Perspective

First, before we go any further, let us assure the Nation that Rush Limbaugh is apparently OK. He was rushed to a Honolulu hospital after suffering chest pains. Maybe the proximity of President Obama was too much for him. At any rate, we can all pray that New Year's Eve will not become an official National Day of Mourning for our country's brightest light.

In case you can't tell, we're being sarcastic.

But this is not what's on our mind today. Rather, we feel the time has come to put in our two cents on the whole Northwest Airlines near-bombing. In case you've slept through the last week--or in case you're reading this at some point in the (eerie voice) fuuuuuu-tuuuuure--we are speaking of the attempted bombing of an airliner on Christmas as it was approaching the Detroit airport--as if Detroit didn't have enough problems. Quick action by passengers and crew prevented the would-be suicide bomber from detonating his chemical cocktail, and the plane landed safely.

Since then, we have been subjected to a steady stream of back-and-forth finger-pointing. Republicans pounced on Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano after her infelicitously phrased comment on a Sunday morning talk show about how the security system "worked." She subsequently clarified that she meant the response system worked AFTER the attempt was made, but it was too late to avoid the inevitable political backlash. Other Republicans chastised President Obama for taking two full days to make a public statement about the near attack.

Democrats have not refrained from partisan bickering either. They've pointed out that the failing system was developed under the auspices of George W. Bush and that the Transportation Security Administration lacks a Director because Republicans are holding up the confirmation of President Obama's nominee (Obaminee?).

Let's put things in perspective.

The bomber, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, came to the attention of the United States in November because his father, a prominent Nigerian banker, was worried about his son's suspicious behavior. Subsequently, he was placed on a watch list of approximately 550,000 people who have "possible ties" to terrorism. Had his case been reviewed more thoroughly, he might have been placed on a list of people who require additional screening before being allowed on airplanes (14,000 people) or on the official "no-fly" list (4,000 people).

Now, we can fault the system all we want, but the fact remains that the system worked pretty much as it was supposed to. After all, we don't hear about how many of those 550,000--or even 14,000--people have been investigated and either (a) found to pose no threat or (b) thwarted from attempting some terrorist attack. Even more frightening is the thought that the only reason Abdulmutallab was on the broader list is that his father became concerned enough to contact the United States. Considering that the potential bomber had made no specific or overt threats, it's a minor miracle that he even made the list of 550,000. (As one security official said, "You had a young man who was becoming increasingly pious and was turning his back on his family's wealthy lifestyle. That alone makes him neither St. Francis nor a deadeyed killer." ["Spy Agencies Failed to Collate Clues on Terror"])

During the Bush years, the administration often made statements to the effect that numerous terrorist attacks had been foiled and hundreds of lives saved due to the diligence of the nation's security personnel. The administration was then accused of fearmongering. Now, far be it from the Solipsist to say anything positive about the Bush years, but the fact remains that after 9/11 there were no major terrorist attacks on American soil--and we find it difficult to believe that Al-Qaeda just decided to pack it in and wait for Obama.

Terrorism and its prevention are not partisan issues. Neither Republicans nor Democrats want to see Americans--or anybody else--killed by suicide bombers. When an attack happens, it will not be the fault of the Bush administration or the Obama administration: It will be the fault of both. Or neither.

The sad truth is that we will very likely see another terrorist attack on US soil. No matter how strong the prevention measures are, they won't be perfect. And even if a system works, say, 549,999 times out of 550,000 (99.998%), that one failure could be catastrophic. All we can do--all we should do--is learn the lessons as they are taught and try to do better next time.

There We Were, Just A-Walkin' Down the Street

Yes, we're talking about Facebook again.

Funny story, true story. Facebook has this function--we think the kids call it an "app"--that lets you analyze your "Status Updates." These are the often zen-like one-liners people post to let other people know what they're thinking about--"What's on your mind," in the Facebook argot. So this particular app, "Topwords," analyzes one's status statements (statusments?) for the year and reveals the most commonly used words.

Now, at this point, we would like to mention that the Solipsist--in the interest of trying to be interesting--has a semi-regular practice for composing statusments: He picks a line from whatever the last song he hears on the radio happens to be. As he most commonly listens to a classic/eclectic rock station, he can usually find something postworthy.

At any rate, one day, this song happened to be "Tom's Diner"--that Suzanne Vega song where she just kind of rambles rhythmically about sitting in a coffee shop. Another day, it was "Walk on the Wild Side." As a result, our "Topword" for statusments?

"Doo."

What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been

"Blogging is the democratization of narcissism."

So wrote the Solipsist in his first posting, one year ago today. We were so young. We even referred to ourselves with a lower-case 'S'! Now, one first-person-plural-filled year later, we are an institution. Fourteen followers on Blogger! Eighteen more on Facebook! And comments, comments, comments galore!

(All right, look, Nation, we're still not getting as many comments on a day-to-day basis as Honeypiehorse, so we want you to get on that. Not that it's a competition. At least, not until we take the lead.)

So what has this year brought? Well, the economy is rebounding, a groundswell of democracy is forming in Iran, and the New York Jets control their own playoff destiny. Much as we are loath to toot our own horn, BEEP BEEP.

You're welcome.

In the year(s) ahead, we vow to continue our commentary on the day's events to help Solipsist Nation make sense of this crazy wonderland we call the world. We'll strive to bring you the important stories that you may otherwise miss, like this tidbit from upstate New York, where a retired stripper is teaching army wives the basics of burlesque ("To Keep Home Fires Burning, Grab That Boa"). Thank God! Because our soldiers are no doubt so focused on the mission that their wives must do everything they can to stimulate their husbands' amorous attentions!

Where would you all be without us?

Here's to Year Two!

A Brief Post, in Which We Attempt to Get the Goat of ACOS

A few weeks ago, for reasons that are by now painfully apparent, Tiger Woods announced he was taking an "indefinite leave of absence" from golf.

Over the weekend, Urban Meyer announced that he was resigning as head coach of the University of Florida football program for health reasons. He subsequently rescinded the resignation, stating that he was simply going to take an "indefinite leave of absence" from his coaching duties.

Is there something about the air in Florida that makes its sports figures prone to needing a little extra nappy time?

That would go a long way towards explaining the Dolphins, Panthers, and Lightning.

All About the Benjamins

The most interesting article in today's paper dealt with "terminal sedation," basically putting end-stage patients to sleep so they can just slip painlessly away ("Hard Choice for a Comfortable Death: Sedation"). Derided by critics as "slow euthanasia," terminal sedation straddles the ethical line between "do no harm" and "stop needless suffering."

Speaking as someone who very often has no particular desire to get out of bed, we can see the appeal. Still, this is a rather glum topic, and we so want to be upbeat and perky as the year draws to a close.

One thing has been bothering us lately: a seemingly inoccuous commercial for (we think) Direct TV--or is it DirecTV? Or DirectTV? Damn corporate cutesiness! We were hoping to find a clip or image to paste here, but to no avail--maybe it's more disturbing than we think! Too disturbing for YouTube? Now THAT's saying something!

At any rate, the gist of the commercial is that you can save money by switching to DirecTV--or maybe it's Comcast, it doesn't matter. To illustrate this savings, we are shown a man welcoming people to his house, ostensibly to watch something on DirecTV. Perhaps it's the big game or the season premiere of "Dancing with the Biggest Loser"--again, it doesn't matter.

You can see we're temporizing here--scared to reveal the Horror. OK. Deep breath.

What happens is, as the guests enter the house, their heads are morphed into Benjamin Franklin's face as it appears on a $100 bill.

See?

You don't see, do you? You're probably thinking, "Well, sure, Benjamin Franklin may have been a syphilitic womanizer with a thing for kites and turkeys, but, really Solipsist, that's hardly anything to be scared of. And the man invented bifocals! Get a grip! It's not like they're turning into Alexander Hamilton!"

Here's the thing, though: The FIRST guest to enter the house is a guy. No problem. But the next three guests are shapely women whose visages we barely see before they are transfranklified! We then watch as curvy hips sashay through the door--curvy hips and ample bosoms crowned with the visage of Poor Richard himself!

We think we have become sexually attracted to Benjamin Franklin.

2010 is looking bleak.

Plinky Lets Us Down

"What foods taste better as leftovers?"

Finding ourselves uninspired, we turned to Plinky for help, and this is what we founnd.

Sigh.

For those of you who don't know, the traditional Jewish yuletide feast consists of Chinese take-out. Nothing says Christmas like General Tso's chicken and won ton soup.

When we lived in New York, a short-lived but enjoyable Christmas tradition consisted of a movie and then a trip to our former boss's Christmas party. It never ceased to impress us how packed the movie theaters were on December 25. Yesterday, FOS indulged in the tradition by taking in "Avatar." We are sufficiently jealous.

We're not sure how easy it would be to replicate the tradition in northern California. Plenty of movie theaters, of course, but not quite so many Chinese take-out joints--and none in the New York City mold. You need to get the food just right: dripping in grease, served in leaky cardboard containers, inedible fortune cookies (OK, that's a redundancy). Out here, all the Chinese restaurants are basically. . . restaurants--sure you can GET take-out, but the quality level is slightly higher than one desires.

