Thomas’s ankle was quite sore, and each time he took a step a little white-hot flash of pain would shoot through it so he decided he would stop and have a cup of tea and rest a bit. It turned out that this was one of the three times this century it has been verified that a Starbucks was not the closest place to Thomas’s current location. The first time was on a trip he took to Murdo, South Dakota. When asked why he had gone to Murdo all he will say is he had already seen the corn palace. The other time was when he had to spend the night in Orem, Utah. He refuses to say anything about that night, but his analyst grins uncontrollably whenever he hears the city's name. Orem passed a law banning the sales of mango-coconut gelatin and feather dusters soon afterward, but no one really knows why.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Wonder this time where she's gone . . .
What was she like?
I don't know.
No, I'm not being evasive, it's just...it's just the truth. Nothing more.
What?
Yeah, okay. I'll try.
Once, about five years ago we went for a trip. Just a tour around the state. You know, drive along the coast, do some camping, maybe rent a cabin somewhere. And I remember that for the first two or three days she never said a word.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
It seems like a mighty long time . . .
It was in 1965. I'm pretty sure it was on a Sunday morning, but I can't remember if it was in late April or early May. Early in the morning my mother dropped me off in the circle drive in front of the main entrance of the high school. She took my suitcase out of the trunk for me, and put it on the side walk next to those of my classmates. She asked me one last time if I was sure I would be all right, and then got back in the car and drove home.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Splish, splash . . .
On "Today in Literature" they have a nice little article about H. L. Mencken, who I think I would have liked. Give it a look. I found it somehow disturbing and comforting to see how little things have changed.
吸い取り紙が字を吸ひとらぬやおになった
The blotting paper/Won't blot/Any more.
-Hoosai
Friday, December 7, 2007
It's a lesson too late for the learning . . .
My mother-in-law passed away last night.
It was quite sudden, and we were not prepared. I came home from my Japanese class and my wife was not quite frantically phoning her sisters. The sister that still lives in Michigan had called to tell her that their mother had been admitted to the hospital, and that the doctors had said she most likely only had a few hours left.
My father-in-law had taken her to the doctor that morning because she wasn't feeling well, and he had put her in the hospital immediately. She had pneumonia, and then things became terrible. My wife called the hospital. She talked to her father. She called an aunt and told her what was happening, and asked that she go to the hospital and support her dad. She searched online for a flight to Detroit, and kept calling the hospital and her sisters. And somewhere around 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, her father called her.
It was quite sudden, and we were not prepared. I came home from my Japanese class and my wife was not quite frantically phoning her sisters. The sister that still lives in Michigan had called to tell her that their mother had been admitted to the hospital, and that the doctors had said she most likely only had a few hours left.
My father-in-law had taken her to the doctor that morning because she wasn't feeling well, and he had put her in the hospital immediately. She had pneumonia, and then things became terrible. My wife called the hospital. She talked to her father. She called an aunt and told her what was happening, and asked that she go to the hospital and support her dad. She searched online for a flight to Detroit, and kept calling the hospital and her sisters. And somewhere around 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, her father called her.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thank you falettinme be mice elf...
Today's entry on the OUPblog has some interesting things to say about the mythology of Thanksgiving day. I have always found it interesting that even in this article we are told the primary reason for the Pilgrim's coming to the new world was their search for religious freedom.
That's not exactly how I see it.
There is no doubt they were looking for a place where they would be free to practice their religion as they saw fit; but they in no way felt compelled to grant this freedom to others. Once they got here they were as intolerant of other beliefs and practices as Ferdinand and Isabella. Several years ago I spent quite a bit of time looking up the family history—or least those bits i could find. I'm pretty sure a couple of my great grand-fathers were either in witness protection programs, or aliens. But I stray from the topic. If I remember correctly, one of my ancestors that took advantage of the fact that the local tribes had a rather undeveloped Homeland Security Agency was expelled from the town in disgrace because he dared to differ on matters of scripture. Apparently he was free to practice his religion as long as it was exactly the way they said to. Seems oddly familiar.
Anyway, even though it's a holiday based on rampant, if not total, untruths, my wife and I still spend the day enjoying each other's company, and giving thanks that we are blessed with family and friends we probably don't deserve. May you also give thanks for the love in your life.
大根を煮た夕飯の子供達の中にいる
Boiled daikon for supper/Sitting among the children.
