Thursday, May 27, 2004
The Importance of Pronounciation
Call me trivial, but was anyone else outraged by Bush's mangling of the pronunciation of "Abu Ghraib prison"? Sources say he was a good little president and practiced saying the three-syllable phrase before his speech. But when it came for the internationally covered speech on the transition to an independent Iraqi government, all that practice went out the window -- even when he acknowledged its infamous importance in saying it would be demolished.
Maybe it's because I was an English literature student that I put too much importance on words, their pronunciation, context, and meaning. Or maybe it's because I'm an editor that I'm overly conscious when words are misused, misspelled, or mispronounced. Or maybe it's just that I'm living abroad, and when Bush does something embarrassing, we get to hear about it. A lot. (The number of people who have tried to buy me the book on BUSHIMS is proof of that.)
The mispronunciation of one little word may not seem like so much. After all, we've all had the opportunity to hear some of Bush's unintentional comic moments. But Abu Ghraib has been at the forefront of most international media for a few weeks now. It has been a major topic on the news, talk shows, and in people's homes (surely Bush must have heard it pronounced before). The fate of U.S. military procedure hangs on tenterhooks because of it. The lives of seven soldiers (and possibly higher brass to come) have been seriously altered by it. The dignity and safety of many Iraqi prisoners have been trampled by it. And yet, President Bush can't take the time to figure out how to say a three-syllable word when speaking in front of the entire world.
I know that there are far more important matters at hand than how Bush does or does not say a tiny little word. But I would say that that tiny little word is an important one in America's place within the international community. That word sums up the way America is perceived at the moment, the cavalier nature of the Bush administration, and the apparent international disregard for paying attention to each other's differences. Bush had three attempts within his speech to get the pronunciation correct. Once, I could excuse. Maybe his throat was dry or he had suddenly developed stage fright. But three times? How is that for showing the world that America is making a concerted effort to understand and respect cultural differences, and for Bush being a role model for the military stationed abroad, who are expected to do the same thing? It just comes across in much the same way as a good deal of the international community already perceives the Bush administration (and, sadly, as a result, sometimes America as a whole) -- pushing itself, full steam ahead, without regard for detail, care, or correctness, and not apologising when things go wrong.
Oh my goodness! How difficult can a three-syllable reference be? I just hope that next time Bush speaks or acts, he does one little thing. Takes a deep breath and thinks about what he's talking about.
Call me trivial, but was anyone else outraged by Bush's mangling of the pronunciation of "Abu Ghraib prison"? Sources say he was a good little president and practiced saying the three-syllable phrase before his speech. But when it came for the internationally covered speech on the transition to an independent Iraqi government, all that practice went out the window -- even when he acknowledged its infamous importance in saying it would be demolished.
Maybe it's because I was an English literature student that I put too much importance on words, their pronunciation, context, and meaning. Or maybe it's because I'm an editor that I'm overly conscious when words are misused, misspelled, or mispronounced. Or maybe it's just that I'm living abroad, and when Bush does something embarrassing, we get to hear about it. A lot. (The number of people who have tried to buy me the book on BUSHIMS is proof of that.)
The mispronunciation of one little word may not seem like so much. After all, we've all had the opportunity to hear some of Bush's unintentional comic moments. But Abu Ghraib has been at the forefront of most international media for a few weeks now. It has been a major topic on the news, talk shows, and in people's homes (surely Bush must have heard it pronounced before). The fate of U.S. military procedure hangs on tenterhooks because of it. The lives of seven soldiers (and possibly higher brass to come) have been seriously altered by it. The dignity and safety of many Iraqi prisoners have been trampled by it. And yet, President Bush can't take the time to figure out how to say a three-syllable word when speaking in front of the entire world.
I know that there are far more important matters at hand than how Bush does or does not say a tiny little word. But I would say that that tiny little word is an important one in America's place within the international community. That word sums up the way America is perceived at the moment, the cavalier nature of the Bush administration, and the apparent international disregard for paying attention to each other's differences. Bush had three attempts within his speech to get the pronunciation correct. Once, I could excuse. Maybe his throat was dry or he had suddenly developed stage fright. But three times? How is that for showing the world that America is making a concerted effort to understand and respect cultural differences, and for Bush being a role model for the military stationed abroad, who are expected to do the same thing? It just comes across in much the same way as a good deal of the international community already perceives the Bush administration (and, sadly, as a result, sometimes America as a whole) -- pushing itself, full steam ahead, without regard for detail, care, or correctness, and not apologising when things go wrong.