The closest thing we have to the New York style greasy wok is Panda Express--kind of the McDonald's of Chinese food. Their oily eggrolls do provide us with somewhat Proustian moments, but it's not quite Christmas of old.

Did we answer the question? No?

OK, macaroni and cheese.

And So This Is Christmas. . .

. . . and what have we done? Well, not much. We went over to the in-laws and had turkey and opened presents. The Solipsist got just what he wanted: an assortment of tube socks and a membership in the jerky-of-the-month club. In the spirit of the holiday, though, we would like to begin a new Christmas tradition by virtualizing an old one--at least, an old one in the Solipsist family.

Every year, DOS composes a Christmas "fable" and sends it out to a select--we hesitate to say "lucky"--few. Now, with the technology available to us, we share this year's fable with the world. Merry Christmas! And, we're sorry!

"A FABLE FOR THE TABLE OF EVERY TOM, DICK OR MABEL"

Fellman Fernquist had not left the house, except for brief walks around the block, in 30 years. It seems that 30 years ago, on October 19th at 7:00 pm to be exact, he had watched a commercial for "Sneezego," a new cold medicine. The commercial ended with the caution: "Until you know how Sneezego affects you, you should not drive or operate heavy machinery!" Since Fellman had never taken Sneezego, he did not know how Sneezego affects him. Moreover, since Sneezego was soon removed from the market (due to an unfortunate side effect that caused nostrils to fall off), Fellman could never know how Sneezego affected him. Thus, he could never drive or operate heavy machinery. Thus, he was confined to areas he could walk to unless he could get a ride from someone else. . . but only from someone who knew how Sneezego affected them! Since he knew no such persons, Fellman's life became a dismal series of days at home which lasted for, as noted above, 30 years. . . so far!

How, you might ask, did he survive? And well you might ask that!

Go ahead.

Ask!

I'm waiting. . . .

We're all waiting!

WELLLL?!?

Ah, that's better!

Funny you should ask.

As it turns out, Fellman survived, nay, thrived, by being an on-line gift consultant specializing in books, DVDs, CDs, etc.

How it worked was: A client would email the specifications of a potential giftee and Fellman would tell said client what the best gift for said giftee would be.

Obviously, the Christmas season was Fellman's busiest time of year. (See how we worked that in?)

That being the case, we herewith reprint the best of Fellman's suggestions so that you, dear reader, should you have a problem giftee similar to those below, will benefit as well. In the interests of saving both time, space, and typing, I will not copy the whole request; merely will I list the TYPE of giftee (or perhaps I will type a LIST of giftee) and Fellman's suggestion:

Ready?

We begin!

FOR THE PERSON WHO:

--Wants to read an epic biography of Herman Windt, the man who, while serving time in a southern prison, actually carved out of soap the pistol that John Dillinger used to make his escape from that very same prison, we offer the massive

Gun Wittler Windt

--Loves musicals about Jews kvetching, in the style of Dennis Miller, the DVD of

Rent

--Loves Shakespearean plays about people without Barbie dolls who slurp their food, a first edition of

Toyless and Crass Eaters

--Wants to learn how to take measurements of more than three pieces of dough to be used as sacrifices to a pagan deity, the book

Weighing Four God-Doughs

--Wants to learn about the tragic outcome of the test run of computerized communists that killed so many people

Beta Reds, Then Dead

--Wants to read the tell-all biography of Sebastian Nostril, who lived his life as nothing more than a huge nasal cavity

"No Body Nose": The Troubles I've Seen

--Likes children's literature about ape-like golfers and photos taken by people named Blo

Hairy Putters and the Half Blonde Prints

--Can't tell the difference between snakes and heavy machinery used to move Italian sandwiches around, the Barchart Quick Study Guide

Adders and Sub Tractors

--Wants tales of knights who earn their living amidst the early morning moisture, the CD soundtrack of

The Pro Dew Sirs

--The epic film about Yelmachin Turnblatt, the wealthy cockney with a speech impediment who wandered throughout the world giving away motor vehicles

'Ave a tar

--And, finally, the sad, but ultimately triumphant story of Hugh Montenegro, a boy who was severed in twain at an early age but finally learned that the people who work in funeral homes could help him,

Half Hugh Heard about the Morgue Hands

Any and all of these are available, not only to Fellman's clients, but to each and every one of you at Yellmungiplotz.com.

Order them now!

Merry Christmas and, because the hearing implements on a wildebeest are good luck, a happy gnu's ear!

In Which We Alienate a Friend of a Friend

"The people who are guilty of treason are Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Barney Frank, Charles Schumer and the rest of the thugs that are currently in power. They are the ones who have no regard for the Constitution. George Bush was and is a patriot. Obama is not fit to tie his shoes."

The rantings of a redneck survivalist hiding out somewhere in the Appalachians? Afraid not. The above is a direct quote from a Facebook "wall post" of a friend of FOS (and acquaintance of YNSHC). The truly disappointing--and scary--fact is that said FOFOS is an educated man--a LAWYER, no less!

We could dismiss his rantings as unworthy of response, but that would be a copout. So:

"They are the ones who have no regard for the Constitution." As this is a recent post, we assume FOFOS is referring to the Senate passage of the health-care reform bill. We are unsure how the passage of major legislation by duly elected representatives after months of debate (during which almost the entirety of the "loyal" opposition saw fit to offer nothing but contemptuous lip service to the idea of bipartisan compromise) is a sign of disregard for the Constitution. Considering the fact that the main Republican objection to healthcare reform centered on the "public option"--OPTION, mind you, not "requirement"--and that said public option is absent from the final legislation (thank you, Joe Lieberman for proving that Jews can be as obtuse as anybody else, in case any of you were worrying about our plans for world domination)--considering all this, we fail to see exactly what these right-wing bomb throwers are so incensed about.

"George Bush was and is a patriot." If by "patriot," you mean one who "loves his country," maybe: We have no idea what is in George Bush's heart and would almost like to think his actions the result of a misguided, empty-headed, but well-intentioned wish to do what is right for the country. That would mean we didn't spend the first eight years of the 21st century under the leadership of a fanatical warmonger and his plainly evil cabal. We doubt that, though.

As long as we're discussing extra-constitutionality, we might--might--offer in evidence of Bush's own misdeeds a multi-trillion dollar war launched under false pretenses. And if FOFOS is still under the impression that Saddam had WMD or anything to do with 9/11, then we implore his clients to seek counsel from someone who reads the papers.

We also wonder how FOFOS feels about President Obama's recent decision to send more troops to Afghanistan. That should at least offer some comfort to the militaristic wing of the country. Or is it only constitutional for a president to attack countries that never attacked us?

We close by assuring FOFOS that, if he is right, and Obama and his cronies have violated the Constitution, it is only a matter of time before the various pieces of legislation come before the Supreme Court, which, despite Obama's successful machinations to slip a subversive female onto the bench (Sotomayor. . . doesn't exactly sound 'murrican to us!), still finds itself under the sway of the Roberts-Scalia-Thomas-Alito gang. Perhaps FOFOS can argue the case.

Ah, now we're in the Christmas spirit!

Typo Negative

How people deal with typos in instant messaging (IM) says something their character. What it says, we're not sure. But something.

Are you the type of person who , when IMing just lets it gly and assumes that yuour ingerloocutor will get the giust of what you'tre saying regardless of any67 unflortruabnet mistakes?

Or are you the type who feels the need to produce clean copy at all times, even if it leads to moments like this:


----the type who geels the need--

Damn it!

BACKSPACEBACKSPACEBACKSPACE. . . . .

--the type who geels the need--

DAMN IT!

BACKSPACEBACKSPACEBACKSPACE. . . . .

--the type who geels the need--

ARRRRRRGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you use "backspace" more than the spacebar?

We, obviously, are in the latter camp. A side effect of our profession, perhaps. We demand--not perfection from our students, obviously--but conscientiousness. And typos suggest a lack of care. In the olden days of manual typewriters, one could overlook teh occasional typo. We could hardly expect people to take time to scratch out every mistake or kill countless trees in the pursuit of paper perfection. But if all it takes to produce the illusion of flawlessness is careful proofreading and a handful of keystrokes, then there's really no excuse.

In the last paragraph, we intentionally used "teh," which we understand is something of an ironic buzzword. People deliberately transpose the letters that are so often transposed accidentally by way--we guess--of postmodern commentary on the act of producing digital text. A question arises: How do we know if the typer of "teh" is being ironic or merely careless? And should we assume that every "the" is merely a mistyped piece of satire?

In our classes, we make a point of telling students that, if ever we misspell something on the board, it is actually a test of their powers of observation. We think they've fallen for it.

Or should we say, they've fallen for ti?

We Can Quit Any Time We Want To

No, this is not an ultimatum to Solipsist Nation inspired by yesterday's sick day. Thank you all for your well wishes and concerns--all TWO of you. We see who our true loyalists are: Catswing and Anonymous. (For her reward, Catswing gets a hyperlink to her blog; for Anonymous, recognition as a Solipsist loyalist--a Soloyalist, if you will--is its own reward.) We're feeling better, today. We really needed the day more for mental health reasons than physical ones. (Maybe we needed more time?)

Where were we? Ah, yes, today's post.

