Wednesdays

October 13^th, 2010

5:45 – Wake up

6:00 – Swimming class (feat. Alix)

7:15 – Breakfast (apple pie, hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, English cheddar, coffee, chocolate milk) & TV (Daily Show, How I Met Your Mother)

9:00 – Accompany Alix en route to school

9:15 – Write in journal

9:45 – Read a chapter of Sophie’s World in bathroom

10:00 – Finalize and print documents for graduate school application

11:00 – Bike to recycling center & post office (feat. postal worker who also lived in Merrimack, NH)

12:00 – Yoga (feat. Rodney Yee)

12:45 – Lunch (delicious burrito) & amazing K-1 fight (on youtube)

1:30 – Tidy up apartment

2:00 – Read chapter from linguistics text book

2:45 – Drive to work

3:00 – Plate desserts and prepare pastry inventory

9:30 – Help unclog drain by dish pit

10:00 – Clean kitchen

11:30 – Drive home

11:45 – Read book reviews & watch fights online (feat. decompression)

12:30 – Fall asleep

Exam

Two weekends ago, I took the Massachusetts Test for Educator Licensure (MTEL). It took eight hours: half for the Communication & Literacy Skills portion, and half for the English test. Living in Virginia helped prepare me for the test, since Lynn, MA, like most of New England at the time, had a bit of a heatwave. No air-conditioning in an old high school was no problem.

In addition to heat acclimation, I also got ready for the test by studying some literary theory vocabulary. A friend told me to expect many questions about theory, and it's an area that I hadn't formally studied. Many of the terms' definitions, however, blended together. And it took great work to find and pin down the nuance between similar ideas or schools of thinking.

So, while brushing up on vocabulary between the two tests, I wrote the following: Learning a term or phrase gives its idea/concept a solid mental place/existence (parameters) - words create order out of the abstract, boundaries within that which bleeds together. This has deep implications for how we perceive the world.

The pursuit of precise terms that capture specific ideas reminds me of the scientific pursuit of matter's fundamental components. Actually, that's a poor analogy. Maybe it better compares to the identification and classification of chemistry's elements. In either case, though, it shows our desire to better understand our perceived scale of the world by moving to a scale outside of the naked eye. To classify and conquer.

Pizza

/ 2

+ Pineapple, Grated Mozzarella, & Marinara Sauce

=

The Linguists

Today I joined a William & Mary linguistics class' viewing of The Linguists, a documentary showing "David and Greg [...] circle the planet to hear the last whispers of a dying language." That's the official website's catch-line for the film, and it sounds more theatrical than documentary. It's an apt description, however, because the presentation of the featured languages resembles the Food Network's approach to regional cuisine. I have learned more about a culture and people from Fight Quest than this documentary. This isn't to say that The Linguists should be about people and culture, but if a series about fighting styles around the world can understand the integral role of culture to combat, then it's fair to expect a documentary of this nature to do the same.

Unfortunately, the film does not make up for this glaring omission by giving greater attention to the technical aspects of language documentation, nor the character and nuances of the featured languages. Maybe this comes from an executive decision to produce the film for a general audience. But that seems to both insult and misidentify one's viewers. First, the average viewer can handle greater technical depth than the documentary provides. And second, the "general audience" who watches a documentary film about language extinction isn't the same "general audience" that Hollywood caters to.

The redeeming qualities of The Linguists come from the nature of field of language documentation. That is to say, it's a mediocre presentation of an enthralling subject. I wish it had done more, and maybe I'd be happier with the film if I didn't think that The Linguists could have been so much better.

Putting In Work

It's been over five months since I started work as a cook. Shit can be hectic, and I rarely have time in the kitchen to stand still - nevermind sit down. It reminds me of what I wrote when I started judo, about the need to be both calm and fast at the same time. Back then, I thought of how that same "mode" is important in boxing and classical guitar. Now I see it as crucial to any skill.

Two Bobs, one E and one D, responded to my original post, pointing out the role of technique and practice. In the case of cooking, however, I never had a chance to practice. Instead, I needed to be fast right away or I'd be fired. No hard feelings - the people need to eat. So even though I've certainly become faster and more efficient with experience, I think there's a certain temperament or mental "mode" that is just as important as practice.