Oh my goodness! How difficult can a three-syllable reference be? I just hope that next time Bush speaks or acts, he does one little thing. Takes a deep breath and thinks about what he's talking about.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Happiness & the Purpose of Life
Gee, we are living longer and longer, but our perception of our lack of accomplishments is hitting earlier and earlier. No wonder we are not happy! We used to feel inadequacies at mid-life crisis –- in the forties or the fifties: "Is that all there is?" "Is this my life?" "Is this as good as I can be?"
But today, young people judge themselves by the early demise of a few rock stars. It is true we've lost some talent that didn’t make it to 30 years old; some not even to 20. Some died in accidents. And more then a few died of drug abuse. Those that left a body of work have something in common: focus toward only one goal. Their body of work is all similar. Their lack of variety and life experiences shows.
Even for those who lived a long long life and succeeded to produce great bodies of work still have that focus-factor in common. A narrow view of their lives’ purpose propelled them in one direction at a time. Little side excursions were not allowed. They achieved a sense of fulfillment by achieving one goal at a time. And they made lasting impressions on the rest of us. We are in awe of their accomplishments. But only because the rest of us are well-rounded. Their accomplishments add to the texture of our lives. They have given us layers and layers of art, poetry, music, theatre, stories and speeches. We appreciate all of them. They gave up their chances to enjoy all that life has to give in exchange for glory and success.
Thus the legend of Faustus who is said to have sold his soul to the devil for success and glory. Perhaps our souls need to experience as much living as possible to get us into heaven. Perhaps the alternative of hell is a result of single-mindedness.
Living in a country like America where a poor little boy from a log cabin who did his homework by candlelight has left a very high standard of performance for the rest of us. We expect to make something of ourselves. We expect to be lawyers, doctors, and presidents. In this country, we no longer define success by providing enough food to sustain life and enough shelter to provide survival through the winter. We no longer spend every waking moment to keep our families alive. And we no longer feel that sense of accomplishment.
A very smart woman once told me to set goals. She said if all you ever think about is trying to pay the bills, then all you will ever succeed at is paying the bills. In a way, she was right. Although she meant making a lot of money -- which she did –- her life was no happier then mine. Having a lot of money gave her no more happiness then I have. We both lost our husbands. We both wasted too much time worrying about money and missed much of the day to day experiences. We both provided for our families and protected them from hunger and cold. We have both learned that setting a goal like learning to draw a square, a circle, and a cone can be just as rewarding as winning a race, being the best salesperson for a week, making a movie, decorating a room, or making a billion dollars. As the article John referred to in his May 19 posting said, "One reason we aspire to the fast track of wealth and power is a phenomenon scientists call the 'hedonic treadmill' -- how the acquisition of commodities and clout provides a short-term emotional lift that makes us want more. We get a raise, spend it, the extra dough becomes moot, and we want more." This can be said of any goal. Once achieved, we should be aware that that thrill is gone, it is time to move onto a new goal.
Age doesn’t matter unless you are a good bottle of wine. No matter how old you are, now is the time to wake up to your surroundings, challenge yourself, succeed, and challenge yourself again. That is the secret of a happy life.
Gee, we are living longer and longer, but our perception of our lack of accomplishments is hitting earlier and earlier. No wonder we are not happy! We used to feel inadequacies at mid-life crisis –- in the forties or the fifties: "Is that all there is?" "Is this my life?" "Is this as good as I can be?"
But today, young people judge themselves by the early demise of a few rock stars. It is true we've lost some talent that didn’t make it to 30 years old; some not even to 20. Some died in accidents. And more then a few died of drug abuse. Those that left a body of work have something in common: focus toward only one goal. Their body of work is all similar. Their lack of variety and life experiences shows.
Even for those who lived a long long life and succeeded to produce great bodies of work still have that focus-factor in common. A narrow view of their lives’ purpose propelled them in one direction at a time. Little side excursions were not allowed. They achieved a sense of fulfillment by achieving one goal at a time. And they made lasting impressions on the rest of us. We are in awe of their accomplishments. But only because the rest of us are well-rounded. Their accomplishments add to the texture of our lives. They have given us layers and layers of art, poetry, music, theatre, stories and speeches. We appreciate all of them. They gave up their chances to enjoy all that life has to give in exchange for glory and success.
Thus the legend of Faustus who is said to have sold his soul to the devil for success and glory. Perhaps our souls need to experience as much living as possible to get us into heaven. Perhaps the alternative of hell is a result of single-mindedness.
Living in a country like America where a poor little boy from a log cabin who did his homework by candlelight has left a very high standard of performance for the rest of us. We expect to make something of ourselves. We expect to be lawyers, doctors, and presidents. In this country, we no longer define success by providing enough food to sustain life and enough shelter to provide survival through the winter. We no longer spend every waking moment to keep our families alive. And we no longer feel that sense of accomplishment.