We read yesterday about the lengths to which teenage girls (boys, too? The article was vague) go to break their addiction to Facebook. ("To Deal with Obsession, Some Defriend Facebook") Apparently, overuse of the social-networking site causes young people to neglect their studies, fall behind in their college applications, and lose touch with the real world.

Kids!

Seriously, though, we applaud these youngsters for taking the first step and admitting they have a problem. Some have gone so far as to admit their powerlessness in the face of their addiction and turn themselves over to a higher power--i.e., parents, who take control of the users' accounts and hide the passwords. Some have even gone so far as to disconnect their internet. (But then how do they read The Solipsist?)

The big question we have is, what the hell do these kids need Facebook for so badly?

We admit we love FB, too. But for us, FB does fulfill a "need"--the need to stay in touch with people we would otherwise--because of distance, time constraints, or sheer dislike (we're talking about you, MP)--not be in touch with. Our modest collection of 30-odd friends (and another 30 who are not so odd) consists of several categories, the largest of which (23.1%) is old college friends. "Current friends and colleagues" make up only 15.4% of the total, a clear minority. The other categories and percentages are as follows:

Theater people: 18.5%
Former colleagues: 13.8%
Family: 13.8%
Writers Dock Party: 9.2%
Miscellaneous: 4.6% (That's you, Terry)

Also, a solid 1.5% of our friends are people who SWEAR we know them, but of whom we have no particular memory (and we'll say no more about that--if only to make everybody wonder if we're talking about THEM). (OK, it's Erin.)

What we're getting at here is that most of these folks are not people we would have the opportunity to communicate with or see regularly. It was a thrill to reconnect with some of these folks. But for teenagers? They see each other every day. Who have they LOST contact with? If they really want to hang out with each other, can't they do it in "Meatspace" (thanks FOS for that descriptor)?

If they did, they could also experience some REAL addictions. Or have drugs and alcohol gone out of style?

Sick Day

The Solipsist is a bit under the weather today. We'll see you all tomorrow.

Bits and Pieces

We have a new favorite animal: the zonkey, a zebra-donkey hybrid, on view now in the Gaza Zoo.

Well, OK, not really a "hybrid."

Actually, the zoo's two zebras died recently, so, finding it too expensive to replace them, zookeepers did the next best thing: They dyed their donkeys.

This kind of cutting-edge thinking may prove to be the salvation of cash-strapped zoo administrators everywhere. Can't afford peacocks? Staple crepe paper to some chickens. The strategic application of papier-mache can turn large dogs into rhinoceri, elephants, and any number of horned or antlered creatures. Duct-tape and spray-paint can transform cats into sea lions. The possibilities are endless.

Speaking of horses--or at least donkeys--of a different color, we watched parts of "The Wizard of Oz" last night. We were struck by Dorothy's despair upon her apparent abandonment by the Wizard. Despite earnest invitations from the Scarecrow, et al., to remain in Oz, she emphatically restates her desire to go home.

We just wondered: Why?

Look, put your arms out. In one hand, "place" Oz: In the other, place Depression-era Kansas. Yellow brick vs. Dusty dirt. The Lollipop Guild vs. The WPA.

Is there really a contest? In Oz, you don't even have to worry about wicked witchery, both its practitioners having met their doom. You could live happily in the presumably benign-if-pyrophobic dictatorship of the newly-appointed Scarecrow. Why would you want to leave?

Just because there's no place like home doesn't mean you should really want to live there.

A Brief Post, for Which We Are Likely to Receive Flak from the Distaff Side

Overheard on a commercial the other evening:

"1 out of 4 women have difficulty reading a home-pregnancy test."

Are they written in Sanskrit?

Copenhagen Dreamin'

So President Obama and other world leaders have reached a "meaningful" accord on climate change. We confess we've given only a cursory glance at the initial article from the Times, but we're skeptical about how "meaningful" the accord is. To quote Inigo Montoya, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Consider what did NOT make it into the final agreement: "a collective agreement among nations to reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 50 percent by 2050"; "language calling for a binding accord 'as soon as possible.'" Think about that latter excision: People can't even agree that they should come to an agreement! Is it any wonder we're skeptical?

At the risk of sounding pessimistic--you know we always try to be a beacon of sunshine and optimism--we can't shake the thought that it's way too late to turn down the thermostat--at least through international treaties and negotiations. We do think it's possible to reverse global warming, but it's ultimately going to be done by individual nations acting in their own interest. Whether that will be good or bad, though, is an open question.

An interesting article in The Atlantic discussed some of the more radical propositions for cooling the planet, primarily by blocking the sun's rays ("Re-Engineering the Earth"). Zeppelins that spew sulfur dioxide into the upper atmosphere! Ships constantly churning seawater into the air, creating extra clouds and effectively "painting the sky white"! Electromagnetic guns aimed at the midpoint between the earth and sun fire ceramic frisbees into space, creating a galactic sunscreen and plunging the earth into a semi-permanent state of eclipse!

These are real proposals.

The frisbee sunscreen would cost several trillion dollars. But what's most interesting--and frightening--about the other proposals is their relative cheapness. As Hillary Clinton pledges hundreds of billions of dollars to developing nations to help them go green--on top of however many billions (trillions?) of dollars the US would have to devote to its own environmental efforts--these and other climate "fixes" could be implemented for a fraction of the costs. The seawater project mentioned above would cost about $600 million dollars to start up and about $100 million a year to maintain; a fleet of sulfur-spewing zeppelins would incur similar costs.

Sure, this isn't pocket change, but to put it in perspective, this means that Bill Gates could, if he wanted, single-handedly stop global warming. No? OK, Steve Jobs, then. Whoever. The point is, one person or small group of people could decide to take matters into their own hands and save the planet. And while this idea has a certain appeal--if things get really, really desperate, the problem can be solved--the law of unintended consequences looms menacingly. Because even if these quick fixes work as expected, there's no telling what may happen next. If those sulfur zeppelins stop working, the result would not be global warming--global parboiling is more like it.

Ultimately, the best argument for collective action--and, again, we're skeptical it can be achieved--is not that something needs to be done, but that something will be done. We need to make sure it's responsible people that are doing it.

By the way, for the opinions of a more well-informed environmentalist, check out "Our Feet Are the Same." It's a good read.

Doing Well by Having Fun II

Rather than discussing the student we spent about an hour with today explaining why, since he hadn't done more than half the work for the class, he was receiving a failing grade--rather than discussing that, we say, we thought we'd share another winning student essay with Solipsist Nation.

(Digression: On TV right now is "Psycho IV: The Beginning." Parse that title, if you will. EOD)

The topic was "Think about a specific goal that you hope to accomplish. Discuss some of the steps you think you will need to take to accomplish that goal." Generally, the responses run a predictable gamut: get a college diploma, play in the NBA/NFL, become a nurse, blah blah blah, yawwwwwwwnnnnn! Imagine our delight, then, when we read the following (we paraphrase, but assure the Nation we are not taking liberties with the student's content):

"Ever since I was eight years old, I have had a goal: to pose for Playboy magazine."

Did we need to read more? She had us at Playboy. Being a conscientious teacher, though, YNSHC soldiered on.

What became immediately apparent was the girl's sincerity. She's obviously given this a great deal of thought. The steps she described were logical enough: To exercise and keep herself in good shape (obviously); to practice her interviewing technique because "Playboy doesn't want any airheads"; and to develop her self-confidence because "it could be intimidating being in a room with 40 naked women."

Speak for yourself.

At any rate, despite its outre nature, this was clearly a passing essay. The proverbial cherry on top, though, came with the grading. Recall that these essays are read by two instructors. The Solipsist read the essay first, passed it, and then handed it off to another instructor. The second instructor agreed that it was, overall, a good essay, although she thought the paragraphs could use more detail. That's not what she wrote on the feedback sheet, though. She wrote, with no pun intended (we know this instructor--there was no pun intended):

"Overall, this essay is good, but your body needs more development."

Snort!

Doing Well by Having Fun

We've spent considerable time kvetching about the shortcomings of our writing students, but we don't want you to get the impression that it's all bad. Indeed, every once in a while, we're treated to something delightful.

During this last round of exams, one of the writing topics students could choose was to discuss the positive or negative elements of a job or a task. Shortly after the exam began, one of our better students asked us if he could ask us how to spell a word. We said sure.

(Digression: We're not one of those teachers that tells students to "look it up." For one thing, if a student is unsure how to spell something, how easy will it be to look it up? For another, what's the fundamental difference between consulting a dictionary and asking a teacher? Either way, you are making effective use of educational resources. EOD)

The word he needed help spelling was "Vatican." We gave him a quizzical look. "As in, the place where the Pope lives?" Yes. We spelled it for him and considered asking what the hell he was writing about, but decided against it.

About an hour later, he came up to our desk. "Mr. S., I'm not sure if you can answer this. . . but I'm worried that I'm not doing the essay right."

We couldn't give much assistance--this being a test and all--but we asked what he meant. "Well, I think my essay is kind of turning into a story." Now, you should understand that, in this writing class, we teach a real paint-by-numbers, fill-in-the-blanks kind of essay writing technique. We focus only on illustration essays--make a statement, provide examples to illustrate that statement. In other words, we don't teach students to write narrative essays, and we try to provide writing prompts that lend themselves to illustrative expository writing.

