Every year I tell myself not to get on a plane(s) during the Thanksgiving holiday. Every year, I somehow do not listen my own excellent advice. This year, I swore I would ignore the pitiful whining of my last remaining parental unit to come to Florida for the holiday. And I quote, "Everyone is dead but you and me..." (This is one of the only legal use of ellipses). Even though this is true, I gave the usual multiple reasons (excuses) for not coming to no avail. "But I'll buy you a ticket!" I knew I was sunk at that point.
Last Monday, I started the trek from Fitchburg to Fort Lauderdale. First, I missed the last train that would get me to the airport on time. Ok, what to do? I know! Hook a ride on the homeless medical van into Boston. Gee, that was so fun. Rattling into North Station, I knew I would have to drop a twenty on a cab to get through security on time.
I finally get to check-in. And find out that it is another $15 to check one bag. Why didn't I know that? Did you know that mousse is a securityrisk? And because I didn't get my boarding pass online, I am stuck in a middle seat. Even better. But the best is yet to come.
I feel like a sardine squished in a can all the way to Atlanta. The kindly flight attendants offer me diet coke and a tiny bag of pretzels filled with salt. Friends, this is NOT commercial airline hospitality. This large dose of sodium chloride is a means of minimizing any trips to the bathroom in flight. I believe it was a plan devised by Homeland Security after 911 in order to prevent the possiblity of bombs in the bathroom at 41,000 feet. My plan was to accomplish work on my computer in flight. After all, the sign says "Free WiFi". Ha! Free WiFi on this airline means a $9 connection fee. Never mind the fact that my laptop is too big to fit on the tray table and the person in front of me has lowered the back of his seat almost completely into my lap.
We land without crashing in Atlanta. It takes over a half hour to deplane. I then realize that my connecting flight is in an entirely different terminal. There I go, knapsack on back filled with books and laptop, sprinting (this is not a pretty sight) across the airport to D Terminal. I barely make my connection wheezing into another sardine can seat. Note to self: Never use the Atlanta airport for a connecting flight! To anywhere! Repeat: Never!
I finally arrive in Fort Lauderdale. It is 80 degrees with 90% humidity. Sigh...wheeze...wheeze...(Another legal use of ellipses). The Rent's friend picks me up at the airport and we call him to let him know our ETA.
And he says, and I quote...(The last legal use of ellipses, I promise)
"You're much too early. Find something to do for an hour."
I solemnly promise myself that next year, I will NOT succumb to the parental whine!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Stephen King = eye candy
When you think of authors/writers, you don't often have the image of "sexy looking." Sure, they might have a sexy brain, a sexy imagination, or a sexy way with words. Yet few writers exist that make people stop and think they're physically sexy.
This is probably why they're writers to begin with. If you're getting by in life on your good looks you're probably not sitting down eight hours a day to write a book. Stephen King isn't going to be asked to model. The only publication he'd be asked to pose for would be American Funeral Director Magazine. (You think I jest. American Funeral Director Magazine does exist. You can find it...here. I don't know about you, but whenever I want a little light reading I know what I'll be kicking back with from now on. Maybe they have a funeral themed soduku puzzle in there, just to keep things lively.)
Of course, this topic annoys people. "Why do writers need to be good looking?? You're shallow!" Simmer down there, Champ. This is just purely conversation. Hey, some people think George Clooney is smart. There are rumors going around that he's good looking, too. So, if actors can be labeled both smart and attractive, why not an author?
Some friends of mine debated this topic, because, yes, we are horribly shallow individuals down deep. No one could conjure up a good looking author off the top of their head. A Google search for "sexy authors" was equally helpful. The very first search result is "Why can't authors be physically sexy?" Apparently this is a popular topic then.
Some people from that search result site suggested the following authors as sexy. (All names are links to photos/wikis of the writer.) Sadly, I think many of those people are afflicted with cataracts.
And the supposedly sexy authors are:
Paul Auster: Ok, so he looks like Gomez Addams from The Addams Family. But I bet he could give Stephen King a run for his money for American Funeral Directors Magazine.
D.H. Lawrence: At the age of 21, Lawrence was baby faced and fresh looking. We writers had potential for an honest-to-god good looking writer to point to. Then by the time he was 40 he looked like he would be holed-up in a Montana shack with a shotgun. So much for that.
Jean Rhys: Generally only two types of photos exist of her for popular opinion: the young ingenue, head cradled in hands, Mona Lisa smile, circa 1915. Or elderly grandma. If sexy can be 80 years old, by all means, we have a winner.
David Foster Wallace: Great if you like the Jesus vibe. Also, Wallace committed suicide, so that's kind of a downer.
Arthur Rimbaud: Fantastic if you like the "robbing the cradle" look. It looks like Dateline NBC's To Catch a Predator will be knocking on your door at any moment.
Norman Mailer: He's a popular choice with people as a sexy author from history. Sorry, I can't go with this. He looks like any Florida retiree from Del Boca Vista waiting for The Sizzler to open for the early bird special. You say he was married six times--he had to be hot! I say that was because his wives realized their mistake.
Isabel Allende: Looks like she went to the Danielle Steele school of photography.
Vendela Vida: Poor thing. It would appear she has no facial muscles. She seems incapable of smiling. But if you twist your head upside down and make her perpetual frowns look like she's smiling then it's an improvement.
John Grisham: He'll never get laugh lines with his constant smirking, so that's a plus. I just feel like he knows a secret about me that he isn't telling.
Jhumpa Lahiri: ...annnnnnd she might be our only sure thing.
Oh, who are we kidding. Why deny it and pretend it can't be him?
Stephen King wins. Grr, baby! Grr!
This is probably why they're writers to begin with. If you're getting by in life on your good looks you're probably not sitting down eight hours a day to write a book. Stephen King isn't going to be asked to model. The only publication he'd be asked to pose for would be American Funeral Director Magazine. (You think I jest. American Funeral Director Magazine does exist. You can find it...here. I don't know about you, but whenever I want a little light reading I know what I'll be kicking back with from now on. Maybe they have a funeral themed soduku puzzle in there, just to keep things lively.)
Of course, this topic annoys people. "Why do writers need to be good looking?? You're shallow!" Simmer down there, Champ. This is just purely conversation. Hey, some people think George Clooney is smart. There are rumors going around that he's good looking, too. So, if actors can be labeled both smart and attractive, why not an author?
Some friends of mine debated this topic, because, yes, we are horribly shallow individuals down deep. No one could conjure up a good looking author off the top of their head. A Google search for "sexy authors" was equally helpful. The very first search result is "Why can't authors be physically sexy?" Apparently this is a popular topic then.
Some people from that search result site suggested the following authors as sexy. (All names are links to photos/wikis of the writer.) Sadly, I think many of those people are afflicted with cataracts.
And the supposedly sexy authors are:
Paul Auster: Ok, so he looks like Gomez Addams from The Addams Family. But I bet he could give Stephen King a run for his money for American Funeral Directors Magazine.
David Foster Wallace: Great if you like the Jesus vibe. Also, Wallace committed suicide, so that's kind of a downer.
Arthur Rimbaud: Fantastic if you like the "robbing the cradle" look. It looks like Dateline NBC's To Catch a Predator will be knocking on your door at any moment.
Isabel Allende: Looks like she went to the Danielle Steele school of photography.
Vendela Vida: Poor thing. It would appear she has no facial muscles. She seems incapable of smiling. But if you twist your head upside down and make her perpetual frowns look like she's smiling then it's an improvement.
John Grisham: He'll never get laugh lines with his constant smirking, so that's a plus. I just feel like he knows a secret about me that he isn't telling.
Jhumpa Lahiri: ...annnnnnd she might be our only sure thing.
Stephen King wins. Grr, baby! Grr!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
So you want to go to grad school? (Part One)
Congratulations! Because of your dreams (or fickle nature) and determination (or horrible economy) you've decided to apply to grad school. In just a few, easy, hundred steps, you, too, can make it to grad school.
Let's break down the process for you in this easy-to-follow plan!
Let's break down the process for you in this easy-to-follow plan!
GRE General Test Overview:
1.) Have you always wanted to feel like a two-bit criminal and revel in the charm of home imprisonment without the pesky need for an ankle bracelet? Well, good news! Registering online for the GRE general test requires endless hours trapped indoors chained to your computer. A Thomas Pynchon novel makes more sense than the GRE website. It's a labyrinth of information that feels like an endless maze with no sure outcome. Kind of like the tv show LOST, except for less good looking people.