A very smart woman once told me to set goals. She said if all you ever think about is trying to pay the bills, then all you will ever succeed at is paying the bills. In a way, she was right. Although she meant making a lot of money -- which she did –- her life was no happier then mine. Having a lot of money gave her no more happiness then I have. We both lost our husbands. We both wasted too much time worrying about money and missed much of the day to day experiences. We both provided for our families and protected them from hunger and cold. We have both learned that setting a goal like learning to draw a square, a circle, and a cone can be just as rewarding as winning a race, being the best salesperson for a week, making a movie, decorating a room, or making a billion dollars. As the article John referred to in his May 19 posting said, "One reason we aspire to the fast track of wealth and power is a phenomenon scientists call the 'hedonic treadmill' -- how the acquisition of commodities and clout provides a short-term emotional lift that makes us want more. We get a raise, spend it, the extra dough becomes moot, and we want more." This can be said of any goal. Once achieved, we should be aware that that thrill is gone, it is time to move onto a new goal.
Age doesn’t matter unless you are a good bottle of wine. No matter how old you are, now is the time to wake up to your surroundings, challenge yourself, succeed, and challenge yourself again. That is the secret of a happy life.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Forget the Spinach: Pop a Pill
We had health day at work. Lots of information was provided. For example: Did you know brushing and flossing your teeth helps prevent Heart Disease? Oh, yes, it is true. If you don’t brush and floss, that plaque gets swallowed down into your digestive system and somehow ends up in your blood and circulatory system.
Our visiting doctor also warned not to reheat foods in Styrofoam containers. When you heat up your leftovers or your coffee in those Styrofoam containers, small amounts of black smoke containing carcinogens is released.
But what really shocked me was the Spinach Story. In 1940, when Popeye was an established spokesman for eating spinach, 100 grams of spinach provided 158 mg of iron. By 1965, we only got 27 mg of iron from the same serving. Today, we get 2.2 mg (that is two point two mg) of iron per serving. Pollution, chemicals, and pesticides have all worked together to deplete the vitamins and nutrients right out of our soil. So now, to get the same benefits from spinach that grandma got, the serving size would need to be 14.5 pounds. No wonder we are obese. We are just trying to get our nutrients.
The doctor’s solution? Take vitamins.
I was thinking Soylent Green.
We had health day at work. Lots of information was provided. For example: Did you know brushing and flossing your teeth helps prevent Heart Disease? Oh, yes, it is true. If you don’t brush and floss, that plaque gets swallowed down into your digestive system and somehow ends up in your blood and circulatory system.
Our visiting doctor also warned not to reheat foods in Styrofoam containers. When you heat up your leftovers or your coffee in those Styrofoam containers, small amounts of black smoke containing carcinogens is released.
But what really shocked me was the Spinach Story. In 1940, when Popeye was an established spokesman for eating spinach, 100 grams of spinach provided 158 mg of iron. By 1965, we only got 27 mg of iron from the same serving. Today, we get 2.2 mg (that is two point two mg) of iron per serving. Pollution, chemicals, and pesticides have all worked together to deplete the vitamins and nutrients right out of our soil. So now, to get the same benefits from spinach that grandma got, the serving size would need to be 14.5 pounds. No wonder we are obese. We are just trying to get our nutrients.
The doctor’s solution? Take vitamins.
I was thinking Soylent Green.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Hello, America
I was taking pictures of the Michigan Capitol area today with a friend of mine, when after doing a circle of the complex (which includes the new comic-book-sounding "Hall of Justice") and preparing to leave, we eyed a gentleman in a bright orange t-shirt shouting "Hello, America!" to the capitol building itself. Funny, I thought, that sounded familiar... but before my mind could remind me of its relevance, the gentleman approached us and asked us for -- I kid you not -- thirty cents.
"Yard Dog!" I said, enthusiastically. He smiled and stepped backward with surprise and recognition, than ran forward and gave me a hug. "How in the hell are you," he asked, and then turned toward my companion, saying "I bet you're pretty shocked that your boyfriend here knows me, eh?"
(At this time, for those of you who don't know the significance of this individual, I strongly encourage you to read this article I wrote last December.)
Yard Dog was his usual happy self, and detailed how he smartly threw his liquor away only moments before police approached him, before he approached us. We chatted briefly, and both waved goodbye as he went to convince a nearby police officer to "drop" a cigarette on the ground which he might then pick up (rather than break protocol and actually hand him one.)
More than ever, I was struck with how content he was. (And I still don't believe it was an act in order to better obtain wealth through individual accumulated thirty cent donations.)
