Hi Alicia -- This is Ken from The Herald Sports department.
I was reading your column and have the following comment. I hope you don't think I'm being critical but if I don't tell you, maybe nobody would.
"You're a trooper," I believe, should be, "You're a trouper."
Merriam-Webster says:
: Trouper -- a person who deals with and persists through difficulty or hardship without complaint. You're a real trouper to wait so long.
I used the phrase recently, thought about it, checked it out and I was glad I did.
*****
Good point! And one I should've made in my column. I'll post your comment on my blog archive of my columns, if you don't mind.
I actually copied the phrase directly from the "101 Ways" poster I was looking at, but I should've checked, as you did, on the spelling. For a poster I was critiquing, trusting the spelling to be right was obviously trusting too much!
Alicia.
Friday, December 26, 2008
12/26/08: Wondering what to say? Praise the effort.
You may think me a bah-humbugger after my past two or three columns warning you off of things you shouldn’t say, when here we are in the middle of the jolliest time of year — the holidays.
You’d be partly right. Instead of eggnog, for instance, I’ve been drinking diet fruit punch. Not much holiday spirit in that.
But I don’t intend to leave you holding your tongue into the new year: Here, finally, is the column that tells you what to say instead of just what to avoid saying. This one’s all about praise.
Way to go! You made it — and so did I! High fives all around. And that haircut looks great on you, by the way. Most people couldn’t pull it off, but on you, it works. Not that it’s strange or anything, just, um — so how about this weather we’re having, eh?
While I think my firsthand experience qualifies me as an expert on things you shouldn’t say, I thought we’d all be better off if I did a little research on how to praise properly.
I consulted one of those posters of "101 Ways to Praise A Child," hoping a quick fix would do the trick.
From "bingo" to "you’re a winner," though, I saw praise that would work only in particular situations: "you learned it right" wouldn’t be very helpful, for instance, in encouraging a kid struggling with math to persevere past the two-plus-two-equals-five stage. And I have a hard time imagining myself saying "hot dog!" unless I’m actually handing one to someone.
I memorized a few and experimented with them anyway. In general, my attempts to praise led to confusion, neck-straining (as friends looked around for the promised hot dogs: "Where are they? I’m getting hungry") and eventual disappointment ("Well, now I wish I had one") rather than increased self esteem.
Maybe a new vocabulary wasn’t enough; I needed a new theory.
And — hot dog! — I found one.
An (actual) experiment in praise performed by psychologist Carol Dweck and her team at Columbia University found that acknowledging effort, rather than innate talent, works. In the experiment, two groups of fifth-graders were given an easy test. One group of kids was told they had done well because they were smart; the other group was told they had done well because they worked hard.
When they were all given the opportunity to take a harder test, or stick to the same level of difficulty, the majority of the "smart" kids chose to remain at the same level. Ninety percent of the "hardworking" kids chose the harder test — and then worked harder.
Not only did the "hardworking" group have a more positive attitude toward the tests and their own efforts, but when retested, they improved their original scores by about 30 percent. The "smart" kids did worse by about 20 percent.
I went back to the 101 Ways poster to see how many of the phrases I’d learned fell into the "you’re smart!" category. There were a few that would have to be axed, in addition to "you figured it out," "you’re catching on," and "A+ job," which are based on results rather than effort.
There were also a lot of generalities, such as "neat," "super work," or "wow," which aren’t as effective as specifics.
Here’s what to remember about praise, then: the more focused on specific efforts, the more effective.
So in the spirit of the season, thanks for taking the time to look over this column, reader. You’re a real trooper.
How was it — good? Let me know; your praise could help me write an even better column next week.
You’d be partly right. Instead of eggnog, for instance, I’ve been drinking diet fruit punch. Not much holiday spirit in that.
But I don’t intend to leave you holding your tongue into the new year: Here, finally, is the column that tells you what to say instead of just what to avoid saying. This one’s all about praise.
Way to go! You made it — and so did I! High fives all around. And that haircut looks great on you, by the way. Most people couldn’t pull it off, but on you, it works. Not that it’s strange or anything, just, um — so how about this weather we’re having, eh?
While I think my firsthand experience qualifies me as an expert on things you shouldn’t say, I thought we’d all be better off if I did a little research on how to praise properly.
I consulted one of those posters of "101 Ways to Praise A Child," hoping a quick fix would do the trick.
From "bingo" to "you’re a winner," though, I saw praise that would work only in particular situations: "you learned it right" wouldn’t be very helpful, for instance, in encouraging a kid struggling with math to persevere past the two-plus-two-equals-five stage. And I have a hard time imagining myself saying "hot dog!" unless I’m actually handing one to someone.
I memorized a few and experimented with them anyway. In general, my attempts to praise led to confusion, neck-straining (as friends looked around for the promised hot dogs: "Where are they? I’m getting hungry") and eventual disappointment ("Well, now I wish I had one") rather than increased self esteem.
Maybe a new vocabulary wasn’t enough; I needed a new theory.
And — hot dog! — I found one.
An (actual) experiment in praise performed by psychologist Carol Dweck and her team at Columbia University found that acknowledging effort, rather than innate talent, works. In the experiment, two groups of fifth-graders were given an easy test. One group of kids was told they had done well because they were smart; the other group was told they had done well because they worked hard.
When they were all given the opportunity to take a harder test, or stick to the same level of difficulty, the majority of the "smart" kids chose to remain at the same level. Ninety percent of the "hardworking" kids chose the harder test — and then worked harder.
Not only did the "hardworking" group have a more positive attitude toward the tests and their own efforts, but when retested, they improved their original scores by about 30 percent. The "smart" kids did worse by about 20 percent.
I went back to the 101 Ways poster to see how many of the phrases I’d learned fell into the "you’re smart!" category. There were a few that would have to be axed, in addition to "you figured it out," "you’re catching on," and "A+ job," which are based on results rather than effort.
There were also a lot of generalities, such as "neat," "super work," or "wow," which aren’t as effective as specifics.
Here’s what to remember about praise, then: the more focused on specific efforts, the more effective.
So in the spirit of the season, thanks for taking the time to look over this column, reader. You’re a real trooper.
How was it — good? Let me know; your praise could help me write an even better column next week.
Friday, December 19, 2008
12/19/08: A bit of sound advice, and why not to give it
As promised, here are some phrases to avoid when giving advice. Remember this list when your relatives are in town.
"Calm down."
As a joke: You can say this to someone who is sitting quietly, reading a book or otherwise not bothering you in any way. This is especially effective used on someone who is never excitable, such as an entomologist.
For real: Either the person you’re saying this to is actually upset about something, in which case your saying "calm down" will almost certainly fail to have the desired effect, or they don’t perceive themselves as being worked up and you’ve succeeded in pointing out their embarrassing volume level.
Perhaps instead, you could say "You’re being loud and embarrassing me, which is just as important as the fact that I stole your credit cards. Have a little self-respect!"
"Stop worrying."
As a joke: Repeat this phrase at increasing volume, again when the person you’re speaking to does not appear to be worrying at all. Escalation is key.
For real: Telling a worrier to stop worrying will have the opposite of the intended effect, since you’ve now shown them you are not willing to share the necessary work of preventing disaster through worrying it away. Now they’ll have to do your part of the worrying, too.
The only way to unclench worrywarts is to beat them at their own game. For every new anxiety they mention, respond, eyes wide with concern, "I know — we’re probably all going to die! Probably from this!"
If they object, up the ante until they give up: Santa won’t come this year; zombie robots will doom us all to a life of telemarketing; "owls will deafen us with their incessant hooting"; etc.
"Chill out."
Var. "calm down" — see previous entry.
"Don’t do anything stupid."
As a joke: This phrase functions best in response to someone’s announcement that they’re about to do something completely reasonable and necessary, such as wash the dishes.
For real: The person you’re advising has probably already decided to do something stupid by the time you utter this phrase. Your advice only indicates your disapproval at that point, making it less likely you’ll get a front-row seat for the ensuing disaster.
It’s also possible that the advisee is still on the fence; in this case, the phrase only distances you from the person you’re trying to convince. Like worriers, people about to act stupidly usually don’t recognize that what they’re going to do is stupid. Even if they do, most people don’t like to be reminded of their own capacity for stupidity, despite its humanitywide prevalence.
Instead of telling the advisee not to be stupid, then, bring their focus around to possible actions or ideas that may be smart: "let’s mop the kitchen floor," "how about getting some ice cream" or "why don’t you adopt that pet tortoise you’ve always wanted, instead" may get the advisee in a better frame of mind.
"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."
As a joke: This works best if you are a person of extremes — either extremely straight-laced or a daredevil.
For real: This phrase has one advantage over other typical advice phrases, which is that it reveals the true raison d’etre of advice-giving: to get the advisee to act exactly as you feel you would act in a given situation.
Anyone reaching the point of seriously uttering this phrase should stop speaking immediately and seek help.
After you’ve received your share of advice, you should be able to return to the previous conversation, knowing better.
"Calm down."
As a joke: You can say this to someone who is sitting quietly, reading a book or otherwise not bothering you in any way. This is especially effective used on someone who is never excitable, such as an entomologist.
For real: Either the person you’re saying this to is actually upset about something, in which case your saying "calm down" will almost certainly fail to have the desired effect, or they don’t perceive themselves as being worked up and you’ve succeeded in pointing out their embarrassing volume level.
Perhaps instead, you could say "You’re being loud and embarrassing me, which is just as important as the fact that I stole your credit cards. Have a little self-respect!"
"Stop worrying."
As a joke: Repeat this phrase at increasing volume, again when the person you’re speaking to does not appear to be worrying at all. Escalation is key.
For real: Telling a worrier to stop worrying will have the opposite of the intended effect, since you’ve now shown them you are not willing to share the necessary work of preventing disaster through worrying it away. Now they’ll have to do your part of the worrying, too.
The only way to unclench worrywarts is to beat them at their own game. For every new anxiety they mention, respond, eyes wide with concern, "I know — we’re probably all going to die! Probably from this!"
If they object, up the ante until they give up: Santa won’t come this year; zombie robots will doom us all to a life of telemarketing; "owls will deafen us with their incessant hooting"; etc.
"Chill out."
Var. "calm down" — see previous entry.
"Don’t do anything stupid."
As a joke: This phrase functions best in response to someone’s announcement that they’re about to do something completely reasonable and necessary, such as wash the dishes.
For real: The person you’re advising has probably already decided to do something stupid by the time you utter this phrase. Your advice only indicates your disapproval at that point, making it less likely you’ll get a front-row seat for the ensuing disaster.
It’s also possible that the advisee is still on the fence; in this case, the phrase only distances you from the person you’re trying to convince. Like worriers, people about to act stupidly usually don’t recognize that what they’re going to do is stupid. Even if they do, most people don’t like to be reminded of their own capacity for stupidity, despite its humanitywide prevalence.
Instead of telling the advisee not to be stupid, then, bring their focus around to possible actions or ideas that may be smart: "let’s mop the kitchen floor," "how about getting some ice cream" or "why don’t you adopt that pet tortoise you’ve always wanted, instead" may get the advisee in a better frame of mind.
"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."
As a joke: This works best if you are a person of extremes — either extremely straight-laced or a daredevil.
For real: This phrase has one advantage over other typical advice phrases, which is that it reveals the true raison d’etre of advice-giving: to get the advisee to act exactly as you feel you would act in a given situation.
Anyone reaching the point of seriously uttering this phrase should stop speaking immediately and seek help.
After you’ve received your share of advice, you should be able to return to the previous conversation, knowing better.
Friday, December 12, 2008
12/12/08: Some practical advice about what not to say
The holidays can be stressful — that’s so obvious, it’s become a cliche. So I’m not going to write about that.
Rather than pontificate on how to de-stress and “just let go” when the urge to Martha-Stewartize your home hits you right before that family get-together, I’m going to give you some practical advice on making conversation with your guests once they’ve arrived.
I started last week by helping you streamline the process of complaining, introducing some scales to help you express your unhappiness more efficiently. Without lengthy stories of how busy you’ve been this holiday season (see frazzlement scale) as filler, you may find yourself with more talking time.
You can talk about almost anything you want in that time: the weather, a local sports team, the upcoming presidential election (2012).
But whatever your topic, there are some phrases you should avoid using, except as a joke. I’ll explain for each how you might use them humorously, and why and how to avoid them under other circumstances.
“No offense, but ...”
As a joke: You can use this phrase when you are sure the listeners agree with you, if you follow with something obviously offensive. This is funny when it is directed at a famous figure everyone finds annoying, such as Scott “Carrot Top” Thompson; otherwise, it is cruel.
For real: You will never fail to offend if you begin your remarks with this phrase. Upon hearing it, listeners will immediately begin being offended.Instead of feigning respect for the person to whom you are speaking, then, you might try some refreshing honesty: “I was just thinking something rotten about you and wanted to let you know” or “I feel an obligation to the world at large to tell you to take a bath/discipline your child/get off my property.”Alternatively, you could bite your tongue and say nothing.
“You’re not ugly.”
As a joke: Never use this as a joke.
For real: This reassurance is especially useless when it is unsolicited. If someone is sitting there, minding her own business, and you look over and say, “You’re not ugly,” you’re implying you had been thinking she was. (And anyway, who asked you?)
It is also useless to say this to someone fishing for a compliment. In fact, there are really only two ways to deal with someone complaining “I’m ugly/fat/too obsessed with reality TV:” The first is to go over and say, if you can say it honestly, “Not to me. To me, you’re beautiful/exactly the right size/a ‘TV enthusiast.’”
The second, which is the one I usually choose, is to sit back and say “Well, I’ve always thought so.”
“Really?”
As a joke: You can say this to point out that whatever has just been said is obvious. Take care to select the proper “sarcastic voice,” or people will think you’re legitimately offended. Maybe you should practice first.
For real: The trouble with this word is that it implies a lack of belief in what has just been said.
At some point all of us, however diligently we struggle to avoid it, will be surprised by some statement and blurt out “really?” in response. It’s best to try to cover up the slight of the word by immediately following it with what we really meant, i.e., “I’m surprised!” or “That’s crazy!” or “What do you mean a telephone pole has fallen on my car?”
Next week, I’ll help you out on giving unsolicited advice. (Try not to give any advice until then.)
Rather than pontificate on how to de-stress and “just let go” when the urge to Martha-Stewartize your home hits you right before that family get-together, I’m going to give you some practical advice on making conversation with your guests once they’ve arrived.
I started last week by helping you streamline the process of complaining, introducing some scales to help you express your unhappiness more efficiently. Without lengthy stories of how busy you’ve been this holiday season (see frazzlement scale) as filler, you may find yourself with more talking time.
You can talk about almost anything you want in that time: the weather, a local sports team, the upcoming presidential election (2012).
But whatever your topic, there are some phrases you should avoid using, except as a joke. I’ll explain for each how you might use them humorously, and why and how to avoid them under other circumstances.
“No offense, but ...”
As a joke: You can use this phrase when you are sure the listeners agree with you, if you follow with something obviously offensive. This is funny when it is directed at a famous figure everyone finds annoying, such as Scott “Carrot Top” Thompson; otherwise, it is cruel.
For real: You will never fail to offend if you begin your remarks with this phrase. Upon hearing it, listeners will immediately begin being offended.Instead of feigning respect for the person to whom you are speaking, then, you might try some refreshing honesty: “I was just thinking something rotten about you and wanted to let you know” or “I feel an obligation to the world at large to tell you to take a bath/discipline your child/get off my property.”Alternatively, you could bite your tongue and say nothing.
“You’re not ugly.”
As a joke: Never use this as a joke.
For real: This reassurance is especially useless when it is unsolicited. If someone is sitting there, minding her own business, and you look over and say, “You’re not ugly,” you’re implying you had been thinking she was. (And anyway, who asked you?)
It is also useless to say this to someone fishing for a compliment. In fact, there are really only two ways to deal with someone complaining “I’m ugly/fat/too obsessed with reality TV:” The first is to go over and say, if you can say it honestly, “Not to me. To me, you’re beautiful/exactly the right size/a ‘TV enthusiast.’”
The second, which is the one I usually choose, is to sit back and say “Well, I’ve always thought so.”
“Really?”
As a joke: You can say this to point out that whatever has just been said is obvious. Take care to select the proper “sarcastic voice,” or people will think you’re legitimately offended. Maybe you should practice first.
For real: The trouble with this word is that it implies a lack of belief in what has just been said.
At some point all of us, however diligently we struggle to avoid it, will be surprised by some statement and blurt out “really?” in response. It’s best to try to cover up the slight of the word by immediately following it with what we really meant, i.e., “I’m surprised!” or “That’s crazy!” or “What do you mean a telephone pole has fallen on my car?”
Next week, I’ll help you out on giving unsolicited advice. (Try not to give any advice until then.)
Friday, December 5, 2008
12/5/08: When measurement fails, invent your own scale
Do you ever resent people asking how you are, then ignoring your answer? Find yourself recounting your sadness over a favorite houseplant’s death at length to an unsympathetic listener? Wish there was a more efficient way to express your true feelings?
This is the column for you, my friend. Use this system of measurements to streamline those conversations and express your unhappiness more efficiently!
Emotion: sadness
Units of measure: kittens
How it works: Levels of sadness can be expressed in units of kittens — that is, the number of kittens it would take to bring one back up to *LOL* levels of happiness.
A nine-kitten day, then, would be significantly worse than a three-kitten day. A typically happy day may warrant a zero- to one-kitten level.
Example:
Your bike was stolen: four kittens
Your car was stolen: six kittens
Your house was stolen: nine kittens
Limits: Kittens should never be counted in fractions, as the gruesomeness of the image would defeat this scale’s purpose. (Half or three-quarters of a kitten would make no one *LOL* happy.)
It is impossible to rate any day a negative-kittens day.
This scale may be less useful to those who do not like kittens or do not think they are cute.
Emotion: geographic dissatisfaction
Units of measure: absolute cultural miles
How it works: Levels of geographic dissatisfaction — that is, un/happiness with one’s geographic location based on proximity to positive factors (friends, active local "hippie" population [for hippies], ice cream parlors) or negative factors (enemies, active local "hippie" population [for Republicans], town dumps) — can be measured in absolute cultural miles (cult. mi.) from Trenton, N.J., which is the absolutely most dissatisfying place on the planet.
