If You See the Buddha Coming Down the Road, Eat Him

From the "People with Way Too Much Time on Their Hands" Files: Chinese farmer Gao Xianzhang has developed a special mold in which to grow pears. Once the pears are fully formed, they look like. . . like. . . well, see for yourself:

(Image from www.dailymail.co.uk)

Luckily, Gao has managed to avoid the fate suffered by rival fruit artisan Arthur "Sprouts" Maldenhoffer of La Habra, California, who was critically injured by a suicide bomber after attempting to craft avocados in the shape of Muhammad.

Of course, there is a rich history of deity-shaped fruit. We're all familiar with the Jesusmelon and its ill-advised marketing scheme ("I'd crucify myself for a Jesusmelon!"). Ganeshberries flew off the shelves of Bangalore markets in the late 1970s. Wiccan farmers have grown Lilith-shaped peaches in small New England communes since the birth of the American republic. And don't get us started on the sheer deliciousness of a pie baked out of Anubis-shaped apples.

Mmmm. . . . Egyptological!

Why Brits Do TV Right II

If you're looking for something to watch on a rainy weekend, may we suggest "Jekyll." We just finished watching this six-part BBC miniseries (available on Netflix, and, presumably, DVD). It's another one of these British "popcorn" shows: Like popcorn, it's impossible to stop ingesting once you start.

As you might guess from the title, the show is a variation on "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"--sort of a sequel, to be precise. Set in modern-day England, the show revolves around Dr. Tom Jackman (James Nesbitt), a descendant of the original Dr. Henry Jekyll, who it turns out was a real person. Jackman, too, suffers from the family curse, transforming with increasing regularity into a charismatic, extremely powerful, and psychopathically violent alter-ego who eventually, inevitably, comes to be called Mr. Hyde. While Jackman struggles to control Hyde--or at least minimize the damage he does--he is pursued by a mysterious corporation that wishes to control Hyde itself. All the while, he also worries about his estranged wife and their two small sons, who he fears may fall victim to Hyde.

Written by "Doctor Who" veteran Steven Moffat, the miniseries is astonishingly dense--which we mean as a compliment. There is more plot, more action, more intrigue, and, frankly, more character development packed into these six one-hour long episodes than in two or three seasons of "Lost" (and we LIKE "Lost"). Once you finish the last episode, think back to the beginning; you'll be amazed by how far the show took you (and how well it ties up loose ends--which we fear will be another shortcoming of any ending to "Lost").

Any review would be remiss in not mentioning James Nesbitt, who stars as the eponymous hero/villain. One of the more noteworthy aspects of the program is how well he channels both characters without benefit of extensive make-up or high-tech special effects. He portrays both the stiffness and repression of Jekyll/Jackman and the high-energy, almost musical-theater flamboyance of Mr. Hyde. And [SPOILER ALERT] by the end of the series, when the character has achieved a sort of semi-equilibrium between the two states, he embodies a "third character," neither Jekyll nor Hyde, but something right in the middle--and, by the way, probably the most "normal" character he portrays throughout the entire series.

If you're a fan of fantasy/science-fiction/horror--or just plain old suspense--rent it. You won't be disappointed.

Real Men Don't Need Exclamation Points!

Holiday season exhausts us!

"Well, Solipsist," you may reply, "you still have a couple of months before things get truly hectic."

Two months?!? What in heaven's name are you blithering about, you ignorant toadstool? (We get nasty under stress.) The holidays are upon us!

Scarcely do we recover from "International Talk Like a Pirate Day" (9/19) before "National Punctuation Day" rolls around! And not a moment too soon! Why, in just the first few lines of this post, we've already used six quotation marks, five exclamation points, four parentheses, two periods, two apostrophes, one question mark, and more commas--12--than you can shake a stick at!

(Digression: Where did that expression come from? Was there at one time an official or royal or national stick-shaker, whose job it was to shake sticks at things, and who at some point collapsed from exhaustion due to an excess of shakeworthy objects? EOD)

Yes, folks, September 24, is National Punctuation Day, "A celebration," according to the official website, "of the lowly comma, correctly used quotes, and other proper uses of periods, semicolons, and the ever-mysterious ellipsis."

Why didn't we come up with this?

Punctuation, in case you're wondering, includes any marks on a page that provide directions to a reader--aside from those marks we call letters and words, that is. Punctuation is also a bit of a hobgoblin to writing teachers and students alike. Every semester, students approach us and ask, for example, what the proper use of a comma is. The answer? Nobody knows. If anyone ever tells you he knows the proper way to use a comma, he's lying!