We explained to the student that it's certainly possible to write an essay in a story format, but we wanted the student to make sure that he had all the "requirements": Does your essay have a thesis statement like we discussed in class? Yes. OK, do you have at least three body paragraphs? Yes. Does each of those body paragraphs have a topic sentence that relates back to your thesis statement? Yes. Do you give details to illustrate those topic sentences? Yes. In that case, we assured him, it should be OK. He went back to his writing.

Later that day, but before we had begun grading the essays, we saw this student in the library. We had to know! What, exactly were you writing about?

"Oh, I was writing about the negative elements of a job."

What job?

"Well, it's OK to make stuff up, right?"

Yes. What job?

"I wrote about a time I had to sneak into Russia to steal a bottle of Holy Vodka for the Pope."

Huh. . . . And, the negative elements?

"Lousy room service at the Vatican, having to fight my way through a bunch of demonic strippers who were protecting the vodka, and then not even being thanked by the Pope. Am I gonna get in trouble for this?"

We reminded the student that the essays were always read by two instructors, and you could never be completely sure how a reader would react. . . . For our money, though, we thought he might just have written the best in-class essay we would ever read.

By the way, he passed with flying colors.

Blah (A Brief Post)

Can it be a coincidence that the affliction "Seasonal Affective Disorder" acronymizes as "SAD"? Seems to be quite a bit of it going around these days. Our FFB Emi Ha is under duress. Anonymous is curmudgeonly (in fairness, though, there's nothing seasonal about that). And even we feel a certain malaise.

Do the holidays get us down? Not especially. We care very little one way or another about the holidays. We're celebrators of Festivus if of anything at all--the cynical, non-holiday pretty much sums up our attitude.

We think the malaise springs more from a constant chill--not cold, exactly: Cold would be preferable. You can bundle up against cold. You can't really bundle up against generalized chilliness. And that chilliness gets down deep into the bones.

Stay warm, Solipsist Nation.

To Intentionally Offend (Part II)

(CAUTION: If this is your first visit to The Solipsist. . . where the hell have you been?!? At any rate, welcome, but be sure to read yesterday's post first, or you'll be hopelessly lost.)

As for the intriguing but disingenuous, some say splitting the infinitive confuses readers by describing the manner in which something is done before describing the done-thing itself. Thus, for example, if President Obama declares that it is the government's intention "to quickly divest" itself of any ownership stake in General Motors, a reader might conceivably be brought up short, wondering what President Obama could be doing "quickly" before being enlightened by the next word.

Now, we are in favor of anything that makes reading smoother--clarity is job one. But do proponents of this argument truly believe that anyone is confused by this? Perhaps a four-year-old just learning to decode letters might be put off, but for most readers, who do not sound out one word at a time, any conceivable confusion will be subconscious and momentary. Experienced readers--who despite prescriptivists' best efforts are commonly exposed to split infinitives--know to simply move off of the adverb to find out what is being done. (See what we did there?)

The complaint seems to be that splitting the infinitive puts added emphasis on the adverb. To which we say, precisely! As Sloppist Susan Ruda commented yesterday, "I am frequently guilty of using the split infinitive [which] emphasizes the meaning of an adverb within a sentence. That usage is acceptable. I find in proofing my written work that I too often split an infinitive when that emphasis is unwarranted." In other words, it's a matter of style: If you want to emphasize the adverb, do it--split away! If not, don't.

What makes this quibble especially disingenuous is that the purist complains that splitting the infinitive--"to quickly divest"--places undue emphasis on the adverb at the expense of the verb; however, this same purist would presumably have no problem with the phrasing "quickly to divest" which places even greater emphasis on the adverb even earlier in the sentence.

Another factor to consider when debating whether to split the infinitive is mellifluousness: When does it just sound better? In fact, we think that this is the primary reason for the classic Kirkism "to boldly go." Consider the phrase in its entirety:

"To boldly go where no man has gone before"

Certainly, there would have been nothing wrong with "boldly to go" or "to go boldly." But check this out:

First, humor the Solipsist: Change "no man" to "none." We hope you will agree that this maintains the meaning and even avoids the taint of sexism that was subsequently remedied by "no one." At any rate, the emphasis in the original falls strongly on "no," so we think this is acceptable. Now, read it out loud:

"To boldly go where none has gone before."

You know what you've got there? Iambic pentameter. The rhythm of Shakespeare. And if splitting an infinitive gives a writer a touch of the Bard, we hope that they will choose to freely split.

To Intentionally Offend

And now, because we can't think of anything better to do, our long-awaited commentary on split infinitives.

First, in case you don't know, an "infinitive" is a verb in its "pure" state--verb qua verb, if you will. In English, the infinitive is formed by placing the preposition "to" in front of the base form of the verb, e.g., "to be," "to dance," "to sing," "to laugh," "to love," etc. An infinitive is action or state of being unbounded by time or place--unlimited by subject.

Of course, infinitives are of limited usefulness. After all, when we think of actions, we usually think about them being done by someone (or something) at a particular time. Thus, we conjugate verbs to link them to subjects and place the action they describe in the present, past or future. In other words, a conjugated verb loses its "infinite" quality.

Now, a "split infinitive" is an "error" that occurs when one places an adverb between the preposition ("to") and the verb. Perhaps the most famous split infinitive of all time is Captain Kirk's--and later Captain Picard's--description of the Enterprise's mission: "to boldly go where no man/one has gone before."

You may reasonably ask, "Well, what's wrong with that?" The answer depends on whether you adopt a descriptivist or prescriptivist approach to grammar. Descriptivists, who as their name implies "describe" the way language works, would say there is nothing wrong with split infinitives. Prescriptivists, who prescribe rules, say split infinitives are signs of ignorance (at best) or the apocalypse (at worst). But astute members of Solipsist Nation will still ask, "Why?" Whence sprang this prescriptivist antipathy toward the humble split infinitive?

We have heard two rationales--one inane; the other intriguing, but disingenuous.

The inane: Grammarians back in the day observed that English adopted much of its language--particularly its vocabulary--from Latin. Furthermore, these lovers of language considered Latin a superior language: the language of culture, knowledge, classicism. Since Latin and other Romance languages (Spanish, French, Italian, etc.) have no split inifinitives--nor for that matter does English's closer relative, German--then split infinitives must have no placen in English.

What makes this argument inane is that Romance languages have no split infinitives because they can't: Infinitives in these languages are single words. The Spanish word "hablar," for example, translates as "to speak" in English. There's nowhere to stick an adverb ("habienblar"?). Basing modern conventions on the limitations of previous eras and foreign places, seems ill-advised. The Romans didn't have flush toilets or television, either.

TOMORROW: The disingenous. Plus: When to properly use split inifinitives (hint, that ain't it!)

Unfortunate Alliteration and Irrational Irritation (and Acceptable Assonance)

Urge to kill. . . rising! We can't help it. Every time we see these "people" lurking outside of banks and supermarkets, we just want to punch them in the face--especially when they have the effrontery to speak to us! Seriously, can't we shop for our milk and Twinkies in peace! Must we put up with this harrassment?

We are speaking, of course, of people who hand out free copies of the local newspaper in front of Lucky.

We don't understand it either--our reaction, that is. If a homeless person panhandles spare change, we don't get upset. We feel sympathy. We don't actually give anything, but we feel sympathy. When someone offers us a free newspaper, though, we swallow hard against the urge to garotte.

(Digression: WOS says, "I give panhandlers money!" No, Sweetie, we're talking about those people who hand out newspapers. "Oh, yeah, I want to kill them, too." EOD)

Are we enraged at the insinuation that we can't afford to buy a newspaper? Offended by the idea that, when looking at us, these people see not a reader of the New York Times but a potential subscriber to the Podunk Pennysaver? Maybe it's just an atavistic response triggered by inherent New Yorkerdom: We become uneasy in the presence of people attempting to make human contact.

Whatever the reason, paper-hawkers beware! You have been warned!

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Consider these two phrases:

"headstrong financial risk-taking without sufficient governmental regulation"

"reckless risk-taking unrestrained by regulation"

In many ways, the second version is superior: It's more concise, obviously. And, in fact, the second version appears in today's Times ("House Approves Tougher Rules on Wall Street").

We're bothered nonetheless by the latter's alliteration. You may remember from high-school English that alliteration is a rhetorical device wherein a sound is repeated across a series of words. Specifically, this phrase employs "consonance," alliteration of a consonant sound (in this case 'r'). Repetition of a vowel sound--as in the title of today's post--is assonance.

(Digression: We're certain that "Anonymous" will interject some quibble. To forestall: we've checked. EOD)


So what's wrong with alliteration? Nothing in and of itself. Indeed, the reporter, Carl Hulse (or at any rate his editor), utilizes it in other places: "underlying Causes of the Collapse"; "Future Bailouts of Failing Businesses"--the latter a nice example of parallelism as well. Problems arise, though, when a rhetorical device draws such attention to itself that it becomes obtrusive and distracts from the story--the most important element of a news article. This might be acceptable in a piece of creative writing, but it is out of place in a front-page item.

So says the Solipsist.