The old saying "money doesn't buy happiness" was given some academic backing earlier this year when several studies confirmed that wealth and happiness have no statistical correlation. Indeed, my own experiences going to school in both very poor and then very wealthy neighborhoods convinced me of that years earlier.
Truthfully, I've been a touch down lately, uncertain as to whether my accomplishments thus far meet the level of success I've envisioned for myself at this point. Turning 27 last month was the first time I'd actually felt a bit "old", for two main reasons: first, that the vast majority of my friends this age are now married while I am not, and second, that, for example, too many great musicians (Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix, Cobain, etc.) died at age 27, already leaving behind a lifetime's worth of work. And after all, from a purely ego/vanity perspective, when I was only 23 with a successful career and owning a home, I felt special -- at age 27, those things are expected.
So, I began wondering what my "legacy" would be if I were to be struck by lightning tomorrow. And I felt like I wouldn't be "leaving behind" a fraction of what I had hoped to.
A good friend and coworker of mine passed away last week, and I attended the funeral on Friday. During her eulogy and subsequent sharings of memories, I was struck with how little was discussed regarding things she did. Instead, everyone shared stories concerning who she was. This was someone who had accomplished a great deal, certainly more than I have -- and yet that's not what people remembered. It wasn't as important as her warmth, generosity, personality, and passion. And despite an unexpected and painful illness, she remained happy and giving and optimistic to the end. This was someone who, when I visited her in the hospital as the cancer had reached stage four, got teary and gave ME a hug when she found out I had been "rolled off" the project I'd been on for three years. I'd trade anything and everything I've accomplished or would hope to, to be remembered like that.
Priorities are a tricky thing. I have been blessed to be surrounded by some of the most amazing friends and family my imagination could envision. But it's one thing to say that these individuals are more important than success and fame. Everyone can say it. Sometimes it takes a kick in the ass to believe it.
I was taking pictures of the Michigan Capitol area today with a friend of mine, when after doing a circle of the complex (which includes the new comic-book-sounding "Hall of Justice") and preparing to leave, we eyed a gentleman in a bright orange t-shirt shouting "Hello, America!" to the capitol building itself. Funny, I thought, that sounded familiar... but before my mind could remind me of its relevance, the gentleman approached us and asked us for -- I kid you not -- thirty cents.
"Yard Dog!" I said, enthusiastically. He smiled and stepped backward with surprise and recognition, than ran forward and gave me a hug. "How in the hell are you," he asked, and then turned toward my companion, saying "I bet you're pretty shocked that your boyfriend here knows me, eh?"
(At this time, for those of you who don't know the significance of this individual, I strongly encourage you to read this article I wrote last December.)
Yard Dog was his usual happy self, and detailed how he smartly threw his liquor away only moments before police approached him, before he approached us. We chatted briefly, and both waved goodbye as he went to convince a nearby police officer to "drop" a cigarette on the ground which he might then pick up (rather than break protocol and actually hand him one.)
More than ever, I was struck with how content he was. (And I still don't believe it was an act in order to better obtain wealth through individual accumulated thirty cent donations.)
The old saying "money doesn't buy happiness" was given some academic backing earlier this year when several studies confirmed that wealth and happiness have no statistical correlation. Indeed, my own experiences going to school in both very poor and then very wealthy neighborhoods convinced me of that years earlier.
Truthfully, I've been a touch down lately, uncertain as to whether my accomplishments thus far meet the level of success I've envisioned for myself at this point. Turning 27 last month was the first time I'd actually felt a bit "old", for two main reasons: first, that the vast majority of my friends this age are now married while I am not, and second, that, for example, too many great musicians (Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix, Cobain, etc.) died at age 27, already leaving behind a lifetime's worth of work. And after all, from a purely ego/vanity perspective, when I was only 23 with a successful career and owning a home, I felt special -- at age 27, those things are expected.
So, I began wondering what my "legacy" would be if I were to be struck by lightning tomorrow. And I felt like I wouldn't be "leaving behind" a fraction of what I had hoped to.
A good friend and coworker of mine passed away last week, and I attended the funeral on Friday. During her eulogy and subsequent sharings of memories, I was struck with how little was discussed regarding things she did. Instead, everyone shared stories concerning who she was. This was someone who had accomplished a great deal, certainly more than I have -- and yet that's not what people remembered. It wasn't as important as her warmth, generosity, personality, and passion. And despite an unexpected and painful illness, she remained happy and giving and optimistic to the end. This was someone who, when I visited her in the hospital as the cancer had reached stage four, got teary and gave ME a hug when she found out I had been "rolled off" the project I'd been on for three years. I'd trade anything and everything I've accomplished or would hope to, to be remembered like that.