(Digression: Also, sometimes apostrophes like to pretend to be commas. Beware of impostors. EOD)

Also, one should strenuously avoid exclamation points.

Seriously!

Exclamation points are the first refuge of the lazy writer. Your words should carry the emotional burden of the sentence, not your punctuation. We're just sayin'.

While we seethe with envy towards Jeff Rubin, the founder of National Punctuation Day, we applaud his initiative. People don't pay enough attention to punctuation--don't consider its possibilities. For example, in that last sentence, we could have put a comma after 'punctuation,' but we felt that a dash--conferring greater emphasis on that which follows--was a better choice. (As it was in that last sentence, too; here, however, since we're essentially providing a footnote, parentheses are the way to go.)

Parentheses whisper; dashes scream.

Oh, and semicolons separate.

So, enjoy National Punctuation Day. Take a comma to lunch. Buy a question mark a dozen roses. And, if you're stuck for a way to celebrate, you can always turn to our good friend the ellipsis for a few ideas. . . .

But if you remember only one thing about punctuation, remember this: If you ever end up with an odd number of quotation marks, then something, somewhere, has gone horribly wrong.

Sometimes a Watermelon-Flavored Cigarette Is Just a Cigar

When is a cigarette not a cigarette? When it's a jar!

Oh, wait, that's a door.

The above question becomes positively talmudic in light of new FDA regulations banning the sale of flavored cigarettes. ("Flavors Banned From Cigarettes to Deter Youths") The concern is that flavored cigarettes with names like "Twista Line," "Kauai Kolada," "Warm Winter Toffee," and "Smoky Quesadilla" (only one of those is made up) serve as "gateway" products enticing kids to smoke. As if phallic-nosed cartoon camels weren't enough. The problem? "The legislation left some details vague. For instance, the agency is required to ban flavored cigarettes, but the law did not clearly define what constituted a cigarette."

Not quite as ludicrous as it sounds. Not all tobacco products are cigarettes--cigars and "cigarillos," for instance, the latter of which are "larger than a small cigar, but smaller than a premium hand-rolled cigar." Get out your tape measures, FDA! Because in theory the legislation permits the sale of flavored tobacco products that are not cigarettes. When your local mafioso wants to unwind after whacking a member of a rival family, he can purchase a Tutti-Frutti Hand-wrapped Havana without fear of FDA reprisal. But this puts FDA agents in the difficult position of having to determine, if you will, when a cigarette is not just a cigarette. As one tobacconist reports, she (and let's hear it for female tobacconists!) was told by an agent "to remove every flavored tobacco product from her shelves that 'looked like a cigarette' but [the agent] could not define what that meant."

Paging Dr. Freud.

Hopelessly Yours (A Brief Post)

"Hopefully" must be one of the most frequently "misused" words in the English language. If you've ever said something like, "Hopefully, I'll win the lottery" or "Hopefully, those mohawk-headed gentlemen in the leather jackets won't come over here and pummel me," you have, technically, been mis-speaking.

People have a tendency to use "hopefully" to mean "I hope" (as in the examples mentioned above). It doesn't mean that. What it means is, "in a hopeful manner." So, for example, a writing teacher might say that he handed out the final exams hopefully, i.e., he was full of hope that his students would pass. If he said, "Hopefully, my students will pass," he would really be saying that his students would pass, and they would do so with smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts.

But all this isn't really true. See, the question is one of descriptivism vs. prescriptivism. The prescriptivist would say that hopefully can only mean "in a hopeful manner" and that everybody uses it incorrectly. The descriptivist would say, if everyone is using it incorrectly, it ceases to be incorrect. The Solipsist tends to side with the descriptivists on this one. What's your opinion?

Now, we're off to give our students a practice midterm. Hopefully, they'll do OK.

Perfect Sentences and Other Odds and Ends

The Quest for the Perfect Sentence

The class was asked to write a paragraph about a celebrity who has a positive or negative effect on young people. From one young (and we emphasize, YOUNG) lady's assignment:

"Another way Miley Cyrus has made a negative impact on children is having a conflict with best friends Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez. [Here comes the "perfect sentence" nominee] The two Disney Channel starlets uploaded a video of them just hanging out, talking about Demi's closed gap one day, when, not too long after, Miley and her so called 'best friend' Mandy responded to their video, making fun of it."

Our response? "We recognize this as English, but we have absolutely NO IDEA what you're talking about. What's a 'closed gap'? Who's 'Mandy'? Help! (Remember, we're old.)"