'F' for (Lack of) eFfort

'E' for effort. We've never cared for that phrase. We associate it with Rabbi S., our high-strung fifth-grade Yeshiva teacher. Any time someone would fail to achieve his (we were all boys) potential on a weekly Talmud or Hebrew grammar quiz, Rabbi S. would froth about the appalling lack of effort. We imagined the rebbe quaking over-caffeinatedly at his breakfast table, envisioning the lack of effort he was bound to confront that day.

Now a teacher, however, we appreciate his angst.

Recall our post from earlier this week, wherein we spoke of the final essay exam we administer in our class. Recall, also, that there is an official make-up exam--a second chance for those who failed or missed the exam the first time. The make-up exam was today.

The exam began promptly at 9:00, and students had three hours to compose a standard five-paragraph essay. YNSHC proctored the exam. At 9:15, one of our own students entered the classroom. A little late, sure, but not too bad: She still had two hours and forty-five minutes to write her essay. She began writing. Awhile later, she handed the essay in.

Well, maybe not "later": She handed in her essay at 9:41.

26 minutes.

Now, of course, SOME people could write a passing essay in 26 minutes. The Solipsist, for example, could pull it off. Of course, the Solipsist has two masters' degrees, has been writing for over twenty years and--oh, yes--teaches the class! He is, to be blunt, an exponentially better writer than any of the students sitting before him in the exam room. And, frankly, even he would have some difficulty writing the essay in 26 minutes.

We implored our student:

"Shorty"--her nom de nick--"are you sure you want to hand this in already?"

"Yeah, I'm done."

"But you've only been writing for 25 minutes."

"I know, but I did everything you told me to do. Can you read it?"

"No. If you hand it in, that's it. You can't redo it if I don't like it."

"Well, I did everything. I have an introduction, a thesis statement, paragraphs and a conclusion."

"OK, but is it the best work you can do? You have over two hours left to work on it."

"I know, but I think it's fine."

"You realize your whole grade depends on this?"

"I know."

"OK."

And she left. And guess what? Surprisingly enough, she actually FAILED!

Shorty is no anomaly. Every semester, we practically beg our students to take their time on this exam, to do the best they can. And every semester, a handful of students write for 20 -30 minutes and decide that they have produced a masterpiece of expository prose. Does it never occur to anyone that, if we instructors thought it only took 30 minutes to compose an essay, then we would only GIVE students 30 minutes to do it?

But of course it's not about that. It's about students caring less about their product than the teachers themselves. As a teacher, we find the hardest thing to do is to make people care. If a student would rather spend two hours doing--well, nothing overly important (or we're sure she would have mentioned it when we implored her to stay) than trying to ensure herself a passing grade, what can we do? Because the really sad thing here is that Shorty is not a bad student. We are fairly certain that, if she had taken the time to really write something, she would have produced a passing piece of work.

She did everything we told her to do? Afraid not. We told her not to leave.



Oh, PS: That student who came in and complained to us on Monday? She passed. Whew!

What Would Emily Post Do?

The Solipsist loves e-mail. The perfect form of long-distance communication, it combines the immediacy provided by the telephone with the opportunity for reflection provided by old-fashioned letters. You can think about what you want to say, write it, edit it, and fire it off into cyberspace. Your correspondent receives the communication instantly but without the interruption of a ringing phone; she can then read your message and take the time to compose a thoughtful response--or set it aside until later. Perfect!

But then there's "chat"--the dark side of e-mail--the evil twin of its long-form cousin. Because if you're not in the mood to chat, and a friend bings you, pings you, bloops you--what are you supposed to do? With a phone call, if you don't want to talk, you can always claim to be "right in the middle of something"--dinner, laundry, sex, whatever--and get off the phone. But when you're on Facebook or its ilk and someone toodles you, you can't very well claim to be doing anything important; you're on Facebook for Christ's sake! "Hi, great to see you, but I can't chat right now. I'm finishing the 'Which Brady Are You?' quiz. What do you know, I'm Jan!"

When we began writing this, we worried about offending those Sloppists who have, in fact, mooped us on Facebook. But then we realized, they probably think the same thing about us. After all, we're not only on the receiving end of chat requests. Just this afternoon, we were proctoring an exam in an overheated classroom. We were ready to pass out, but thankfully, there was a computer to keep us occupied. We went on Facebook and found a couple of friends online. And whether they were ready or not, we qwertled them.

They were, of course, polite. We couldn't know for sure, though, whether they were playing along, waiting for the opportunity to claim that a loved one had just that instant returned from Iraq and so they had to scoot. Not that we took offense; we totally understand where they're coming from.

So here's what's needed: an acceptable procedure for declining a chat session when you obviously don't have anything better to do. (Yes, we know you can change your privacy settings so that you won't show up as online, but that's cheating!) Speaking personally, we hereby declare that if you are on Facebook and are floopsied by the Solipsist, you can, without fear of offending, simply say that you are not available to chat. We understand.

Now, if you'll excuse us, we're right in the middle of something. . . .

Politically Incorrect

45 Park Place stands two blocks north of Ground Zero. On the morning of September 11, 2001, it was a Burlington Coat Factory. That morning, as the staff sat around the basement, eating breakfast, preparing to open, an airplane's landing gear crashed through two of the store's upper floors. The store never reopened, and the building remained vacant for the next eight years.

In July, however, the building was bought by a group of Muslims led by Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, a moderate Sufi cleric known for "preaching tolerance and interfaith understanding" ("Muslim Prayers and Renewal Near Ground Zero"). Imam Feisal and his followers see this as the first step in creating an Islamic cultural center near the World Trade Center memorial site--a concrete symbol of reconciliation for New York City and the United States.

By all accounts, Imam Feisal is sincere in his commitment to interfaith dialogue and mending rifts between Muslims and other Americans. Prominent rabbis and other members of Jewish and Christian organizations--as well as the FBI--speak highly of the Imam and celebrate his efforts.

And still. . .

At the risk of sounding terribly intolerant, we found ourselves upset by this news. The first word that popped into our minds was "colonization." We know this is irrational--in the most literal sense of that word: There is no reason for these feelings; they are completely the product of gut-level emotion. We know--we KNOW--that most Muslims are closer in attitude to Imam Feisal than to Mullah Omar or Osama bin Laden. We personally know many members of the Islamic faith and have had nothing but positive--or, at worst, neutral--encounters with them. And a white, American male complaining about Muslims "colonizing" America--even if only in the privacy of his own knee-jerk thoughts. . . . Well, let's just say that somewhere a kettle is screaming about accused blackness.

It wasn't a Muslim who referred to the Solipsist as "a Jew" last week.

Is it possible we are not as liberal as we thought?

We wish Imam Feisal luck in his endeavors. We hope that he and like-minded figures of all social and religious backgrounds succeed in getting us back to--and beyond--the relatively tolerant mindset that prevailed on September 10, 2001. Because if our own reaction is any indication, he will need all the luck he can get.

A Brief Post, in Which We Take Solipsist Nation to Task

And, yes, we think we're changing your name from "Sloppists" (which, let's face it, never really caught on) to "Solipsist Nation." It works for the Red Sox.

But to the point: We post our blog on the Facebook application "Networked Blogs." Consequently, we receive occasional updates about Networked Blogs happenings. Well, today, someone was bragging about how they now had 50,000 followers on Facebook.

50,000!!!

Now, math has never been our strong suit, but we suspect that this is significantly more than 13.

You folks need to start spreading the word. How are we to realize our messianic aspirations with a scant 13 followers? (Sure, Jesus managed with only 12, but we, like the Beatles, are bigger than Jesus!)

(Digression: Consider that out remembrance of John Lennon, murdered 30 years ago today. RIP, John. EOD)

It's not that difficult, though. We just need to start thinking exponentially. If each current member of the Nation recruits a mere five people into the fold, and each of THOSE five recruits another five, we'll hit 50,000 followers in a mere six to seven iterations!

Show that Solipsistic spirit, folks! Get cracking!

A Mea Culpa and a Roll of the Eyes

Last week, the Solipsist administered an exam in his writing class. This department-wide essay exam is the equivalent of the final. The writing teachers give the test about two weeks before semester's end so that we can offer a make-up exam to those who are absent or who fail the test the first time.

As department chair, the Solipsist distributes the exams to the writing faculty. Unfortunately, after handing out the exams, we realized we had inadvertently given out the make-up exam to most--but not all--of the instructors.

Now, in terms of screw-ups, this is pretty minor. The way the tests are constructed, it doesn't matter whether students receive the intended exam topics or the make-up topics. Both versions provide a choice of two topics on which to write; furthermore, the writing teachers develop prompts on topics general enough for anybody to write about based on personal experience. In this case, the original exam featured questions about jobs and communities, and the make-up featured questions about stress and goals. Obviously, once the mistake was realized, we just decided to use the original topics for the make-up exam: No harm, no foul.

Well, almost.

Recall that we said SOME instructors got the "correct" version of the exam. In addition, some copies of the "correct" version went to the office for students with disabilities for students who take the exam there (generally because they receive additional time for the exam). Today, one of these students, who had failed, came to protest. She was upset that she had received a different exam than her classmates, especially because her classmates had received an "easier" question; if she could have answered one of those questions, she surely would have passed.