2.) Are you struggling to make ends meet? Do the tender pains of malnutrition make you feel lightheaded with excitement? Get ready to feel your rib cage protrude a little bit more, because the GRE general test costs $150 to take. Do mom and dad still love you despite that one year of college that you totally wasted? Have they forgiven those incriminating photos/police arrests/school probations/sobbing late-night phone calls traced back to you? If so, they might be your source for paying the GRE fees.
Have your parents smartened up and disowned you? Or are you poor and working through college on your own? The folks who run the GRE have a "fee reduction" for those who are financially crippled. If you are literally poverty-stricken and on the verge of living in the slums of Calcutta and don't see any Slumdog Millionare opportunities coming your way in the near future--then the GRE folks will be more than happy to allow you to pay only $75 instead. Only $75?! That's right! For the price of two weeks worth of groceries, you, too, can get a miserly discount to take the GRE. That's just like Christmas morning! What a present!
That $75 you just saved? Don't go spending it all on food and any actual life-sustaining things just yet. The good GRE folks will be asking for it later on.
3.) They say the camera adds ten pounds. Get ready to look morbidly obese then, because the GRE test center has more cameras than the paparazzi at a Lindsay Lohan meltdown. You'll be on camera when you fill out forms in the main office...when they take your picture...and during the entire duration of your test. You also get to sit in a small room with windows to an outside office where test proctors stare at you for the entire duration to make sure you're not cheating. It's like being admitted into a mental hospital without any complimentary straight-jackets.
4.) Countdown clocks needn't only be used as a cheap plot device to action movies or for New Year's Eve celebrations. When you're in the midst of taking the GRE general test, feel free to take the optional 10 minute break between the two major portions of the test.
Sure, the computer counts down from 10 minutes until it will automatically continue the test with or without you.
Sure, the bathroom might be 15 minutes away from the testing office.
Sure, you might be blessed with a horrible bladder.
But why not add a little spice to your testing session and see if you can make the mad dash to the bathroom in the 10 minute window? Do some wind sprints and squat thrusts in the weeks leading up to the test. Get that fast-twitch muscle fiber in your thighs to work for your benefit!
5.) Those math classes you avoided and scraped by in college will be useless when it comes to the math portion of the test. Flip a coin to answer the multiple choice questions. Draw straws. Try one-potato, two-potato. Later, when grad schools ask you to defend your meager math score, tell them not to worry. Your math skills are still good enough to make sure you pay your tuition bill on time.
6.) When the GRE computer asks if you want to see your grades instantly at the test's conclusion, debate the merits of such a decision. Realize you don't have to. Realize you can walk away. Realize you're free to start over from scratch.
Realize your curiosity is lethal enough to kill both the cat and your patience, and accept the grades...and get ready for the GRE subject test.
GRE Subject Test Overview:
1.) Do you like money? Does it burn a hole in your pocket? Do you like spending it? You do? Good! Because the GRE folks like your money, too. In fact, they probably like it more than you do. Because they're going to charge you another $130 to take the subject test. That's right. Between the general and subject tests, you'll spend $280.
For comparison's sake, let's say you get paid the federal minimum wage and work 40hrs in a week. Before taxes, you'll make $290. Assuming you stiff Uncle Sam on the taxes, after paying the GRE folks their testing fees, you'll have $10 left. That will pay for at least 10 to 15 packages of Ramen noodles to feed you for the week. If you're still hungry, might I suggest dumpster diving?
2.) Taking the subject test in literature requires only a small effort: covering 1000 years worth of literature that spans the entire world. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Bhutan was a total deadbeat with their literature. They can be ignored.
Of course, the GRE folks casually define "world literature" as literature created only as far east as France, and as far west as Ohio. In reality, the subject test is so xenophobic of world influences that it makes a box of chalk look multicultural by comparison. Asian literature? It never happened. African literature? It only counts if it was written by a visiting European. South American literature? Well, South America already uses the word "America," and that's already being used in the name of the United States of America, so why quibble?
3.) The British literary scene from the years 1000 to 2009 is like that overachiever we all know in college. That person who gets involved in every group, every organization, raises their hand for every question in class, and maintains a 4.0 GPA. That's British literature. They pumped out more novels than Nora Roberts--and sometimes it was even of better quality than Nora, too.
There's poetry, novels, short stories, drama--all from thousands of well-known writers, of which the GRE folks assume you'll know everything about. From Shakespeare's sad addiction to horse racing to Salman Rushdie's strange fascination with pickled beets, every random fact will be covered.
(Note: Neither of those facts are true about Shakespeare or Rushdie---yet. Give me ten minutes with their respective Wikipedia entries and I'll make them true.)
4.) Relive the magic of your childhood use of pencils. The subject test is done on paper, using bubble answer sheets and only wooden #2 pencils. Why not a mechanical pencil? The GRE folks assume you're channeling the spirit of MacGyver and are smuggling an answer sheet in the spring-loaded fire power of your mechanical pencil. As an English major, this is the only time in your life someone will assume you know how some technological gadget works. Take it as a compliment.
5.) Patience is a virtue. Don't pitch a fit over not receiving your grades immediately. Getting the test results are a lot like you taking a literature test at 8am on a Monday: slow, confused, and unlikely to impress.
It takes six weeks for grades to come in.
6.) You know that $75 you saved earlier when you cried poverty? Hopefully you didn't go spending it on any actual life-sustaining nutrition at the grocery store, because the GRE folks would like that money back. Why? Well, in order for many grad schools to actually see your grades, you need to pay the GRE people $20 per school. Sure, the folks at the GRE give you a few "free" schools you can send the grades to as part of your $130 subject test fee. But assuming you're not cockier about your grad school chances than Mick Jagger at a convention full of supermodels, you're going to need to apply to a lot of grad schools. More than just the "free" scores will cover.
Please don't cry. Poverty is only a state of mind. Really. Oprah tells me so.
7.) If you haven't crawled into the fetal position and started rocking back and forth over the psychological trauma you've just put yourself through, take a breather before applying to actual grad schools. A good breather. Long, deeply drawn-out breaths. Preferably into a paper bag.
Why?
Grad schools like money, as well. And they won't acknowledge your application's existence until they see some cash first, too.
Have you thought about panhandling yet?
To be continued in part two...
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The folks in Fargo are an indecisive bunch.
The Marist Polling Institute (proposed slogan: "For when Gallup is too classy...") recently came up with a poll of the most annoying phrases in conversation. (You can read it...here.) Their results say nothing is more annoying than "whatever." Presumably this is said with a snap of the fingers, in a Valley Girl accent, circa 1993.
The most annoying phrases in order:
1.) Whatever - 47%
2.) You know - 25%
3.) It is what it is - 11%
4.) Anyway - 7%
5.) At the end of the day - 2%
How does "like" slip through the cracks of this poll? If anyone has spent more than 20 minutes in a college classroom they'd know an orgy of similes are being unleashed every two seconds--most of the time with the speaker completely unaware. The Marist Polling Institute is run through Marist College. They should know this better than anyone else.
It gets more interesting when you look at Martist's spreadsheet breaking down the results by region, race, age, and education. (Oh, yeah. We love the spreadsheets here.) Apparently 12% of Midwesterners have no opinion on annoying phrases. Really now? Is it so hard to come up with some quirk of language that grates the nerves that 12% of an entire populated region just shrugs their shoulders?
I'll help the good Midwestern folk out with my own suggestion. How about "you betcha!"? Long before Alaskan political candidates used it, people in the Midwest had a stranglehold on verbal gambling. They bet on everything. You tell a Midwesterner it's cold outside, and they reply, "Ohhh, it is! You betcha!" You tell a Midwesterner your scrambled eggs taste great, and they reply, "You betcha! Chickens do lay tasty eggs!" They say it so often that it's surprising a game of Three-card Monte doesn't break out more often around them.
Anyway, whatever. At the end of the day it is what it is.
The most annoying phrases in order:
1.) Whatever - 47%
2.) You know - 25%
3.) It is what it is - 11%
4.) Anyway - 7%
5.) At the end of the day - 2%
How does "like" slip through the cracks of this poll? If anyone has spent more than 20 minutes in a college classroom they'd know an orgy of similes are being unleashed every two seconds--most of the time with the speaker completely unaware. The Marist Polling Institute is run through Marist College. They should know this better than anyone else.
It gets more interesting when you look at Martist's spreadsheet breaking down the results by region, race, age, and education. (Oh, yeah. We love the spreadsheets here.) Apparently 12% of Midwesterners have no opinion on annoying phrases. Really now? Is it so hard to come up with some quirk of language that grates the nerves that 12% of an entire populated region just shrugs their shoulders?
