I love Paris in the Springtime

In class I talk about "strong" sentences and words vs. "weak" sentences and words. Always opt for the stronger choice when there is one, and use active voice instead of passive voice. Saunter instead of walk. Be jovial instead of happy unless, of course, you are merely content and not, in fact, jovial. Use strong, specific words that are closer to the meaning you wish to express. Carry instead of being carried. Drive instead of being driven. Control your words and thoughts, instead of letting them control you. (It's easier said than done).

My senior year of high school, my French class took a trip to Quebec. We spent a couple days in Montreal and a couple days in Quebec City. Both were lovely cities, but I especially liked Quebec City. It felt so old and European with its narrow streets and overwhelmingly French language. I'm going back to Paris next month. It's going to be a really short trip, but I'll definitely reserve quite a few hours to sit with a journal and cafe au lait.

Sleepy sketches

Certain traits, certain qualities, follow us. Life changes, circumstances change, we change, but many (most?) things stay stable. It's annoying: feeling like we actually have a choice but then following that same old path makes us blame ourselves. But maybe we're not meant to stray because we are who we are, and we're all different, and blah blah blah. You know???

Anyway.  I was going to try to stay up for SNL, but I'm more looking forward to finishing one of my books. Open next to my bedside are "Disgrace," by J.M. Coetzee, "The Reader," by Bernard Schlink, "A Brief History of the Dead," by Kevin Brockmeier," "50 things that Could Change America," and a journal that's getting used less frequently with all these various venues for oversharing - though it remains a good place for tinkering with ideas and for drawing bad, sleepy sketches.

Coetzee's protagonist in "Diary of a Bad Year" writes in one of his "strong opinions" that 

"Dishonour is no respecter of fine distinctions. Dishonour descends upon one's shoulders, and once it has descended no amount of clever pleading will dispel it" (p. 40).

Heavy statement, right? We are all shameful, he says, because we live in a shameful age (i.e., one of torture, unjust wars, etc.) But Anya, his typist, turns his bold proclamations on their head - victims need feel no shame.  It's just this sentence -- "Dishonour descends upon one's shoulders" -- is poetry. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote that prose is the "best words," but poetry is the best words in their best order.  Coetzee's sentence chews me up.  Maybe I should draw a picture of that.

Stumbling, bumbling, fumbling...

During one of my many detours, I learned about Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Before one can worry about "self-actualization" - morality, creativity, spontaneity, etc. - one must have physiological needs met: food, breathing, water, sex, and air. And once those needs are met, then one can worry about safety, belonging, etc. And then belonging. And then self-esteem. And finally self-actualization. 

There are a lot of good and important things to take out of Maslow's hierarchy, especially when it comes to school - how can children who aren't having their physiological needs met, who don't feel safe, be motivated in the classroom?  It's just a little more challenging.  

This New York Time piece, "Generation OMG", the effects of this recession are considered. According to the article, the children born in the 30s and just before turned into the silent generation, sober, practical, eager for a safe, secure job.  Their children, the boomers, were protected, indulged, and able to explore. The article draws some parallels between the excesses of the twenties and the bubbles of the nineties (artificially inflated, also, during the last administration), and it suggests that children today will grow up to be silent - sober, practical, less likely to indulge in excess.  

The article is more nuanced than my little description, acknowledging other similarities as well as diffences. But it made me think of how lucky I am to have the luxury of worrying about creativity, problems of morality, expression. These are good problems to have. 

College vs Real Life

Truth in writing, writing as a contruct, construct as the truth.

I'm reading a lot lately. Actual books, even!  Of course there are the readings for class, the ones I have to really read (as opposed to that "fake" reading I did in college, skimming the surface, getting the main idea, avoiding eye contact with the professors...). It turns out that by really reading them, I get more out of them. Who knew?

Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" is brilliant.  Hemingway's "A Soldier's Home," brilliant. Godwin's "A Sorrowful Woman" and Chopin's "Story of an Hour," shocking. And once I got in the habit of really reading, I actually want to find more brilliance: J.M. Coetzee, brilliant; Kevin Brockmeier, so far, brilliant.

Reading books, writing anything, these are all activities that bring us closer to the truth. Postmodernism succeeded by forcing us to exam grand metanarratives and, if necessary, tear them apart, exposing false "truths." But it also failed by distracting us from that search for truth. I don't believe there are millions of little truths, one for each individual; rather, there is a truth out there (cue the X-Files theme) that is elusive but that we should also try to get closer to. Reading great books does that, as it allows us to see things through others' eyes. Writing does that, as we seek the best words to accurately describe or represent reality.

And that's why plagiarism is such a heinous act. The act of writing it, obviously, is false; worse, the act of reading it is also rendered false, and it taints everything that comes after. I describe it as a punch to the stomach, but more accurately it's a squishing of the heart.

In this Arranged Marriage, Love Came Second

In many countries, such as India and Iran, arranged marriage – a marriage in which parents have chosen their son or daughter’s spouse – is still common practice. The divorce rate in these places is under 10%, a tiny fraction of the divorce rate in the United States, and I wonder why. Is it that Indian parents are so much better at choosing a husband for their daughter than an American woman is able to do for herself? I find that hard to believe; however, I have been a bride’s maid at three weddings, and two of the three couples are now divorced. 

Even though my sample of marriages is too small to be statistically meaningful, it’s nonetheless a startling snapshot of where our society is – a place where people seem to fall in and out of marriage as quickly as they fall in and out of love.  I don’t doubt that most individuals go into a marriage believing that it’s for life; nor do I doubt that the break up is devastating for everyone involved.  But then I think of the wedding shows (“Bridezilla” and “Whose Wedding is it Anyway?”) that populate cable television, making a spectacle of the wedding process and trivializing what comes after the honeymoon; I think of my own parents, divorced before I reached junior high; and I think about my friends, divorcées before their twenty-eighth birthdays. 

Something in our society is amiss, and while arranged marriage isn’t the answer – Americans want their freedom to marry and divorce whomever they choose – maybe we should consider some of the conditions that allow arranged marriages to succeed and even thrive. Trust, commitment, and familial support would be a good starting point.

(a little essay-ish, but it was crafted as an example for class... I really aimed to keep it under 10 sentences, hence the semicolons... although who doesn't love a good, well-placed semicolon? Not to mention the em-dash...)

Pointless hypothetical ruminations

I've often thought that I couldn't have survived high school in today's society. Everyone with a MyFace page and cell phone, hyperaware of each other's "friends" and relationship status, or lack thereof... I survived 15 years ago with a bit of willful ignorance, and I don't think that's possible today.

But on the other hand, it might have been fun constructing an identity through words and links and common interests. Maybe it would have leveled the playing field.

This is what I think about when I can't fall asleep. Or else I try to figure out "Lost."

On the bright side...

I may have lost my health insurance, but I'm much calmer so I won't need the health insurance. Eh?

Eh?