On the face of it, she has a point: She did not have the same opportunity as her classmates. So we listened patiently and explained that we understood how she felt; however, we couldn't give her a passing grade just because she "could have" passed with a different topic. We assured her that any number of students who failed the other version of the test would (and do) make the same argument--that they could have passed with a different set of topics. Furthermore, we explained to her that she would have the opportunity to take the make-up and, indeed, she would have the opportunity to write an essay on the apparently "easier" topic.

Here comes the eye-roll.

"Well, I don't think I should have to take the make-up because now I'm so stressed out that I can't write a passing essay on this topic."

We nodded sympathetically and referred her to the dean.

So what's the point of the story? We know students are stressed out by exams, and we know people will seek out any advantage they can get. We almost admire this student's tenacity; it could serve her well if channeled in the right direction. But we also despair that people put so much energy into protesting a decision, rather than towards more constructive ends. If this lady puts half as much creativity into her exam as she does into finding reasons why she shouldn't have to take it, she will find herself happy at the end of the make-up--unless she's upset that she has nothing to complain about.

And General Petraeus Is from "Call of Duty"

Today we had planned a stirring entry on split infinitives. Alas, we will have to temporarily postpone that posting. The following simply cannot wait.


Faithful Sloppists have no doubt noticed that we have installed a poll (look to the right), soliciting feedback on our layout. Now, as of this writing, no one has chosen option three. We know you're holding back--too polite to make demands of your favorite blogger--but we also know that you are waiting, hoping, praying for the moment when we will overcome our inexplicable reticence and address the burning issue that is Tiger Woods.

Sloppists, your wait is over.

Frankly, we must admit that we were reluctant to address the issue, not knowing what we could add to the debate.

(Digression: DOS made an interesting observation about the Woods imbroglio. To paraphrase: "I keep hearing about how much trouble Tiger Woods is in. He's got millions of dollars and at least three gorgeous women chasing after him. I should have such trouble!" EOD.)

At any rate, we're glad we waited because, after what we've seen today, we realize that anything we could have said would be superfluous. If you haven't seen this video yet, check it out.

Admittedly, the language barrier is a problem, but we think we get the gist. This Taiwanese news site has broken the Woods story wide open! As near as we can tell, the report is telling us that Woods and his wife are actually characters in the popular "Grand Theft Auto" franchise. Wishing to become real--apparently to get freaky with some red-carpet hottie--Woods took off in his car. His wife's avatar quickly equipped "golf club," causing plus-20 damage to Woods' luck, charisma, and profitability.

There you have it folks. We may have to give up our dream of being the web's primary source for investigative journalism: The Taiwanese do it so much better.

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The Solipsist would like to welcome our newest follower, Catswing. Apparently, she's a Japanese blogger who's trying to improve her English, and she's chosen our humble blog as a source for her continued inspiration and education. Or something like that.

Catswing, we'll have you referring to yourself in the first-person plural in no time. Welcome!

Offense Intended

Speaking of Judaically-themed insults, the other day at work we participated in an intervention. A young man who works at the college bookstore has a tendency of too frequently dropping the "S-bomb": "Schmuck."

His boss was concerned: While not a member of the Yiddish-speaking tribe herself, she had a suspicion that "Schmuck" was too strong to be tossed about blithely in polite company. "I think that N____ thinks it basically means 'Jerk,'" she told us, "but isn't it stronger than that?"
Yes, in fact, it is.

For all our gentile Sloppists, we here provide a handy guide to Jewish insults. (We hope that FOS will chime in on this, as he is far more knowledgeable of Yiddish. Ours will be an extremely rudimentary list.)

If someone is a jerk, you have two basic choices that will be familiar to your non-Jewish audience: schmuck and putz. Interestingly, they share the same literal meaning: a slang term for a notable part of the male anatomy. 'Putz' is the more gentle remonstrance. Friends can call each other 'putz.' 'Schmuck,' on the other hand, is closer to 'asshole,' and should be reserved for people and occasions that warrant such condemnation.

Two other useful Yiddishisms are 'schlemiel' and 'schlamazel' (familiar to "Laverne and Shirley" enthusiasts). The simple definitions are a 'schlemiel' is someone who spills his soup, and a 'schlamazel' is the one the soup gets spilled on. (Disclaimer: We might have those backwards.)

So feel free to work these into your daily criticisms. Just make sure to use them properly.

Oh, and as for N______: When we explained the true meaning of 'Schmuck,' and that he was actually insulting people quite strongly when he used it, his response was, "Cool." What a putz.

Offense Intended?

The other evening, the Solipsist was helping a young lady--a former student--put together an essay. The main topic of the essay was this young lady's church. She had, however, gone off topic in one paragraph, wherein she discussed the animosity that exists between her congregation and some Catholics: She wrote something to the effect that Catholics didn't get along with Christians.

Now, even though she was going to strike this section, we felt it necessary to clarify for her that the statement didn't quite make sense: After all, Catholics ARE Christians. We thought she meant that Catholics didn't always get along with Protestants. She seemed confused--as in, What's a Protestant? Without going into a disquisition on Martin Luther, we explained that the general definition of a Protestant was a Christian--a believer in the divinity of Christ--who does not follow the Catholic Church (i.e., the Pope, the Vatican, etc.) This seemed to be a revelation to the young lady.

As we finished our explanation, we mentioned, by way of disclaimer, that she shouldn't take us as experts on Christianity. "After all, what do I know? I'm Jewish anyway."

Now this truly surprised her. "Really? I thought you had Spanish in you. I didn't know you were a Jew."

Pause.

How does that sentence make you feel? Do you find it jarring? Offensive?

Let us quickly point out, there is NO possibility that this young lady was trying to be insulting. As we mentioned, she's a former student who has come to see us frequently for writing help and is in no way a racist or anti-semite. (She is at worst a bit naive, as you might have gathered from the previously described conversation.) Still, we did find ourselves a bit taken aback when she dropped the "J-bomb."

But, why? It's not as if she said, "I didn't know you were a hebe/yid/kike/hook-nosed shylock," etc. And if she had simply said, "I didn't know you were Jewish," well, then you wouldn't be reading this post. So when did "Jew" become an emotionally fraught way of referring to members of the Jewish faith--which is to say, Jews?

Our theory--admittedly not backed up by anything resembling research--is that, if you call someone a "Jew," you are objectifying him--transforming him into some alternate life form that may or may not be human; whereas, calling someone "a Jewish person," acknowledges the fundamental humanity--the "personness"--of the one you are referring to. We suppose it is analogous to referring to an African-American as a "black," as opposed to a "black person" (which we understand is OK again).

So what do you think? Are we just being over-sensitive, or does our visceral reaction have any merit? And, if so, were we justified in pummeling our former student?

Just wondering.

Stop Bashing Teachers (Part III)

(Continued from December 2, 2009)

The hostility to unions is one cause of the enthusiasm for charter schools, the hottest educational innovation since co-ed schooling or chalk. The basic idea behind charter schools is that they are publically funded but "chartered" by individuals or groups who want to take a different approach to education. Fair enough, and there are certainly good charter schools out there, but we have yet to see comprehensive information that "proves" that charter schools work significantly better than regular schools. And even if we do see such information, it must be taken with a grain of salt. Charter schools don't always work with the same student population as their non-chartered peers. For example, charters often use some kind of lottery system for admissions. While any student can participate in the lottery, it takes highly motivated and savvy parents to know about the lottery in the first place. We're certainly not criticizing highly involved parents, but we wonder if those parents' children would have a leg up wherever they went to school. Similarly, charters may not have to serve as many "problem" students--those with disabilities, those with behavioral/emotional problems, those with limited English--as a regular public school might.

The charters also don't have to conform to union rules: They can hire non-union teachers, pay less than prevailing wages, demand longer hours. The trade-off, though, is that teachers may have more control over the curriculum. A charter school could conceivably demand nine hour days or summer classes or weekend programs. One of the most famous programs in the charter movement is the Knowledge is Power Program (KIPP). These school have rigorous requirements for students and parents (and teachers). Students wear uniforms and are drilled in subject matter over the course of very long school days. And the results are often impressive. We can see why an observer might scoff at the "necessity" of unionized teachers when the non-union equivalent can get such strong results.

Maybe.

See, here's what we think: We think the charter movement is still fairly young. We suspect that many charter-school teachers are indeed fine educators, top graduates of education programs at elite colleges and the like. We're sure that the thought of being able to create something new, to try out new strategies, to really make a difference, is appealing to these idealistic young people. They probably question the necessity of membership in a hidebound, rule-obsessed union. They want to change the world.

What happens, though, ten years down the road when these idealistic young things are married, with children of their own to support? What happens when they get worn out by the crushing grind of 12 hour days? What happens when, having developed their own expertise in teaching, they want to try something different, something that doesn't conform to the curriculum of the charter school they call home?

Well, easy! The charter school can thank them for their service and send them on their way! There's always a new crop of ed-school grads waiting to take their place!

Either that, or these charter school teachers can think about unionizing, too. One wonders if that will turn them into slack-jawed incompetents in the eyes of the teacher-bashers.

Stop Bashing Teachers (Part II)

(Continued from November 30, 2009)

To take things one step further, the NEA, with its focus on collective bargaining and pay equity and all those "unimportant" things, actually facilitates education: The union allows teachers to focus on educating children by freeing teachers somewhat from concerns over labor issues.