I'll help the good Midwestern folk out with my own suggestion. How about "you betcha!"? Long before Alaskan political candidates used it, people in the Midwest had a stranglehold on verbal gambling. They bet on everything. You tell a Midwesterner it's cold outside, and they reply, "Ohhh, it is! You betcha!" You tell a Midwesterner your scrambled eggs taste great, and they reply, "You betcha! Chickens do lay tasty eggs!" They say it so often that it's surprising a game of Three-card Monte doesn't break out more often around them.
Anyway, whatever. At the end of the day it is what it is.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The state of Vermont: Sponsored by Subaru.
I recently spent four days crossing northern Vermont during leaf-peeping season. (Nothing is easier on the wallet for a poor English major than just driving aimlessly. That is until gas prices shoot up again.) While the scenery was inspiring to write, I was too busy making mental notes about the people. The foundation for writing is often just the ability to observe. Though stereotypes are fun and work in a pinch, too.
First off, Vermont is made up of two types of people, and only two types of people. (Stereotyping, you say? Not so, if you've been to Vermont more than a few times in your life.) One type is the born-and-bred out in the countryside. They live in rusted double-wides with a Chevy/Ford pickup truck with 250,000 miles on it as their mode of transportation. They tend to have a thick and hefty beard, wear lots of random camo, have some scruffy dog that looks like it smokes two packs a day, and are the classic taciturn New Englander. If you chat them up, expect one word answers. Two word answers are reserved only if you marry them or buy dinner.
The other Vermonter is someone who moved in from elsewhere. They might have been born in Vermont, moved away, only to come back...or was born elsewhere, but felt the Kashi cereal magnetism that emanates from Vermont and felt drawn to its mountains of green. These people live in ornate Victorian homes that look like it was plucked from a Bronte sister book, run art galleries for local artists, and grow their own manure pile in the backyard. They don't eat granola unless they've added a little extra tree bark for fiber. They drive Subarus. This is a fact. You will not drive in Vermont for more than 1/10th of a mile without seeing a half dozen Subarus fly past you. In fact, Vermont recently passed legislation that said the entire state is now just one giant Subaru dealership.
What is also clear about traveling throughout Vermont is that Robert Frost got around. Yes, Robert Frost was "New England's Poet." Apparently being New England's Poet meant he single-handedly kept the real estate market afloat in the early 20th century. This man seemingly owned homes, vacation spots, farms, dance clubs, yoga studios, and Chinese food restaurants. I've been to most every corner of New England over the years. At this point, it's clear Frost slept in more beds than Richard Gere in "American Gigolo." You drive for a half hour anywhere in northern New England and you're apt to see some Robert Frost real estate. (That includes one final piece of real estate: his burial plot in Bennington, VT.)
That's what makes Emily Dickinson easier to seek out. You might say she was a recluse or had some social anxiety disorder. I just say she was being kind and making things easier on a day tripper like myself. If Travelocity or Expedia want to hype a famous writer for tourists, they need to jump on the Emily Dickinson bandwagon. She's the anti-Frost, and especially the anti-Hemingway. (That's another blog for another day.) Birthplace? Home where she lived? Burial plot? Are you capable of walking 50ft without getting winded and needing a hit off an oxygen tank? If so, Emily is the woman for you! How helpful!
And best of all, you don't need to buy a Subaru to see it all.
First off, Vermont is made up of two types of people, and only two types of people. (Stereotyping, you say? Not so, if you've been to Vermont more than a few times in your life.) One type is the born-and-bred out in the countryside. They live in rusted double-wides with a Chevy/Ford pickup truck with 250,000 miles on it as their mode of transportation. They tend to have a thick and hefty beard, wear lots of random camo, have some scruffy dog that looks like it smokes two packs a day, and are the classic taciturn New Englander. If you chat them up, expect one word answers. Two word answers are reserved only if you marry them or buy dinner.
The other Vermonter is someone who moved in from elsewhere. They might have been born in Vermont, moved away, only to come back...or was born elsewhere, but felt the Kashi cereal magnetism that emanates from Vermont and felt drawn to its mountains of green. These people live in ornate Victorian homes that look like it was plucked from a Bronte sister book, run art galleries for local artists, and grow their own manure pile in the backyard. They don't eat granola unless they've added a little extra tree bark for fiber. They drive Subarus. This is a fact. You will not drive in Vermont for more than 1/10th of a mile without seeing a half dozen Subarus fly past you. In fact, Vermont recently passed legislation that said the entire state is now just one giant Subaru dealership.
What is also clear about traveling throughout Vermont is that Robert Frost got around. Yes, Robert Frost was "New England's Poet." Apparently being New England's Poet meant he single-handedly kept the real estate market afloat in the early 20th century. This man seemingly owned homes, vacation spots, farms, dance clubs, yoga studios, and Chinese food restaurants. I've been to most every corner of New England over the years. At this point, it's clear Frost slept in more beds than Richard Gere in "American Gigolo." You drive for a half hour anywhere in northern New England and you're apt to see some Robert Frost real estate. (That includes one final piece of real estate: his burial plot in Bennington, VT.)
That's what makes Emily Dickinson easier to seek out. You might say she was a recluse or had some social anxiety disorder. I just say she was being kind and making things easier on a day tripper like myself. If Travelocity or Expedia want to hype a famous writer for tourists, they need to jump on the Emily Dickinson bandwagon. She's the anti-Frost, and especially the anti-Hemingway. (That's another blog for another day.) Birthplace? Home where she lived? Burial plot? Are you capable of walking 50ft without getting winded and needing a hit off an oxygen tank? If so, Emily is the woman for you! How helpful!
And best of all, you don't need to buy a Subaru to see it all.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
In 10 years this blog will be so antique it'll be for sale at the Goodwill.
Wired.com came up with a list of 100 things they say our children might never know about. (Find it...here.) Since this is Wired.com we're talking about, the list includes plenty of computery/technologically/gadgety type references that go over the head of my bookish brain. Take for instance this gem on their list:
27. Daisy chaining your SCSI devices and making sure they've all got a different ID.
Rii-i-ight. The only daisy references that I understand involve The Beatles or Woodstock. At first glance I thought they were talking about CSI, and we were going to have an unsolved murder mystery on our hands, but of course it's nothing that interesting. I'm assuming I'm either so youthful (why, I do look dashingly young) or I'm so book oriented that I haven't a damn clue what they're talking about.
Then there's this:
49. Concatenating and UUDecoding binaries from Usenet.
Does anyone at Wired.com speak English? Like English English? Is there a Wired.com-to-English dictionary I can buy somewhere? Or am I just ignorant? Because I'll admit there's a better than 50/50 shot that I'm completely clueless of technological wizardry that might be commonplace, so maybe I just need to bone-up on nerd speak, which I thought I was fluent in.
That doesn't mean their list doesn't have some valid Englishy/literary/writing-ish points. Some things that will go by the wayside will be missed, if only for the nostalgia of their beauty.
Take, for instance, the typewriter, which is #57 on their list. If there ever was a contraption that made sure you reeeeally wanted to type something out before you actually typed it, it was a typewriter. Are you typo-prone? Good luck with the typewriter. Don't let the folks who make White-Out fool you. A piece of paper with 20 different blots of White-Out on it just looks like a Salvador Dali painting run amuck. (With less random melting.)
78. Neat Handwriting.
You mean handwriting used to be legible? As in readable letters and punctuation and stuff?? Look, I can't help it if my handwriting looks like I had a narcoleptic moment and passed out halfway through spelling my name. It happens.
86: Finding books in a card catalog at the library.
Are these even still used anywhere? Outside of Kansas, I mean. Really, haven't they already died off? You can't tell me there's a library somewhere with folksy people who think, "Gee, golly, whiz...that new-fangled computer system is just too neato-o for our tastes." (Pretend that was just said by some guy wearing overalls and chewing on a piece of wheat.) The last time I used a card catalog in a library I was still reading the Berenstain Bears. You try using a card catalog for hours as a child only to learn you can't find easy-to-digest books with friendly looking pictures of cartoon bears because the library goes for higher-brow fair. That's a pain that stings, my friends. That's just a pain that stings...
27. Daisy chaining your SCSI devices and making sure they've all got a different ID.
Rii-i-ight. The only daisy references that I understand involve The Beatles or Woodstock. At first glance I thought they were talking about CSI, and we were going to have an unsolved murder mystery on our hands, but of course it's nothing that interesting. I'm assuming I'm either so youthful (why, I do look dashingly young) or I'm so book oriented that I haven't a damn clue what they're talking about.
Then there's this:
49. Concatenating and UUDecoding binaries from Usenet.
Does anyone at Wired.com speak English? Like English English? Is there a Wired.com-to-English dictionary I can buy somewhere? Or am I just ignorant? Because I'll admit there's a better than 50/50 shot that I'm completely clueless of technological wizardry that might be commonplace, so maybe I just need to bone-up on nerd speak, which I thought I was fluent in.