The geographically dissatisfied should compare their level of dissatisfaction with how they would feel if they were living in the exact geographic center of Trenton.
The more satisfied they are with the positive factors, the farther from the geographic center of Trenton they will rate that factor — the less satisfied, the closer.
Example:
All friends within walking distance: 11,500 cult. mi.
Museum within walking distance: 7,500 cult. mi.
Town dump, gelatin factory and several enemies within walking distance: three cult. mi.
Limits: Cultural miles can range from zero (the exact geographic center of Trenton) to 12,430 (the exact opposite side of the planet from Trenton).
Emotion: frazzlement due to over-busyness
Units of measure: selves
How it works: Frazzlement (anxiety) levels can be measured in the number of selves that would be required to allow you to take a Caribbean vacation without guilt.
Selves should be measured with the original-you calibrated at zero. Thus, if you are currently taking a guilt-free Caribbean vacation, your frazzlement level is at zero selves.
A typical day would require at least one self to free you for a Caribbean vacation.
Example:
You have to pick up a single jar of peanut butter from the store: one self
You have to give a dinner party for four to seven friends: four selves
You have to fill out insurance forms, pick up a child from day care, take out the trash and clean the bathroom: six selves (with three for the forms)
Limits: Particularly guilt-ridden people will find this scale useless, as they are likely incapable of taking a Caribbean vacation without guilt.
Elaborations: High numbers of selves may be translated into units of moms. One mom is worth five selves.
Requests for further emotion scales may be made via comments or e-mail.
This is the column for you, my friend. Use this system of measurements to streamline those conversations and express your unhappiness more efficiently!
Emotion: sadness
Units of measure: kittens
How it works: Levels of sadness can be expressed in units of kittens — that is, the number of kittens it would take to bring one back up to *LOL* levels of happiness.
A nine-kitten day, then, would be significantly worse than a three-kitten day. A typically happy day may warrant a zero- to one-kitten level.
Example:
Your bike was stolen: four kittens
Your car was stolen: six kittens
Your house was stolen: nine kittens
Limits: Kittens should never be counted in fractions, as the gruesomeness of the image would defeat this scale’s purpose. (Half or three-quarters of a kitten would make no one *LOL* happy.)
It is impossible to rate any day a negative-kittens day.
This scale may be less useful to those who do not like kittens or do not think they are cute.
Emotion: geographic dissatisfaction
Units of measure: absolute cultural miles
How it works: Levels of geographic dissatisfaction — that is, un/happiness with one’s geographic location based on proximity to positive factors (friends, active local "hippie" population [for hippies], ice cream parlors) or negative factors (enemies, active local "hippie" population [for Republicans], town dumps) — can be measured in absolute cultural miles (cult. mi.) from Trenton, N.J., which is the absolutely most dissatisfying place on the planet.
The geographically dissatisfied should compare their level of dissatisfaction with how they would feel if they were living in the exact geographic center of Trenton.
The more satisfied they are with the positive factors, the farther from the geographic center of Trenton they will rate that factor — the less satisfied, the closer.
Example:
All friends within walking distance: 11,500 cult. mi.
Museum within walking distance: 7,500 cult. mi.
Town dump, gelatin factory and several enemies within walking distance: three cult. mi.
Limits: Cultural miles can range from zero (the exact geographic center of Trenton) to 12,430 (the exact opposite side of the planet from Trenton).
Emotion: frazzlement due to over-busyness
Units of measure: selves
How it works: Frazzlement (anxiety) levels can be measured in the number of selves that would be required to allow you to take a Caribbean vacation without guilt.
Selves should be measured with the original-you calibrated at zero. Thus, if you are currently taking a guilt-free Caribbean vacation, your frazzlement level is at zero selves.
A typical day would require at least one self to free you for a Caribbean vacation.
Example:
You have to pick up a single jar of peanut butter from the store: one self
You have to give a dinner party for four to seven friends: four selves
You have to fill out insurance forms, pick up a child from day care, take out the trash and clean the bathroom: six selves (with three for the forms)
Limits: Particularly guilt-ridden people will find this scale useless, as they are likely incapable of taking a Caribbean vacation without guilt.
Elaborations: High numbers of selves may be translated into units of moms. One mom is worth five selves.
Requests for further emotion scales may be made via comments or e-mail.
Friday, November 28, 2008
11/28/08: Shopping for a solution? Try Goodwill toward all.
Imagine you woke up this morning and instead of the early-bird sales and requisite bleary-eyed fights over the toy of the year (remember Tickle Me Elmo?) of Black Friday, there was nothing to buy.
Or let’s say there was nothing new to buy.
What would you get your friends and family for the holidays?
The artsy among us would have it easiest, I imagine: They could paint a bunch of paintings, take a bunch of photos, write a few songs or short stories and dedicate them to multiple people from different friend groups.
The crafty could knit socks, make marmalades and scrapbook their favorite memories with such-and-such a family member or high-school buddy.
The rest of us would probably panic, until we remembered what would become the source of our salvation — that is, the Salvation Army. Consignment shops and Goodwill stores would suddenly be packed by people fighting over a Class Struggle board game, a minigrill that looks like a baseball, a mug with a recipe for onion soup printed on it. The really lucky might be able to pull an old fruitcake out of a closet or attic and re-gift it — to the really unlucky.
We’d probably search our wardrobes and basements for things we don’t need that someone else might, refashioning everything useless into “a planter.”
The effect of this kind of creating and shopping on the holidays would be that everyone would get completely unique gifts (except for the multiple dedicatees for those songs and short stories, and everyone who got a planter). Many of them would be more practical than what we’d have gotten otherwise. Some would be less, I suppose, but at least the product of panicked, last-minute closet foraging is likely to be funnier, more personal and more bizarre than what’s left at the mall on Christmas Eve.
We’d probably learn a lot. Going to Goodwill would prove to America once and for all that we have no need for the manufacture of new souvenir coffee mugs, ever. Your reluctance to give up those leg warmers and the hair crimper you haven’t used since 1988 might remind you of how fun those warmed-leg, crimped-hair times really were. In the end, we’d probably figure out that we didn’t need as much stuff as we’d thought to have a good holiday.
I can hear you more critical readers scoffing: “That’s kind of a clichéd line, Alicia. In fact, this whole idea is nothing but a slight variation on ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.’
“And anyway, these aren’t the times to be thinking about shopping less, not with the economy tilting toward recession.”
Except that the point of capitalism is not to keep people gleefully spending themselves into debt; buying stuff isn’t actually patriotic. If the economy is going downhill, it’s because of our excessive and indiscriminate spending, not because we save too much. Some products, the bad ones, deserve to go unbought — even on Black Friday.
We can leave them in the stores and wait for the good ones. In the meantime, while inventors get to their inventing, we won’t mind our shelves being more sparely stocked if what we put on them is all useful or genuinely loved. We can swap and craft our way through the holidays.
In fact, we might not even feel the pinch of recession if we think about how we can use what we’ve already got instead of following fads.
Think about it: How many kids out there still play with their Tickle Me Elmos?
Couldn’t you just see him making a great planter?
Or let’s say there was nothing new to buy.
What would you get your friends and family for the holidays?
The artsy among us would have it easiest, I imagine: They could paint a bunch of paintings, take a bunch of photos, write a few songs or short stories and dedicate them to multiple people from different friend groups.
The crafty could knit socks, make marmalades and scrapbook their favorite memories with such-and-such a family member or high-school buddy.
The rest of us would probably panic, until we remembered what would become the source of our salvation — that is, the Salvation Army. Consignment shops and Goodwill stores would suddenly be packed by people fighting over a Class Struggle board game, a minigrill that looks like a baseball, a mug with a recipe for onion soup printed on it. The really lucky might be able to pull an old fruitcake out of a closet or attic and re-gift it — to the really unlucky.
We’d probably search our wardrobes and basements for things we don’t need that someone else might, refashioning everything useless into “a planter.”
The effect of this kind of creating and shopping on the holidays would be that everyone would get completely unique gifts (except for the multiple dedicatees for those songs and short stories, and everyone who got a planter). Many of them would be more practical than what we’d have gotten otherwise. Some would be less, I suppose, but at least the product of panicked, last-minute closet foraging is likely to be funnier, more personal and more bizarre than what’s left at the mall on Christmas Eve.
We’d probably learn a lot. Going to Goodwill would prove to America once and for all that we have no need for the manufacture of new souvenir coffee mugs, ever. Your reluctance to give up those leg warmers and the hair crimper you haven’t used since 1988 might remind you of how fun those warmed-leg, crimped-hair times really were. In the end, we’d probably figure out that we didn’t need as much stuff as we’d thought to have a good holiday.
I can hear you more critical readers scoffing: “That’s kind of a clichéd line, Alicia. In fact, this whole idea is nothing but a slight variation on ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.’
“And anyway, these aren’t the times to be thinking about shopping less, not with the economy tilting toward recession.”
Except that the point of capitalism is not to keep people gleefully spending themselves into debt; buying stuff isn’t actually patriotic. If the economy is going downhill, it’s because of our excessive and indiscriminate spending, not because we save too much. Some products, the bad ones, deserve to go unbought — even on Black Friday.
We can leave them in the stores and wait for the good ones. In the meantime, while inventors get to their inventing, we won’t mind our shelves being more sparely stocked if what we put on them is all useful or genuinely loved. We can swap and craft our way through the holidays.
In fact, we might not even feel the pinch of recession if we think about how we can use what we’ve already got instead of following fads.
Think about it: How many kids out there still play with their Tickle Me Elmos?
Couldn’t you just see him making a great planter?
Friday, November 21, 2008
11/21/08: "Take responsibility" is not an effective answer
I’m against abortion.
But then, I don’t know anyone who considers herself “for” abortion. To my knowledge, I’ve never met a woman who was happy about having one. I suspect these women are fictional, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny — only, you know, evil.
So why do people who call themselves “pro-life” seem to believe in them? It’s never made sense to me that pro-life advocates appear to believe both that women seeking abortions are wicked and that they should be required to raise children.
The assumption from the right often seems to be that women who have ended up pregnant are so because they’ve made bad decisions.
OK, sure. That may sometimes be true. But even if it were true in every case, the prevailing attitude that these women should be made to “take responsibility” for their mistakes is foolish.
Now, I’m for taking responsibility. I consider myself a responsible person — almost boringly so — and wherever possible, I like to see other people holding up their ends, too.
The trouble is that this responsibility often falls exclusively on women, consumes entire lives and careers and requires more than a dutiful attitude to be executed properly — it requires love. And yet we expect women to buckle down, grit their teeth and do it anyway. Lovingly.
And alone.
This doesn’t seem very pro-lifelike to me. And it doesn’t seem very effective.
Neither does arguing that women who decide to have their children in less-than-ideal circumstances — into single-parent households, into families whose budgets are already strained beyond breaking, into abusive situations — will be suddenly swept up by “the joy of parenting” and able to overcome any obstacle. “When you hold the baby, you’ll feel great” is not an argument that puts food on the table. It doesn’t solve real problems.
If we want fewer abortions, we need to admit it’s a difficult question. There are no easy answers.
Then we need to look to ourselves to “take responsibility,” not to women in desperate or unfair circumstances.
I’m not saying women can abdicate responsibility. And I’m not talking politics here. I’m talking about us pro-lifers acting like the kind of people we say we want to be: actually pro-life.
Here’s a thought: We can have legalized abortion and still live in a country that performs none. Legalized abortion is not the problem. The need for it is. Let’s stop focusing on political solutions and work on relational ones.
Pro-lifers need to stop advocating for abstinence-only education. It’s obvious abstinence is the only foolproof method of pregnancy prevention; it’s also obvious that abstinence-only education doesn’t work. Teens in abstinence-only areas contract just as many sexually transmitted diseases and get pregnant just as often, and more often in many cases, than kids getting taught sex ed.
We also need to think hard about the other options we list for women considering abortion and ensure they’re real options, not just things we say to make ourselves feel better.We have to remember, for instance, that we care about these children when we fund food stamps and health coverage — more than we care about our taxes going up.
And while adoption is an option, the number of couples looking for children cannot possibly rival the number of children aborted every year. I say this seriously: If you’re really pro-life, next time you meet a woman thinking about abortion, consider offering to adopt her child yourself.
At the very least, thinking about it will help you see what she’s going through. At best, “when you hold the baby, you’ll feel great.”
But then, I don’t know anyone who considers herself “for” abortion. To my knowledge, I’ve never met a woman who was happy about having one. I suspect these women are fictional, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny — only, you know, evil.
So why do people who call themselves “pro-life” seem to believe in them? It’s never made sense to me that pro-life advocates appear to believe both that women seeking abortions are wicked and that they should be required to raise children.
The assumption from the right often seems to be that women who have ended up pregnant are so because they’ve made bad decisions.
OK, sure. That may sometimes be true. But even if it were true in every case, the prevailing attitude that these women should be made to “take responsibility” for their mistakes is foolish.
Now, I’m for taking responsibility. I consider myself a responsible person — almost boringly so — and wherever possible, I like to see other people holding up their ends, too.
The trouble is that this responsibility often falls exclusively on women, consumes entire lives and careers and requires more than a dutiful attitude to be executed properly — it requires love. And yet we expect women to buckle down, grit their teeth and do it anyway. Lovingly.
And alone.
This doesn’t seem very pro-lifelike to me. And it doesn’t seem very effective.
Neither does arguing that women who decide to have their children in less-than-ideal circumstances — into single-parent households, into families whose budgets are already strained beyond breaking, into abusive situations — will be suddenly swept up by “the joy of parenting” and able to overcome any obstacle. “When you hold the baby, you’ll feel great” is not an argument that puts food on the table. It doesn’t solve real problems.
If we want fewer abortions, we need to admit it’s a difficult question. There are no easy answers.
Then we need to look to ourselves to “take responsibility,” not to women in desperate or unfair circumstances.
I’m not saying women can abdicate responsibility. And I’m not talking politics here. I’m talking about us pro-lifers acting like the kind of people we say we want to be: actually pro-life.
Here’s a thought: We can have legalized abortion and still live in a country that performs none. Legalized abortion is not the problem. The need for it is. Let’s stop focusing on political solutions and work on relational ones.
Pro-lifers need to stop advocating for abstinence-only education. It’s obvious abstinence is the only foolproof method of pregnancy prevention; it’s also obvious that abstinence-only education doesn’t work. Teens in abstinence-only areas contract just as many sexually transmitted diseases and get pregnant just as often, and more often in many cases, than kids getting taught sex ed.
We also need to think hard about the other options we list for women considering abortion and ensure they’re real options, not just things we say to make ourselves feel better.We have to remember, for instance, that we care about these children when we fund food stamps and health coverage — more than we care about our taxes going up.
And while adoption is an option, the number of couples looking for children cannot possibly rival the number of children aborted every year. I say this seriously: If you’re really pro-life, next time you meet a woman thinking about abortion, consider offering to adopt her child yourself.
At the very least, thinking about it will help you see what she’s going through. At best, “when you hold the baby, you’ll feel great.”
Friday, November 14, 2008
11/14/08: Nowhere to settle down in modern marketplace
I spent four years after college teaching English — first to students in China, then to GED students in Washington, D.C.
I did not have the certification that would have allowed me to teach in an American public school. It may have been this fact that caused friends and relatives to ask me, on my visits to family in Connecticut, when I would be getting "a real job."
It was more likely the fact that I was a volunteer those four years, supported in China by sponsorship from those friends and relatives and in D.C. by a voluntary service and Americorps, that prompted questions of when I would settle down.
Settling down means, in part, making money. It also means sticking to one place and buckling down when "the going gets rough." Settling down means choosing one course of action — or inaction — and committing to it. Settling down is practical.
But nothing is more practical than doing what you really, really want to do. And settling down too often becomes settling.
Settling for less than what you know you’re capable of leads to misery.
Misery is not practical — it’s stupid. It’s a waste of time and effort to work at something that makes you money but makes you miserable. It’s always been a waste, but is even more of one now, when building a career means cultivating skills and abilities that can be taken with you when you change jobs.
And you will change jobs. It’s no longer a question of whether you will ever again need an updated resume, but how often you’ll need it: every year? Every six months? Some people make careers of working for temp agencies. The old paradigm of the industrial corporation earning worker loyalty by offering security is obsolete. Gone with it are the assumed advantages of "settling down."
This isn’t necessarily bad. There were advantages to a workplace that offered job security, but there are at least as many advantages to the emerging market for creative and flexible individuals — those who can multitask, who are willing to learn and can apply a variety of past experiences to a new challenge.
There are comparatively fewer advantages in the new marketplace, of course, for those still interested primarily in settling down.
We need to change our paradigms to accommodate this change. In his book "Work: Making a Living and Making a Life," Joshua Halberstam points out that "in our economy, jobs are activities, not positions; only the temporary contract is permanent." The "temporary contract" offers payment for services rendered, encourages project-driven work rather than stable position-related functions and essentially eliminates the division between "management" and "employee." In this environment, your loyalty is to yourself and developing your potential.
There’s no reason to "put in time" in the proverbial mailroom, hoping to be promoted on the basis of your long service. Recent graduates or workers dissatisfied with their job’s responsibilities or position need to become entrepreneurs, seeking out a need for skills they have or would like to develop — especially for work in a field they would enjoy.
While many fields are increasingly specialized, there’s no reason to stick to one career path, either. Most skills are transferable. Even hobbies can become careers.
I waited, as my years in China passed, and then as my time in D.C. went by, to feel ready to "settle down." I expected the desire to commit to one place or vocation to magically descend on me.
So far, it hasn’t — but considering the range of fascinating opportunities out there, I’m glad.
I did not have the certification that would have allowed me to teach in an American public school. It may have been this fact that caused friends and relatives to ask me, on my visits to family in Connecticut, when I would be getting "a real job."
It was more likely the fact that I was a volunteer those four years, supported in China by sponsorship from those friends and relatives and in D.C. by a voluntary service and Americorps, that prompted questions of when I would settle down.
Settling down means, in part, making money. It also means sticking to one place and buckling down when "the going gets rough." Settling down means choosing one course of action — or inaction — and committing to it. Settling down is practical.
But nothing is more practical than doing what you really, really want to do. And settling down too often becomes settling.
Settling for less than what you know you’re capable of leads to misery.