Priorities are a tricky thing. I have been blessed to be surrounded by some of the most amazing friends and family my imagination could envision. But it's one thing to say that these individuals are more important than success and fame. Everyone can say it. Sometimes it takes a kick in the ass to believe it.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
A Shared Sense of History
The two greatest difficulties of being a social studies teacher in our society today, at least in my humble estimation, are the following:
1. Trying to balance the amount and flow of information. The cliché is "a mile wide and an inch deep or an inch long and a mile deep." There is a plethora of ideas, interdisciplinary connections and important events (famous, infamous or otherwise) that is the history of humanity. Trying to relate all of the major events (dates, names, battles, etc…) of a particular period because it is part of the curriculum is hard enough, but add into that all of the minor events, interesting stories, and connections to various other disciplines and understanding, let alone enjoying, the social sciences is suddenly tedious.
2. Getting students who are in no way, shape or form interested in any of the social studies to understand that all too often it is the social studies that affect them most directly and if nothing else, they are something that they will have to deal with for their whole lives. That lofty goal aside, the really hard part is getting them to see that there is some really cool – and unbelievably relevant – stuff for them to experience in the social studies.
I am reminded of these two difficulties now especially because May is well underway and with a mere three weeks before summer vacation, the natives are getting restless. And the kids are pretty antsy too. We have a decade to go and the Vietnam War to make sense of before our students are released onto the streets of Northern Michigan for thirteen sun-filled weeks.
I can't help but think about what kind of real impact I had on these students. I wonder if they are going to remember any of the details that we learned this time next year. Of course, like any teacher, I know that I reached some, but certainly not all, of my students. I am encouraged by my students who recently went to Washington D.C. and knew who Thurgood Marshall was, knew what they were talking about on the Senate floor and excitedly spoke to me about exhibits they saw while at the Smithsonian. Yet, I am dismayed when I ask the students who FDR is, or what the basic function of the legislative branch is and I look out at a sea of blank stares. More important than test scores and the ability to conjure up an answer from months ago through the veritable primordial ooze of "who's going out with who" and "he wrote her a note that said…" that dominates much of a 15 year-old's brain, is the sense that history is both interesting and important to cling to. Some students get it. Some don't. I do my best to make sure that the former is disproportionately higher in number than the latter.
What triggered this sentimentality was discovered in my floorboards. My wife and I are renovating our 106-year-old house and in the process discovered two letters written in 1904 and a child's shoe from the early 20th century. The letters are fairly mundane – at least what I can decipher from them – but the implications of finding them have sparked my imagination. Who are the people that wrote them? The penmanship looks much too sophisticated to be a child's and so elegant that there are large sections that I can't make out. Maybe I have been reading too many papers with exceptionally bad penmanship from my students, but I can't make heads or tails of parts of it. Even so, it is amazing to me that these little pieces of paper and a shoe that now looks like a mangled scrap of leather have found their way into my life. The items represent people who helped develop the community I live in – whose day-to-day goings on shaped the culture of a people and the attitudes, values and concerns that are woven through our society. They catalogue the journey this community took from a small town to a small city. The roots of who we are as a city come from these people and their ancestors. It would be a shame for those of us who walk the streets today to not recognize this. This is true in cities and towns all over the country. Who we are, what we value and how we proceed through life comes from where we've been, for better or for worse. We should know it, face it and grow from it. It would behoove the people who are in charge of these cities, towns and this nation to remember this and that maybe, just maybe, there is some really cool – and unbelievably relevant – stuff for them to discover in our collective history.
The two greatest difficulties of being a social studies teacher in our society today, at least in my humble estimation, are the following:
1. Trying to balance the amount and flow of information. The cliché is "a mile wide and an inch deep or an inch long and a mile deep." There is a plethora of ideas, interdisciplinary connections and important events (famous, infamous or otherwise) that is the history of humanity. Trying to relate all of the major events (dates, names, battles, etc…) of a particular period because it is part of the curriculum is hard enough, but add into that all of the minor events, interesting stories, and connections to various other disciplines and understanding, let alone enjoying, the social sciences is suddenly tedious.
2. Getting students who are in no way, shape or form interested in any of the social studies to understand that all too often it is the social studies that affect them most directly and if nothing else, they are something that they will have to deal with for their whole lives. That lofty goal aside, the really hard part is getting them to see that there is some really cool – and unbelievably relevant – stuff for them to experience in the social studies.
I am reminded of these two difficulties now especially because May is well underway and with a mere three weeks before summer vacation, the natives are getting restless. And the kids are pretty antsy too. We have a decade to go and the Vietnam War to make sense of before our students are released onto the streets of Northern Michigan for thirteen sun-filled weeks.
