The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse Insult My Intelligence

War.

Famine.

Pestilence.

Death.

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

What’s wrong with this picture? (Image is in the public domain.)

And they’re all men.

Does this strike anyone else as inherently sexist?  Women can destroy the world as effectively as men can.  They just need a chance to let their evil ways shine.

I would take a moment to ask my thoughtful readers which of the horsemen would most appropriately be depicted as a horsewoman.  Instead, long live free advertising.  I may ask the question one day as a writing prompt on my other blog.  For now, you’ll just have to marvel at my wisdom and perhaps click the cheerful happy link.

Clicky clicky…

Illiteracy Insults My Intelligence

Many of you have already seen various bloggers discussing their adventures during this year’s National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo.  During this most exhilarating event, people attempt to write a short and semi-readable novel within the span of a single month.

Needless to say, failure abounded.  Failure is tragic yet beautiful.

NaNoWriMo is a magical experience that sparkles like a purple pony on LSD.  (Image credit: onlyAgam3r)

NaNoWriMo is tragic yet beautiful, kind of like a purple pony on LSD. (Image credit: onlyAgam3r)

I did not participate because I consider it my civic duty to enlighten readers in such a way that positive social change might result.  We have no time for fluff, so I am proposing a new event.  This new event could double or even triple the amount of time people spend on reading novels each year.

I call this event NaNoSecond.

As a special bonus, people will remember the name because it’s already in their vocabularies… sort of.  If we spread the word effectively enough, NaNoSecond can supplant the time measurement as people’s first thought when they hear the word spoken aloud.  Computers aren’t important, right?

Could there be any better way to promote reading among people who haven’t touched a book since third grade?

The Vagina Monologues Insult My Intelligence

You may remember recent reports that a second grade teacher had to prevent a parent from distributing vagina cookies to the class. I can’t deliver the story any better than the original, so here are a couple of excerpts:

Autumn Lily Speaker comes into the classroom with a pan full of treats. […]  “I decided you can use these to teach the kids about the woman’s vagina today”. Baffled and completely caught off guard I slowly peel the aluminum foil off the pan to behold a plethora of sugar cookie and frosting vaginas. Not just any old vagina, but ALL KINDS OF VAGINAS.

[…]

[P]erplexed I give the parent the most professional look I can muster and quietly reply “I’m sorry Autumn, but I can’t give these to my students. This just isn’t appropriate.” […] Autumn bursts with the fury of a thousand angry Andrea Dworkin’s and starts yelling in front of the class about how ‘I should be proud of my vagina’ and ‘I am settling for a women’s role in life’. Utterly bemused and frozen from shock all I can do is stand and stare at the woman as the word ‘vagina’ is yelled in front of my second grade class about 987,000 times.

It gets worse from there.  In a subsequent email, the parent implies that the children should learn how to pleasure the vagina and expresses hope that the teacher will be beaten by an abusive husband.

VM

This is what the Vagina Monologues ISN’T. Actresses proclaim the value of their vaginas; the genitals themselves don’t speak. Presumably. (Photo credit: Mattias Johansson)

News of the altercation eventually landed on Huffington Post and I’m surprised that HuffPost would feature a story that opens the floodgates for criticizing feminists.  I spent many years on college campuses and this incident reminds me of V Day.  “V Day,” or Vagina Day, is the campus feminists’ replacement for the standard February 14 holiday.  The feminists distribute vagina lollipops instead of vagina cookies and they urge “pride in your vagina” and the pleasuring thereof.  (In other words, the mother sounds like she just came from campus.)  V Day’s centerpiece is the performance of Eve Ensler’s “Vagina Monologues,” a piece that includes some value but also some pedophilia; however, proceeds are often donated to women’s support charities, which must be said in its defense.  Also to be said in its defense: Roseanne Barr performed the piece in her underwear a few years back, so there’s obviously some sweet stuff for the men too… in addition to the lollipops.  (Cool down.  This is a humor blog, remember?)