Misery is not practical — it’s stupid. It’s a waste of time and effort to work at something that makes you money but makes you miserable. It’s always been a waste, but is even more of one now, when building a career means cultivating skills and abilities that can be taken with you when you change jobs.
And you will change jobs. It’s no longer a question of whether you will ever again need an updated resume, but how often you’ll need it: every year? Every six months? Some people make careers of working for temp agencies. The old paradigm of the industrial corporation earning worker loyalty by offering security is obsolete. Gone with it are the assumed advantages of "settling down."
This isn’t necessarily bad. There were advantages to a workplace that offered job security, but there are at least as many advantages to the emerging market for creative and flexible individuals — those who can multitask, who are willing to learn and can apply a variety of past experiences to a new challenge.
There are comparatively fewer advantages in the new marketplace, of course, for those still interested primarily in settling down.
We need to change our paradigms to accommodate this change. In his book "Work: Making a Living and Making a Life," Joshua Halberstam points out that "in our economy, jobs are activities, not positions; only the temporary contract is permanent." The "temporary contract" offers payment for services rendered, encourages project-driven work rather than stable position-related functions and essentially eliminates the division between "management" and "employee." In this environment, your loyalty is to yourself and developing your potential.
There’s no reason to "put in time" in the proverbial mailroom, hoping to be promoted on the basis of your long service. Recent graduates or workers dissatisfied with their job’s responsibilities or position need to become entrepreneurs, seeking out a need for skills they have or would like to develop — especially for work in a field they would enjoy.
While many fields are increasingly specialized, there’s no reason to stick to one career path, either. Most skills are transferable. Even hobbies can become careers.
I waited, as my years in China passed, and then as my time in D.C. went by, to feel ready to "settle down." I expected the desire to commit to one place or vocation to magically descend on me.
So far, it hasn’t — but considering the range of fascinating opportunities out there, I’m glad.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
11/7/08: Obama did more than win; he inspired
Dear President-elect Obama,
I’m just writing to thank you for running. I know the opposition has been tough, starting with an overloaded Democratic primary. You’ve been on the road for 20 months, and that’s just the beginning of the fight you’re in for now.
I’ve never seen people so angry as some have been over your campaign, and for such strange and diverse reasons: You’re "a Muslim," you’re secretly "a terrorist," you’re "going to raise taxes," you’re "inexperienced." You’re black.
But I’ve also never felt the sense of hope and agency your campaign has created in your supporters. I’ve never met up with a group of civic-minded people who volunteer and cheer and invest themselves in the question of government the way people in my online Town Hall group do. This is something new.
To me, the best part is the sense that government isn’t some monolithic structure created to keep us from succeeding, or put on us by politicians whose ways are so strange they’re like aliens — actual aliens, not immigrants. We make up the government, and we can change it if we want to.
I suspect we’ll need that sense of agency in the next four or eight years, because I think it will be a hard road for you. People who supported and voted for McCain will be hard to win over, especially if they believe the suggestions that you’re going to destroy us all. You’ll need the supporters you gained during this campaign to continue working on behalf of your ideals.
And it’s your ideals that we love: the focus on green energy as the way to energy independence, with the recognition that this will create jobs, even if those aren’t oil or coal jobs anymore; the support for service workers with Americorps or the Peace Corps, in helping to fund their tuition and for the community members they’ll help with their service; your concern for the well-being of soldiers, from voting for the G.I. Bill to getting them out of Iraq and into the fight against al-Qaida, where they should have been in the first place.
I love hearing you talk about education. I love it when you talk about the middle class — even though I’m not yet a member of it. I love that a record number of young voters registered to vote for you. This is what I’m talking about.
Even if you turned out to be a Scientologist, a crazy tax-raiser and a robot, the damage is done. We’ve woken up to our responsibilities as Americans, out of the stupor of seven years of being told to shop more to defeat terrorism, out of the disbelief we were struck with when we learned there were no weapons of mass destruction, that we’d been asked to bail out the institutions that seemed to have stolen our 401Ks or that plenty of children were "left behind" while teachers drowned in paperwork.
(Or the most surreal moment of the past eight years for me — being told Vice President Cheney had shot his friend in the face. Satire died that day; with reality like this, who needed sarcasm?)
You’ve made me understand that it’s as much up to me as it is you. And I’m ready. I’m not going to sit back and wait for you to get things done. I’m not going to be slinging mud, and I won’t always pay attention to what you’re doing. I’ve got my own civic work to do.
I’ll update you periodically, as I’m sure you’ll let us know how it’s going in the White House.
Best wishes, President Obama.
I’m just writing to thank you for running. I know the opposition has been tough, starting with an overloaded Democratic primary. You’ve been on the road for 20 months, and that’s just the beginning of the fight you’re in for now.
I’ve never seen people so angry as some have been over your campaign, and for such strange and diverse reasons: You’re "a Muslim," you’re secretly "a terrorist," you’re "going to raise taxes," you’re "inexperienced." You’re black.
But I’ve also never felt the sense of hope and agency your campaign has created in your supporters. I’ve never met up with a group of civic-minded people who volunteer and cheer and invest themselves in the question of government the way people in my online Town Hall group do. This is something new.
To me, the best part is the sense that government isn’t some monolithic structure created to keep us from succeeding, or put on us by politicians whose ways are so strange they’re like aliens — actual aliens, not immigrants. We make up the government, and we can change it if we want to.
I suspect we’ll need that sense of agency in the next four or eight years, because I think it will be a hard road for you. People who supported and voted for McCain will be hard to win over, especially if they believe the suggestions that you’re going to destroy us all. You’ll need the supporters you gained during this campaign to continue working on behalf of your ideals.
And it’s your ideals that we love: the focus on green energy as the way to energy independence, with the recognition that this will create jobs, even if those aren’t oil or coal jobs anymore; the support for service workers with Americorps or the Peace Corps, in helping to fund their tuition and for the community members they’ll help with their service; your concern for the well-being of soldiers, from voting for the G.I. Bill to getting them out of Iraq and into the fight against al-Qaida, where they should have been in the first place.
I love hearing you talk about education. I love it when you talk about the middle class — even though I’m not yet a member of it. I love that a record number of young voters registered to vote for you. This is what I’m talking about.
Even if you turned out to be a Scientologist, a crazy tax-raiser and a robot, the damage is done. We’ve woken up to our responsibilities as Americans, out of the stupor of seven years of being told to shop more to defeat terrorism, out of the disbelief we were struck with when we learned there were no weapons of mass destruction, that we’d been asked to bail out the institutions that seemed to have stolen our 401Ks or that plenty of children were "left behind" while teachers drowned in paperwork.
(Or the most surreal moment of the past eight years for me — being told Vice President Cheney had shot his friend in the face. Satire died that day; with reality like this, who needed sarcasm?)
You’ve made me understand that it’s as much up to me as it is you. And I’m ready. I’m not going to sit back and wait for you to get things done. I’m not going to be slinging mud, and I won’t always pay attention to what you’re doing. I’ve got my own civic work to do.
I’ll update you periodically, as I’m sure you’ll let us know how it’s going in the White House.
Best wishes, President Obama.
Friday, October 31, 2008
10/31/08: Give us the message, spare us these words
In the past few months, we’ve been subjected to a lot of campaigning, much of which has become unhelpfully negative, especially recently.
I’m not interested in limiting free speech or becoming the “word police,” but from my perspective, there are some words that have lost real meaning during all this campaigning and mudslinging, and I propose a moratorium.
Here are words I think we should suspend.
Terrorist: We should stop using this word on each other. It’s just common sense that if Barack Obama wanted to destroy America the way al-Qaida operatives destroyed the World Trade Center, he would have been found out by now. We’ve had him in our sights for almost two years, and the best we’ve come up with linking him to terrorism — and domestic, not foreign terrorism, at that — is a tenuous connection to Bill Ayers, who, whatever his past, is now an honored educator.
Either Obama doesn’t have Islamist terrorist connections, or we are extremely poor detectives. If it’s the latter, we may have bigger problems on our hands than we’ve supposed.
Maverick: Besides the objection of the actual Maverick family in Texas, the word “maverick” isn’t really appropriate to describe the policies of a politician or, especially, a team of politicians. And if it is, it shouldn’t be.
We’re not electing Best Cowboy; we’re trying to elect a president, who will have to work within the system the Founding Fathers set up. Saying we’d like to go back to the original plan laid out in the Constitution isn’t “maverick”-like. It’s conservative by definition.
Defense: We should stop using this to describe anything related to the Bush Doctrine — that is, the idea pre-emptive strikes against sovereign nations are a good idea.
This is not defense.
Objections to that statement usually fall into the “best defense is a good offense” category.
OK, maybe. But we call that “a good offense.”
I also propose we stop referring to the “Star Wars” national missile defense system as “defense” until some of those missiles start actually hitting their targets.
Alien: Of course we can continue to use this word to describe E.T., but there’s no reason to continue to use it to describe immigrants. The repercussions for the global economy after America’s recent financial crises should make it clear we’re living in an interconnected world.
No human is from outer space, in other words.
Most people who object to the word worry that “alien” makes immigrants sound scary. I’m less worried that the fright factor of this word will rub off on immigrants, though, than that it will wear off through overuse, making it useless for “War of the Worlds” type movies, books and other media.
Imagine Will Smith in “Independence Day” coming toward the audience, fiery explosions in the background, for instance, to confront your hardworking neighbor or grandparent or a factory worker educated and skilled enough to perform open-heart surgery on you if you were in his country.
Not very thrilling, I’d say.
All the Joes: The opposite of “alien,” the Joes are supposed to make us feel connected to the down-home lifestyle and values they apparently represent. We’ve been introduced to all kinds of Joes: Joe the plumber, Joe Six-pack, Joe Cool, cup of joe. Maybe they do represent “real America,” but I’ve had enough of them.
Note, however, that Joe the plumber has inspired a “new” national habit of designating people by their work titles; this is Chinglish creeping into common use. I approve of that in general.
I just wish all of us regular Joes would get a rest.
I’m not interested in limiting free speech or becoming the “word police,” but from my perspective, there are some words that have lost real meaning during all this campaigning and mudslinging, and I propose a moratorium.
Here are words I think we should suspend.
Terrorist: We should stop using this word on each other. It’s just common sense that if Barack Obama wanted to destroy America the way al-Qaida operatives destroyed the World Trade Center, he would have been found out by now. We’ve had him in our sights for almost two years, and the best we’ve come up with linking him to terrorism — and domestic, not foreign terrorism, at that — is a tenuous connection to Bill Ayers, who, whatever his past, is now an honored educator.
Either Obama doesn’t have Islamist terrorist connections, or we are extremely poor detectives. If it’s the latter, we may have bigger problems on our hands than we’ve supposed.
Maverick: Besides the objection of the actual Maverick family in Texas, the word “maverick” isn’t really appropriate to describe the policies of a politician or, especially, a team of politicians. And if it is, it shouldn’t be.
We’re not electing Best Cowboy; we’re trying to elect a president, who will have to work within the system the Founding Fathers set up. Saying we’d like to go back to the original plan laid out in the Constitution isn’t “maverick”-like. It’s conservative by definition.
Defense: We should stop using this to describe anything related to the Bush Doctrine — that is, the idea pre-emptive strikes against sovereign nations are a good idea.
This is not defense.
Objections to that statement usually fall into the “best defense is a good offense” category.
OK, maybe. But we call that “a good offense.”
I also propose we stop referring to the “Star Wars” national missile defense system as “defense” until some of those missiles start actually hitting their targets.
Alien: Of course we can continue to use this word to describe E.T., but there’s no reason to continue to use it to describe immigrants. The repercussions for the global economy after America’s recent financial crises should make it clear we’re living in an interconnected world.
No human is from outer space, in other words.
Most people who object to the word worry that “alien” makes immigrants sound scary. I’m less worried that the fright factor of this word will rub off on immigrants, though, than that it will wear off through overuse, making it useless for “War of the Worlds” type movies, books and other media.
Imagine Will Smith in “Independence Day” coming toward the audience, fiery explosions in the background, for instance, to confront your hardworking neighbor or grandparent or a factory worker educated and skilled enough to perform open-heart surgery on you if you were in his country.
Not very thrilling, I’d say.
All the Joes: The opposite of “alien,” the Joes are supposed to make us feel connected to the down-home lifestyle and values they apparently represent. We’ve been introduced to all kinds of Joes: Joe the plumber, Joe Six-pack, Joe Cool, cup of joe. Maybe they do represent “real America,” but I’ve had enough of them.
Note, however, that Joe the plumber has inspired a “new” national habit of designating people by their work titles; this is Chinglish creeping into common use. I approve of that in general.
I just wish all of us regular Joes would get a rest.
Friday, October 24, 2008
10/24/08: We, and the laundry, can wait for a leader
This election season, my dishes have been piling up. My television has also been sitting dark, its about-to-be-useless antenna perched on top at an angle that makes it look forlorn; the laundry hamper, on the other hand, gets larger and less lonely by the day.
I’ve been ignoring them for the better part of a month in an attempt to learn as much as possible about our presidential candidates.
I’ve watched all three debates, of course, and spent every free night at virtual Town Hall chatting about polls and looking at graphs and Web sites.
I paused for a moment this afternoon to talk to my grandma, who declared herself — unprovoked by me — more interested in this campaign than any she could remember. She said, with an enthusiasm I found familiar, and a bit of incredulity, that she couldn’t even be sure who she was going to vote for.
I should probably look into renting a dishwasher.
It’s not much longer that I’ll be ignoring chores for election research, though, and my grandma will have to decide who her candidate will be in less than two weeks.
Whoever wins then will have a tough job, but it will be his. We’ll keep up our enthusiasm for the issues that most affect or impress us, but we’ll all go back to washing dishes and clothes and probably to watching sitcoms and prime-time dramas rather than debates, and Barack Obama and John McCain will get on with the jobs we’ve elected them to, one as president and the other as senator.
That’s pretty much how it should be, I figure.
We choose who will have the specific responsibilities of commanding the military, approving laws and signing presidential fitness awards; we don’t do these things ourselves.
I sat in a room with U.S. Rep. Chris Murphy from the 5th District two weeks ago, after he’d ridden a local bus to show support for the updates needed to accommodate riders with disabilities. He talked about sitting in front of the Stop & Shop on West Main Street in New Britain to speak with voters about the bailout when that vote was first brought before the House last month, and the responses he got, in person and in calls to his offices.
I had almost asked him at the beginning of the meeting whether he’d gotten my letter two years ago agreeing with his stance on Iraq. I would have meant it as a joke, knowing he was too busy to open and read all of his own mail.
By the end of the meeting, I would not have been surprised if he had read and remembered it.
"Oh, you’re that Alicia," he might have said, and I would have felt my face go "aw, shucks" red.
So here’s my take on a Connecticut constitutional convention: We elect our leaders to lead. And if our federal representative is accessible to us, so are our state representatives — even more so. When we don’t like what they’re doing, we write, call or protest to show it.
We don’t need a convention or a ballot initiative allowing us to vote on every issue. We can apply our enthusiasm to electing the right people into office, and once we’ve voted them in, we can tell our representatives, town council to president of the United States, what we think, and how we’d like them to vote, anytime.
The rest of the time, we’re free to attend to our own responsibilities.
Like doing the dishes.
I’ve been ignoring them for the better part of a month in an attempt to learn as much as possible about our presidential candidates.
I’ve watched all three debates, of course, and spent every free night at virtual Town Hall chatting about polls and looking at graphs and Web sites.
I paused for a moment this afternoon to talk to my grandma, who declared herself — unprovoked by me — more interested in this campaign than any she could remember. She said, with an enthusiasm I found familiar, and a bit of incredulity, that she couldn’t even be sure who she was going to vote for.
I should probably look into renting a dishwasher.
It’s not much longer that I’ll be ignoring chores for election research, though, and my grandma will have to decide who her candidate will be in less than two weeks.
Whoever wins then will have a tough job, but it will be his. We’ll keep up our enthusiasm for the issues that most affect or impress us, but we’ll all go back to washing dishes and clothes and probably to watching sitcoms and prime-time dramas rather than debates, and Barack Obama and John McCain will get on with the jobs we’ve elected them to, one as president and the other as senator.
That’s pretty much how it should be, I figure.
We choose who will have the specific responsibilities of commanding the military, approving laws and signing presidential fitness awards; we don’t do these things ourselves.
I sat in a room with U.S. Rep. Chris Murphy from the 5th District two weeks ago, after he’d ridden a local bus to show support for the updates needed to accommodate riders with disabilities. He talked about sitting in front of the Stop & Shop on West Main Street in New Britain to speak with voters about the bailout when that vote was first brought before the House last month, and the responses he got, in person and in calls to his offices.
I had almost asked him at the beginning of the meeting whether he’d gotten my letter two years ago agreeing with his stance on Iraq. I would have meant it as a joke, knowing he was too busy to open and read all of his own mail.
By the end of the meeting, I would not have been surprised if he had read and remembered it.
"Oh, you’re that Alicia," he might have said, and I would have felt my face go "aw, shucks" red.
So here’s my take on a Connecticut constitutional convention: We elect our leaders to lead. And if our federal representative is accessible to us, so are our state representatives — even more so. When we don’t like what they’re doing, we write, call or protest to show it.
We don’t need a convention or a ballot initiative allowing us to vote on every issue. We can apply our enthusiasm to electing the right people into office, and once we’ve voted them in, we can tell our representatives, town council to president of the United States, what we think, and how we’d like them to vote, anytime.
The rest of the time, we’re free to attend to our own responsibilities.
Like doing the dishes.
Friday, October 17, 2008
10/17/08: What the Internet is best at: sharing ideas
I’ve been spending a lot of time at Town Hall lately, talking politics.
Not in your town, though. I mean the national, virtual “Town Hall” for Vote Obama, an independent effort inspired by Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama, hosted on the networking Web site Facebook.
Almost every night at 8 for the last few weeks, I’ve gone to the “Vote Obama” application on Facebook and met up with others invested in the outcome of the presidential election, many of whom come every night and some of whom are now, I’d like to think, friends.
I know I wrote last month about Internet weddings; I was against them. I still am. But this kind of thing — getting together to discuss topics of the day with people you’d never have met otherwise, from across the country — is exactly what the Internet is best at, and is, or should be, the raison d’etre of sites such as Facebook.
More than that, I believe it offers a new paradigm for future presidential elections — one that unites instead of dividing along party lines, or through fear.