Panic never seems to help people, especially when they're trying to unlock their car door because a serial killer is quickly approaching. Or when they fall into a bog, as Bear Grylls demonstrates. But not many of us can practice evading serial killers or escaping bogs. Instead, we can practice a mindset that stays both relaxed and responsive. Like a samurai.

Haters Gonna Hate

I remember an interview with Celine Dion, around the time of Titanic's success, in which she stated that it's impossible to have everyone like you. And she would know. In the face of that, however, I've also thought that it's impossible to not want everyone to like you. Who doesn't want to be universally accepted and appreciated? Alack, two inevitables in conflict.

Fortunately for me, I'm getting better, with age, at paying less mind to whether people like me. For example, there's a jerk who works at the recycling center in town. Whenever I roll in on my bike to drop off recycling, he's resting his overweight, lazy self on the back of his pickup. I imagine he eyes me and thinks to himself, "damn long-haired (to be fair, I should cut it) yankee (he's seen my NH plates) and his stupid hippie (recycling) ways."

He has begrudgingly spoken with me a couple of times, usually to point out the station's policies, and I was certainly polite at first, saying "hello, sir", following his directions, and all that. I may have even been tempted to somehow demonstrate that we're not so different, to strike up a conversation. Now, though, I want nothing to do with that self-righteous, working-class identifying layabout.

In&Out

This is human, to be in an empty room and a playground. With worlds inside, celluloid ribbon both raveled and rolled. Recorded negatives, some developed and others decomposed.

Bicycle

This is my sky blue Schwinn, feat. Orange the pudgy cat & her Trader Joe's bags:



I've planned to buy some canvas to cover the seat, but the main problem with the bike has been flat tires. Mysterious flat tires. In the past few months I've had six flats, and all but yesterday's have had no known cause (yesterday I ran over a very un-mysterious piece of metal on my way home from work). So when I was in Philadelphia last week, I considered buying a new bike. Unfortunately, I got a flat tire while test-riding a bike for two minutes. It was cool, though, cause the tire went "pssshhhh" as I dismounted the bike. Like some neat hydraulic system that lowers about an inch. As a result, I decided to just get my Schwinn's tire fixed again, and instead of a new bike I bought this hooded sweatshirt:



It's also blue.

Dikembe Mutombo'd

Neither Boston University nor William & Mary accepted my graduate school applications. As my sister said, it seems that graduate schools need you to apply two years in a row to prove that you're serious. So now I plan to return to the classroom as a teacher. Even though the rejection hurts, I'm not too upset. The more I considered the possibilities of being a graduate student or secondary school teacher for the next five years, the less I worried about graduate school acceptance. I want to get back to teaching.

In the meantime, here's something I would have loved to study in graduate school: cultural neuroscience. Maybe I'll try to attend a few lectures about it, and pretend that I'm a student.

15 Solid Albums

Wild

A bellow in solitude:

1) The fear of reprimand

2) The surge of freedom

3) The silence of isolation




.

A Trade

I love to see people work at something they've mastered. It's especially enjoyable to watch someone do something that I'm also into, but it's the adeptness that matters. Maybe that's why I didn't get museum fatigue yesterday at Colonial Williamsburg - all those master craftsmen. Whether we were at the Gunsmith or the Joiner, I could have watched any of them work all day. Well, except the Wigmaker.

My admiration for skilled work has increased because of my job in a kitchen, where I'm surely the least experienced and skilled. The gym, too, has made me appreciate the fluidity and sureness that comes with mastered technique, especially when it means a kick in the ribs or an armbar. In fact, my generalist tendencies seem to keep me from any real mastery. So maybe it's an appreciation born from envy. Or just straight-up envy.

Rebel Rebel

I clearly remember the first time I fully considered my mortality, my death. My eighth grade math teacher walked by my desk to see if I needed help with a worksheet, but when she looked at me and said "is everything alright?", she wasn't talking about arithmetic. I was either twelve or thirteen. Because of this, I would brush off the suggestion that teenagers think they're invincible, that they'll live forever. Maybe I didn't calculate risk as an adult would, but I certainly felt the full weight of my mortality.

