your Landlord, The Head
Refreshing Quote of the Day
From Pay-Per-View only Chronicle, an interesting article by an English professor among physicists, in which he explores the differences in collaboration and collegiality between the disciplines. Reading this explained to me the faith my hard science pals had in peer review versus my scepticism about the process in the humanities. But beyond that, there's this quote:
The story of the Bell Labs physics scandal initially intrigued me because I thought it might turn out to be a scientific version of the culture wars, with scientists coming under attack from groups that help finance them. It didn't turn out that way. ... But humanists have long been embroiled in their own conflicts with the society that finances them--and one of the reasons lies in the way that we raise roadblocks and bar the world from entering our neighborhood. That's the opposite of what we ought to be doing, and it's all the more shameful because humanists are in an unusual and enviable position: The nature of our work makes it easy to open our doors and share that work.
Thank you, professor Cassuto. Part of my extreme disillusionment with the English discipline came from the desperate attempts of faculty to justify its worth by making it more "scientific" and thereby more exclusive. I believe that the worth of humanities education is in teaching subjective versus objective analysis, and in learning how to read, comprehend, ENJOY, and make cogent and accessible arguments about a text. There is value in those skills--the declining quality of debate in this country demonstrates that when the humanities give in to their insecurity and try to add "science" to their field, the students--and by extension, the populace at large--suffer.
The Post-Modern Anti-Intellectual
Hublet and I often spend time with a fellow ex-grad student who also happens to be our "token uber-liberal friend." He's a nice guy, but the views he espouses remind me why I decided that getting a PhD in literature would be the intellectual equivalent of becoming a two-dollar whore--selling myself cheap and pretending to be whatever the customer of the moment wanted in order to survive. One of his favorite topics is the "rise of anti-intellectualism" and its pernicious effect on society. I've always disagreed with this idea, but it's only recently that my reasons why have crystallized into any sort of cogent argument.
In order to hold the position that America is a nation of anti-intellectuals, you must begin with the belief that the average American is stupid. This belief is widely held in academia--to point out to these people that professors are merely "average Americans" with degrees is a non-starter, as you will be subjected to a lengthy diatribe the upshot of which is that their intellectual curiosity is a rarity, and thus establishes them as members of the intellectual elite. It's a circular argument, and one you cannot win, but it is a useful illustration of the attitude that Den Beste points out in his recent essay: they're in the club, and they OUGHT to be in charge.
When you persist in arguing that there is no inherent superiority in being able to apply post-colonial theory to MacBeth, because the theory itself is as questionable as its application, you get the Stanley Fish answer: the theory is merely misunderstood and misapplied by rubes and enemies of the intellectual left. Never mind that the majority of the folks "misapplying" the theories are being published in journals edited and distributed by the intellectual left, or that these writers are intellectual lefties of impeccable credentials. If you point out that there is a sense of entitlement among the humanities professoriate based entirely on ephemera and circle-jerking self-congratulation, you are charged with the greatest of all crimes: anti-intellectualism!
It is not anti-intellectual to question the truths held to be self-evident by the PoMos. It is not anti-intellectual to hold theories of education up to rigorous scientific investigation; in fact, it is classical intellectual investigation. The only objections the PoMos consistently raise to standardized testing, to the teaching of the Western Canon, and even, in society at large, to what are considered "traditional" values, is that they might be offensive or discriminatory. Instead, the enlightened view goes, we must replace these old offensive and discriminatory ideas and practices with new ones--which are equally offensive and discriminatory, but only to the average (read: stupid) American. When there is an outcry, when the real damage being done to the minds of our young people by failing to insist upon excellence is pointed out, they go underground, hijacking textbook approval panels and inserting their agenda behind the scenes (thanks, Jim, for pointing out that article). Because they know best, after all.
If anti-intellectualism means standing up to smug, insulated, self-righteous intellectual hacks with weak theories and even weaker defenses of those theories, then by all means, call me anti-intellectual. A post-modern anti-intellectual, in fact.