That doesn't mean their list doesn't have some valid Englishy/literary/writing-ish points. Some things that will go by the wayside will be missed, if only for the nostalgia of their beauty.
Take, for instance, the typewriter, which is #57 on their list. If there ever was a contraption that made sure you reeeeally wanted to type something out before you actually typed it, it was a typewriter. Are you typo-prone? Good luck with the typewriter. Don't let the folks who make White-Out fool you. A piece of paper with 20 different blots of White-Out on it just looks like a Salvador Dali painting run amuck. (With less random melting.)
78. Neat Handwriting.
You mean handwriting used to be legible? As in readable letters and punctuation and stuff?? Look, I can't help it if my handwriting looks like I had a narcoleptic moment and passed out halfway through spelling my name. It happens.
86: Finding books in a card catalog at the library.
Are these even still used anywhere? Outside of Kansas, I mean. Really, haven't they already died off? You can't tell me there's a library somewhere with folksy people who think, "Gee, golly, whiz...that new-fangled computer system is just too neato-o for our tastes." (Pretend that was just said by some guy wearing overalls and chewing on a piece of wheat.) The last time I used a card catalog in a library I was still reading the Berenstain Bears. You try using a card catalog for hours as a child only to learn you can't find easy-to-digest books with friendly looking pictures of cartoon bears because the library goes for higher-brow fair. That's a pain that stings, my friends. That's just a pain that stings...
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Shakespeare was indecisive.
Admittedly, I've never been the biggest fan of Shakespeare. Not that I don't like his work, but I've always had a fondness for Christopher Marlowe. (Any man who gets killed in a brawl and has a list of enemies longer than Richard Nixon must be doing something right in life.) Shakespeare is routinely anointed as the father of writing within the English language. In a way he's often viewed as infallible.
So consider me relieved to find out that Shakespeare could never make up his mind on how he wanted to spell his own name. It's true. According to Bill Bryson's book on Shakespeare, (Shakespeare: The World As Stage)(which isn't nearly as sandpaper dry as you might assume), the six known signatures of Shakespeare still in existence are spelled six different ways. They are:
1.) Willm Shaksp (oooh, it's just like Wheel of Fortune!)
2.) William Shakespe
3.) Wm Shakspe
4.) William Shakspere (getting closer...)
5.) Willm Shakspere
6.) William Shakspeare (so close...but not quite)
For those of you who aren't too quick on the uptake, I'd like to point out that none of those versions spell his name like we currently spell it in America. But, hey, why spell a man's name like he ever spelled it if he can't decide for himself, right?
We can't entirely peg this indecisiveness on Shakespeare alone. Apparently Elizabethan England always jazzed up the spelling of routine words, never mind their own names. According to Bryson, some letters had 20 different ways of appearing on the written page. (A's could looks like h's, etc.)
So, here's what I suggest to my fellow English majors: If you ever get docked points on a test or research paper for a misspelling, tell your professor that you're just writing like Shakespeare would have. Tell them you're channeling his spirit and want to get back to basics. For added emphasis, make sure you misspell your own name on your paper just like Shakespeare would have. (Unless you already have that problem naturally. In which case, keep the illiteracy vibe going.) That covers you for any screw up you might create later on in your essay. For instance, I might spell my name (Patrick) like "Padrock," or maybe just "Patr." It looks a little Czechoslovakian, I admit. But if it was good enough for Shakespeare it has to be good enough for us.
So consider me relieved to find out that Shakespeare could never make up his mind on how he wanted to spell his own name. It's true. According to Bill Bryson's book on Shakespeare, (Shakespeare: The World As Stage)(which isn't nearly as sandpaper dry as you might assume), the six known signatures of Shakespeare still in existence are spelled six different ways. They are:
1.) Willm Shaksp (oooh, it's just like Wheel of Fortune!)
2.) William Shakespe
3.) Wm Shakspe
4.) William Shakspere (getting closer...)
5.) Willm Shakspere
6.) William Shakspeare (so close...but not quite)
For those of you who aren't too quick on the uptake, I'd like to point out that none of those versions spell his name like we currently spell it in America. But, hey, why spell a man's name like he ever spelled it if he can't decide for himself, right?
We can't entirely peg this indecisiveness on Shakespeare alone. Apparently Elizabethan England always jazzed up the spelling of routine words, never mind their own names. According to Bryson, some letters had 20 different ways of appearing on the written page. (A's could looks like h's, etc.)
So, here's what I suggest to my fellow English majors: If you ever get docked points on a test or research paper for a misspelling, tell your professor that you're just writing like Shakespeare would have. Tell them you're channeling his spirit and want to get back to basics. For added emphasis, make sure you misspell your own name on your paper just like Shakespeare would have. (Unless you already have that problem naturally. In which case, keep the illiteracy vibe going.) That covers you for any screw up you might create later on in your essay. For instance, I might spell my name (Patrick) like "Padrock," or maybe just "Patr." It looks a little Czechoslovakian, I admit. But if it was good enough for Shakespeare it has to be good enough for us.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Book Review: Into the Forest, by Jean Hegland
This is part of the continuing series of random books reviews that'll be nothing like the New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.
The Book: Jean Hegland's Into the Forest
Review:
Diet post-apocalyptic happenings? Check.
MacGyver-esque ingenuity? Check.
Incestuous lesbianism? Check.
Homeopathic birthing techniques? Check.
Communal living in rotted out tree stumps? Who in their right mind...?
Listen, Jean. I love dystopian stories as much as the next neurotic English major. But people living in tree stumps?? Is Smoky the Bear a ghostwriter on this book? Did the Sierra Club put you up to this? We're not even talking tree houses with a fashionable window and rope swing. We're talking rotted stumps. I've yet to meet a human being who fell in love with rotted stumps and wanted to live in one, no matter how dire the situation. (But if you included a rope swing maybe I could get behind you on this, Jean.)
The Book: Jean Hegland's Into the Forest
Review:
Diet post-apocalyptic happenings? Check.
MacGyver-esque ingenuity? Check.
Incestuous lesbianism? Check.
Homeopathic birthing techniques? Check.
Communal living in rotted out tree stumps? Who in their right mind...?
Listen, Jean. I love dystopian stories as much as the next neurotic English major. But people living in tree stumps?? Is Smoky the Bear a ghostwriter on this book? Did the Sierra Club put you up to this? We're not even talking tree houses with a fashionable window and rope swing. We're talking rotted stumps. I've yet to meet a human being who fell in love with rotted stumps and wanted to live in one, no matter how dire the situation. (But if you included a rope swing maybe I could get behind you on this, Jean.)
Monday, July 20, 2009
The GRE is to suspect testing as...
A.) A fat kid is to cake.
B.) Lawyers are to slip and falls.
C.) Vermont is to Birkenstock wearing.
D.) A Phish concert is to hazy memories.
If you feel like this is a trick question, then you're a sharp one. Nothing gets by you. All four apply! Congratulations on being perceptive! You win nothing. Sorry.
If you're completely unaware, or if you simply haven't brushed up on your acronyms in awhile, the GRE stands for Graduate Records Examinations. It's like the SATs, except only for go-getters and masochists: those who really want to get a Masters degree or a Ph.D. The GRE is run by the fine folks at ETS. They sure do love them the acronyms at ETS. ETS is "Educational Testing Service," a company founded in 1947 and based out of New Jersey. (Nothing comes from Jersey without raising a few eyebrows. Not even Bruce Springsteen.)
ETS runs countless standardized tests, from the ones you've heard of (SAT, GRE) to the head-scratchers (TOEFL, TOEIC, NMSQT). They're also a registered nonprofit organization with the United States, specifically a 501(c)(3). Most of us envision a quaint little group of do-gooders with Crest smiles trying to make the world a better place whenever we hear the words "nonprofit organization." We picture people handing out medicine to sick children or saving trees or rebuilding homes after a devastating hurricane. You know, doing the stuff you and I are too lazy to do.
But ETS can't be bothered with noble measures to earn their non-profit status. They're too busy living large in Jersey on a 376 acre campus and making some sweet, sweet handfuls of cash. Now, we could quibble over the very legal definition of what a "nonprofit organization" means, but why be such a Debbie Downer about it all? Okay, sure, a "nonprofit organization" means an organization that distributes its surplus funds only for the benefit of their cause--not as money for shareholders, individuals, or executives. And being a non-profit means you get a delightful little federal tax-exempt status AND never have to report any financial information to the Securities and Exchange commission. But using legal definitions is such a downer when ETS is the epitome of class.