This all sounds grave to me now, overly-dramatic, but those are also apt descriptions for most of my adolescence. And it's not as though I became obsessed with death as a figure or concept, earnestly drawing skulls and macabre scenes, nor with my own death in the way that some people fantasize about their funerals. I just remember thinking: this isn't permanent, and eventually all that I know and am will cease to exist for me.

It's silly to assume that I was alone in this realization. And now it seems a natural and crucial part of developing a sense of self, a period in a process that psychologists have probably laid out neatly. But those models of individual development always seemed like challenges to me. As though psychologists dared me to defy their predictions, like the freshmen orientation at college when they tell you to look to your right and left because only a certain percentage of you will graduate. When you say, "Not me, but I bet this homely-looking dude next to me won't make it."

Two Songs

I didn't realize that this song is from the 90s, though it seems obvious after watching the video (and Alix says it's in Empire Records, which is also a clear giveaway):



The song really does it for me. However, I'd assumed that it was a 90's style rip-off that came out around the same time (2003) as this song:



Aside from being a decade apart, I think these songs have a lot in common. First, they both have videos with the leader singer making weird faces. It's a nice reminder that most people look silly when singing, especially when they're not actually playing music. Stylistically, they nail the heavy pop rock sound - something rarely done. I'd also argue that both songs have bridges with enough hook to be choruses. In fact, all three parts of the traditional verse - bridge - chorus structure are solid in both songs. That's a rarity, like getting in all clean shots on a jab - cross - hook combo. Knockout.

Over and Under

At the end of every summer, as the school year arrived, I would tell myself how much I'd changed since the last year. How much cooler I'd be, for whatever reasons, and how much it would impress others. Then I'd find myself re-immersed in the day to day social and academic world of school, and realize that, for the most part, I was the same.

A similar process happens when I reflect on certain philosophical and spiritual ideas. At times, I will feel I've reached some sort of revelation, a new way of seeing the world and myself. But as time goes on I will find my overall perspective unchanged.

This isn't something I'm realizing now, though. After a couple of school years without significant growth in coolness, I'd say to myself: Yeah, I thought I was cool going into those last few years, but this year is totally different and I have a whole new perspective. Then I'd start to think that reflecting on one's coolness isn't very cool, and so I'd just let things ride. Be cool. Still, I was the same.

In my deeper reflections, I'd tell myself that constantly seeking progress in great leaps only held me back from further progress. Then I'd try to progress by letting go of my desire to progress.

I can't believe that I'm alone in this type of thinking. Rather, I assume that most people do it. Or at least most people under the same cultural influences as me, because I think that my culture creates this conception progress and growth. I'm not, however, referring to the obsession with get-rich-quick schemes or revolutionary diets. Rather, it's in our stories, our histories and myths. Here we have flashes, sudden revolution and invention and enlightenment that changes everything.

Supermen

I took a Russian literature course in college, titled "Outsiders, Supermen, and Ordinary People." The professor, a young woman from Russia who matched the description of all I'd imagine when told that the professor is a young woman from Russia, often provided much-needed insights on Russian culture as we discussed Pushkin, Lermontov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky, among others. She also brought up characteristics of American culture, sometimes to contrast with the Russian perspective.

As the course title implies, we gave a lot of attention to the place of individuals in society, both as the individuals perceive their place and as society sees it. One day, the professor said: "One thing I cannot understand is how Americans so often believe that they can be anything they want to be." She went on about how one can wish and try and pursue the goal of being one of history's great writers, but only certain people are actually capable of reaching that level.

By saying this, she not only challenged the Disney-esque message that if we try hard enough we can all achieve our dreams, she also suggested that talent - genius, even - is an inherent quality. Some of the class sided with her, while others fought back. However, remembering this, I forget which stance I took. I can imagine taking either one. And maybe that's the thing: subjectivity and open-mindedness can create a wash that makes nearly anything look possible, yet nothing definitive.