I can't help but think about what kind of real impact I had on these students. I wonder if they are going to remember any of the details that we learned this time next year. Of course, like any teacher, I know that I reached some, but certainly not all, of my students. I am encouraged by my students who recently went to Washington D.C. and knew who Thurgood Marshall was, knew what they were talking about on the Senate floor and excitedly spoke to me about exhibits they saw while at the Smithsonian. Yet, I am dismayed when I ask the students who FDR is, or what the basic function of the legislative branch is and I look out at a sea of blank stares. More important than test scores and the ability to conjure up an answer from months ago through the veritable primordial ooze of "who's going out with who" and "he wrote her a note that said…" that dominates much of a 15 year-old's brain, is the sense that history is both interesting and important to cling to. Some students get it. Some don't. I do my best to make sure that the former is disproportionately higher in number than the latter.
What triggered this sentimentality was discovered in my floorboards. My wife and I are renovating our 106-year-old house and in the process discovered two letters written in 1904 and a child's shoe from the early 20th century. The letters are fairly mundane – at least what I can decipher from them – but the implications of finding them have sparked my imagination. Who are the people that wrote them? The penmanship looks much too sophisticated to be a child's and so elegant that there are large sections that I can't make out. Maybe I have been reading too many papers with exceptionally bad penmanship from my students, but I can't make heads or tails of parts of it. Even so, it is amazing to me that these little pieces of paper and a shoe that now looks like a mangled scrap of leather have found their way into my life. The items represent people who helped develop the community I live in – whose day-to-day goings on shaped the culture of a people and the attitudes, values and concerns that are woven through our society. They catalogue the journey this community took from a small town to a small city. The roots of who we are as a city come from these people and their ancestors. It would be a shame for those of us who walk the streets today to not recognize this. This is true in cities and towns all over the country. Who we are, what we value and how we proceed through life comes from where we've been, for better or for worse. We should know it, face it and grow from it. It would behoove the people who are in charge of these cities, towns and this nation to remember this and that maybe, just maybe, there is some really cool – and unbelievably relevant – stuff for them to discover in our collective history.
Monday, May 17, 2004
Coming to Terms
What lessons are we supposed to be learning from the current state of the world? We are fighting a civilization that is ancient, especially when compared to ours. The "Cradle of Civilization" in fact -- that is what my 9th grade history book called it. My Oxford Press offers this:
civ·i·li·za·tion n. 1. an advanced stage or system of human social development.
Anthropologically speaking, civilization also means living in cities. So perhaps civilization began when people stopped roaming and started city dwelling, becoming more organized, grouping together for safety & survival.
I remember a study in my Psychology 101 text that described rats becoming cannibalistic when overcrowded. Later I was doing a story for the Richmond Review about the Put & Take Pheasant Hunting Program, and learned pheasants will also attack each other when overcrowded, so they are given tiny little blinders (like horses wear), to shield them from seeing how many other pheasants are all around them. Really! I have photos! Thus proving I am not crazy for refusing to look in my side and rearview mirrors when driving in the city. Overpopulation turns us into aggravated, agitated violent animals -- it is a normal, natural result.
Let us assume, at a minimum, people need to eat, and breathe. Overpopulation could be defined as putting more people per square mile then that square mile can support with its food and air. So when we become overcrowded in our square miles, we become violent "cannibals" -- we attack each other. We are doing what comes naturally. We are just trying to survive on the most basic primordial level. Of course, it takes a long time living in such a square mile for these problems to arise. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that the very "cradle of civilization" has such disproportional, violent difficulty.
What do all these bits and pieces of knowledge do for me? Maybe they say civilization can only move forward to a more advanced stage of development when it spreads out a bit. Maybe we need to help these people (and ourselves) re-establish into more open productive spaces.
Or, just maybe, we have not even begun to evolve yet. Maybe our species is still in it infancy. Maybe we're all still in the cradle, and are fooling ourselves to think any of us are more "civilized" than the next.
What lessons are we supposed to be learning from the current state of the world? We are fighting a civilization that is ancient, especially when compared to ours. The "Cradle of Civilization" in fact -- that is what my 9th grade history book called it. My Oxford Press offers this:
civ·i·li·za·tion n. 1. an advanced stage or system of human social development.
Anthropologically speaking, civilization also means living in cities. So perhaps civilization began when people stopped roaming and started city dwelling, becoming more organized, grouping together for safety & survival.