We grow weary of the perennial conservative war-cry that teachers' unions--as opposed to poverty, overcrowding, inequitable funding streams, unfunded and ever-increasing mandates, etc., etc., etc.--are the primary cause of our educational system's shortcomings. Conservative critics claim that the NEA and its ilk are interested only in perpetuating power for its own sake. They claim that the purpose of the union is to protect the weak and unqualified at the expense of the helpless schoolchildren.

Realize, though, that these critics are not so much opposed to teachers unions as they are to unions period. A typical complaint is that unions, whether of teachers or teamsters, are a drain on the economy, a barrier to corporate efficiency. They're right, of course. If corporations don't have to worry about protecting workers' rights and providing living wages and ensuring safe working conditions, they will operate more efficiently (i.e., get more output per unit of input). See under: Bangladeshi sweatshops.

The logic goes something like this: What's good for General Motors--OK, bad example. What's good for, um, Nike is good for America; therefore, what's BAD for Nike must be bad for America; whereas unions are bad for Nike, they are also bad for America; thus, unions are bad for schoolchildren.

The number of faulty premises defies belief.

Let's assume for the moment that the majority of teachers' union members are NOT sub-standard teachers. We have no statistics at hand to prove this, but we will ask you to accept the premise if only under the reasonable (we think) assumption that the majority of members of any profession--particularly any profession that people CHOOSE to pursue (like teaching)--are at least COMPETENT. We must then ask what is the REAL reason that people are so opposed to teachers' unions?

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Heavy Questions (A Brief Post)

We'll get back to our disquisition on the parlous state of education tomorrow (we hope). For now, though, another of life's heavy mysteries:

Why is it that you never hear of people suffering from delusions of inadequacy?

Stop Bashing Teachers (Part 1)

NOTE: This series of posts calls for more polish than we're willing to give at this time. We put it out there as a work-in-progress. Feel free to comment and/or point out logical inconsistencies. Bear in mind, though, that the word "essay" comes from the French, d'essayer, literally "to try." We present these semi-random thoughts in the spirit of exploration.

Yesterday, WOS drew our attention to an editorial on the Chicago Tribune's website. In it, the editors take Bob Chanin to task. Chanin is the recently retired top lawyer for the National Education Association (NEA), one of the largest (if not the largest) teachers' unions in the country. At his retirement speech, Chanin discussed the importance of teachers' unions:

"This is not to say that the concern of NEA and its affiliates with closing achievement gaps, reducing dropout rates, improving teacher quality and the like are unimportant or inappropriate. To the contrary. These are the goals that guide the work we do. But they need not and must not be achieved at the expense of due process, employee rights and collective bargaining. That simply is too high a price to pay."

Now, unless we're completely misreading what Chanin is saying, we can paraphrase his comments as follows: Teachers' unions want to ensure quality education for schoolchildren, but they also want to protect the rights of teachers. Does that sound about right?

The editors of the Tribune, however, have a different spin: "We wanted to ask [NEA officials] if the rest of the union leadership believed that kids ranked behind collective bargaining on the teacher priority list."

First, Chanin was addressing a union audience in his capacity as that union's lawyer; he was articulating what may be considered his professional mission--one which he had been fulfilling for 40-plus years. He was not, in other words, expressing a teacher's mission, but a union representative's mission--and the mission of a union rep is to take care of the union members.

Second, the Tribune editors are engaging in what is known as a "straw man" argument: They attribute to their opponent an argument that he did not advance and then proceed to refute that argument. Nowhere does Chanin say that kids "ranked behind" collective bargaining. Rather, he said that teachers' rights cannot be sacrificed in the name of educating children.

By the way, he's right.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

If You've Got It, Flaunt It, Baby! Flaunt It!

In (belated) honor of Black Friday, we would like to share our recent conspicuous-consumption related experience:

In the drive-thru lane of our local coffee outlet, as we sat in our Prius, we noticed in front of us a shiny new Hummer. Said Hummer featured a personalized license plate--"BRNKS"--which we took to be a reference to the armored-car like qualities of the vehicle, as well as a none-too-subtle nod to the cold hard cash required to buy it. For good measure, the license plate was installed inside a novelty frame featuring a digital, cartoon-like series of flashing red lights.

As if determined to confirm a stereotype, the driver, after placing her order, tossed a crumpled napkin at the trash can next to the menu. We say "at" because her aim was less than Jordan-esque: The crumpled, filthy, for-all-we-know-germ-ridden paper dropped to the ground. Need we mention that the owner did not get out to pick it up?

There's something almost admirable about such behavioral consistency, don't you think?

We Will Have Sinned, O Lord!

In an effort to help WOS achieve self-actualization, the Solipsist has decided that he needs to have an affair. He has the candidates narrowed down:

--Noreen down at the Piggly-Wiggly;

--That girl with the lazy eye at the gas station who keeps checking us out (we think);

--International supermodel Gisele Bundchen;

--A (preferably female) Sloppist chosen through the application of a randomizing computer algorithm (keep checking your e-mails everyone!).

We figure what worked for Hillary Clinton, and what seems to be working for Jenny Sanford ("From Shadow to Limelight for a Governor's Wife"), should also work for WOS.

(WOS just yelled, "Hey! I'm not sure I like this idea." Just wait 'til you're sitting down with Oprah, Snookums!)

Of course, it's not simply a matter of YNSHC engaging in a sleazy, sweaty, orgiastic bacchanal--would that it were! No, in order for us to increase WOS's probability of getting her own talk-show/reality program/political office, we have more work to do.

First, these scandals depend on a high irony quotient for maximum efficacy, so we need to establish ourself as a right-wing tribune of morality and family values. Expect, therefore, over the next few days to see a series of posts inveighing against abortion, homosexuality, marijuana, and single mothers. (NOTE: If any of you female Sloppists are "recovering lesbian" single-mother potheads who have had at least three abortions, you've just jumped to the top of our list.)

Second, WOS needs to go shopping for sensible shoes and pantsuits so that she will look appropriate at the tear-filled press conference. ("I get to go shopping? This is sounding more appealing.")

Third, and this is probably the trickiest part, the Solipsist himself needs to be much more famous. Now, since we do not hold political office (our appointment as North Dakota Secretary of Health and Human Services fell through), we need to increase our presence in the blogosphere: We figure we need a minimum of 100,000 followers for our fall from grace to have true impact.

So, get on that, Sloppists. Help us to help WOS!

Triptophan (sp?) Overdose (An Excuse for a Brief Post)

Quote of the day (so far, at least):

"But New York is by no means California, which has become the national measuring stick of statewide financial ruin" ("Stalemate in Albany as State Nears Its Last Dollar").

Possibly a perfect sentence candidate, too. What do you think?

Still, having lived in New York for the greater part of our life before moving to the Golden State, we have faith that New Yorkers will see this as a challenge. Come on, New York! Don't let California walk away with the title! Maybe you can BOTH be national measuring sticks of statewide financial ruin: one for each coast.

A Very Solipsist Thanksgiving

In college, the Solipsist took an Intro. to Political Science class. The professor was an eastern European who sounded like he had just escaped the gulag. A true Marxist, though, he periodically excoriated the American political system. At least we think it was excoriation: "Dem-oh-cracy," he once pronounced, "ees a ketch-24." !

By way of wishing the class a happy Thanksgiving, he launched into a speech inveighing (predictably) against American (well, really British, we suppose, but why quibble) colonialism. He segued into his blatant despair at the thought of the impending holiday, and wrapped it all up with, "You know, what I tink of, when I tink of Thenksgiving? I don't tink of femily and friends. I don't tink of being thenkful. No! I tink of 40 million tor-keys that are going to be slaughtered!"

We think this was the moment when we got over any lingering, politically correct holiday guilt we may have ever felt.

Now, those of you who know the Solipsist--and/or those of you who have faithfully read this blog over the last year--have probably grokked that sentimentality is not our strong suit. We're not going to sit here and spew warm fuzzies about spending time with the family and sharing thankfulness for all that we've received. Bleah!

But we're also a little turned off by all the self-righteous posing of people who lament the holiday because of what "we" did to the Native Americans. Yes, what happened to the Native Americans was pretty awful, but here's the thing: "We" didn't do it. (And if "you" did, congratulations on celebrating your 450th birthday.)

Are you objecting? Are you waving your finger in the air and telling us that we must not forget? We must study history and respect the cultures that are lost? Sure. That's what school is for. This is a holiday.

"A holiday," you snap back, "that celebrates genocide!"

Well, no. No, it isn't. Because these days Thanksgiving is no more about the pilgrims than Christmas is about the birth of Christ. If you insist that it's "about" anything, Thanksgiving is "about" getting together with your family and/or friends, having a nice meal, and taking a moment off to, y'know, be thankful for something. If it makes you feel better, you can be thankful that you weren't an aboriginal American on the shores of Massachusetts in 1621. And if you insist on lambasting "America" for what it did to the "Indians," put your money where your mouth is: Send a donation in to the Native American Heritage Association or some other charity. Otherwise, shut up and eat your turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Office Hours (A Short Play)

(An office. A professor sits behind a desk. A young man walks in.)

Student: You wanted to see me, Sir?

