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. . . .