I remember a study in my Psychology 101 text that described rats becoming cannibalistic when overcrowded. Later I was doing a story for the Richmond Review about the Put & Take Pheasant Hunting Program, and learned pheasants will also attack each other when overcrowded, so they are given tiny little blinders (like horses wear), to shield them from seeing how many other pheasants are all around them. Really! I have photos! Thus proving I am not crazy for refusing to look in my side and rearview mirrors when driving in the city. Overpopulation turns us into aggravated, agitated violent animals -- it is a normal, natural result.
Let us assume, at a minimum, people need to eat, and breathe. Overpopulation could be defined as putting more people per square mile then that square mile can support with its food and air. So when we become overcrowded in our square miles, we become violent "cannibals" -- we attack each other. We are doing what comes naturally. We are just trying to survive on the most basic primordial level. Of course, it takes a long time living in such a square mile for these problems to arise. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that the very "cradle of civilization" has such disproportional, violent difficulty.
What do all these bits and pieces of knowledge do for me? Maybe they say civilization can only move forward to a more advanced stage of development when it spreads out a bit. Maybe we need to help these people (and ourselves) re-establish into more open productive spaces.
Or, just maybe, we have not even begun to evolve yet. Maybe our species is still in it infancy. Maybe we're all still in the cradle, and are fooling ourselves to think any of us are more "civilized" than the next.
Friday, May 14, 2004
The Daily Show
First, let me say that I love Comedy Central's "The Daily Show". My ReplayTV records it every day so I never miss a frame of it, and I frequently find myself saving episodes to show portions to friends and family. Unfortunately, this post, despite the misleading title, has absolutely nothing to do with "The Daily Show."
No, instead it concerns this website and its loyal readers. We recently published our 55th article since its creation, which averages out to 6-7 new entries per month. Unfortunately for you, the pursurer of ludicrosity, this far too often means only one new entry per week. Ludicrous news happens far more frequently these days, especially with the controversial war and upcoming election. Once-a-week blogs can't keep up.
It is my pleasure to announce a major change in our format beginning next week. Starting Monday, May 17th, ludicrosity.com will begin publishing on a daily basis (at a minimum, Monday-Friday). Although it's possible for some days to have more than one posting, no day will have fewer than one posting. This will be generally break down into two articles per week from John, two articles per week from Linda, and one article per week from a guest columnist.
As a advertisement-free website, we appreciate the word of mouth readership the last few months have acheived. We hope that more frequent postings will bring people back to us, and we appreciate all who still check, on occasion, to see if there's anything new. Starting Monday, each time you check, there almost certainly will be.
First, let me say that I love Comedy Central's "The Daily Show". My ReplayTV records it every day so I never miss a frame of it, and I frequently find myself saving episodes to show portions to friends and family. Unfortunately, this post, despite the misleading title, has absolutely nothing to do with "The Daily Show."
No, instead it concerns this website and its loyal readers. We recently published our 55th article since its creation, which averages out to 6-7 new entries per month. Unfortunately for you, the pursurer of ludicrosity, this far too often means only one new entry per week. Ludicrous news happens far more frequently these days, especially with the controversial war and upcoming election. Once-a-week blogs can't keep up.
It is my pleasure to announce a major change in our format beginning next week. Starting Monday, May 17th, ludicrosity.com will begin publishing on a daily basis (at a minimum, Monday-Friday). Although it's possible for some days to have more than one posting, no day will have fewer than one posting. This will be generally break down into two articles per week from John, two articles per week from Linda, and one article per week from a guest columnist.
As a advertisement-free website, we appreciate the word of mouth readership the last few months have acheived. We hope that more frequent postings will bring people back to us, and we appreciate all who still check, on occasion, to see if there's anything new. Starting Monday, each time you check, there almost certainly will be.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
Different Gifts for Different Mothers
Mother's Day is upon us. And the age-old question needs to be answered -- what does She want?
So I will tell you all a little secret about that. It depends how old her kids are.
If she is a young-Mom, with young children, she is a very very busy woman. She probably gets up first and goes to bed last. She never leaves one room without arms full of somethings that need to be put away in a different room. She rarely sits, not even through dinner -- watch her, she always has to get up to get salt/butter/bread/milk or a clean spoon for the one that was dropped or sponge to clean up the drink that was spilt. Her hip is always out to one side from supporting a tot and the other arm is longer then the first from holding a tiny little hand while walking across streets or thru parking lots. She shops for, tends, and cleans everything that touches her family. She oversees homework, playtime, sports and activities. She is the main fan, the number one supporter of anything her child may try. She might not know the latest fashions or what plays are on Broadway, but she knows the names of Teletubbies, Sponge Bob's friends, and most of the Pokemons. And most likely, she works, goes to school, volunteers, or all of the above outside the home. This woman could really use a break! And not the sitting down to rest for an hour, but then have to work twice as hard to get everything caught up kind of break. A real break with some serious pampering.