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In the Line of Diplomatic Armageddon

"'You've got to get the Secret Service to put stumbling blocks in the way,' said Ray Takeyh, who until last month was a senior adviser for Iran at the State Department. . . . 'You've got to quarantine that off. You've got to get the sniffing dogs out.'" ("Obama and Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Face Time")

You may recall, not long ago, the Solipsist made passing reference to the Clint Eastwood film "In the Line of Fire," in which the Grizzled One played a Secret Service agent seeking to foil an assassination attempt on the President. Today's Secret Service agents, however, have an additional threat to watch out for.

They're trained to take a bullet; but will they take a handshake?

Specifically, will they take a handshake from Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the putative president of Iran, if the necktie-eschewing, Holocaust-denying, nuclear-weapon coveting, pseudo-politician attempts to muscle in on a photo op with President Obama at the United Nations this week? The concern is that, if Ahmadinejad manages to wriggle up close to President O., and if, God help us, Obama is manipulated into any show of anything resembling civility to this crackpot--if any of this happens, the Iranian despot will seize upon it as a show of "support" from the West's most popular leader. He will thereby gain credibility at home and among other Mideast nations. And, of course, US Republicans will claim this is further proof that President Obama is a secret Muslim, anti-American Tehrani Candidate, love-child of Osama bin Laden and Hitler.

We have it on good authority that Secret Service agents are practicing not only strategic handshake interception, but are also working on defending the "high five," the "Gimme-Five-Up-High-Down-Low-Too-Slow," and even "Butterfly Kisses" (just in case).

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No More Mr. Nice Country

Next winter, the Olympic Games will be held in Vancouver. Now comes word that Canada is taking steps to ensure its home-tundra advantage. ("Canada Protects Home Advantage at Olympics") In what seems a questionable display of the Olympic spirit, Canadian officials are restricting access to many of the Olympic venues. The hometeam will have virtually unlimited opportunities to ski the mountains and luge the . . . the luge-y place, while rival nations will have to settle for a fraction of the ice time.

Isn't Canadian assertiveness one of the signs of the apocalypse? They're acting positively. . . American!

The Despair of the Edumacator

Then again, maybe "Community" has it right.

We're a little downbeat today. We've just spent the last six-plus hours (!) reading students' writing assignments. We're not done yet--only about halfway through--yet we've officially reached burnout stage. Looks like we'll be doing a lot of reading in the office tomorrow.

What's depressing is the apparent mystification of some students with straightforward instructions. Don't get us wrong: Many of the papers we read today were quite good--for rough drafts, anyway. Others, though. . . .

Let us explain the Solipsist's pedagogical philosophy: We firmly believe that anything--anything--can be taught. Furthermore, we believe that anything--anything--can be broken into a series of steps. This includes writing. Now, we are not suggesting that by following a simple series of steps anybody can become Michael Chabon or Stephen King (well, maybe Stephen King). We are, however, suggesting that any writing assignment can be broken into a series of manageable steps and that, by following those steps--filling in the blanks, painting by numbers, choose your own metaphor--even a beginning writer can produce clear, concise prose.

Basically, learning to write is like playing baseball.

(Digression: To the Solipsist, most things are like playing baseball. EOD)

While every pitcher has his own particular strengths, and some pitchers like Tim Lincecum and Josh Beckett are freaks of nature, every single major league hurler must be able to do one thing: throw a fastball down the middle of the plate. No, this ability won't get you to the major leagues, but it's a sure bet that, if you can't do that, you'll never make it out of A-ball. Furthermore, once you CAN throw that fastball down the middle with regularity, you can start experimenting with the curves and sliders and splitters that will get you to the Bigs.

The Solipsist is teaching his students to throw fastballs down the middle of the plate.

He gives them a framework: a simple set of instructions for, in this case, writing a basic illustrative paragraph. He has even gone so far as to print up a simple outline wherein students can sketch out their paragraphs before beginning to write. It is literally a "fill in the blanks" form. Most students seem to thrive with this kind of structure.

And yet, some can't grasp it.

What is one to do when, after handing out the outlines and explaining that students should fill it out and then draft a paragraph, one is approached by a student who asks if you want her to write something? Seriously, do you have any idea how hard it is to restrain one's sarcastic impulses? And those impulses SHOULD be restrained. Because it's not willfulness or defiance. It's true mystification.

We have a student in our class this semester who has already taken this class--with us as teacher--twice before. She's not going to make it. Now or ever. But she keeps coming back. Do we roll our eyes in frustration or applaud her tenacity? Or both? What's a teacher to do when confronted with someone he fears he simply will not be able to teach? Suggestions are welcome.