Professor: Ah, Jenkins, yes. Come in, come in. Have a seat. (Jenkins sits.) Jenkins--was there an accident?

Jenkins: It's nothing, Sir.

Professor: Another "oopsie" in the Drill Lab?

Jenkins: A small one.

Professor: Ah, yes, well, that's what I wanted to see you about. Jenkins, here at Pepperton School of Dentistry, we pride ourselves on our dedication to our students.

Jenkins: Yes, Sir.

Professor: We believe in working with our students to help them achieve their. . . their. . . Here (handing Jenkins a tissue), wipe that off. . .

Jenkins: Thank you, Sir.

Professor: Certainly. Now, where was I. . . ?

Jenkins: "We believe in working with our students to help them--"

Professor: Help them achieve their fullest potential, yes.

Jenkins: I've noticed, Sir.

Professor: Yes, well. . . um. . . . This is always difficult, but. . . Well, hang it, Jenkins, you're just not working out.

Jenkins: Oh no!

Professor: Oh, yes.

Jenkins: Professor, please. Give me another chance.

Professor: Now, Jenkins, you've had several chances. You have to understand, dentistry isn't for everyone.

Jenkins: Oh, please, Sir. You don't understand! I love teeth! Teeth are my life! Ever since I was a small lad, all I've ever wanted to do is dentistry.

Professor: But you're no good!

Jenkins: I could be!

Professor: You couldn't!

Jenkins: It's my DESTINY!

Professor: It isn't!

Jenkins: Ohhhhhh, Professor (Jenkins begins bawling.)

Professor: (Comes around the desk, pats Jenkins on the shoulder.) There, there, son. Teeth are a cruel mistress.

Jenkins: What will I do. . . what will I do. . . .

Professor: Tell me, son, have you ever considered. . . gums?

Jenkins: (Scowling) 'Gums'?!?

Professor: Yes.

Jenkins: Professor, surely you're not suggesting. . . .

Professor: Now, Jenkins, don't believe everything you've heard. Periodontics is a perfectly respectable field. Lots of fine young men go into periodontics.

Jenkins: (Scoffing) Fine young morons!

Professor: No, son, not at all. Plenty of money in gums. . . . Why you could even say, if it weren't for periodontists, there'd be no work for us dentists.

Jenkins: Now you're patronizing me, Sir.

Professor: Not at all. . . not. . . at. . . . Well, all right, maybe a little. But look, son, think about the big picture.

Jenkins: Which is?

Professor: Well, it's all really about the same thing, right? The mouth! That's what matters here, the mouth! It's like the New York Yankees, son!

Jenkins: Sir. . .?

Professor: The Yankees, Jenkins, the Yankees! You've heard of the Yankees, right?

Jenkins: Well, sure, but. . . .

Professor: You see, the mouth is the Yankees. And the teeth are Alex Rodriguez! But the gums. . . . Well, the gums are the middle relievers. You see!

Jenkins: . . . .

Professor: And if you don't have middle relievers, then where is Alex Rodriguez? He's covered in plaque and falling out of the oral cavity.

Jenkins: So. . . periodontists are middle relievers?

Professor: Well, no. . . . the gums are the middle relievers. . . periodontists are. . . . Well, I guess they're the people who make sure the middle relievers stay healthy.

Jenkins: The trainers?

Professor: Exactly, the trainers!

Jenkins: But trainers work on Alex Rodriguez, too.

Professor: Well, yes the GOOD ones do. Look, Jenkins, you're missing the point. Not everyone who wants to take care of the Yankees gets to massage Alex Rodriguez. Some people have to massage gums!

Jenkins: Alex Rodriguez's gums?

Professor: No. Well, yes. . . . Yes, exactly! If Alex Rodriguez needs to have his gums massaged, who would he go to?

Jenkins: A . . . periodontist?

Professor: And which periodontist is he going to go to?

Jenkins: To. . . me?

Professor: That's the spirit, Jenkins!

Jenkins: I never thought about it that way. Thank you, Sir. Thank you!

Professor: Just part of the Pepperton service, Jenkins. Now go wash that blood off your face, and we'll see about your transfer.

Heavy Questions (A Brief Post)

What do professional golfers do when they retire? Sell insurance?

Stuck in a Metaphor That You Can't Get Out Of

We closed yesterday's post as follows:

"As that tribune of anti-intellectualism Sarah Palin continues her book tour . . . we [roll our eyes] at the ever-apparent impulse not to mold the 'common clay' of our society into something great, but simply to keep massaging the amorphous blob, softening it up, letting its potential remain unrealized" (emphasis added).

Now, regardless of what you think of the prose (and we freely admit it's not our best work), we thought we'd share something about its composition.

The reasoning: We had mentioned "common clay" earlier in the post (quoting a line from "Blazing Saddles"), so we wanted to end the piece with the same metaphor, thereby providing the reader with a nice sense of completion--as of a journey ending with a return home. We also wanted to extend the "common clay" metaphor in an effort to remove somewhat the taint of cliche associated with that familiar trope.

The procedure: We cruised into the sentence easily enough: After all, what do people do with clay? They mold it--or, in this case, they fail to mold it. Not content to leave well enough alone, though, we wanted to extend the sentence, thereby (ideally) providing the sentence with some cumulative "build." We quickly realized, though, that we were in trouble.

The quandary: If the powers-that-be were not molding the common clay, what were they doing to it? For that matter, how many other things can you do to clay?

In the context of the post, the powers-that-be were patronizing their constituents and customers. But you can't really speak of "patronizing" clay. We considered simply throwing up our hands and ending like this:

". . . at the ever-apparent impulse not to mold the 'common clay' of our society into something great, but simply to keep patronizing the masses, basking in their ignorance. (Yes, we know the metaphor fell apart. Sue us.)"

But that would be a cop-out. We tell our students all the time that writing is difficult but that good writing is worth the effort. We felt a sense of professional obligation to at least try to make the metaphor work.

We don't think we succeeded.

What would have been better? Well, Emi Ha's comment contained the seeds of an elegant solution. She wrote: "Kind of like that stuff that was popular when we were kids--SLIME; it never amounted to much, it was gross, and it stained everything it touched." In other words, instead of focusing on what people were trying to do to the clay, we could have played with the substance of which the common folk are made. We might have found a more powerful ending.

Two lessons:

--Writing is more difficult than it looks. When something is easy for you to read, thank the writer who has expended great energy on making things as easily digestible for you as possible.

--Feedback and editing are invaluable. When you can't find your way out of a particularly tangled thicket of language, step back, breathe, and let someone else take a crack at it.

Save the Stupid

"What did you expect? 'Welcome, sonny'? 'Make yourself at home'? 'Marry my daughter'? You've got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know . . . morons."

--Gene Wilder to Cleavon Little in "Blazing Saddles"

For our money, one of the funniest lines in the history of cinema.

We thought of this today as we read about the newest trend in corporate litigation: suing one's rivals over potentially false advertising. ("Best Soup Ever? Suits Over Ads Demand Proof") Understand, this is not a case of Company A suing Company B over perceived slander; in these cases, one company challenges potentially hyperbolic claims by another--hyperbolic claims that "not many consumers even take at face value."

One lawsuit making its way through the courts involves a series of Verizon ads called "There's a Map for That." You've probably seen them. They feature maps showing in red all the places where Verizon has 3G coverage (whatever that is--it's apparently desirable). Towards the end of the 30-second spots, we see a map displaying the comparatively smaller area of 3G coverage provided by AT&T:

The map upsets AT&T because, according to company spokesman Mark Siegel, "It suggests to the viewer that not only is there no 3G coverage in that area, but there is no coverage at all." (Keen-eyed Sloppists should pay no attention to the large caption at the bottom of the map: "5X More 3G Coverage.")

We suspect disingenuousness. AT&T acknowledges the map's accuracy. Corporate executives made a calculated decision to proceed with the lawsuit, hoping that a judge might order Verizon to discontinue the ads while the case is adjudicated (he didn't). As of now, AT&T is proceeding with the suit.

Honestly, we hope AT&T is being disingenuous. Because, if not, they are essentially saying that their subscribers--actual and potential--are illiterate cattle.

Maybe that is what they think, though. And while we can hardly begrudge AT&T its right to corner the moron market, we are dismayed by this latest instance of patronizing the congenitally stupid.

Remember David Howard? Back in 1999, Howard headed the Office of the Public Advocate in Washington, D.C. He made the mistake of correctly (if pompously) using the word 'niggardly' in a sentence. Vocabulary-challenged Washingtonians and others around the country pounced on the hapless Howard for uttering such an offensive term--and in the presence of two black staffers at that!

Except of course there was no offensive term, 'niggardly' meaning 'miserly.' (Well, OK, it might be offensive to misers, but none of them complained.)

Rather than seeing this as a "teachable moment," Howard, after profusely apologizing for. . . something, was forced to resign. For the sake of Washingtonians, we hope he wasn't a very good Public Advocate and that his (presumably less sesquipedalian) replacement served the city well.

As that tribune of anti-intellectualism Sarah Palin continues her book tour through flyover country, we roll our teeth and gnash our eyes--something like that--at the ever-apparent impulse not to mold the "common clay" of our society into something great, but simply to keep massaging the amorphous blob, softening it up, letting its potential remain unrealized. . . .