If she is a mid-Mom with teens for kids, she has grown less stressed about only having 24 hours in a day. Now, she is Organization personified. Unfortunately, she is more stressed overall then ever, this time about the kids: where are they -- really; who are they with -- really; what are they doing -- really? She has gained a great spirituality from all the praying over her kids, but still can't totally trust God to take care of them. She strives to let the kids know how much confidence she has in their ability to make their own decisions and solve their own problems, but in her heart, she is wretched with anguish over every pain suffered during the maturation process. She misses the admiration and pure love of her toddlers and misses being all-inclusive in their lives. This woman needs to reconnect with her kids. She needs some quality time where ideas and feelings can be shared. Goals? Concerns? What ARE the kids thinking about these days? Give her proof that her lessons have sunk in, that her kids were listening and learning, and are now growing into great young adults, and most of all, proving her a Good Mom. Some quiet activity shared, like a board game or a quiet meal, and some surprise gift that shows her kids have really thought about who she is and what she likes would go a long way.
If she is an old-Mom, an empty nester, she really just wants to see her children. She wants to know they look healthy, look happy, look familiar. She has passed her child bearing days and has the right to anticipate or enjoy grandchildren. She may be tempted to do a little last minute parenting when she sees her kids -- it is an instinct stronger then any other in this universe -- but she is very proud of her brood. She needs to be treated with the same respect as a co-worker or neighbor no matter how old she has grown. She is not a child. She is not weak. She has survived innumerable challenges. But she still needs to have some inclusion in her children's lives on a regular, predictable basis, even if she has grown used to a quiet private routine. Any memento that demonstrates appreciation for her is appropriate. But spending some time with the children she's devoted her life to is sometimes all she really wants.
Mother's Day is upon us. And the age-old question needs to be answered -- what does She want?
So I will tell you all a little secret about that. It depends how old her kids are.
If she is a young-Mom, with young children, she is a very very busy woman. She probably gets up first and goes to bed last. She never leaves one room without arms full of somethings that need to be put away in a different room. She rarely sits, not even through dinner -- watch her, she always has to get up to get salt/butter/bread/milk or a clean spoon for the one that was dropped or sponge to clean up the drink that was spilt. Her hip is always out to one side from supporting a tot and the other arm is longer then the first from holding a tiny little hand while walking across streets or thru parking lots. She shops for, tends, and cleans everything that touches her family. She oversees homework, playtime, sports and activities. She is the main fan, the number one supporter of anything her child may try. She might not know the latest fashions or what plays are on Broadway, but she knows the names of Teletubbies, Sponge Bob's friends, and most of the Pokemons. And most likely, she works, goes to school, volunteers, or all of the above outside the home. This woman could really use a break! And not the sitting down to rest for an hour, but then have to work twice as hard to get everything caught up kind of break. A real break with some serious pampering.
If she is a mid-Mom with teens for kids, she has grown less stressed about only having 24 hours in a day. Now, she is Organization personified. Unfortunately, she is more stressed overall then ever, this time about the kids: where are they -- really; who are they with -- really; what are they doing -- really? She has gained a great spirituality from all the praying over her kids, but still can't totally trust God to take care of them. She strives to let the kids know how much confidence she has in their ability to make their own decisions and solve their own problems, but in her heart, she is wretched with anguish over every pain suffered during the maturation process. She misses the admiration and pure love of her toddlers and misses being all-inclusive in their lives. This woman needs to reconnect with her kids. She needs some quality time where ideas and feelings can be shared. Goals? Concerns? What ARE the kids thinking about these days? Give her proof that her lessons have sunk in, that her kids were listening and learning, and are now growing into great young adults, and most of all, proving her a Good Mom. Some quiet activity shared, like a board game or a quiet meal, and some surprise gift that shows her kids have really thought about who she is and what she likes would go a long way.
If she is an old-Mom, an empty nester, she really just wants to see her children. She wants to know they look healthy, look happy, look familiar. She has passed her child bearing days and has the right to anticipate or enjoy grandchildren. She may be tempted to do a little last minute parenting when she sees her kids -- it is an instinct stronger then any other in this universe -- but she is very proud of her brood. She needs to be treated with the same respect as a co-worker or neighbor no matter how old she has grown. She is not a child. She is not weak. She has survived innumerable challenges. But she still needs to have some inclusion in her children's lives on a regular, predictable basis, even if she has grown used to a quiet private routine. Any memento that demonstrates appreciation for her is appropriate. But spending some time with the children she's devoted her life to is sometimes all she really wants.