Long story short: this is what a lot of college students are being taught and the cupcake incident illustrates the unintended consequences of this well-intended V Day programming.  Just because it works in theory doesn’t mean it will work outside the university with young children, or with older children, or with adults, or with dead people.  (I take that back.  Maybe it would work with dead people because they lack brain function.)  It’s not the real world’s fault that the intellectual idealist’s ideas fall flat when removed from the academic cloister. Them students don’t remember the lesson right when they leave skool and then the kiddies hafta suffer.  The adults too.

The feminism that helps protect women on campus seems to have led at least this one mother to wish domestic violence on another woman.  The Women’s Studies professors would be so proud.

“Goethe” Insults My Intelligence

Everybody loves Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, right?  No?  You’re saying your English teachers thought nothing worthwhile has been written outside of the U.S. and Britain since the ancient Greeks?

That’s a shame, but it’s not uncommon.

Of course, this explains why Goethe’s name inspires so many asinine mispronunciations.  I understand that foreign names can be difficult for folks whose life experience has rarely taken them beyond the English language, but you have to wonder if some people need glasses or a brain transplant.  With that in mind, let’s look at some common errors involving our friendly German literary giant:

Girtha:  Do you see an “R” in Goethe?  Of course not.    Girtha is more like “Bertha’s hips have a lot of girtha.”  I’m not trying to be sexist; Goethe’s hips lacked girtha:

Statue of Goethe in Leipzig, showing his not-so-girthy figure.  (Photo credit: Sebastian Niedlich)

Statue of Goethe in Leipzig, showing his not-so-girthaic figure. (Photo credit: Sebastian Niedlich)

Go eathy:  I’ll go eathy on you too, Mr. Lisp.

Geetha: This sounds like a female geezer.  Goethe may have been a geezer at some point, but female is kind of a stretch.

And if he were Thai, Goethe’s name would be spelled as เกอเธ่.  I could forgive an English speaker for not pronouncing that correctly.

Here’s the correct pronunciation:

Yeah, I know that wasn’t fair; you have to pronounce an ö to get the name right.  Fortunately, no one is policing my blog… unless Vladimir Putin is angry about that gay-themed rainbow image I did of him over the weekend.

Blogger’s Note: If you’re lucky, I’ll be able to field comments on this post.  If I’m lucky, I still have electricity right now.  Goethe is not so lucky because he’s dead.

Book Spines Insult My Intelligence

Ah, books!

Publishers put considerable effort into a book’s front cover.  If you’re shopping online, the cover becomes the image that gives you a first impression, the image that influences whether you purchase the literary product, the image that scares you away.  It shapes your expectations about what’s inside and it gives you a lifetime of aesthetic pleasure as it sits in prominent display on your bookshelf for years after you spend the relatively few hours reading it.

Not quite.

Once the book goes on your shelf, the spine becomes the only visible part.  If you’re in a library or one of the ever-declining number of brick-and-mortar bookstores, it’s also the spine that first announces and advertises a book’s existence and contents.  (Yeah, I know.  A few books are displayed face-up on tables.  However, those titles tend towards “The Philosophical Meditations of Justin Bieber” and similar drivel.)  And it’s the spine that announces your intelligence to all guests, unless of course you only bought the books to look smart.  In that case, the spines announce your good taste until some incredulous fiend asks you about them.

In my case, the book spines broadcast my superior intelligence and I’d like to share some details with you.

books

This is my image of my books that display my intelligence for all to see.

As you can see, the spines range from purely functional to highly decorative to advertorial to none of the above.  Derek Walcott’s publisher (you can’t miss its presence on the spine) decided to go with dull green and huge lettering for its spine.  You can’t miss that spine on a shelf and you’ll never forget who published it, if you can figure out whether Omeros or Noonday is the publisher.  “Derek Walcott” is obviously the title, the same way Mr. Copperfield wrote a book called “Charles Dickens.”

Cover of "Omeros"

Oh, this clears things up.