That's not exactly how I see it.
There is no doubt they were looking for a place where they would be free to practice their religion as they saw fit; but they in no way felt compelled to grant this freedom to others. Once they got here they were as intolerant of other beliefs and practices as Ferdinand and Isabella. Several years ago I spent quite a bit of time looking up the family history—or least those bits i could find. I'm pretty sure a couple of my great grand-fathers were either in witness protection programs, or aliens. But I stray from the topic. If I remember correctly, one of my ancestors that took advantage of the fact that the local tribes had a rather undeveloped Homeland Security Agency was expelled from the town in disgrace because he dared to differ on matters of scripture. Apparently he was free to practice his religion as long as it was exactly the way they said to. Seems oddly familiar.
Anyway, even though it's a holiday based on rampant, if not total, untruths, my wife and I still spend the day enjoying each other's company, and giving thanks that we are blessed with family and friends we probably don't deserve. May you also give thanks for the love in your life.
大根を煮た夕飯の子供達の中にいる
Boiled daikon for supper/Sitting among the children.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Hit that jive, Jack...
I have never been comfortable with slang, and cannot stand jargon in almost all of its forms.
When I was in high school I could not describe something as "fab" or "boss" with the proper élan; and a few years before that I was sure "daddy-0" was a term whose only real function was to make Maynard G Krebs sound funny. Was that cool cat "hip" or "hep"? If I was square was the kid ridiculing me triangular or circular? As far as I could tell the only purpose the words served was to make the speaker sound silly. It was as if they were trying too hard to make a distinction between their generation and their parents' generation.
It only got worse in college. Everything became far out and right on and groovy, unless, of course, it was really heavy or deep. Did I have a jones, or was the man keeping me down? What really happened at a happening, and could you have a be in outside? If I rapped with some freaks and we got into some heavy shit should I take a bath? And, finally, if you had some really righteous weed was it possible to get some that was blasphemous?
I became convinced that with the proper chemical enhancements the purpose of language ceased to be communication, and mutated into something that only needed to sound impressive. The goal was to sound amazingly metaphysical without actually imparting any information, "There is nothing you can do that can't be done," being a prime example. About the best that can be said is that my generation's slang prepared it for such marketing fact-vacuums as "professional grade."
As I see it, the purpose of slang like 'daddy-o' or 'groovy' is to make a distinction between the speaker's group and the rest of the world, and to convey the excitement and joy of being part of that group. We are young. We are inventive. We have broken free of the staleness of You. Our generation is more aware/expressive/happening than the last. This, of course, is nothing new. Just as Socrates complained about the lawless ignorance of the next generation, the youth of Athens probably thought he was two iambs short of a pentameter. As far as I can tell it has been going on ever since our 573,286th great grandparents grunted their parents were really dull sticks.
Jargon's purpose, on the other finger (the difference is small so it's on the same hand), is primarily to exclude. Whatever the group, be it Sherlock Holmes aficionados or stock brokers, they develop an argot that serves to separate Us (those who are in the know and part of the group) from Everyone Else.
Usually it starts as a form of shorthand. A way for textbook buyers, for example, to talk about the number of books they are going to acquire for a particular class. In this case they can say "QTC" instead of "quantity to cover", which is itself shorthand for "the number of books required to fulfill the needs of a particular class." The problem is that approximately thirty seconds after its first use this shorthand becomes a code that tells me if you are also a textbook buyer or just another student or faculty member spouting off.
A second, subtly different, use for jargon is to make the outsider feel small, stupid, impotent, unqualified or all of the above. "How dare you tell me how to do my job when you don't even know what a QTC is," being the typical attitude. The field of medicine has traditionally been the prime example of this behavior, but every group, no matter how small—or perhaps I should say, especially if it is small—is guilty to some extent. I'm sure that the three or four of you who are still reading this have, at some time or another, left a discussion with the IT department or an auto mechanic feeling slightly humiliated and very much enraged because you had just been made to feel like a mentally challenged three year old.
Is there a solution, or is one even needed? The answer to both is probably not. Slang will continue to be invented by those striving to express the excitement, joy, awe or fear they feel in discovering the universe and their place in it; and jargon will always be needed for a group to conduct their business, and will always be twisted to protect the group and exclude outsiders. My answer has been to avoid both as much as possible, but that has led to my having speech and writing styles that tend to make me sound like a fussy, old man.