Setting aside partisan politics, TV ads, the debates and even “the issues,” the Obama campaign has used technology in unprecedented ways to put out the campaign message, widen its donor base and create “grassroots” support — if a word such as “grassroots” can be used to describe a technologically based movement.
Moderated by volunteers, the Town Hall application has three panels open on your screen when you enter: One shows the names of those in the room with you, one is for text-chatting where you can type in your opinions or respond to someone else’s and the middle one contains a place for video of speakers who wait in line to speak to the room. Those who have webcams can be seen; those with only microphones settle for being heard.
It’s not only Obama supporters being heard, either. Several nights the Town Hall has seen debate from both sides of the aisle and from undecided independents.
“We’re nonpartisan. We want people from all sides to come in,” says Bill Sarris, a moderator — and he enforces civility and compliments everyone who comes for being “great Americans,” regardless of their party affiliation.
That’s what I’m saying.
So is participant Victoria Pagan, a classics professor at University of Florida. “Perhaps most importantly,” she says, “for me the Town Hall has made me want to understand the Republican/conservative point of view. Thanks to Town Hall I want to respect the other party and its ideals. I’m reminded every night that we are many, many, many: one out of many — e pluribus unum. Town Hall puts the pluribus back in unum.”
Here Obama’s campaign has inspired something that transcends the campaign itself.
As a young voter, I love that I can meet with other voters who care: listen to what Jamaar has to say, cheer when Jackie gets her microphone working again, endorse them as presidential and vice-presidential candidates for 2020. (I’ve been promised a position as secretary of state.)
For some, Vote Obama Town Hall is the only place they can go to talk about their political beliefs; they live in areas that oppose their choice of candidate or their stances on the issues. One Town Hall participant left a department store one afternoon to find a woman in the parking lot scraping the Obama bumper sticker from the participant’s car.
It’s nice to know that when something like that happens, there’s somewhere to turn.
And whoever wins in November, that will be part of Obama’s legacy.
Not in your town, though. I mean the national, virtual “Town Hall” for Vote Obama, an independent effort inspired by Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama, hosted on the networking Web site Facebook.
Almost every night at 8 for the last few weeks, I’ve gone to the “Vote Obama” application on Facebook and met up with others invested in the outcome of the presidential election, many of whom come every night and some of whom are now, I’d like to think, friends.
I know I wrote last month about Internet weddings; I was against them. I still am. But this kind of thing — getting together to discuss topics of the day with people you’d never have met otherwise, from across the country — is exactly what the Internet is best at, and is, or should be, the raison d’etre of sites such as Facebook.
More than that, I believe it offers a new paradigm for future presidential elections — one that unites instead of dividing along party lines, or through fear.
Setting aside partisan politics, TV ads, the debates and even “the issues,” the Obama campaign has used technology in unprecedented ways to put out the campaign message, widen its donor base and create “grassroots” support — if a word such as “grassroots” can be used to describe a technologically based movement.
Moderated by volunteers, the Town Hall application has three panels open on your screen when you enter: One shows the names of those in the room with you, one is for text-chatting where you can type in your opinions or respond to someone else’s and the middle one contains a place for video of speakers who wait in line to speak to the room. Those who have webcams can be seen; those with only microphones settle for being heard.
It’s not only Obama supporters being heard, either. Several nights the Town Hall has seen debate from both sides of the aisle and from undecided independents.
“We’re nonpartisan. We want people from all sides to come in,” says Bill Sarris, a moderator — and he enforces civility and compliments everyone who comes for being “great Americans,” regardless of their party affiliation.
That’s what I’m saying.
So is participant Victoria Pagan, a classics professor at University of Florida. “Perhaps most importantly,” she says, “for me the Town Hall has made me want to understand the Republican/conservative point of view. Thanks to Town Hall I want to respect the other party and its ideals. I’m reminded every night that we are many, many, many: one out of many — e pluribus unum. Town Hall puts the pluribus back in unum.”
Here Obama’s campaign has inspired something that transcends the campaign itself.
As a young voter, I love that I can meet with other voters who care: listen to what Jamaar has to say, cheer when Jackie gets her microphone working again, endorse them as presidential and vice-presidential candidates for 2020. (I’ve been promised a position as secretary of state.)
For some, Vote Obama Town Hall is the only place they can go to talk about their political beliefs; they live in areas that oppose their choice of candidate or their stances on the issues. One Town Hall participant left a department store one afternoon to find a woman in the parking lot scraping the Obama bumper sticker from the participant’s car.
It’s nice to know that when something like that happens, there’s somewhere to turn.
And whoever wins in November, that will be part of Obama’s legacy.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Comment from RichyTea, and response
Take your Prozac!!
I think you forgot to take your medication before writing this article. Your insecurity and paranoia are quite evident by your 'interpretation' of the secret code. I do believe you should get out more often and breathe some fresh air.
RichyTea, Philadelphia, PA
*****
Well, if it weren't so much fun to respond to comments, I'd let this one, from the Herald Web site post of my column on Sarah Palin's evangelical code, speak for itself.
But honestly, I love getting these kinds of comments, especially when they only serve to prove my original points -- which, in this case, was that people would underestimate or dismiss the degree to which Sarah Palin's faith is likely to affect her governing.
Here RichyTea has offered a priceless example of exactly that.
And he's thrown in personal insults to boot, in lieu of facts to support the point I assume he has (perhaps that Sarah Palin isn't anyone to be afraid of, or that we can trust her to govern the country if she ended up being called on to do that).
As for my interpretation of the evangelical code, which I do admit (per your quotation marks) is an interpretation, I can only assume you are unfamiliar with evangelical subculture, RichyTea, or else that you are intimately familiar with it and do not consider it dangerous.
Also, as a brief aside, Prozac would usually be off-label for paranoia or insecurity. If you really believe I was making stuff up when I wrote about Christianese and how it functions in politics, you should've recommended something stronger, like lithium. Furthermore, if you believed I had a mental disorder, your suggestion to go out and get more fresh air would have been pretty laughable; mental disability is not cured by more walks in the park.
I feel silly parsing words so carefully here, RichyTea, but you've given me so little of substance to work with, I had to debunk the mental illness angle.
But I'm not schizophrenic, paranoid, or even insecure. As I believe I mentioned in my column, I'm an evangelical. And I'm worried and afraid, for what I think are valid reasons.
What do we know about Sarah Palin? We've had her in the public spotlight less than two months, not even long enough to let her hairstyle pass out of the news cycle into the "been done" bin.
What I've seen of her has been disappointing -- for me as a woman wishing to see a qualified, competent female leader able to articulate, say, a valid foreign policy (my deal-breaker issue, by the way) or to at least exhibit knowledge of the world around her -- and scary -- the videos of Palin speaking at church about God's will being done for an Alaskan pipeline to be built, or of her pastor praying against witchcraft with a certainty I find familiar and potentially dangerous.
The fact that I, hardly on the religious fringe of my denomination, kind of see her point with praying for what she wants done, or against bad influences, scares me. There are a lot of evangelicals out there nodding their heads at Sarah Palin thinking "she's a true believer, someone we can trust" right now. And they're likely to trust her blindly because of this, whatever her policy decisions; look at current President Bush's base of support despite what have now become wildly unpopular policies in the economy and in Iraq. I've heard more people than I'd care to remember protest that despite appearances, he must be making the right decisions, "because he's a man of God."
The fact that the media in general doesn't understand this scares me even more. I run into increasing numbers of Democrats just scratching their heads over Republican, particularly religious right, values, and unable to engage in a real discussion across the divide. My concern is that we're unable to listen to and understand each other, and may soon be unable to understand where decisions are coming from thanks to that.
It may be paranoid to believe that this kind of communication gap could end up leading to a political leader making religiously based decisions without accountability to the non-religious -- I hope it is -- but history proves that extreme conviction often precedes the impulse to make everyone else conform to those convictions, whether religious or otherwise. (The Salem witch trials and the Crusades come to mind; so does the 9/11 attack.)
Which is what I find ironic about your comment, RichyTea: It suggests that you know what it's all about, and that someone who disagrees (with whatever your interpretations are of Palin, her comments and convictions, or Scripture) is paranoid and insecure, and that you know just what would solve that problem.
I wish you'd mentioned your background in the comment. I would've liked to discuss the particulars of how our different backgrounds have informed our interpretations of the candidates and how and why they speak the way they do. That would have been an interesting discussion; it might have led to some actual dialogue on how we speak to each other and why.
As it is, I'm still glad to have gotten a comment -- even one as tailor-made to feed my "paranoia" as yours.
I think you forgot to take your medication before writing this article. Your insecurity and paranoia are quite evident by your 'interpretation' of the secret code. I do believe you should get out more often and breathe some fresh air.
RichyTea, Philadelphia, PA
*****
Well, if it weren't so much fun to respond to comments, I'd let this one, from the Herald Web site post of my column on Sarah Palin's evangelical code, speak for itself.
But honestly, I love getting these kinds of comments, especially when they only serve to prove my original points -- which, in this case, was that people would underestimate or dismiss the degree to which Sarah Palin's faith is likely to affect her governing.
Here RichyTea has offered a priceless example of exactly that.
And he's thrown in personal insults to boot, in lieu of facts to support the point I assume he has (perhaps that Sarah Palin isn't anyone to be afraid of, or that we can trust her to govern the country if she ended up being called on to do that).
As for my interpretation of the evangelical code, which I do admit (per your quotation marks) is an interpretation, I can only assume you are unfamiliar with evangelical subculture, RichyTea, or else that you are intimately familiar with it and do not consider it dangerous.
Also, as a brief aside, Prozac would usually be off-label for paranoia or insecurity. If you really believe I was making stuff up when I wrote about Christianese and how it functions in politics, you should've recommended something stronger, like lithium. Furthermore, if you believed I had a mental disorder, your suggestion to go out and get more fresh air would have been pretty laughable; mental disability is not cured by more walks in the park.
I feel silly parsing words so carefully here, RichyTea, but you've given me so little of substance to work with, I had to debunk the mental illness angle.
But I'm not schizophrenic, paranoid, or even insecure. As I believe I mentioned in my column, I'm an evangelical. And I'm worried and afraid, for what I think are valid reasons.
What do we know about Sarah Palin? We've had her in the public spotlight less than two months, not even long enough to let her hairstyle pass out of the news cycle into the "been done" bin.
What I've seen of her has been disappointing -- for me as a woman wishing to see a qualified, competent female leader able to articulate, say, a valid foreign policy (my deal-breaker issue, by the way) or to at least exhibit knowledge of the world around her -- and scary -- the videos of Palin speaking at church about God's will being done for an Alaskan pipeline to be built, or of her pastor praying against witchcraft with a certainty I find familiar and potentially dangerous.
The fact that I, hardly on the religious fringe of my denomination, kind of see her point with praying for what she wants done, or against bad influences, scares me. There are a lot of evangelicals out there nodding their heads at Sarah Palin thinking "she's a true believer, someone we can trust" right now. And they're likely to trust her blindly because of this, whatever her policy decisions; look at current President Bush's base of support despite what have now become wildly unpopular policies in the economy and in Iraq. I've heard more people than I'd care to remember protest that despite appearances, he must be making the right decisions, "because he's a man of God."
The fact that the media in general doesn't understand this scares me even more. I run into increasing numbers of Democrats just scratching their heads over Republican, particularly religious right, values, and unable to engage in a real discussion across the divide. My concern is that we're unable to listen to and understand each other, and may soon be unable to understand where decisions are coming from thanks to that.
It may be paranoid to believe that this kind of communication gap could end up leading to a political leader making religiously based decisions without accountability to the non-religious -- I hope it is -- but history proves that extreme conviction often precedes the impulse to make everyone else conform to those convictions, whether religious or otherwise. (The Salem witch trials and the Crusades come to mind; so does the 9/11 attack.)
Which is what I find ironic about your comment, RichyTea: It suggests that you know what it's all about, and that someone who disagrees (with whatever your interpretations are of Palin, her comments and convictions, or Scripture) is paranoid and insecure, and that you know just what would solve that problem.
I wish you'd mentioned your background in the comment. I would've liked to discuss the particulars of how our different backgrounds have informed our interpretations of the candidates and how and why they speak the way they do. That would have been an interesting discussion; it might have led to some actual dialogue on how we speak to each other and why.
As it is, I'm still glad to have gotten a comment -- even one as tailor-made to feed my "paranoia" as yours.
Friday, October 10, 2008
10/10/08: Palin speaks in code, and may govern by it
I never deliberately set out to turn my column into "my thoughts on taboo dinner party topics," but the recent vice presidential debate brings me reluctantly back to thoughts I expressed months ago on the place of religion in politics — namely, that interrogating politicians on their religious views helps no one, least of all the church.
But then there was Gov. Sarah Palin last week behind the debate podium, speaking Evangelical.
At the Christian college I attended, we referred to the jargon of our faith as "Christianese," often derisively. We considered it a problem that if we spoke of "the indwelling of the Holy Spirit" or used a shorthand reference to Scripture, non-Christians couldn’t understand us.
President Bush has been cited as speaking, occasionally, in a sort of evangelical code or Christianese. He’s said Christ is his favorite philosopher and considered himself "called" to the governorship of Texas. In 2002, he quoted from the gospel of John in reference to America’s prosecution of war.
The reference may have slipped past non-Christians and some media, but Evangelicals caught it.
Palin, like Bush, doesn’t seem to be worried that her words won’t be understood by the uninitiated.
I worry, though.
Palin’s "folksy charm" makes her seem unaffected and unscripted. (Darn right.) But when she said in the debate that President Reagan called the country "a city on a hill," she was almost certainly being disingenuous. Palin knows it wasn’t Reagan who first used that phrase; it was Jesus.
Evangelicals know, too.
Religiously rooted references in speeches are buzzwords for Evangelicals. Any politician able to apply Christianese appropriately can be trusted to run the country as God would want it run — or close enough. Palin is a native speaker.
When she refers to never allowing "a second Holocaust," for instance, something she’s done both in interviews and in the vice presidential debate, she is not referring to special intelligence she’s gotten from the CIA warning of a threat to Israel: She’s almost certainly basing her attitude and unwillingness to "second-guess Israel" on a literal interpretation of a Bible passage in which God says that those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed.
Basing foreign policy on interpretation of an Old Testament prophet’s statement may seem far-fetched, but from a vice presidential candidate who asserted that finishing the Alaskan pipeline was God’s will, the possibility needs to be taken seriously.
Christianese usually passes by unnoticed by the nonreligious and the media. When conservative religious ideas come into public notice, it can be jarring: think of Jerry Falwell’s statements after Hurricane Katrina when he blamed that natural disaster on God’s wrath, or Pat Robertson’s call to have the president of Venezuela assassinated. At the time it seemed that less conservative or religious thinkers and commentators dismissed these kinds of opinions as being held by only a few basically crazy people.
They’re not. Every Evangelical did not agree with Falwell’s "God’s wrath" theory or Robertson’s assassination suggestion, but exit polls from the past two presidential elections put white Evangelicals at between 14 percent and 23 percent of the population, and 78 percent of them voted for Bush in 2004.
Sarah Palin is talking to them, and in their own language.
But then there was Gov. Sarah Palin last week behind the debate podium, speaking Evangelical.
At the Christian college I attended, we referred to the jargon of our faith as "Christianese," often derisively. We considered it a problem that if we spoke of "the indwelling of the Holy Spirit" or used a shorthand reference to Scripture, non-Christians couldn’t understand us.
President Bush has been cited as speaking, occasionally, in a sort of evangelical code or Christianese. He’s said Christ is his favorite philosopher and considered himself "called" to the governorship of Texas. In 2002, he quoted from the gospel of John in reference to America’s prosecution of war.
The reference may have slipped past non-Christians and some media, but Evangelicals caught it.
Palin, like Bush, doesn’t seem to be worried that her words won’t be understood by the uninitiated.
I worry, though.
Palin’s "folksy charm" makes her seem unaffected and unscripted. (Darn right.) But when she said in the debate that President Reagan called the country "a city on a hill," she was almost certainly being disingenuous. Palin knows it wasn’t Reagan who first used that phrase; it was Jesus.
Evangelicals know, too.
Religiously rooted references in speeches are buzzwords for Evangelicals. Any politician able to apply Christianese appropriately can be trusted to run the country as God would want it run — or close enough. Palin is a native speaker.
When she refers to never allowing "a second Holocaust," for instance, something she’s done both in interviews and in the vice presidential debate, she is not referring to special intelligence she’s gotten from the CIA warning of a threat to Israel: She’s almost certainly basing her attitude and unwillingness to "second-guess Israel" on a literal interpretation of a Bible passage in which God says that those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed.
Basing foreign policy on interpretation of an Old Testament prophet’s statement may seem far-fetched, but from a vice presidential candidate who asserted that finishing the Alaskan pipeline was God’s will, the possibility needs to be taken seriously.
Christianese usually passes by unnoticed by the nonreligious and the media. When conservative religious ideas come into public notice, it can be jarring: think of Jerry Falwell’s statements after Hurricane Katrina when he blamed that natural disaster on God’s wrath, or Pat Robertson’s call to have the president of Venezuela assassinated. At the time it seemed that less conservative or religious thinkers and commentators dismissed these kinds of opinions as being held by only a few basically crazy people.
They’re not. Every Evangelical did not agree with Falwell’s "God’s wrath" theory or Robertson’s assassination suggestion, but exit polls from the past two presidential elections put white Evangelicals at between 14 percent and 23 percent of the population, and 78 percent of them voted for Bush in 2004.
Sarah Palin is talking to them, and in their own language.
Friday, October 3, 2008
10/3/08: You've had the lesson; here's the exam.
As promised, here is your Chinglish quiz. Best wishes.
1. Which is correct Chinglish?
A. I very miss you.
B. I miss you very much.
C. You are very missed.
2. What famous play does this translated (into Chinglish) monologue come from?
"What is lighting in over there window? It is east and Juliet is sunny. The sun is going up to killing moon. Moon very jealous because of less beautiful. Don't care the moon because of jealous."
3. What is the intended meaning of this sentence: "Oh, I am so confusing!"
A. I am confusing you.
B. You are confusing me.
Real-life Chinglish: "Actually, I've sort of expecting your email for a long time. If no news is good news, got news could be best news. While in China, so many so-called translation service company, but I am not sure whether they could do a good job. When you see some of their translations, you have your blood come out of your nose! Cause you are totally freak out by its confusion and illogic."