See, ETS claims they're simply creating standardized tests for the benefit of the individual. They're not trying to make a buck off anyone. (Pretend the GRE doesn't cost $150 to take.) And, yeah, sure, they've pretty much monopolized the marketplace on standardized testing around the world to the extent that Wal-Mart looks like a quaint mom and pop country store. But that's just because they offer a quality product!
Actually, a good number of people are questioning what kind of product ETS is really offering, and whether they're quite as noble as a nonprofit organization should be. New York state passed the Educational Testing Act, which requires ETS to become a little less opaque to students when it comes to questions and graded sheets.
That's amateur hour compared to what's going on in the good ol' U.K. According to David Laws, a member of the House of Commons in Parliament, ETS Europe was considered to be in "shambles" (presumably said in a very thick English accent while drinking a spot of tea). Read all about it...here. See, it seems the British run a standardized test as well for their schools, and it appears they gave the testing contract to ETS in 2008. Except ETS screwed up a little. And by "a little" I mean they forgot to score some of the tests...or scored them improperly...or completely lost people's tests and scores altogether.
Or, as my grandmother used to say, "If you're going to screw up, screw up royally and really make your mark." (She was a sage. Especially after a few cocktails.)
Americans for Educational Testing Reform (who like to go by the acronym AETR, because apparently the world is obsessed with acornyms) have begun raising a ruckus about ETS, claiming that ETS violates its non-profit status routinely. ETS does have to file tax forms to the IRS, even if they're tax-exempt, and if you do a little digging you can find out some fun facts, which is what AETR did. Like:
1.) ETS' CEO Karl Landgraf makes seven times the average of the compensation-to-revenue of the top five non-profit CEOs in the country.
2.) Landgraf makes just a wee less than $1 million dollars at ETS.
3.) ETS has sixteen "trustees" that make an average of $32,688 a year. The trustees work so little that they actually get paid about $419 per hour on average, with some making $600 to $800 an hour.
4.) The "trustees" collectively make over a half million dollars a year.
5.) ETS made a profit of $94 million in 2007.
Now, the one thing about being an English major is that reading comprehension is usually one of my main skills. So, consider me a bit confused when ETS--a non-profit company--makes a $94 million profit. How does that work? And, more importantly, why do I need to pay $150 to take a GRE test when ETS is floating on $94 million profit from its last reporting period? But, like I mentioned at the beginning, being designated a non-profit company means the SEC doesn't have to investigate any curious financial dealings by ETS. Thank God. I wouldn't want to feel like I was going broke for some unseemly reason.
Karl Landgraf, the CEO making almost $1 million for a non-profit, once said, "Tests and quality go hand in hand. At ETS, we're doing our part."
And Karl is right. ETS sure is doing its part. The question is if that part if to fatten their wallet.
B.) Lawyers are to slip and falls.
C.) Vermont is to Birkenstock wearing.
D.) A Phish concert is to hazy memories.
If you feel like this is a trick question, then you're a sharp one. Nothing gets by you. All four apply! Congratulations on being perceptive! You win nothing. Sorry.
If you're completely unaware, or if you simply haven't brushed up on your acronyms in awhile, the GRE stands for Graduate Records Examinations. It's like the SATs, except only for go-getters and masochists: those who really want to get a Masters degree or a Ph.D. The GRE is run by the fine folks at ETS. They sure do love them the acronyms at ETS. ETS is "Educational Testing Service," a company founded in 1947 and based out of New Jersey. (Nothing comes from Jersey without raising a few eyebrows. Not even Bruce Springsteen.)
ETS runs countless standardized tests, from the ones you've heard of (SAT, GRE) to the head-scratchers (TOEFL, TOEIC, NMSQT). They're also a registered nonprofit organization with the United States, specifically a 501(c)(3). Most of us envision a quaint little group of do-gooders with Crest smiles trying to make the world a better place whenever we hear the words "nonprofit organization." We picture people handing out medicine to sick children or saving trees or rebuilding homes after a devastating hurricane. You know, doing the stuff you and I are too lazy to do.
But ETS can't be bothered with noble measures to earn their non-profit status. They're too busy living large in Jersey on a 376 acre campus and making some sweet, sweet handfuls of cash. Now, we could quibble over the very legal definition of what a "nonprofit organization" means, but why be such a Debbie Downer about it all? Okay, sure, a "nonprofit organization" means an organization that distributes its surplus funds only for the benefit of their cause--not as money for shareholders, individuals, or executives. And being a non-profit means you get a delightful little federal tax-exempt status AND never have to report any financial information to the Securities and Exchange commission. But using legal definitions is such a downer when ETS is the epitome of class.
See, ETS claims they're simply creating standardized tests for the benefit of the individual. They're not trying to make a buck off anyone. (Pretend the GRE doesn't cost $150 to take.) And, yeah, sure, they've pretty much monopolized the marketplace on standardized testing around the world to the extent that Wal-Mart looks like a quaint mom and pop country store. But that's just because they offer a quality product!
Actually, a good number of people are questioning what kind of product ETS is really offering, and whether they're quite as noble as a nonprofit organization should be. New York state passed the Educational Testing Act, which requires ETS to become a little less opaque to students when it comes to questions and graded sheets.
That's amateur hour compared to what's going on in the good ol' U.K. According to David Laws, a member of the House of Commons in Parliament, ETS Europe was considered to be in "shambles" (presumably said in a very thick English accent while drinking a spot of tea). Read all about it...here. See, it seems the British run a standardized test as well for their schools, and it appears they gave the testing contract to ETS in 2008. Except ETS screwed up a little. And by "a little" I mean they forgot to score some of the tests...or scored them improperly...or completely lost people's tests and scores altogether.
Or, as my grandmother used to say, "If you're going to screw up, screw up royally and really make your mark." (She was a sage. Especially after a few cocktails.)
Americans for Educational Testing Reform (who like to go by the acronym AETR, because apparently the world is obsessed with acornyms) have begun raising a ruckus about ETS, claiming that ETS violates its non-profit status routinely. ETS does have to file tax forms to the IRS, even if they're tax-exempt, and if you do a little digging you can find out some fun facts, which is what AETR did. Like:
1.) ETS' CEO Karl Landgraf makes seven times the average of the compensation-to-revenue of the top five non-profit CEOs in the country.
2.) Landgraf makes just a wee less than $1 million dollars at ETS.
3.) ETS has sixteen "trustees" that make an average of $32,688 a year. The trustees work so little that they actually get paid about $419 per hour on average, with some making $600 to $800 an hour.
4.) The "trustees" collectively make over a half million dollars a year.
5.) ETS made a profit of $94 million in 2007.
Now, the one thing about being an English major is that reading comprehension is usually one of my main skills. So, consider me a bit confused when ETS--a non-profit company--makes a $94 million profit. How does that work? And, more importantly, why do I need to pay $150 to take a GRE test when ETS is floating on $94 million profit from its last reporting period? But, like I mentioned at the beginning, being designated a non-profit company means the SEC doesn't have to investigate any curious financial dealings by ETS. Thank God. I wouldn't want to feel like I was going broke for some unseemly reason.
Karl Landgraf, the CEO making almost $1 million for a non-profit, once said, "Tests and quality go hand in hand. At ETS, we're doing our part."
And Karl is right. ETS sure is doing its part. The question is if that part if to fatten their wallet.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Book Review: The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
This is part of the continuing series of random book reviews that'll be nothing like a New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.
The Book: John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath
Review:
Chapter One Reaction: It can't be this boring for 600 pages, can it?
Chapter Two Reaction: No, seriously, it has to get perkier than this, right? What page am I on?
Chapter Three Reaction: Okay, really, can you pick up the pace a little? I have a date with life I'd like to keep.
The pace doesn't quicken. The Grapes of Wrath makes War and Peace look like a light summer beach read. It's the type of book where if you just lost your job and your 401(k)...and then came home and found your spouse in bed with your best friend...and then mistakenly ran over your precious golden retriever as you peeled out of the driveway...and then you happened to read The Grapes of Wrath that night, you'd say, "Well, hey, life can always be worse I guess."
You know those books where you read 50 pages and then probably never get back to reading it because you're easily distracted by shiny objects and Entertainment Tonight on tv? That's The Grapes of Wrath. You know those books that get listed as a "great novel," but after reading those first 50 pages you question the sanity of book reviewers? That's The Grapes of Wrath. You know when you have no patience for a book after those first three chapters...but that when you get to the end of the book you understand that patience was all part of the master plan of the book? That there's an emotional payoff at the end? That there was a point after all to trudging through 600 pages because the author looked for a message that transcended literature for a change? That the point of the whole book is that it actually has a point?
That's The Grapes of Wrath.
The Book: John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath
Review:
Chapter One Reaction: It can't be this boring for 600 pages, can it?