Penguin Classics went in the opposite direction on its spine for “Monkey.”  We get tiny print for all text and a small picture for the publisher’s logo.  You could easily miss this title on the shelf, but I guess they decided that their “classics” line needed to look more distinguished and illegible to the low-eyesight crowd than “Year of the Hare,” which features a cute little bunny.  For a book called “Monkey,” how hard would it have been to make that spine stand out like “Hare” does?  Monkeys are cute too, especially wise playful monkeys like the book’s protagonist.  Ironically, the front cover of “Monkey” features the monkey while the hare is reduced to a minor detail on its front cover.  I don’t get it.  Why pull on people’s animal-loving heartstrings on the spine or cover, but not both?  Methinks those publishing executives need to improve their marketing techniques.

“My Name is Red,” subject of a recent post, goes even further with the ornamentation while giving viewers a title they don’t have to tilt their heads to read.  Considering the book’s contents, the pictorial element couldn’t be avoided and my shelf is happy to house a work of art.  I wish “Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out” had similarly managed to recapture the interesting graphic design from its front cover.

Cover of "Life and Death are Wearing Me O...

Cover via Amazon

Instead, the spine gives us blah and undersize typeface that doesn’t even fit.  So yeah, that was the publisher’s error, not an issue with my cropping… but thank you for assuming I wasn’t at fault.  Quit snickering.

And then there’s the Borges.  Nice and colorful like a neon sign.  And since the publisher and/or translator decided not to render the book’s title in English, having it on my shelf makes me look like I know Spanish.  Excellent!  I support anything that inflates the specter of superior intelligence I can wave over others.

That means the boring and functional “Blind Owl” spine gets lost in the crowd.  That’s a shame because the novel bursts with imagery.  On the other hand, such a narrow book spine might not display the cover’s ornamental font effectively.

The Blind Owl

The Blind Owl (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

With that font on the spine, I’d expect it to be as legible as “The” and “and” on “The Master and Margarita.”  That would be unfortunate because, in the case of “The Master and Margarita,” the spine looks like it’s for a bartender’s guide to excellence in Mexican beverages.

That said, I think it’s time for me to go master a margarita.  Stay thirsty for knowledge, my friends.

Do Absentee Stories Insult My Intelligence?

If you follow this blog, you may remember this grand photo I posted with no explanation not too long ago:

grand

I’ll discuss the photograph relatively soonish, I think.

In the meantime, I’d like to tell you about a book I’ve been reading: “My Name is Red” by the Turkish author Orhan Pamuk.  Aside from the novel’s murder mystery aspect, it includes a lot of Islamic philosophy on art… specifically drawing.   And as far as I can tell, it incorporates an Islamic traditionalist point of view. (Yes, other perspectives are included.)  Considering all the death threats made against artists and authors who depict Muhammad, I found this novel extraordinarily relevant to today’s world.

That’s in spite of the novel’s 16th century setting.

(Caveat: I have relatively little knowledge about Islam.  Since the author won a Nobel, I trust that his representation is reasonably accurate and relevant.  I apologize if I am butchering the religion.)

Throughout the novel, much is made of how drawings ought to be created to illustrate something else; in other words, it ought to accompany a story.  Loose pictures with no referent are to be avoided and “style” is considered a flaw.  A horse, for example, ought to be drawn from memory in the style of the Old Masters and any deviation from that ideal is inherently wrong.  Allah’s vision for the world, according to the traditionalist view, is best replicated through a hand that draws from its own memory of having drawn the same horse a thousand times; individual “style” cannot hope to compare.

Thus, blind men are believed to have the greatest artistic vision.

If one draws the horse one sees in a pasture, the drawing will inevitably be flawed.  Moreover, the horse will be insulted by the drawing because the artist is depicting the animal in a less perfect form than Allah sees him in.  Similarly, using a Western ground-level perspective with a horizon reduces a drawing’s quality because it’s not drawn from an overhead perspective as Allah would see it from.