4. What is the meaning of this Chinglish translation of a famous Mao Zedong proverb? "Good good hard to study."
A. It's good to study hard.
B. It's difficult to study, but a good idea nonetheless.
C. It's important to be a well-rounded student in order to find success.
5. Which of the following is a Chinglish translation of a famous Chinese proverb?
A. A farmer picks every grain of rice.
B. Once a teacher, a parent forever.
C. Meat is your friend.
D. All of the above.
6. What famous speech has this passage been translated (into Chinglish) from?
"Our father on this country bring 87 years the new country of liberty and for the equality. Now we are fight with each other and see if we are survival with the new country and new idea."
7. What can the word "famous" be applied to in China?
A. Anything even remotely public
B. Anything that most Chinese have heard of
C. Anything that most foreigners would consider going to see on a tour of the country
8. How often should the word "very" be added to a Chinglish sentence?
A. Once in a while, to preserve its impact
B. Once a minute or so in conversation; once a page in writing
C. As much as humanly possible
Real-life Chinglish: "How are you those days? Now its time for me to write my paper and guess who is my superviser? My topic is some thing deal with learning style which is interested and there are bunch of infermation for seaching."
9. Your Chinglish-speaking friend has just told you about a tragic event. You should respond by saying:
A. Oh! What a pity!
B. That's unfortunate.
C. Wow, I'm really sorry to hear that.
10. Which of the following numbers is lucky?
A. 4
B. 8
C. 17
Extra credit: Respond to the following letter in Chinglish.
Dear lover,
I really miss the time spending with you. I am so-so many times. Yesterday, I go to the store and thinking of buy airplane ticket for seeing you. Please write again, I hope.
Yours truly,
Flower.
Answers:
1. A
2. "Romeo and Juliet"
3. B
4. C
5. D
6. The Gettysburg Address
7. A
8. C
9. A
10. B
1. Which is correct Chinglish?
A. I very miss you.
B. I miss you very much.
C. You are very missed.
2. What famous play does this translated (into Chinglish) monologue come from?
"What is lighting in over there window? It is east and Juliet is sunny. The sun is going up to killing moon. Moon very jealous because of less beautiful. Don't care the moon because of jealous."
3. What is the intended meaning of this sentence: "Oh, I am so confusing!"
A. I am confusing you.
B. You are confusing me.
Real-life Chinglish: "Actually, I've sort of expecting your email for a long time. If no news is good news, got news could be best news. While in China, so many so-called translation service company, but I am not sure whether they could do a good job. When you see some of their translations, you have your blood come out of your nose! Cause you are totally freak out by its confusion and illogic."
4. What is the meaning of this Chinglish translation of a famous Mao Zedong proverb? "Good good hard to study."
A. It's good to study hard.
B. It's difficult to study, but a good idea nonetheless.
C. It's important to be a well-rounded student in order to find success.
5. Which of the following is a Chinglish translation of a famous Chinese proverb?
A. A farmer picks every grain of rice.
B. Once a teacher, a parent forever.
C. Meat is your friend.
D. All of the above.
6. What famous speech has this passage been translated (into Chinglish) from?
"Our father on this country bring 87 years the new country of liberty and for the equality. Now we are fight with each other and see if we are survival with the new country and new idea."
7. What can the word "famous" be applied to in China?
A. Anything even remotely public
B. Anything that most Chinese have heard of
C. Anything that most foreigners would consider going to see on a tour of the country
8. How often should the word "very" be added to a Chinglish sentence?
A. Once in a while, to preserve its impact
B. Once a minute or so in conversation; once a page in writing
C. As much as humanly possible
Real-life Chinglish: "How are you those days? Now its time for me to write my paper and guess who is my superviser? My topic is some thing deal with learning style which is interested and there are bunch of infermation for seaching."
9. Your Chinglish-speaking friend has just told you about a tragic event. You should respond by saying:
A. Oh! What a pity!
B. That's unfortunate.
C. Wow, I'm really sorry to hear that.
10. Which of the following numbers is lucky?
A. 4
B. 8
C. 17
Extra credit: Respond to the following letter in Chinglish.
Dear lover,
I really miss the time spending with you. I am so-so many times. Yesterday, I go to the store and thinking of buy airplane ticket for seeing you. Please write again, I hope.
Yours truly,
Flower.
Answers:
1. A
2. "Romeo and Juliet"
3. B
4. C
5. D
6. The Gettysburg Address
7. A
8. C
9. A
10. B
Friday, September 26, 2008
9/26/08: Chinglish lets you be your inner Batman
Since Chinglish is the language of the future, or at least the near future, here’s a primer for your convenience. Study up. Next week there will be a quiz.
In terms of grammar, Chinese lacks article words such as “the,” “a,” or “an,” and Chinglish speakers will often leave them out.
Mandarin also has no tense. If something happens in the future, an indicator is put into the sentence — “tomorrow” or “next year” — but not attached to the verb, a la “will” in “I will go to the store.”
For English speakers learning Chinese, the other side of Chinglish, grammatical articles like “le” or “de” add mystery and suspense to Chinese grammar. No American I know has ever totally mastered the use of “le,” and no Chinese I’ve asked has been able to explain it.
There are a few archaic phrases likely to be revived by a surge in Chinglish use. “Oh, what a pity!” often greeted a revelation that something lamentable had happened to me on the way to class, or that I wouldn’t be able to join my students for volleyball or badminton afterward.
“Best wishes” in Chinglish transcends the coworker’s-birthday-card cordiality it usually has here, and becomes an expression of genuine interest in a friend’s wellbeing.
If you ask a Chinese how they’re feeling, they will likely answer “so-so” in lieu of “fine.”
Tone is often the only difference between words in Chinese, leading to interesting associations between words we don’t recognize as similar, particularly with numbers.
Just as the word for eight, “ba,” is similar to “fortune,” “fa,” the word “si” can mean both “four” and “death or dies.” Four is considered an unlucky number.
There are also some numbers, my students told me, that correlate to Chinese phrases. If you’re ever texted the number 150, for instance, the messenger is trying to send you “best wishes.” 520 means “I love you.” (“Wu er ling” is similar to “wo ai ni.”)
My students also added a few given names to the canon. Chinese names aren’t abstracted from meanings the way European or American names often are; they’re also characteristics or other nouns, like our “Faith” or “Dawn.”
My students often tried to translate the literal meanings of their names, leading to English names like Agent, Purple or Tornado.
“My name means ‘a strong wind,’” explained my student Tornado. “It means I am forceful and strong.”
His cousin, Batman, didn’t attempt to explain his name, but another fictional character did.
“[Han] Solo is a very brave man,” he said.
Each of my classes at the university level also included a girl named “Apple,” in reference to having a rounded face.
These may sound strange at first, but after awhile, I suspect we’ll get used to people calling themselves whatever they want.
“Batman!” I found myself saying in class one day. “Sit down and pay attention! Tornado, please help him find his place in the reading.”
Chinese also use descriptive titles with their names. Instead of “Miss Watkins,” my Chinese name to my students would translate to “Teacher Watkins.” Bus or taxi drivers are “Driver Zhang,” principals are “Principal Li,” and so on. Calling a person by their title shows respect rather than objectification in Chinese culture.
If you appear to be older, or much-respected, don’t be surprised to hear yourself referred to as “Grandma” or “Grandpa” — also a sign of respect for Chinese.
Taking leave of someone may elicit a “happy every day,” a common Chinglish phrase on par with “best wishes.”
So a happy every day to you.
In terms of grammar, Chinese lacks article words such as “the,” “a,” or “an,” and Chinglish speakers will often leave them out.
Mandarin also has no tense. If something happens in the future, an indicator is put into the sentence — “tomorrow” or “next year” — but not attached to the verb, a la “will” in “I will go to the store.”
For English speakers learning Chinese, the other side of Chinglish, grammatical articles like “le” or “de” add mystery and suspense to Chinese grammar. No American I know has ever totally mastered the use of “le,” and no Chinese I’ve asked has been able to explain it.
There are a few archaic phrases likely to be revived by a surge in Chinglish use. “Oh, what a pity!” often greeted a revelation that something lamentable had happened to me on the way to class, or that I wouldn’t be able to join my students for volleyball or badminton afterward.
“Best wishes” in Chinglish transcends the coworker’s-birthday-card cordiality it usually has here, and becomes an expression of genuine interest in a friend’s wellbeing.
If you ask a Chinese how they’re feeling, they will likely answer “so-so” in lieu of “fine.”
Tone is often the only difference between words in Chinese, leading to interesting associations between words we don’t recognize as similar, particularly with numbers.
Just as the word for eight, “ba,” is similar to “fortune,” “fa,” the word “si” can mean both “four” and “death or dies.” Four is considered an unlucky number.
There are also some numbers, my students told me, that correlate to Chinese phrases. If you’re ever texted the number 150, for instance, the messenger is trying to send you “best wishes.” 520 means “I love you.” (“Wu er ling” is similar to “wo ai ni.”)
My students also added a few given names to the canon. Chinese names aren’t abstracted from meanings the way European or American names often are; they’re also characteristics or other nouns, like our “Faith” or “Dawn.”
My students often tried to translate the literal meanings of their names, leading to English names like Agent, Purple or Tornado.
“My name means ‘a strong wind,’” explained my student Tornado. “It means I am forceful and strong.”
His cousin, Batman, didn’t attempt to explain his name, but another fictional character did.
“[Han] Solo is a very brave man,” he said.
Each of my classes at the university level also included a girl named “Apple,” in reference to having a rounded face.
These may sound strange at first, but after awhile, I suspect we’ll get used to people calling themselves whatever they want.
“Batman!” I found myself saying in class one day. “Sit down and pay attention! Tornado, please help him find his place in the reading.”
Chinese also use descriptive titles with their names. Instead of “Miss Watkins,” my Chinese name to my students would translate to “Teacher Watkins.” Bus or taxi drivers are “Driver Zhang,” principals are “Principal Li,” and so on. Calling a person by their title shows respect rather than objectification in Chinese culture.
If you appear to be older, or much-respected, don’t be surprised to hear yourself referred to as “Grandma” or “Grandpa” — also a sign of respect for Chinese.
Taking leave of someone may elicit a “happy every day,” a common Chinglish phrase on par with “best wishes.”
So a happy every day to you.
Friday, September 19, 2008
9/19/08: Chinglish has delicious prospects as a language
I was heading to the A Dong Asian supermarket in West Hartford the other day and paused on my way in, in the airlocklike vestibule that separates the American outside from the pan-Asian inside of the store, and noticed how many fliers were posted on the community bulletin board advertising Chinese classes.
Most of the classes are for kids and tend to cater to parents who fall into one of two categories: those who want their children to learn the language of their ancestors, and those who want their children to learn the language of the future.
I’m betting that whichever category applies, those classes are filled. More Americans are interested in Mandarin than ever before.
When I was in China, I learned two dialects of Chinese — Sichuanhua, which is considered a “hillbilly” dialect, similar to an American having a West Virginian accent, and putonghua, or common Mandarin.
But I think it’s more likely that the next language of commerce and culture is not Mandarin. I think it will be Chinglish.
Chinglish isn’t a recognized dialect or even a real pidgin language, like Creole, but it has potential. Combining the grammatical structures of Mandarin and English leads to some unique phrasing, and the widespread use of outdated textbooks in at least the places I taught in China meant that my students often resurrected words I’d thought were relegated to vocabulary exercises and Victorian novels.
“Lovely” stands in for “cute,” for instance; “dear” for “expensive,” as in England; and “trousers” for “pants” or “shorts.”
“Delicious” and “spicy” are used much more often by Chinese people than native English speakers. Every dish in China is declared “delicious” — none are just “good.”
These are fairly innocuous differences. But there were times the language didn’t translate quite so well.
Like during the end-of-term party my ninth-grade class was having. I’d told my students they could listen to music during the party if it was English music.
Steven, one of the most “lively” — another popular Chinglish word — of my students had brought a CD of Chinese music containing a few unintelligible lines of English.
“Steven,” I said, “This is not English music.”
“Yes, English!” Steven protested. “‘Superlovers,’ Miss Watkins. I’ll show you — one night of love!”
I looked up, startled, to confirm that Steven was not propositioning me. He was desperately pointing to the three lines of English in the liner notes to the CD, which included “superlovers” and “one night of love.” I tried to keep a straight face, and I let him keep the music on.
It may sound at this point like I was being a bad teacher, letting my 14-year-old students listen to a song with questionable content in class. But in China, “lover” is akin to an endearment like “sweetheart,” based on a direct translation from “ai ren,” or “love person.”
Many of the vocabulary faux pas of my students were due to the ubiquitous electronic Chinese-English dictionaries they carried everywhere. My first class rule was always “no electronic dictionaries,” but students rarely paid attention.
Using the dictionaries distorted language the way an online translation program does. Despite this, my students didn’t believe I could tell when they were using them.
“I just wish you a lucky and perspective new year,” wrote one of my students last year.
“I think you are using your electronic dictionary,” I wrote back. “But thank you. And same-same to you.”
Most of the classes are for kids and tend to cater to parents who fall into one of two categories: those who want their children to learn the language of their ancestors, and those who want their children to learn the language of the future.
I’m betting that whichever category applies, those classes are filled. More Americans are interested in Mandarin than ever before.
When I was in China, I learned two dialects of Chinese — Sichuanhua, which is considered a “hillbilly” dialect, similar to an American having a West Virginian accent, and putonghua, or common Mandarin.
But I think it’s more likely that the next language of commerce and culture is not Mandarin. I think it will be Chinglish.
Chinglish isn’t a recognized dialect or even a real pidgin language, like Creole, but it has potential. Combining the grammatical structures of Mandarin and English leads to some unique phrasing, and the widespread use of outdated textbooks in at least the places I taught in China meant that my students often resurrected words I’d thought were relegated to vocabulary exercises and Victorian novels.
“Lovely” stands in for “cute,” for instance; “dear” for “expensive,” as in England; and “trousers” for “pants” or “shorts.”
“Delicious” and “spicy” are used much more often by Chinese people than native English speakers. Every dish in China is declared “delicious” — none are just “good.”
These are fairly innocuous differences. But there were times the language didn’t translate quite so well.
Like during the end-of-term party my ninth-grade class was having. I’d told my students they could listen to music during the party if it was English music.
Steven, one of the most “lively” — another popular Chinglish word — of my students had brought a CD of Chinese music containing a few unintelligible lines of English.
“Steven,” I said, “This is not English music.”
“Yes, English!” Steven protested. “‘Superlovers,’ Miss Watkins. I’ll show you — one night of love!”
I looked up, startled, to confirm that Steven was not propositioning me. He was desperately pointing to the three lines of English in the liner notes to the CD, which included “superlovers” and “one night of love.” I tried to keep a straight face, and I let him keep the music on.
It may sound at this point like I was being a bad teacher, letting my 14-year-old students listen to a song with questionable content in class. But in China, “lover” is akin to an endearment like “sweetheart,” based on a direct translation from “ai ren,” or “love person.”
Many of the vocabulary faux pas of my students were due to the ubiquitous electronic Chinese-English dictionaries they carried everywhere. My first class rule was always “no electronic dictionaries,” but students rarely paid attention.
Using the dictionaries distorted language the way an online translation program does. Despite this, my students didn’t believe I could tell when they were using them.
“I just wish you a lucky and perspective new year,” wrote one of my students last year.
“I think you are using your electronic dictionary,” I wrote back. “But thank you. And same-same to you.”
Friday, September 12, 2008
9/12/08: No one fits in infinite space of cyber chapel
I have this friend — let’s call her Balicia — who has tried Internet dating. After several possible matches, some of whom she knew only via e-mail and some of whom she met in person, she gave up.
It’s one thing to put your best foot forward on an in-person date. It’s another to have hours and hours to pore over every pixel in your profile photo or every word of your self-description. What are the chances that those moments that tell us we’re compatible with a potential partner — the slips of decorum that show the real person underneath, impossible to completely eliminate in face-to-face encounters — will show through in such a well-vetted venue?
What are the chances the deal-breakers will?
My friend found the whole process exhausting and not worth her time and, when her subscription to her dating Web site expired, she let it lapse.
I’m no Luddite, but I believe what most traditionalists do about courtship and marriage, and about the Internet and social fragmentation. I’m a fan of face-to-face interactions.
I’m in a dwindling group, there, though.
Henry Jenkins, professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and author of several books, including “Fans, Bloggers and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture,” defends online interactions as just as valid as in-person ones.
In one essay, he recounts his son’s experience with a girlfriend he met and maintained a relationship with online — a relationship that ended after a trip to meet the girl and her family, thanks, Jenkins implies, to her parents’ restrictions and ambivalent attitude toward her online boyfriend.
Jenkins claims that his son’s and the girlfriend’s emotions were no less real because they were usually expressed electronically, and I’m inclined to agree. Especially with teens who grew up with the Internet, typing could be just as significant as talking in forming relationships.
But Jenkins took his son to meet the girl, anyway. There are some things online exchanges just can’t provide.
The next step for serious daters, for instance — Internet weddings.
Internet weddings do exist, I was shocked to learn. The Chatalot Wedding Chapels, for instance, come in several varieties, including “gothic,” “enchanted,” “international” and “Las Vegas.”
Potential brides and grooms can select a chapel chatroom, password-protected, and e-mail invitations to their guest list.
The cyber wedding is bring-your-own-clergy, and assuming a pastor, priest or justice of the peace agrees to officiate, this seems to indicate a scheduled start time just as with a traditional wedding. How the revelry expresses itself — party guests popping champagne corks in the privacy of their bedrooms, perhaps? — is as much a mystery as whether the newlyweds need to be in the same room, or even the same state, when the vows take place.
Having a wedding online is bad enough, I thought, but my jaw actually dropped open when I saw the second feature of the basic package: a “reserved honeymoon suite with private password for one week.”
I know it’s rude to ask — I didn’t get a response when I wrote to Chatalot.com to ask last week — but what exactly would one do in a private honeymoon chatroom?
Probably not anything that couldn’t be done better in person.
Is this the way we recognize love and commitment in the digital age — as atomized individuals, separated from the sights and smells of the friends and cakes we intend to celebrate with?
The point may be moot, though: Cyber weddings are not legally binding.