Chapter Two Reaction: No, seriously, it has to get perkier than this, right? What page am I on?
Chapter Three Reaction: Okay, really, can you pick up the pace a little? I have a date with life I'd like to keep.
The pace doesn't quicken. The Grapes of Wrath makes War and Peace look like a light summer beach read. It's the type of book where if you just lost your job and your 401(k)...and then came home and found your spouse in bed with your best friend...and then mistakenly ran over your precious golden retriever as you peeled out of the driveway...and then you happened to read The Grapes of Wrath that night, you'd say, "Well, hey, life can always be worse I guess."
You know those books where you read 50 pages and then probably never get back to reading it because you're easily distracted by shiny objects and Entertainment Tonight on tv? That's The Grapes of Wrath. You know those books that get listed as a "great novel," but after reading those first 50 pages you question the sanity of book reviewers? That's The Grapes of Wrath. You know when you have no patience for a book after those first three chapters...but that when you get to the end of the book you understand that patience was all part of the master plan of the book? That there's an emotional payoff at the end? That there was a point after all to trudging through 600 pages because the author looked for a message that transcended literature for a change? That the point of the whole book is that it actually has a point?
That's The Grapes of Wrath.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Oh, yeah? Well, I once met the president of FSC!
A Spanish woman who described herself as the world's oldest blogger died recently at the age of 97. (Story: here.) According to Maria Amelia Lopez's side of the story, her grandson is stingy and built a blog as a birthday gift for her 95th birthday. Personally, I think the guy was just hedging his bets at that point. Buying granny anything costing more than $20 at her age is asking for trouble.
Apparently her blog was hosted by blogger/blogspot, as we are. It's as if our own grandma has died, except there's no uncomfortable wake or funeral we have to attend. So that's a plus. Her blog is a good read if you can read Spanish, or if you're just looking to get in touch with your Spanish side and have a little blogging siesta. She even puts a picture of herself up on her main page, showing her in a snazzy periwinkle blue scarf. I think that's the key to a successful blog: stylish photos of its writers wearing dashing scarves. (I'm working on getting Marcy and McCarthy to wear some scarves, just so you readers can feel like we're equally debonair in our neckwear.)
As an added bonus, she also often went on her webcam to give her views on issues of the day. From the looks of them, she did these videos late at night by the glow of a desk lamp, as if she has a secret she wants to tell you, or to show you how the Unabomber worked successfully for so long. (Side note: in these videos she wears a satin pink scarf. Again with the rakish neckwear.) I'll attach a video, though I haven't a clue what she's talking about. My Spanish skills are weaker than the coffee you get at McDonalds. But I'm wagering that since she was about 97 years old when she posted this that she wasn't dropping F-bombs or threatening Fitchburg State College. Just a wild hunch.
Ms. Lopez also met Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero once, who visited her at her home. Clearly, this was a power grab by the Prime Minister. We all know the elderly vote in higher numbers than college kids. An elderly grandma who has a grasp of the internet? That's dangerous to any politician. But, hey, we bloggers really know how to woo the powerful men in the world. I once met the president of FSC before. Pres. Antonucci even replied to a few of my emails. I'm not saying I have the cache of Ms. Lopez. All I'm saying is that I'm 70 years younger than her and I'm already meeting people in positions of power, so she's behind the curve a little here. Though I'll admit I can't hold a candle to her on my scarf-wearing abilities.
Still, there's something endearing about Maria Amelia Lopez. Getting in touch with so many people revitalized her. It made her happy to wake up every morning. Although, according to Ms. Lopez, running the blog "took 20 years off my life." Tell me about it, sister. The Toolbox will make a martyr of me by the time I'm 40.
Apparently her blog was hosted by blogger/blogspot, as we are. It's as if our own grandma has died, except there's no uncomfortable wake or funeral we have to attend. So that's a plus. Her blog is a good read if you can read Spanish, or if you're just looking to get in touch with your Spanish side and have a little blogging siesta. She even puts a picture of herself up on her main page, showing her in a snazzy periwinkle blue scarf. I think that's the key to a successful blog: stylish photos of its writers wearing dashing scarves. (I'm working on getting Marcy and McCarthy to wear some scarves, just so you readers can feel like we're equally debonair in our neckwear.)
As an added bonus, she also often went on her webcam to give her views on issues of the day. From the looks of them, she did these videos late at night by the glow of a desk lamp, as if she has a secret she wants to tell you, or to show you how the Unabomber worked successfully for so long. (Side note: in these videos she wears a satin pink scarf. Again with the rakish neckwear.) I'll attach a video, though I haven't a clue what she's talking about. My Spanish skills are weaker than the coffee you get at McDonalds. But I'm wagering that since she was about 97 years old when she posted this that she wasn't dropping F-bombs or threatening Fitchburg State College. Just a wild hunch.
Ms. Lopez also met Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero once, who visited her at her home. Clearly, this was a power grab by the Prime Minister. We all know the elderly vote in higher numbers than college kids. An elderly grandma who has a grasp of the internet? That's dangerous to any politician. But, hey, we bloggers really know how to woo the powerful men in the world. I once met the president of FSC before. Pres. Antonucci even replied to a few of my emails. I'm not saying I have the cache of Ms. Lopez. All I'm saying is that I'm 70 years younger than her and I'm already meeting people in positions of power, so she's behind the curve a little here. Though I'll admit I can't hold a candle to her on my scarf-wearing abilities.
Still, there's something endearing about Maria Amelia Lopez. Getting in touch with so many people revitalized her. It made her happy to wake up every morning. Although, according to Ms. Lopez, running the blog "took 20 years off my life." Tell me about it, sister. The Toolbox will make a martyr of me by the time I'm 40.
Spelling out the differences...
1.) Awkward: adj.: Lacking dexterity or skill; lacking ease or grace
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Give Me A Good Brit Mystery Any Day!
Seems like a fair amount of space has been delegated here to discussion of the romance novel. For those of you who are in that purgatory between Brit Lit and the lowly romance novel, I suggest a new addiction--Brit mystery novels. Invariably, they involve a chief inspector who is either a peer, a poet or both. His team consists of smart, driven and somewhat diverse investigators who invariably have a dysfunctional relationship with each other, their jobs, or even their neighbors.
If the chief inspector is a woman, she appears hard as nails on the outside but has a mushy vulnerable inside that depends on alcohol, coffee and cigarettes to get her through the day. Her team is comprised of all men who are hostile to her because she was promoted above them and is a woman.
Of course, both the male and female chief inspectors always get their man, woman, dog or child. If the story is about the male chief inspector and his team, it almost always is related to politics and often has a brush with Interpol or at least MI5 and even members of Parliament. If the protagonist is the female chief inspector, the story will contain a serial killer who invariably goes after our heroine. We always worry that her team won't take her back, but, in the end she is saved and the killer is caught or killed.
Since these are British mystery novels, most of the time, smutty sex is implied and not described in detail. Of course, we know it is going on and with whom, but the really juicy parts are left to our imagination in true Brit fashion. For the more intellectual reader, the dysfunctional relationships of the teams take up as much or more space than the plot. Sometimes the messiness is with each other, but in the male chief inspector's case, almost always involves someone of his class whom he met while fox hunting on a weekend getaway to a fellow peer's country estate. Of course, it is his sensitive side that his perspective love interest visualizes through his poetry. Their relationship is difficult primarily because of their jobs keep them apart and each has an innate inability to make or keep social commitments.
Our female chief inspector usually does not have a love interest. She makes no bones over the fact that she is married to her job. She is usually from a middle class background who has struggled to get where she is now. Her experiences with love are always disasterous and in modern mysteries, her love interests are either dead or have had it with her over-the-top work ethic. She is also unable to make or keep social commitments.
Best of all, if you don't want to take the time to read them yet you want to appear knowlegable, they are almost always represented on either Masterpiece Theatre or Mystery! shown ad nauseum on PBS. Of course, you have to make a Sunday night commitment for about eight weeks or if you have cable you can check them out later in the week on a multitude of PBS channels. If you are computer savvy, you can find them on youtube and hulu.com.
These novels are best read with the Oxford English Dictionary handy. For that reason, they are good reading to prep for the GREs. Also, if read in a public place like a park, the quad, or even a quiet bar, they are intellectual babe/guy magnets. You actually look like you are intelligent and know something. Soon, you'll be dressed impeccably with a studied slight inattention to detail and you'll have a quote from the classics or your own poetry ready for every occasion. Or, you may be a secret alcoholic and a chain smoker whose personal life as well as bedroom, apartment or dorm room bears a striking resemblance to something on the edge of condemnation from the British version of the Board of Health.