And, if I may extrapolate from this, that’s presumably why visual representations of Muhammad are considered blasphemous.

That’s not to defend those who make the death threats against artists.  I abhor that such a thing is done. Those of us who are not Muslim ought not be compelled to behave according to that religion’s dictates, and a death sentence for irreligious behavior, no matter how blasphemous, is more than a little excessive.  Nevertheless, we benefit from knowing that deeper philosophical reasons exist for the prohibition than an intolerance for religious criticism.  Until Muslims and non-Muslims learn to understand each other, little will improve between us.

And that brings me to my real reason for posting today: the photograph, an image from a technology that has replaced drawings. The original post about the photograph garnered a couple of interesting guesses… and you’ll have to visit the post if you want to see them.

Anyway, what we have here is a picture stripped of its context, much like a drawing of a horse in a pasture that was similarly decontextualized.  And so the question for today is: did the photograph gain or lose stature because I had disconnected it from its origin?  To answer that, you probably need to know where that photo came from.  I shot that photo at the ruins of Pompeii, which a volcanic eruption destroyed in 79 AD.  This was the public bathhouse.

Self-Proclaimed Intellectuals Insult My Intelligence

I took German in college and one of the first readings in the intermediate course was called “A Table is a Table.”  In the story, an old man becomes bored with his surroundings and renames everything in his house.  Some amount of logic drives this; the names for everything are random conventions and there’s no reason they shouldn’t be called something else.

Deutsch: Rose mit Rauhreif / Eiskristallen

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But this isn’t a story about a rose by any other name.  By the end of the tale, the old man has become unable to communicate with anyone because no one shares his vocabulary.  The title serves as a warning: a table is a table.  Although the name “table” is random, the standardization works best.

I’m not opposing change per se, but I do see this pattern in the academic humanities of the past decade or more.  For instance, an “intellectual” is defined as someone who holds a particular set of political and social beliefs, regardless of whether the methods of acquiring those beliefs would legitimately be described as “intellectual.”  One sees this in politics as well; it’s convenient for some activists to conflate homophobia and religious views on sexuality as a way of winning sympathy.  The activists redefined “identity” as being the person and the sexual behavior, meaning that opposition to the sexual behavior is opposition to a person’s identity.  By that logic, the activist claims that the religious person’s call to “hate the sin but love the sinner” is disingenuous.  This causes conflict where none should exist.  (To be fair, there are quite a few religious folks who forget the love part of that statement.  That must be why Pope Francis’ comments are on the topic were so controversial.)

This points to a greater problem: the larger inability of the two sides to dialogue.  No shared vocabulary means no common ground.

A globe (Globus)

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And that brings me to high school English classes in the U.S.  Specifically, world literature classes.  At many schools, “world literature” emphasizes works by Americans and Brits, plus a couple of continental Europeans (usually ancient Greeks) and usually topped off by Chinua Achebe and perhaps Gabriel Garcia-Marquez.

Is part of the world missing here?

Of course it is, unless I add Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse.  But then again, Hesse was German/Swiss and only wrote about an Asian topic; that means I can’t count him as the token Asian.

So the world is now defined as white people and people who criticize white people.  (Remember, Hispanics are technically Caucasian.)   Does anyone else see a problem here?

The people who recognize the problem often prescribe a curriculum that replicates their opposition’s shortcomings.  The newly added texts add to the criticism of white people by others while eliminating “dead white males.”  If a text doesn’t follow the political ideals behind this curriculum, it is unacceptable because it reinforces current power structures.  Or something like that.

In the end, both sides have redefined “world” and have no common ground.  Unfortunately, they also can’t talk with the rest of the world  because no one seems to want to teach authentic foreign cultural traditions.  That’s too “subversive” for both sides.

To my non-U.S. readers: If you want to know why so few native-born Americans know anything about you, it’s because 49% define “world” as “Western world” while another 49% only define you as intellectual when you’re criticizing the Western world.  You are no longer a table.

This was my two percent’s worth.