Yet.
It’s one thing to put your best foot forward on an in-person date. It’s another to have hours and hours to pore over every pixel in your profile photo or every word of your self-description. What are the chances that those moments that tell us we’re compatible with a potential partner — the slips of decorum that show the real person underneath, impossible to completely eliminate in face-to-face encounters — will show through in such a well-vetted venue?
What are the chances the deal-breakers will?
My friend found the whole process exhausting and not worth her time and, when her subscription to her dating Web site expired, she let it lapse.
I’m no Luddite, but I believe what most traditionalists do about courtship and marriage, and about the Internet and social fragmentation. I’m a fan of face-to-face interactions.
I’m in a dwindling group, there, though.
Henry Jenkins, professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and author of several books, including “Fans, Bloggers and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture,” defends online interactions as just as valid as in-person ones.
In one essay, he recounts his son’s experience with a girlfriend he met and maintained a relationship with online — a relationship that ended after a trip to meet the girl and her family, thanks, Jenkins implies, to her parents’ restrictions and ambivalent attitude toward her online boyfriend.
Jenkins claims that his son’s and the girlfriend’s emotions were no less real because they were usually expressed electronically, and I’m inclined to agree. Especially with teens who grew up with the Internet, typing could be just as significant as talking in forming relationships.
But Jenkins took his son to meet the girl, anyway. There are some things online exchanges just can’t provide.
The next step for serious daters, for instance — Internet weddings.
Internet weddings do exist, I was shocked to learn. The Chatalot Wedding Chapels, for instance, come in several varieties, including “gothic,” “enchanted,” “international” and “Las Vegas.”
Potential brides and grooms can select a chapel chatroom, password-protected, and e-mail invitations to their guest list.
The cyber wedding is bring-your-own-clergy, and assuming a pastor, priest or justice of the peace agrees to officiate, this seems to indicate a scheduled start time just as with a traditional wedding. How the revelry expresses itself — party guests popping champagne corks in the privacy of their bedrooms, perhaps? — is as much a mystery as whether the newlyweds need to be in the same room, or even the same state, when the vows take place.
Having a wedding online is bad enough, I thought, but my jaw actually dropped open when I saw the second feature of the basic package: a “reserved honeymoon suite with private password for one week.”
I know it’s rude to ask — I didn’t get a response when I wrote to Chatalot.com to ask last week — but what exactly would one do in a private honeymoon chatroom?
Probably not anything that couldn’t be done better in person.
Is this the way we recognize love and commitment in the digital age — as atomized individuals, separated from the sights and smells of the friends and cakes we intend to celebrate with?
The point may be moot, though: Cyber weddings are not legally binding.
Yet.
Friday, September 5, 2008
9/5/08: Pequots provide more than same old history
Interactive museums are great, and we in central Connecticut have access to some great ones. I’ve written about Old Sturbridge Village and Mystic Seaport, each of which tell stories familiar to most Americans who sat through two or three years of mandatory American history.
If you want to hear the story of the less-heard voices of the historically disenfranchised in Connecticut, there’s another place to go: the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center.
If you’re expecting something with the power of the Holocaust museum, you’ll likely be disappointed. The Mashantucket Pequot Museum does include accounts of diseases, economic and environmental changes and war brought on by contact with English settlers, but it incorporates these into its displays on the daily lives of Pequots rather than making the difficulties the focus of the museum.
The resulting experience is less traumatic, and maybe less memorable, but this is to its credit. What could have been a nightmare account of atrocities committed against the Pequot becomes an effective retelling of familiar stories from another perspective, one in which the Pequot are people with full lives, an economy and system of governance, a spiritual path and a place in colonial history, rather than victims.
"It’s all covered," said David Holahan, museum spokesman. "The exhibits give information on diseases and the impact of Europeans, but they also show eastern tribes’ cultures, spiritual and sociopolitical lives."
The museum is no less able to succeed in its aims — to educate visitors on the lives of eastern native peoples — for its balance and quotidian focus.
The museum doesn’t have the staffing of Old Sturbridge Village, where people walk around in character as colonial villagers, but it does a good job of making up for it. Throughout the museum are Pequot figures performing daily tasks and rituals, being healed or hefting spears, defending their village against attack or fishing. You’re not allowed to touch them, of course, but the figures are so lifelike that I found myself staring at one of the men serving as lookout in a canoe in the main atrium for about two minutes, waiting for him to breathe.
The largest display is of a Pequot village, where visitors can walk around with an audio tour guide and learn more about whichever scenes most interest them. The tour often goes beyond describing the scenes portrayed, too, offering to tell you more about agriculture in the village, or more about the spiritual practices of the Pequot or more about learning to hunt, "then and now."
Often the "more information" is a surprisingly impromptu interview of a modern Mashantucket Pequot tribal member. One mother tells of her son’s first hunting expedition with an older Native American — they didn’t catch anything — and another tribal member talks about the efforts of one man to get federal recognition for the tribe in the 1970s and 1980s. All the "ums" and "ahs" are included, making listening to the tribal members on the audio tour seem as good as a conversation.
The museum contains more traditional displays of textiles and artworks, as well, and several films that flesh out the information provided by wall displays or readings. But it’s the interactive details that help the museum to reach beyond the dry accounts of a history book — one that may or may not have included detailed accounts of Pequot life, anyway — and create actual experiences for visitors.
If you want to hear the story of the less-heard voices of the historically disenfranchised in Connecticut, there’s another place to go: the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center.
If you’re expecting something with the power of the Holocaust museum, you’ll likely be disappointed. The Mashantucket Pequot Museum does include accounts of diseases, economic and environmental changes and war brought on by contact with English settlers, but it incorporates these into its displays on the daily lives of Pequots rather than making the difficulties the focus of the museum.
The resulting experience is less traumatic, and maybe less memorable, but this is to its credit. What could have been a nightmare account of atrocities committed against the Pequot becomes an effective retelling of familiar stories from another perspective, one in which the Pequot are people with full lives, an economy and system of governance, a spiritual path and a place in colonial history, rather than victims.
"It’s all covered," said David Holahan, museum spokesman. "The exhibits give information on diseases and the impact of Europeans, but they also show eastern tribes’ cultures, spiritual and sociopolitical lives."
The museum is no less able to succeed in its aims — to educate visitors on the lives of eastern native peoples — for its balance and quotidian focus.
The museum doesn’t have the staffing of Old Sturbridge Village, where people walk around in character as colonial villagers, but it does a good job of making up for it. Throughout the museum are Pequot figures performing daily tasks and rituals, being healed or hefting spears, defending their village against attack or fishing. You’re not allowed to touch them, of course, but the figures are so lifelike that I found myself staring at one of the men serving as lookout in a canoe in the main atrium for about two minutes, waiting for him to breathe.
The largest display is of a Pequot village, where visitors can walk around with an audio tour guide and learn more about whichever scenes most interest them. The tour often goes beyond describing the scenes portrayed, too, offering to tell you more about agriculture in the village, or more about the spiritual practices of the Pequot or more about learning to hunt, "then and now."
Often the "more information" is a surprisingly impromptu interview of a modern Mashantucket Pequot tribal member. One mother tells of her son’s first hunting expedition with an older Native American — they didn’t catch anything — and another tribal member talks about the efforts of one man to get federal recognition for the tribe in the 1970s and 1980s. All the "ums" and "ahs" are included, making listening to the tribal members on the audio tour seem as good as a conversation.
The museum contains more traditional displays of textiles and artworks, as well, and several films that flesh out the information provided by wall displays or readings. But it’s the interactive details that help the museum to reach beyond the dry accounts of a history book — one that may or may not have included detailed accounts of Pequot life, anyway — and create actual experiences for visitors.
Friday, August 29, 2008
8/29/08: When we can touch, history touches back
Last week, I wrote that history should be handled differently than, say, modern paintings, in the way we display and expect to encounter it in museums.
I also mistakenly claimed that "all the walls" of the New Britain Museum of American Art are white -- in fact, many of the walls of the first floor's galleries of historic paintings are toned in browns, greens and yellows, and a few of the rooms have Oriental rugs of the kind that would have been found in the homes of the 18th- and 19th-century gentlemen who would have originally displayed the paintings.
This is a good step toward contextualizing art, helping viewers to put it in its place historically, and I'm sorry I missed it in last week's column.
But a museum such as the Museum of American Art, dedicated to showing art, is a different type of archive than what I want to write about this week: interactive museums.
Most of you who grew up in Connecticut will remember elementary-school trips to Mystic Seaport and Old Sturbridge Village. The thrill of going on field trips may have overwhelmed their educational content -- remember when riding a bus for hours at a time was fun? -- but I'm betting you have at least one vivid memory of the seaport or the colonial village.
It may have been the ships in dock at Mystic or the "strange" colonial clothes worn by staff at Sturbridge. My most vivid memory of these field trips is of playing with a wooden hoop and stick in a colonial games area of Old Sturbridge Village.
I don't think it's a mistake that this is what I remember.
Kids, especially, enjoy the chance to interact with things -- to move them, kick them, talk to them, run around them. It's part of how kids learn.
More than that, though, things that can be experienced directly -- a painting can be looked at, for instance, but it can't be fired up the way a colonial stove might be, or crouched in like a cramped sailor's bunk -- teaches us differently than indirect or mediated experience.
According to Alison Landsberg, author of "Prosthetic Memory," people can easily form vivid, lasting memories by participating in the kind of direct experience offered by Old Sturbridge Village, Mystic Seaport or, in Landsberg's example, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.
Landsberg explains that in places, displays or museums that encourage prosthetic memory, "people are invited to take on memories of a past through which they did not live." In the case of Old Sturbridge Village or Mystic Seaport, this means being able to pretend that you're a colonist of a 16th- or 17th-century American. At Mystic Seaport, you can tour a 19th-century coastal town and historic vessels and think about a life at sea.
These are valuable experiences, ones that help us understand a few of the hardships -- that sailor's cramped bunk again -- and triumphs -- finally getting the hoop to roll down the lane -- of some of the Americans who came before us.
But what may be the most vital and valuable use of interactive materials and museums is helping us tell and understand the stories of the disenfranchised. Mystic Seaport does this when it hosts the Amistad; the Holocaust museum does this with every visitor.
Remembering the survivors of injustice and oppression throughout history is not an exercise in self-pity or self-flagellation. It's necessary for preventing that kind of injustice or oppression from happening again.
Remember that next time you're at the seaport or among the colonially clothed -- and be glad.
I also mistakenly claimed that "all the walls" of the New Britain Museum of American Art are white -- in fact, many of the walls of the first floor's galleries of historic paintings are toned in browns, greens and yellows, and a few of the rooms have Oriental rugs of the kind that would have been found in the homes of the 18th- and 19th-century gentlemen who would have originally displayed the paintings.
This is a good step toward contextualizing art, helping viewers to put it in its place historically, and I'm sorry I missed it in last week's column.
But a museum such as the Museum of American Art, dedicated to showing art, is a different type of archive than what I want to write about this week: interactive museums.
Most of you who grew up in Connecticut will remember elementary-school trips to Mystic Seaport and Old Sturbridge Village. The thrill of going on field trips may have overwhelmed their educational content -- remember when riding a bus for hours at a time was fun? -- but I'm betting you have at least one vivid memory of the seaport or the colonial village.
It may have been the ships in dock at Mystic or the "strange" colonial clothes worn by staff at Sturbridge. My most vivid memory of these field trips is of playing with a wooden hoop and stick in a colonial games area of Old Sturbridge Village.
I don't think it's a mistake that this is what I remember.
Kids, especially, enjoy the chance to interact with things -- to move them, kick them, talk to them, run around them. It's part of how kids learn.
More than that, though, things that can be experienced directly -- a painting can be looked at, for instance, but it can't be fired up the way a colonial stove might be, or crouched in like a cramped sailor's bunk -- teaches us differently than indirect or mediated experience.
According to Alison Landsberg, author of "Prosthetic Memory," people can easily form vivid, lasting memories by participating in the kind of direct experience offered by Old Sturbridge Village, Mystic Seaport or, in Landsberg's example, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.
Landsberg explains that in places, displays or museums that encourage prosthetic memory, "people are invited to take on memories of a past through which they did not live." In the case of Old Sturbridge Village or Mystic Seaport, this means being able to pretend that you're a colonist of a 16th- or 17th-century American. At Mystic Seaport, you can tour a 19th-century coastal town and historic vessels and think about a life at sea.
These are valuable experiences, ones that help us understand a few of the hardships -- that sailor's cramped bunk again -- and triumphs -- finally getting the hoop to roll down the lane -- of some of the Americans who came before us.
But what may be the most vital and valuable use of interactive materials and museums is helping us tell and understand the stories of the disenfranchised. Mystic Seaport does this when it hosts the Amistad; the Holocaust museum does this with every visitor.
Remembering the survivors of injustice and oppression throughout history is not an exercise in self-pity or self-flagellation. It's necessary for preventing that kind of injustice or oppression from happening again.
Remember that next time you're at the seaport or among the colonially clothed -- and be glad.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Apology
My sincere apologies to readers and to the New Britain Museum of American Art, which is a beautiful museum in a city that needs beauty: I should have written "like all the walls surrounding the gallery" in which Sam McKinniss's paintings are hung, rather than "all the walls in the New Britain Museum of American Art."
To clarify further -- and I hope that my series of columns will continue to do so over the next two weeks -- I believe strongly in the service that museums provide to a community, to art and to history. I like going to art museums, and I particularly like going to NBMAA, which I remember visiting as a child. The transformations NBMAA has undergone since then are astounding, and even as the museum was a cozy, warm environment for its artworks twenty years ago, it's become a world-class showcase with a friendly and professional staff, a terrace cafe overlooking the park and a penchant for attracting (and displaying) the work of new and exciting (and local) artists.
If this sounds like an advertisement, that's because I mean it to be one. Next week I'll focus on ways of displaying history that more interactive museums are able to use -- but that doesn't detract from the necessity, utility and beauty of a museum like NBMAA. Far from it.
To clarify further -- and I hope that my series of columns will continue to do so over the next two weeks -- I believe strongly in the service that museums provide to a community, to art and to history. I like going to art museums, and I particularly like going to NBMAA, which I remember visiting as a child. The transformations NBMAA has undergone since then are astounding, and even as the museum was a cozy, warm environment for its artworks twenty years ago, it's become a world-class showcase with a friendly and professional staff, a terrace cafe overlooking the park and a penchant for attracting (and displaying) the work of new and exciting (and local) artists.
If this sounds like an advertisement, that's because I mean it to be one. Next week I'll focus on ways of displaying history that more interactive museums are able to use -- but that doesn't detract from the necessity, utility and beauty of a museum like NBMAA. Far from it.
Correction
Alicia,
I read your article in The Herald with great interest. You mention in the fourth paragraph that the New Now Gallery walls are white, "like the walls of all the rooms at the Museum of American Art."
In fact, the six first floor galleries devoted to the historic, pre-1925, part of the collection are displayed in galleries where color is a major component of the display. The colors, which range from bright yellow to more somber greens and browns, are intended to present an historic context in which to view the painting and sculptures on view. Similarly, oriental carpets are in several galleries as they would have been placed in eighteenth and nineteenth century houses. Our Museum strives to create an ambience which is harmonious with the masterpieces we are fortunate enough to house in New Britain.
It is for this reason that museums are such wonderful places to visit. Please come and look at our most attractive, exciting museum again.
Sincerely,
Douglas Hyland
Director
I read your article in The Herald with great interest. You mention in the fourth paragraph that the New Now Gallery walls are white, "like the walls of all the rooms at the Museum of American Art."
In fact, the six first floor galleries devoted to the historic, pre-1925, part of the collection are displayed in galleries where color is a major component of the display. The colors, which range from bright yellow to more somber greens and browns, are intended to present an historic context in which to view the painting and sculptures on view. Similarly, oriental carpets are in several galleries as they would have been placed in eighteenth and nineteenth century houses. Our Museum strives to create an ambience which is harmonious with the masterpieces we are fortunate enough to house in New Britain.
It is for this reason that museums are such wonderful places to visit. Please come and look at our most attractive, exciting museum again.
Sincerely,
Douglas Hyland
Director
8/22/08: No connection with the past in museums
I’m going to get kind of artsy on you this week, but don’t worry. The punch line of my column is simple: Museums are weird places.
I say this not after watching "Night at the Museum" or seeing one of those Dada exhibits or considering Magritte’s claim that a picture of a pipe isn’t a pipe, but after attending a show opening for a brilliant young local artist, Sam McKinniss, at the New Britain Museum of American Art.
McKinniss’ paintings, all portraits, are individually impressive, but what most struck me as I left the gallery was their cumulative effect. McKinniss had said in his artist’s statement that he’d intended the subjects of these portraits to be missing the viewer’s gaze, to give the audience a sense of having lost a chance at connection. And that’s exactly how I felt.
The walls of the room in which the paintings are hung — like the walls of many of the rooms at the Museum of American Art — are white, drawing attention to the art rather than the architecture. We think of this as blank, as being without context. We think of white walls as space waiting to be filled and, as viewers, our eyes are drawn to the spots of color, shape or texture in paintings, sculptures or other media.
The blankness works perfectly for shows such as McKinniss’, designed by the artist in advance for a museum gallery. McKinniss knew when he began his work that these paintings would be hung in a room such as the one in which they now hang and was able to plan the number and type of paintings he completed accordingly, to create a certain effect.
But what about other museum displays, of three-dimensional or historical artifacts?
Looking at an emperor’s dish from ancient China or a portrait of an English nobleman on these blank walls is a different sort of experience.
When the emperor used his dishes, he probably didn’t consider them works of art; they were dishes, necessary and practical as well as beautiful. Imagine if someone asked to put your Tupperware on display. You’d probably look at them strangely and ask if they needed to sit down.
When the nobleman commissioned his portrait, he didn’t imagine it hanging in a room with other noblemen’s pictures. He imagined it hanging in his home, among his other possessions, proving what a powerful and influential society man he was. It was art, yes, but it had another purpose and context as well.
We take those things out of their context when we put them in museums. This is probably why museums are boring.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been to plenty of museums over the years, most of the time willingly. Living in Washington, D.C. and Oxford, England, practically forces you to participate in cultural activities such as trips to the museum. I’ve seen and appreciated all kinds of art and historical displays.