English geeks like us are beset with the same but different desires and insecurities that the rest of the world faces. We want to succeed in life, love and at least one other fetish that we share with no one. We are obsessed with some aspect of English, often an obscure one, therefore making jobs in the real world elusive. Most of all, like everyone else we want to look cool, especially to the object of our affections.
My advice? Hit Barnes &Noble and buy several Brit mysteries, something from the classics and an Oxford English Dictionary, preferably a bit beat up since you want to demonstrate that you are worth your salt intellectually. Get the wardrobe right. Clothing that is somewhere between age appropriate and Dickensian will do. Find your spot so that the light hits you properly and you are at least within peripheral eyesight of the inividual you want to notice you. Open your books randomly and begin to read the mystery. Cross referencing with the dictionary, Bartlett's Quotations and Homer or Shakespeare is good. If you are noticed by a non-intellectual type, become a bit pedagogical in your conversation. True, it will scare the person away, but these people always talk. Rest assured, your stellar reputation will soon make it around campus and you will attract the right sorts of people that you want to be a part of your circle.
You are on your way to becoming a part of an elite group all by reading British mysteries. Adam Dagliesh and Harriet Vane are your friends. you don't have to be embarassed such as you would if you were caught with say...a romance novel. Perhaps you won't be reading smutty sex, but by reading Brit mysteries, you will go far in establishing a proper reputation and perhaps catch a bit of romance as well.
Oh, and this is just an aside...they really are excellent beach reading.
If the chief inspector is a woman, she appears hard as nails on the outside but has a mushy vulnerable inside that depends on alcohol, coffee and cigarettes to get her through the day. Her team is comprised of all men who are hostile to her because she was promoted above them and is a woman.
Of course, both the male and female chief inspectors always get their man, woman, dog or child. If the story is about the male chief inspector and his team, it almost always is related to politics and often has a brush with Interpol or at least MI5 and even members of Parliament. If the protagonist is the female chief inspector, the story will contain a serial killer who invariably goes after our heroine. We always worry that her team won't take her back, but, in the end she is saved and the killer is caught or killed.
Since these are British mystery novels, most of the time, smutty sex is implied and not described in detail. Of course, we know it is going on and with whom, but the really juicy parts are left to our imagination in true Brit fashion. For the more intellectual reader, the dysfunctional relationships of the teams take up as much or more space than the plot. Sometimes the messiness is with each other, but in the male chief inspector's case, almost always involves someone of his class whom he met while fox hunting on a weekend getaway to a fellow peer's country estate. Of course, it is his sensitive side that his perspective love interest visualizes through his poetry. Their relationship is difficult primarily because of their jobs keep them apart and each has an innate inability to make or keep social commitments.
Our female chief inspector usually does not have a love interest. She makes no bones over the fact that she is married to her job. She is usually from a middle class background who has struggled to get where she is now. Her experiences with love are always disasterous and in modern mysteries, her love interests are either dead or have had it with her over-the-top work ethic. She is also unable to make or keep social commitments.
Best of all, if you don't want to take the time to read them yet you want to appear knowlegable, they are almost always represented on either Masterpiece Theatre or Mystery! shown ad nauseum on PBS. Of course, you have to make a Sunday night commitment for about eight weeks or if you have cable you can check them out later in the week on a multitude of PBS channels. If you are computer savvy, you can find them on youtube and hulu.com.
These novels are best read with the Oxford English Dictionary handy. For that reason, they are good reading to prep for the GREs. Also, if read in a public place like a park, the quad, or even a quiet bar, they are intellectual babe/guy magnets. You actually look like you are intelligent and know something. Soon, you'll be dressed impeccably with a studied slight inattention to detail and you'll have a quote from the classics or your own poetry ready for every occasion. Or, you may be a secret alcoholic and a chain smoker whose personal life as well as bedroom, apartment or dorm room bears a striking resemblance to something on the edge of condemnation from the British version of the Board of Health.
English geeks like us are beset with the same but different desires and insecurities that the rest of the world faces. We want to succeed in life, love and at least one other fetish that we share with no one. We are obsessed with some aspect of English, often an obscure one, therefore making jobs in the real world elusive. Most of all, like everyone else we want to look cool, especially to the object of our affections.
My advice? Hit Barnes &Noble and buy several Brit mysteries, something from the classics and an Oxford English Dictionary, preferably a bit beat up since you want to demonstrate that you are worth your salt intellectually. Get the wardrobe right. Clothing that is somewhere between age appropriate and Dickensian will do. Find your spot so that the light hits you properly and you are at least within peripheral eyesight of the inividual you want to notice you. Open your books randomly and begin to read the mystery. Cross referencing with the dictionary, Bartlett's Quotations and Homer or Shakespeare is good. If you are noticed by a non-intellectual type, become a bit pedagogical in your conversation. True, it will scare the person away, but these people always talk. Rest assured, your stellar reputation will soon make it around campus and you will attract the right sorts of people that you want to be a part of your circle.
You are on your way to becoming a part of an elite group all by reading British mysteries. Adam Dagliesh and Harriet Vane are your friends. you don't have to be embarassed such as you would if you were caught with say...a romance novel. Perhaps you won't be reading smutty sex, but by reading Brit mysteries, you will go far in establishing a proper reputation and perhaps catch a bit of romance as well.
Oh, and this is just an aside...they really are excellent beach reading.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Less pomp, more circumstance.
Congratulations, boys and girls of the class of 2009! Through your hard work (or laziness), dedication (or indifference), and financial perseverance (or parents' money and care packages) you've made it through college.
Let's break down the obvious next few steps in your life during and immediately following this momentous occasion:
1.) Caps and gowns can only be worn once. Like a wedding dress, a prom dress, or your birthday suit (hey, oh!), you'll never get a chance to wear the same one again. Make sure you get your $50 worth out of that outfit. Turn the gown into a summer skirt or a light shawl. Men can turn their gowns into a saucy pair of pantaloons. Mortarboard seem useless? Its flat surface will work as a great alternative to a serving tray at a restaurant when you work to make ends meet.
2.) Odds are you come from on of two types of friends and family circles. One type of circle will give you large quantities of cash for graduating, as if you're a Colombian drug smuggler with a penchant for cheap gold jewelry and pinkie rings. Don't dissuade these people from lavishing you with these gifts. In fact, encourage them to keep the gravy train flowing. Cry poor mouth. Are you mom and dad's only child? Make sure to subtly remind them you could die at any moment from swine flu or from a car accident in your poorly assembled American made car. Odds are your parents fear two things: your untimely demise, or that you'll embarrass them in life with your shoddy work ethic and party lifestyle. Guarantee them that large sums of cash will assure neither of those will happen.
The other friends and family circle is the type that will show up to your graduation and then bail before they're forced to give you anything. Don't expect money. Don't expect a gift. Don't even expect a $2.99 card with a "Follow your dreams!" message. The only thing to expect is a night out for some fast food by yourself followed by quietly hoping you're adopted.
3.) If you enjoy stereotypes (and I know you do!), there's a good chance you'll take a vacation somewhere. Slinging on a backpack and going to Europe is always a popular choice. If foreign linguistics scare you, the Englands and Irelands of the world await you with almost-coherent English spoken.
If you like your exotic European locales, but only enjoy ones you can associate with cheap American restaurants, then Italy is for you! According to Pizza Hut commercials, even Italians love cheap American versions of Italian food these days.
Just want to wear a bikini/Speedo on a beach? Deals to Mexico can be had for a steal these days.
4.) If you're a do-gooder with a traveling jones, then the next step in life might possibly be visiting some third world nation, where a Sally Struther's lookalike awaits you to help feed the children. It can be a Travel Channel experience blended with a Mother Teresa vibe that is second to none. Since you've just graduated college, you've already established you're not afraid of commitment for at least a few years, and most of these do-gooder programs demand one to two years of your time. Did you just have an ugly break-up with your boyfriend/girlfriend? Is the prospect of living at home with your parents not enticing? This might be the route in life to take!
5.) If you're someone who is too poor to travel, or just a xenophobic with a fear of flying, then it's time to jump right into that job hunt! Congratulations on graduating into the worst economy since your grandparents were swaddled in diapers.
There are a few words everyone throw around these days, so it's best if you know what to say. "Networking" is a popular word and is all the rage. Facebook, job fairs, random weddings, hob-knobbing with the homeless people in parks are all forms of networking. Getting a coffee at Starbucks? Ask the barista for their number and if they know any job contacts. When you have conversations with nosy adults with steady jobs who ask you about your job hunt, tell them you're networking passionately and are really making connections. This can be a total lie, but it makes it sound like you're trying if you say it in an upbeat voice.