Perhaps the real answer is, as they say, just to keep on keepin' on.
***********************
A couple footnotes:
My inability to use the adjective "boss" in the mid-sixties without a fair amount of irony might have had some self-evident causes, but I would have had the same problem with "smith" or "carmichael".
Maynard G Krebs was a character on "The Many Loves of Dobby Gillis" played by Bob Denver before he became Gilligan.
何か言いつつ車押し行く夫婦なり
A married couple/Pushing a hand-cart/Saying something to each other.
—Ittou
When I was in high school I could not describe something as "fab" or "boss" with the proper élan; and a few years before that I was sure "daddy-0" was a term whose only real function was to make Maynard G Krebs sound funny. Was that cool cat "hip" or "hep"? If I was square was the kid ridiculing me triangular or circular? As far as I could tell the only purpose the words served was to make the speaker sound silly. It was as if they were trying too hard to make a distinction between their generation and their parents' generation.
It only got worse in college. Everything became far out and right on and groovy, unless, of course, it was really heavy or deep. Did I have a jones, or was the man keeping me down? What really happened at a happening, and could you have a be in outside? If I rapped with some freaks and we got into some heavy shit should I take a bath? And, finally, if you had some really righteous weed was it possible to get some that was blasphemous?
I became convinced that with the proper chemical enhancements the purpose of language ceased to be communication, and mutated into something that only needed to sound impressive. The goal was to sound amazingly metaphysical without actually imparting any information, "There is nothing you can do that can't be done," being a prime example. About the best that can be said is that my generation's slang prepared it for such marketing fact-vacuums as "professional grade."
As I see it, the purpose of slang like 'daddy-o' or 'groovy' is to make a distinction between the speaker's group and the rest of the world, and to convey the excitement and joy of being part of that group. We are young. We are inventive. We have broken free of the staleness of You. Our generation is more aware/expressive/happening than the last. This, of course, is nothing new. Just as Socrates complained about the lawless ignorance of the next generation, the youth of Athens probably thought he was two iambs short of a pentameter. As far as I can tell it has been going on ever since our 573,286th great grandparents grunted their parents were really dull sticks.
Jargon's purpose, on the other finger (the difference is small so it's on the same hand), is primarily to exclude. Whatever the group, be it Sherlock Holmes aficionados or stock brokers, they develop an argot that serves to separate Us (those who are in the know and part of the group) from Everyone Else.
Usually it starts as a form of shorthand. A way for textbook buyers, for example, to talk about the number of books they are going to acquire for a particular class. In this case they can say "QTC" instead of "quantity to cover", which is itself shorthand for "the number of books required to fulfill the needs of a particular class." The problem is that approximately thirty seconds after its first use this shorthand becomes a code that tells me if you are also a textbook buyer or just another student or faculty member spouting off.
A second, subtly different, use for jargon is to make the outsider feel small, stupid, impotent, unqualified or all of the above. "How dare you tell me how to do my job when you don't even know what a QTC is," being the typical attitude. The field of medicine has traditionally been the prime example of this behavior, but every group, no matter how small—or perhaps I should say, especially if it is small—is guilty to some extent. I'm sure that the three or four of you who are still reading this have, at some time or another, left a discussion with the IT department or an auto mechanic feeling slightly humiliated and very much enraged because you had just been made to feel like a mentally challenged three year old.
Is there a solution, or is one even needed? The answer to both is probably not. Slang will continue to be invented by those striving to express the excitement, joy, awe or fear they feel in discovering the universe and their place in it; and jargon will always be needed for a group to conduct their business, and will always be twisted to protect the group and exclude outsiders. My answer has been to avoid both as much as possible, but that has led to my having speech and writing styles that tend to make me sound like a fussy, old man.
Perhaps the real answer is, as they say, just to keep on keepin' on.
***********************
A couple footnotes:
My inability to use the adjective "boss" in the mid-sixties without a fair amount of irony might have had some self-evident causes, but I would have had the same problem with "smith" or "carmichael".
Maynard G Krebs was a character on "The Many Loves of Dobby Gillis" played by Bob Denver before he became Gilligan.
何か言いつつ車押し行く夫婦なり
A married couple/Pushing a hand-cart/Saying something to each other.
—Ittou
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