But it’s hard to imagine, in a typical museum, what life was like for Chinese emperors or English noblemen — and isn’t that part of the point of putting these things on display? That we let our minds wander back into history, to learn the lessons of the past to connect and apply them to today?
The New Britain Museum of American Art is excellent at what it does, and I like looking at modern art in a modern context. But history requires a different touch — an actual one.
More on that next week.
I say this not after watching "Night at the Museum" or seeing one of those Dada exhibits or considering Magritte’s claim that a picture of a pipe isn’t a pipe, but after attending a show opening for a brilliant young local artist, Sam McKinniss, at the New Britain Museum of American Art.
McKinniss’ paintings, all portraits, are individually impressive, but what most struck me as I left the gallery was their cumulative effect. McKinniss had said in his artist’s statement that he’d intended the subjects of these portraits to be missing the viewer’s gaze, to give the audience a sense of having lost a chance at connection. And that’s exactly how I felt.
The walls of the room in which the paintings are hung — like the walls of many of the rooms at the Museum of American Art — are white, drawing attention to the art rather than the architecture. We think of this as blank, as being without context. We think of white walls as space waiting to be filled and, as viewers, our eyes are drawn to the spots of color, shape or texture in paintings, sculptures or other media.
The blankness works perfectly for shows such as McKinniss’, designed by the artist in advance for a museum gallery. McKinniss knew when he began his work that these paintings would be hung in a room such as the one in which they now hang and was able to plan the number and type of paintings he completed accordingly, to create a certain effect.
But what about other museum displays, of three-dimensional or historical artifacts?
Looking at an emperor’s dish from ancient China or a portrait of an English nobleman on these blank walls is a different sort of experience.
When the emperor used his dishes, he probably didn’t consider them works of art; they were dishes, necessary and practical as well as beautiful. Imagine if someone asked to put your Tupperware on display. You’d probably look at them strangely and ask if they needed to sit down.
When the nobleman commissioned his portrait, he didn’t imagine it hanging in a room with other noblemen’s pictures. He imagined it hanging in his home, among his other possessions, proving what a powerful and influential society man he was. It was art, yes, but it had another purpose and context as well.
We take those things out of their context when we put them in museums. This is probably why museums are boring.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been to plenty of museums over the years, most of the time willingly. Living in Washington, D.C. and Oxford, England, practically forces you to participate in cultural activities such as trips to the museum. I’ve seen and appreciated all kinds of art and historical displays.
But it’s hard to imagine, in a typical museum, what life was like for Chinese emperors or English noblemen — and isn’t that part of the point of putting these things on display? That we let our minds wander back into history, to learn the lessons of the past to connect and apply them to today?
The New Britain Museum of American Art is excellent at what it does, and I like looking at modern art in a modern context. But history requires a different touch — an actual one.
More on that next week.
Friday, August 15, 2008
8/15/08: Tech has us sprinting to new kind of sports
I’ve been reading predictions lately, mostly by Ray Kurzweil, award-winning futurist, inventor and author.
Kurzweil has made amazingly accurate predictions about the past two decades, making his current theories all the more disturbing. Most recently, he published a book titled The Singularity Is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Coined by Vernor Vinge, the term "singularity" refers to a time when we will be able to reverse-engineer our brains using new technology, making us more or less immortal.
I’m hoping Kurzweil is wrong, and I could write a month’s worth of columns explaining why.
But Kurzweil’s thoughts on the future, and their implications for the way we think about our bodies, death and technology, sent my thoughts spinning in an unexpected direction: toward sports.
Other than medicine, professional sports is the one private-sector area in which I would expect the physical advantages of Kurzweil’s nanotechnology to hold intrinsic appeal. Pro athletes, or amateur athletes such as those we’re seeing in the Olympics these weeks, would have the most to gain from stamina- or power-enhancing augmentations of human biology.
We’ve seen some willingness to do whatever it takes to win with steroid-use scandals cropping up in professional athletics and past Olympics.
But we’ve also seen an outcry against steroids, which are dangerous, but which more relevantly violate the spirit (and law) of sporting events.
On the other hand, athletic gear enhanced by nanotechnology has been praised for everything from making golf balls fly straighter to shaving seconds off swimming records at Olympic trials. Some speculate that nanotechnology will allow gear to be designed for individual athletes, enhancing performances from the outside in.
Is the line between allowable and prohibited at the skin, then? Outerwear and specialized equipment are OK, but ingesting performance-enhancing drugs or technology is not?
We’ll have to wait and see on that one, I guess. Most professional sports have boards to regulate the rules of the game and actions of the athletes. They’ll have to navigate the ethics of each technology as it comes up.
What interests me more than how existing sports are relating to new technology is how our concept of sports has changed, thanks to technology, and what we can expect should the singularity come to pass.
Television, for instance, has already had a major effect on sports. Where before we would have had to be physically present to watch a sporting event, we can now cheer on our teams from a distance. This has had far-reaching consequences — just consider the inexplicable ubiquity of Dallas Cowboys fans. With a VCR or TiVo, we can record those performances and review them for errors or highlights at our leisure.
Thanks to national broadcasts, nontraditional sports can gather crowds large enough to popularize them. The X Games, Professional Bull Riders rodeos and NASCAR can be broadcast on noncable channels and pick up fans from across the country.
ESPN and its many subsidiary channels give us access to sports 24/7. This must have some effect on how we think about sports and ourselves as fans.
But perhaps most significantly, television has allowed for the next evolution of sports, it seems — the evolution predicted by Kurzweil’s emphasis on reverse-engineering the brain rather than the body as a whole: video games.
The evolution of computer technology, which has us sitting at desks straining our eyes rather than testing our physical limits, points to a continuation of the emphasis of mind over matter, and begs the question: If Kurzweil’s right, will there even be sports in the future?
Kurzweil has made amazingly accurate predictions about the past two decades, making his current theories all the more disturbing. Most recently, he published a book titled The Singularity Is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Coined by Vernor Vinge, the term "singularity" refers to a time when we will be able to reverse-engineer our brains using new technology, making us more or less immortal.
I’m hoping Kurzweil is wrong, and I could write a month’s worth of columns explaining why.
But Kurzweil’s thoughts on the future, and their implications for the way we think about our bodies, death and technology, sent my thoughts spinning in an unexpected direction: toward sports.
Other than medicine, professional sports is the one private-sector area in which I would expect the physical advantages of Kurzweil’s nanotechnology to hold intrinsic appeal. Pro athletes, or amateur athletes such as those we’re seeing in the Olympics these weeks, would have the most to gain from stamina- or power-enhancing augmentations of human biology.
We’ve seen some willingness to do whatever it takes to win with steroid-use scandals cropping up in professional athletics and past Olympics.
But we’ve also seen an outcry against steroids, which are dangerous, but which more relevantly violate the spirit (and law) of sporting events.
On the other hand, athletic gear enhanced by nanotechnology has been praised for everything from making golf balls fly straighter to shaving seconds off swimming records at Olympic trials. Some speculate that nanotechnology will allow gear to be designed for individual athletes, enhancing performances from the outside in.
Is the line between allowable and prohibited at the skin, then? Outerwear and specialized equipment are OK, but ingesting performance-enhancing drugs or technology is not?
We’ll have to wait and see on that one, I guess. Most professional sports have boards to regulate the rules of the game and actions of the athletes. They’ll have to navigate the ethics of each technology as it comes up.
What interests me more than how existing sports are relating to new technology is how our concept of sports has changed, thanks to technology, and what we can expect should the singularity come to pass.
Television, for instance, has already had a major effect on sports. Where before we would have had to be physically present to watch a sporting event, we can now cheer on our teams from a distance. This has had far-reaching consequences — just consider the inexplicable ubiquity of Dallas Cowboys fans. With a VCR or TiVo, we can record those performances and review them for errors or highlights at our leisure.
Thanks to national broadcasts, nontraditional sports can gather crowds large enough to popularize them. The X Games, Professional Bull Riders rodeos and NASCAR can be broadcast on noncable channels and pick up fans from across the country.
ESPN and its many subsidiary channels give us access to sports 24/7. This must have some effect on how we think about sports and ourselves as fans.
But perhaps most significantly, television has allowed for the next evolution of sports, it seems — the evolution predicted by Kurzweil’s emphasis on reverse-engineering the brain rather than the body as a whole: video games.
The evolution of computer technology, which has us sitting at desks straining our eyes rather than testing our physical limits, points to a continuation of the emphasis of mind over matter, and begs the question: If Kurzweil’s right, will there even be sports in the future?
Friday, August 8, 2008
8/8/08: Seeing the Olympics as the Chinese do
The Olympics begin today in Beijing, the luckiest of days in China: The word for the number eight in Chinese, "ba," sounds like the word for fortune, "fa," and so has good connotations.
Neat, right?
For those of us who can’t attend the games in person, here’s some more trivia to swap with friends during commercials, and a taste of what you’re missing.
Any phrase book can tell you what you would need to know to get around in Beijing, but here are a few extra phrases you can shout or mutter from your couch.
Jia you (jayee yo): "Go, go, go!" The literal translation is "add oil." You can chant this at any athlete you’d like to win. As with all sports cheers, the louder, the better.
Mei you ban fa (may yo bahn fah): "There’s nothing that could’ve been done," or literally, "there’s no solution." You may say this about an athlete who’s just lost or to a friend asking for more snacks after you’ve run out. Mei you ban fa is a particularly strong phrase in Chinese; my preferred translation is "the universe is against us in this."
You may wonder what carb-loading athletes are eating before their events. While China has plenty of rice, and northern China specializes in noodles and dumplings, there are more familiar options for foreigners with some time to roam the city.
You can get pizza in China, but don’t be surprised if topping options include tuna and corn. (It’s better than it sounds.)
Cake, especially birthday cake, has become popular in China, but not for eating — the elaborate frosting sculptures atop spongy, dry angelfood makes these pastries perfect for food fights rather than consumption.
If you order a "hamburger," be prepared to accept anything put between two slices of bread. My Chinese college students patiently explained to me at a KFC in Yinchuan that a chicken sandwich could also be referred to as a "hamburger," despite my protests.
Athletes shouldn’t expect the food in China to be the same as the version of "Chinese food" we get here, but the intrepid sort of diner will find unfamiliar vegetables such as garlic shoots or rape (canola) delicious stir-fryed.
The extremely intrepid may find themselves ordering delicacies such as duck tongue or jellyfish ... once.
A good rule of thumb for spectators and athletes looking to get good, authentic, cheap Chinese food — without getting sick — is to seek out a hole-in-the-wall restaurant packed to the front door with Beijingers. Any restaurant not boasting a healthy crowd of locals should be avoided.
Visitors should also be careful when paying the bill. I asked for what I thought was a receipt in Qingdao once and ended up winning five yuan in the Chinese lottery.
If you find yourself wondering in the midst of an American athlete spotlight what Chinese coverage of the Olympics is like, the answer is "completely different."
During the last summer Olympics, I watched half of the coverage on U.S. soil and the other half in China. While American coverage focuses on "familiar" events at which we excel, coverage in Beijing focuses on what Chinese are good at — including weight-lifting, volleyball (particularly against Japan) and pingpong.
When you’re looking at medal count tallies, remember this. Chinese golds will likely be in sports we never see, and in which we hardly compete.
So go ahead and root for China, too.
Neat, right?
For those of us who can’t attend the games in person, here’s some more trivia to swap with friends during commercials, and a taste of what you’re missing.
Any phrase book can tell you what you would need to know to get around in Beijing, but here are a few extra phrases you can shout or mutter from your couch.
Jia you (jayee yo): "Go, go, go!" The literal translation is "add oil." You can chant this at any athlete you’d like to win. As with all sports cheers, the louder, the better.
Mei you ban fa (may yo bahn fah): "There’s nothing that could’ve been done," or literally, "there’s no solution." You may say this about an athlete who’s just lost or to a friend asking for more snacks after you’ve run out. Mei you ban fa is a particularly strong phrase in Chinese; my preferred translation is "the universe is against us in this."
You may wonder what carb-loading athletes are eating before their events. While China has plenty of rice, and northern China specializes in noodles and dumplings, there are more familiar options for foreigners with some time to roam the city.
You can get pizza in China, but don’t be surprised if topping options include tuna and corn. (It’s better than it sounds.)
Cake, especially birthday cake, has become popular in China, but not for eating — the elaborate frosting sculptures atop spongy, dry angelfood makes these pastries perfect for food fights rather than consumption.
If you order a "hamburger," be prepared to accept anything put between two slices of bread. My Chinese college students patiently explained to me at a KFC in Yinchuan that a chicken sandwich could also be referred to as a "hamburger," despite my protests.
Athletes shouldn’t expect the food in China to be the same as the version of "Chinese food" we get here, but the intrepid sort of diner will find unfamiliar vegetables such as garlic shoots or rape (canola) delicious stir-fryed.
The extremely intrepid may find themselves ordering delicacies such as duck tongue or jellyfish ... once.
A good rule of thumb for spectators and athletes looking to get good, authentic, cheap Chinese food — without getting sick — is to seek out a hole-in-the-wall restaurant packed to the front door with Beijingers. Any restaurant not boasting a healthy crowd of locals should be avoided.
Visitors should also be careful when paying the bill. I asked for what I thought was a receipt in Qingdao once and ended up winning five yuan in the Chinese lottery.
If you find yourself wondering in the midst of an American athlete spotlight what Chinese coverage of the Olympics is like, the answer is "completely different."
During the last summer Olympics, I watched half of the coverage on U.S. soil and the other half in China. While American coverage focuses on "familiar" events at which we excel, coverage in Beijing focuses on what Chinese are good at — including weight-lifting, volleyball (particularly against Japan) and pingpong.
When you’re looking at medal count tallies, remember this. Chinese golds will likely be in sports we never see, and in which we hardly compete.
So go ahead and root for China, too.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Comment from Cindy in Fairfield, and response
This comment was posted on the newbritainherald.com Web site, which now supports comments.
Always Negative
Second column in a row that you are focussing on what the area DOESN'T have! The last thing in the world that the New Britain/ Plainville region needs is more negative publicity. How about trying to find some bright spots? PS Why in the world did you move to Plainville in the first place?
Cindy, Fairfield CT
------
First of all, thanks for commenting. I really love getting feedback -- that may sound facetious, but it's not.
Secondly, it's the third column in a row in which I'm focusing on what the area doesn't have.
The first column (in what I was thinking of as a series) was about regional parochialism; the second was about how that has worked out in terms of people leaving the state, or not moving to Connecticut, between the last censuses (1990 and 2000); the third, which was the week on which you commented, was about the need for public transit that allows CT residents -- and MA and NY residents -- to get to Boston or New York City easily, and my suggestion for the formation of a citizens' group or panel that could advocate for that.
I don't see my columns as particularly negative, though. In fact, I view them as positive suggestions for the future. I touted Middletown's downtown, for instance, as a good example for New Britain and Bristol.
It's clear, as you imply with the comment that "the last thing the New Britain/Plainville area needs is more negative publicity," that central CT could use some sprucing up in terms of outsiders' views of our area. Plans to rebuild the downtowns of New Britain and Bristol show that city governments are also aware of the need for an overhaul.
The state economy may or may not be entering or in a recession, but it's clear that New Britain has never recovered from the recession of the 80s. Bristol Chamber of Commerce president John Leone spoke in an interview of Bristol's last downtown renovation in the 50s and the need for an updated look and feel for that district now. I applaud both city governments for attending to the needs of their communities, particularly in terms of attracting new businesses to our area.
My intention in this column series was to point out that while we do this, we also need to improve access to the downtowns soon-to-be-improved. This needs to be part of the process, or our improvements will be meaningless.
The communities surrounding these downtown districts are currently supporting the businesses available to them, and no more; we need investment from those currently outside the area, whether they're tourists passing through or young families looking to settle down, to sustain the development we're planning.
To attract new people to the area, we also need to jetisson the "keep it in the family" mentality I've experienced in much of central Connecticut, some of which I read into your comment -- though perhaps you didn't intend it to read that way, Cindy. (We know New Britain is in need of improvements, but we don't want bad publicity to get out to others.)
This brings me to the third part of my response: my view of myself as a columnist. (How meta!)
I write about stuff I have opinions on. It's as simple as that.
I'm a big fan of debate, and I would love to see a letter to the editor printed on behalf of the central Connecticut area or any other topic I've written on, especially if it contradicts my stated views. As I said, I really love comments; it makes my day to see that someone's paid enough attention to what I've written to write back.
I can see that my views frustrated you, presumably leading to your questioning why I live in Plainville. It may seem to you that I've said something so negative about central Connecticut that it's unbelievable that I would choose to live here -- or that you would choose to live here, if you held the same view.
But please don't think that what I write in my column -- 600 words or less, once a week -- is the entirety of my opinion, or that my personal life (my decision to live in Plainville, in this case) can be discerned through what I've written. We're all much more complex than that...even columnists.
Please feel free to comment again, here or on the Herald, Bristol Press or Middletown Press Web sites. I would love to hear from you again.
Always Negative
Second column in a row that you are focussing on what the area DOESN'T have! The last thing in the world that the New Britain/ Plainville region needs is more negative publicity. How about trying to find some bright spots? PS Why in the world did you move to Plainville in the first place?
Cindy, Fairfield CT
------
First of all, thanks for commenting. I really love getting feedback -- that may sound facetious, but it's not.
Secondly, it's the third column in a row in which I'm focusing on what the area doesn't have.
The first column (in what I was thinking of as a series) was about regional parochialism; the second was about how that has worked out in terms of people leaving the state, or not moving to Connecticut, between the last censuses (1990 and 2000); the third, which was the week on which you commented, was about the need for public transit that allows CT residents -- and MA and NY residents -- to get to Boston or New York City easily, and my suggestion for the formation of a citizens' group or panel that could advocate for that.
I don't see my columns as particularly negative, though. In fact, I view them as positive suggestions for the future. I touted Middletown's downtown, for instance, as a good example for New Britain and Bristol.
It's clear, as you imply with the comment that "the last thing the New Britain/Plainville area needs is more negative publicity," that central CT could use some sprucing up in terms of outsiders' views of our area. Plans to rebuild the downtowns of New Britain and Bristol show that city governments are also aware of the need for an overhaul.