6.) Got a job interview lined up? Dress the part. Those pantaloons you made out of your graduation gown? Not a good choice. That "Colege" t-shirt you wear to look ironic? Not going to be a winner. Possible employers want to make sure your soul is already dying and don't want to see any imagination alive in you. Business attire straight off the Macy's clearance rack will work nicely, and shows the assimilation is underway within you! When in doubt, always go for the cotton/poly blends. Though rayon works in a jiffy.
7.) Miss those days of college when your biggest concern was trying to get to your 9:30am American Lit class only 10 minutes late? Try to relive those days while battling traffic on the way to your new job. Try to keep your lateness to 10 to 15 minutes, tops. If your new boss asks why you're late, tell him there was an accident or construction crews working. Or combine the two and say there was an accident with construction crews. Don't let your imagination run wild though. Remember, employers don't like that.
8.) And when all else fails and you wonder if this whole college thing was worth it, realize that with your shiny new degree you can always go around and tell people you're educated. Not smart necessarily, but at least educated. After all, where else did you learn to make those pantaloons?
Let's break down the obvious next few steps in your life during and immediately following this momentous occasion:
1.) Caps and gowns can only be worn once. Like a wedding dress, a prom dress, or your birthday suit (hey, oh!), you'll never get a chance to wear the same one again. Make sure you get your $50 worth out of that outfit. Turn the gown into a summer skirt or a light shawl. Men can turn their gowns into a saucy pair of pantaloons. Mortarboard seem useless? Its flat surface will work as a great alternative to a serving tray at a restaurant when you work to make ends meet.
2.) Odds are you come from on of two types of friends and family circles. One type of circle will give you large quantities of cash for graduating, as if you're a Colombian drug smuggler with a penchant for cheap gold jewelry and pinkie rings. Don't dissuade these people from lavishing you with these gifts. In fact, encourage them to keep the gravy train flowing. Cry poor mouth. Are you mom and dad's only child? Make sure to subtly remind them you could die at any moment from swine flu or from a car accident in your poorly assembled American made car. Odds are your parents fear two things: your untimely demise, or that you'll embarrass them in life with your shoddy work ethic and party lifestyle. Guarantee them that large sums of cash will assure neither of those will happen.
The other friends and family circle is the type that will show up to your graduation and then bail before they're forced to give you anything. Don't expect money. Don't expect a gift. Don't even expect a $2.99 card with a "Follow your dreams!" message. The only thing to expect is a night out for some fast food by yourself followed by quietly hoping you're adopted.
3.) If you enjoy stereotypes (and I know you do!), there's a good chance you'll take a vacation somewhere. Slinging on a backpack and going to Europe is always a popular choice. If foreign linguistics scare you, the Englands and Irelands of the world await you with almost-coherent English spoken.
If you like your exotic European locales, but only enjoy ones you can associate with cheap American restaurants, then Italy is for you! According to Pizza Hut commercials, even Italians love cheap American versions of Italian food these days.
Just want to wear a bikini/Speedo on a beach? Deals to Mexico can be had for a steal these days.
4.) If you're a do-gooder with a traveling jones, then the next step in life might possibly be visiting some third world nation, where a Sally Struther's lookalike awaits you to help feed the children. It can be a Travel Channel experience blended with a Mother Teresa vibe that is second to none. Since you've just graduated college, you've already established you're not afraid of commitment for at least a few years, and most of these do-gooder programs demand one to two years of your time. Did you just have an ugly break-up with your boyfriend/girlfriend? Is the prospect of living at home with your parents not enticing? This might be the route in life to take!
5.) If you're someone who is too poor to travel, or just a xenophobic with a fear of flying, then it's time to jump right into that job hunt! Congratulations on graduating into the worst economy since your grandparents were swaddled in diapers.
There are a few words everyone throw around these days, so it's best if you know what to say. "Networking" is a popular word and is all the rage. Facebook, job fairs, random weddings, hob-knobbing with the homeless people in parks are all forms of networking. Getting a coffee at Starbucks? Ask the barista for their number and if they know any job contacts. When you have conversations with nosy adults with steady jobs who ask you about your job hunt, tell them you're networking passionately and are really making connections. This can be a total lie, but it makes it sound like you're trying if you say it in an upbeat voice.
6.) Got a job interview lined up? Dress the part. Those pantaloons you made out of your graduation gown? Not a good choice. That "Colege" t-shirt you wear to look ironic? Not going to be a winner. Possible employers want to make sure your soul is already dying and don't want to see any imagination alive in you. Business attire straight off the Macy's clearance rack will work nicely, and shows the assimilation is underway within you! When in doubt, always go for the cotton/poly blends. Though rayon works in a jiffy.
7.) Miss those days of college when your biggest concern was trying to get to your 9:30am American Lit class only 10 minutes late? Try to relive those days while battling traffic on the way to your new job. Try to keep your lateness to 10 to 15 minutes, tops. If your new boss asks why you're late, tell him there was an accident or construction crews working. Or combine the two and say there was an accident with construction crews. Don't let your imagination run wild though. Remember, employers don't like that.
8.) And when all else fails and you wonder if this whole college thing was worth it, realize that with your shiny new degree you can always go around and tell people you're educated. Not smart necessarily, but at least educated. After all, where else did you learn to make those pantaloons?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
We love our romance novels on this blog.
In high school one of my classmates used to read during lunch. The more pages she turned, the heavier her breathing became and the more engrossed in the book she would become. She wasn’t reading a school textbook, her choice of novel tended to be the sort that featured bare-chested men with flowing hair on the cover and tended to have story lines rehashing the same old plot: boy meets girl, boy saves girl, boy and girl fall in love following a tawdry sex scene. That’s right, she was reading that bastion of literature: the romance novel.
My classmate is not alone; masses of socially awkward young women and bored house-wives love these novels, and form a loyal following to the authors. And according to one article by Motoko Rich in The New York Times (you can read it here), this demographic of book-readers may be growing, fueled by our slumping economy. It seems that as other genres of fiction have endured a decline in sales, romance novel sales are up. The article suggests that with the economy in the toilet and the threat of foreclosure and lay-offs around every corner, what most people want is the happy ending they can find at the end of a romance novel.
But it could be more than just the happy ending. While the article doesn’t indicate the main gender of romance novel consumers, a simple stake-out at your local Barnes & Noble romance section reveals that the main buyer of these novels is women. Sounds stereotypical, but women love these novels. What I find interesting is that the basic plot line of some of these novels involves a woman being rescued by a man. This damsel in distress shtick seems to be selling well, and maybe it is a revealing look into the psyche of the American woman. Perhaps the strong, independent women of America are really just looking for a man to come and take away all our problems. Maybe we have secret longings for the good old days when a woman’s place was in the home and the man was responsible for bringing home the paycheck and dealing with the stress of a career. Or perhaps we’re really just looking for a diversion from the stress of the world and the fantasy of the perfect man and the perfect life.
Regardless of your take on the romance novel and what it says about our secret wishes, one thing is true, it is a lucrative branch of literature and one that literature majors and wannabe writers would do well to recognize for its potential. Perhaps instead of dreaming of being the next Faulkner or Shakespeare, we would do better to aspire to be the next Jackie Collins or Danielle Steele.
My classmate is not alone; masses of socially awkward young women and bored house-wives love these novels, and form a loyal following to the authors. And according to one article by Motoko Rich in The New York Times (you can read it here), this demographic of book-readers may be growing, fueled by our slumping economy. It seems that as other genres of fiction have endured a decline in sales, romance novel sales are up. The article suggests that with the economy in the toilet and the threat of foreclosure and lay-offs around every corner, what most people want is the happy ending they can find at the end of a romance novel.
But it could be more than just the happy ending. While the article doesn’t indicate the main gender of romance novel consumers, a simple stake-out at your local Barnes & Noble romance section reveals that the main buyer of these novels is women. Sounds stereotypical, but women love these novels. What I find interesting is that the basic plot line of some of these novels involves a woman being rescued by a man. This damsel in distress shtick seems to be selling well, and maybe it is a revealing look into the psyche of the American woman. Perhaps the strong, independent women of America are really just looking for a man to come and take away all our problems. Maybe we have secret longings for the good old days when a woman’s place was in the home and the man was responsible for bringing home the paycheck and dealing with the stress of a career. Or perhaps we’re really just looking for a diversion from the stress of the world and the fantasy of the perfect man and the perfect life.
Regardless of your take on the romance novel and what it says about our secret wishes, one thing is true, it is a lucrative branch of literature and one that literature majors and wannabe writers would do well to recognize for its potential. Perhaps instead of dreaming of being the next Faulkner or Shakespeare, we would do better to aspire to be the next Jackie Collins or Danielle Steele.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