The state economy may or may not be entering or in a recession, but it's clear that New Britain has never recovered from the recession of the 80s. Bristol Chamber of Commerce president John Leone spoke in an interview of Bristol's last downtown renovation in the 50s and the need for an updated look and feel for that district now. I applaud both city governments for attending to the needs of their communities, particularly in terms of attracting new businesses to our area.
My intention in this column series was to point out that while we do this, we also need to improve access to the downtowns soon-to-be-improved. This needs to be part of the process, or our improvements will be meaningless.
The communities surrounding these downtown districts are currently supporting the businesses available to them, and no more; we need investment from those currently outside the area, whether they're tourists passing through or young families looking to settle down, to sustain the development we're planning.
To attract new people to the area, we also need to jetisson the "keep it in the family" mentality I've experienced in much of central Connecticut, some of which I read into your comment -- though perhaps you didn't intend it to read that way, Cindy. (We know New Britain is in need of improvements, but we don't want bad publicity to get out to others.)
This brings me to the third part of my response: my view of myself as a columnist. (How meta!)
I write about stuff I have opinions on. It's as simple as that.
I'm a big fan of debate, and I would love to see a letter to the editor printed on behalf of the central Connecticut area or any other topic I've written on, especially if it contradicts my stated views. As I said, I really love comments; it makes my day to see that someone's paid enough attention to what I've written to write back.
I can see that my views frustrated you, presumably leading to your questioning why I live in Plainville. It may seem to you that I've said something so negative about central Connecticut that it's unbelievable that I would choose to live here -- or that you would choose to live here, if you held the same view.
But please don't think that what I write in my column -- 600 words or less, once a week -- is the entirety of my opinion, or that my personal life (my decision to live in Plainville, in this case) can be discerned through what I've written. We're all much more complex than that...even columnists.
Please feel free to comment again, here or on the Herald, Bristol Press or Middletown Press Web sites. I would love to hear from you again.
Friday, August 1, 2008
8/1/08: Ticket out of Connecticut can be way to save it
Confession: I don’t plan on living in Connecticut forever.
But I might stay if I felt I could get to Boston or New York with no hassle, and without having to drive.
Forbes magazine calls Boston and New York the second- and fourth-best cities for young professionals, respectively. Both draw international attention for their residents’ accomplishments in science, education and the arts.
It’s easy to see why someone, particularly someone my age, would want to live in cities such as Boston or New York. But increasing opportunities to telecommute also mean that young professionals willing to work from home can live almost anywhere. In theory, we could settle down here, equidistant from two major metropolitan areas, and have the best of both worlds: the small-town, know-your-neighbor sensibilities of much of central Connecticut and the hubbub and high life of the city.
So make it easy for us, Connecticut.
Start with buses.
Farmington has Greyhound bus pickup and ticketing in a Park and Ride lot. Hartford, of course, has a regular bus terminal right off the highway. And New Britain has Jimmy’s Smoke Shop.
Jimmy’s is half Smoke Shop, half bus station, with a walk-through connecting the two. The Greyhound waiting room has a few seats, a ticket counter that doubles as a cashier’s station for the Smoke Shop side and a window that looks out onto the bus depot — a curve in the curb just large enough to let a bus pull in and out without getting in the way of local traffic.
There’s only room for one bus at a time in front of Jimmy’s, and no room for unmetered parking for people who drive into New Britain to catch the bus.
It’s hardly the glittering gateway to the city I might prefer — but worse is that it’s not even practical.
Jimmy’s is an independently contracted agency for Greyhound rather than a Greyhound-run bus terminal, and so falls under the jurisdiction of the Smoke Shop owner and city rather than the bus company.
The bad news is that this means Greyhound won’t do any development work for the bus stop.
The good news is that we can. The city of New Britain, for instance, could designate free parking for bus riders — and there’s no better time to begin thinking about and planning for this than now, with the New Britain-Hartford busway in development.
On a regional level, the busway, the extension of Route 72 into Bristol, the current Metro-North plans to extend commuter rail from New Haven through Hartford to Springfield and plans to increase rail passenger service along Route 7, Norwalk to Danbury, will all contribute to the creation of a workable public transit system, especially if they are able to work together.
Ken Shooshan-Stoller, deputy director of the Central Connecticut Regional Planning Agency, which handles central Connecticut transportation planning and concerns, says many of these major projects should help with connecting central Connecticut residents to New York and Boston, eventually. "We’re looking for ways to improve transportation by transit within the region, and if we improve it, those should help improve those interstate options, too," Shooshan-Stoller says.
But the agency only has jurisdiction over a portion of central Connecticut.
So here’s my big idea, the punchline to the past three weeks of columns: Let’s designate a special committee or board or form a citizen’s group advocating for a comprehensive, efficient system of public transit reaching from Faneuil Hall to Times Square — with a stop in our neighborhood.
Let me know what you think.
But I might stay if I felt I could get to Boston or New York with no hassle, and without having to drive.
Forbes magazine calls Boston and New York the second- and fourth-best cities for young professionals, respectively. Both draw international attention for their residents’ accomplishments in science, education and the arts.
It’s easy to see why someone, particularly someone my age, would want to live in cities such as Boston or New York. But increasing opportunities to telecommute also mean that young professionals willing to work from home can live almost anywhere. In theory, we could settle down here, equidistant from two major metropolitan areas, and have the best of both worlds: the small-town, know-your-neighbor sensibilities of much of central Connecticut and the hubbub and high life of the city.
So make it easy for us, Connecticut.
Start with buses.
Farmington has Greyhound bus pickup and ticketing in a Park and Ride lot. Hartford, of course, has a regular bus terminal right off the highway. And New Britain has Jimmy’s Smoke Shop.
Jimmy’s is half Smoke Shop, half bus station, with a walk-through connecting the two. The Greyhound waiting room has a few seats, a ticket counter that doubles as a cashier’s station for the Smoke Shop side and a window that looks out onto the bus depot — a curve in the curb just large enough to let a bus pull in and out without getting in the way of local traffic.
There’s only room for one bus at a time in front of Jimmy’s, and no room for unmetered parking for people who drive into New Britain to catch the bus.
It’s hardly the glittering gateway to the city I might prefer — but worse is that it’s not even practical.
Jimmy’s is an independently contracted agency for Greyhound rather than a Greyhound-run bus terminal, and so falls under the jurisdiction of the Smoke Shop owner and city rather than the bus company.
The bad news is that this means Greyhound won’t do any development work for the bus stop.
The good news is that we can. The city of New Britain, for instance, could designate free parking for bus riders — and there’s no better time to begin thinking about and planning for this than now, with the New Britain-Hartford busway in development.
On a regional level, the busway, the extension of Route 72 into Bristol, the current Metro-North plans to extend commuter rail from New Haven through Hartford to Springfield and plans to increase rail passenger service along Route 7, Norwalk to Danbury, will all contribute to the creation of a workable public transit system, especially if they are able to work together.
Ken Shooshan-Stoller, deputy director of the Central Connecticut Regional Planning Agency, which handles central Connecticut transportation planning and concerns, says many of these major projects should help with connecting central Connecticut residents to New York and Boston, eventually. "We’re looking for ways to improve transportation by transit within the region, and if we improve it, those should help improve those interstate options, too," Shooshan-Stoller says.
But the agency only has jurisdiction over a portion of central Connecticut.
So here’s my big idea, the punchline to the past three weeks of columns: Let’s designate a special committee or board or form a citizen’s group advocating for a comprehensive, efficient system of public transit reaching from Faneuil Hall to Times Square — with a stop in our neighborhood.
Let me know what you think.
Friday, July 25, 2008
7/25/08: If only Connecticut had someplace to go
Last week, I accused central Connecticut of parochialism. I suggested that the town-by-town loyalties characterizing our region are no longer appropriate in a global society. I mentioned bus-riding chickens.
This week, the big reveal: Why did I insult us all and naysay everything we seem to care about?
The short answer is that I did it for our own good.
The longer answer is that things are about to change, and we need to prepare ourselves to take advantage of those changes. The only way to do that is to begin thinking outside our borders, asking ourselves what we have to offer to people who are new to Connecticut, or who are considering relocating — particularly young people.
We have been losing the battle to keep Connecticut residents in the state for awhile now. Connecticut’s population of young adults 20 to 35 years old declined significantly between 1990 and 2000. The median age in Connecticut, 37, is higher than the national median age by two years.
This may not sound like much, but it reflects the fact that the state’s 3 percent growth in that time is only half the national average, landing us at 47th on the list of fastest-growing states. In other words, we’re the third slowest.
Clearly, we’re doing something wrong.
I’m not an economist, and I’m not a sociologist, but I can say from personal experience that the trouble with Connecticut is that it’s boring.
As high schoolers, my friends and I spent most of our hang-out time driving back and forth between malls. As a college student on break, I found myself staying in most nights and watching PBS or checking movies out of the library.
You may be thinking, "Well, you sound like a boring person, Alicia. Why should Connecticut be blamed for that?"
True. No state can be blamed for my lack of imagination.
But what if being in Connecticut made it easier for me to engage my imagination, instead of harder? What if, instead of imagining some place I might like to hang out with my friends — centrally located, with shops that interested me, coffeehouses and restaurants that served food I liked, that I could get to easily and cheaply by walking or taking a bus — this place actually existed?
From what I can tell, it does. It’s called Middletown.
Middletown’s Main Street seems to be doing well by any casual observer’s standards. With Wesleyan and Middlesex Community College in town, Main Street can count on an influx of college students looking for entertainment — restaurants, a movie theater, shopping and coffeehouses run the length of the street. It’s no wonder New Britain’s downtown development plan uses Middletown’s as a model.
But trying to recreate Middletown’s apparent success isn’t as easy as following its lead in the types of retail or restaurants they offer. After all, New Britain has Central Connecticut State University, and Bristol is between Briarwood College and Tunxis Community College, but this hasn’t meant automatic success for downtown Bristol or New Britain retailers. Something else is missing.
And when it comes to figuring out where to live and work, even the entertainment, dining and employment options of Main Street seem anemic in comparison with New York City or Boston. But that’s fine. We’re not New York or Boston. We never will be.
We will always be exactly what we are, which is located right between New York and Boston.
This is our advantage over every other state, and central Connecticut’s advantage over other counties. This is what we have to offer newcomers and college students who consider staying. All of our planning and development should focus on this advantage.
More on that next week.
This week, the big reveal: Why did I insult us all and naysay everything we seem to care about?
The short answer is that I did it for our own good.
The longer answer is that things are about to change, and we need to prepare ourselves to take advantage of those changes. The only way to do that is to begin thinking outside our borders, asking ourselves what we have to offer to people who are new to Connecticut, or who are considering relocating — particularly young people.
We have been losing the battle to keep Connecticut residents in the state for awhile now. Connecticut’s population of young adults 20 to 35 years old declined significantly between 1990 and 2000. The median age in Connecticut, 37, is higher than the national median age by two years.
This may not sound like much, but it reflects the fact that the state’s 3 percent growth in that time is only half the national average, landing us at 47th on the list of fastest-growing states. In other words, we’re the third slowest.
Clearly, we’re doing something wrong.
I’m not an economist, and I’m not a sociologist, but I can say from personal experience that the trouble with Connecticut is that it’s boring.
As high schoolers, my friends and I spent most of our hang-out time driving back and forth between malls. As a college student on break, I found myself staying in most nights and watching PBS or checking movies out of the library.
You may be thinking, "Well, you sound like a boring person, Alicia. Why should Connecticut be blamed for that?"
True. No state can be blamed for my lack of imagination.
But what if being in Connecticut made it easier for me to engage my imagination, instead of harder? What if, instead of imagining some place I might like to hang out with my friends — centrally located, with shops that interested me, coffeehouses and restaurants that served food I liked, that I could get to easily and cheaply by walking or taking a bus — this place actually existed?
From what I can tell, it does. It’s called Middletown.
Middletown’s Main Street seems to be doing well by any casual observer’s standards. With Wesleyan and Middlesex Community College in town, Main Street can count on an influx of college students looking for entertainment — restaurants, a movie theater, shopping and coffeehouses run the length of the street. It’s no wonder New Britain’s downtown development plan uses Middletown’s as a model.
But trying to recreate Middletown’s apparent success isn’t as easy as following its lead in the types of retail or restaurants they offer. After all, New Britain has Central Connecticut State University, and Bristol is between Briarwood College and Tunxis Community College, but this hasn’t meant automatic success for downtown Bristol or New Britain retailers. Something else is missing.
And when it comes to figuring out where to live and work, even the entertainment, dining and employment options of Main Street seem anemic in comparison with New York City or Boston. But that’s fine. We’re not New York or Boston. We never will be.
We will always be exactly what we are, which is located right between New York and Boston.
This is our advantage over every other state, and central Connecticut’s advantage over other counties. This is what we have to offer newcomers and college students who consider staying. All of our planning and development should focus on this advantage.
More on that next week.
Friday, July 18, 2008
7/18/08: It's time Nutmeggers became global citizens
Los Angeles Times columnist Gregory Rodriguez recently noted in an editorial that the global-citizen mentality of intellectual elites has meant less investment in local communities. "We should remember the beauty and strength of parochialism," he said, and be sure to invest ourselves locally.
"Well," I thought to myself after reading his column. "He should come to Connecticut and see parochialism in action."
Connecticut is the most parochial place I’ve lived — and that includes a small city in China where farmers carried chickens onto the public buses. (Chickens rode free.)
I’m not comparing our state to Dujiangyan to say Connecticut is a backwater or a hick state. Parochialism isn’t about chickens. It’s a worldview.
Dujiangyan, in Sichuan province — if you’ve read any coverage of the recent earthquake, you’ve seen the photos of my Chinese hometown in rubble — is surrounded by farms. But provincial leaders won’t let Sichuan be the "hillbilly province" of China forever, and I’d bet the physical devastation of the earthquake will be cleared up by the end of next year.
China, even agrarian Sichuan, is ambitious. It’s going places.
Connecticut, by contrast, has not gone anywhere in awhile.
This is as literally true as it can be in some cases. Route 72, now between New Britain and Plainville, was originally planned to extend to Route 8 in Thomaston, passing through Bristol and surrounding communities.
After completing an environmental impact study that found no fault with the proposed route through Bristol, town officials were ready to follow through. But the plan was stymied by residents who in 1999 continued to object (as residents had objected in the ’60s and ’70s to all previous plans) that the new controlled-access highway extension would generate more traffic and create noise — ignoring that it would also generate more economic opportunity and an increased likelihood of Hartford commuters choosing to live and invest in Bristol.
The plans are now, after more than 50 years, finally resolved. Bristol will get a Route 72 extension next year. It’s just amazing that it’s taken this long.
I didn’t know much about Bristol’s plans or controversies before researching Route 72, despite living in New Britain and Plainville, the town next door, most of my life.
Almost anywhere else, that would be strange. Anywhere but central Connecticut, the insularity and isolation of town-by-town identities would be a cause for head-scratching.
It makes some sense that we would be so bounded by our town lines. Cities and towns in central Connecticut represent a shockingly diverse set of subcultures, ethnicities and histories.
But this diversity, which should be our greatest regional asset, is neutralized by parochialism.
Investment only in our immediate, local communities — extending to stereotyping others towns (i.e., Farmington is rich, New Britain poor) — robs us of the ability to cooperate as a region, to learn from each other and combine our strengths. It makes us seem cliquish to outsiders, who will be less likely to want to invest in our area.
The days of to-the-town-line culture are over.
The days of interdependency and cooperative effort, spurred on by the Internet that allows us access to people and ideas across the world, are just beginning. We need to learn the "beauty and strength" of being global citizens.
I’m for local investment. I like knowing where I am without resorting to maps and street names. I like shopping at local stores. I like having a "New Britain accent."
I liked riding the bus with chickens.
But I was riding that bus in China.
"Well," I thought to myself after reading his column. "He should come to Connecticut and see parochialism in action."
Connecticut is the most parochial place I’ve lived — and that includes a small city in China where farmers carried chickens onto the public buses. (Chickens rode free.)
I’m not comparing our state to Dujiangyan to say Connecticut is a backwater or a hick state. Parochialism isn’t about chickens. It’s a worldview.
Dujiangyan, in Sichuan province — if you’ve read any coverage of the recent earthquake, you’ve seen the photos of my Chinese hometown in rubble — is surrounded by farms. But provincial leaders won’t let Sichuan be the "hillbilly province" of China forever, and I’d bet the physical devastation of the earthquake will be cleared up by the end of next year.
China, even agrarian Sichuan, is ambitious. It’s going places.
Connecticut, by contrast, has not gone anywhere in awhile.
This is as literally true as it can be in some cases. Route 72, now between New Britain and Plainville, was originally planned to extend to Route 8 in Thomaston, passing through Bristol and surrounding communities.
After completing an environmental impact study that found no fault with the proposed route through Bristol, town officials were ready to follow through. But the plan was stymied by residents who in 1999 continued to object (as residents had objected in the ’60s and ’70s to all previous plans) that the new controlled-access highway extension would generate more traffic and create noise — ignoring that it would also generate more economic opportunity and an increased likelihood of Hartford commuters choosing to live and invest in Bristol.
The plans are now, after more than 50 years, finally resolved. Bristol will get a Route 72 extension next year. It’s just amazing that it’s taken this long.
I didn’t know much about Bristol’s plans or controversies before researching Route 72, despite living in New Britain and Plainville, the town next door, most of my life.
Almost anywhere else, that would be strange. Anywhere but central Connecticut, the insularity and isolation of town-by-town identities would be a cause for head-scratching.
It makes some sense that we would be so bounded by our town lines. Cities and towns in central Connecticut represent a shockingly diverse set of subcultures, ethnicities and histories.
But this diversity, which should be our greatest regional asset, is neutralized by parochialism.
Investment only in our immediate, local communities — extending to stereotyping others towns (i.e., Farmington is rich, New Britain poor) — robs us of the ability to cooperate as a region, to learn from each other and combine our strengths. It makes us seem cliquish to outsiders, who will be less likely to want to invest in our area.
The days of to-the-town-line culture are over.
The days of interdependency and cooperative effort, spurred on by the Internet that allows us access to people and ideas across the world, are just beginning. We need to learn the "beauty and strength" of being global citizens.
I’m for local investment. I like knowing where I am without resorting to maps and street names. I like shopping at local stores. I like having a "New Britain accent."
I liked riding the bus with chickens.
But I was riding that bus in China.
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