Through the wormhole with trepidation...

As much as I adore Morgan Freeman and his show on the Science channel, last week’s episode burst my grammar-elitist bubble. The episode focuses on what alien life might be like: how they feel, how they think, how they communicate, and, essentially, what constitutes life. It was the segment on language that got me.

“Rebel linguist” Simon Kirby demonstrated his research into language evolution using a simple game of telephone. Or, as he called it, “broken telephone.” It worked much as you might expect, with his initial message being garbled by the end. But he didn’t consider that a matter of miscommunication; rather, he saw his phrase evolve as it was passed from person to person. And the manner of this evolution? The phrase became shorter and simpler. Sure, it made no sense, but how many idiomatic phrases do we have these days that make just as little sense?

So language’s evolution is simplification, or becoming easier to learn. Here’s my issue:

Are language purists going against evolution? I’m not just thinking about myself, correcting with my pens the awkward phrasing of my students, but also of “higher” powers that have sought to preserve languages like English and French. I think back to my French teacher, Mrs. Klein, describing the horrors of le parking and le weekend. I think of my own recent insistence on wheel barrow as opposed to “wheel barrel,” as a silly facebook meme put it.

Kirby continued to shoot holes in my elitism, asserting that every mistake makes the language easier to learn for the next generation. Oh no, will the OED some day accept "wheel barrel"?! Sure, make those mistakes for the good of your children! Professors just get in the way of change!

So, do I put my pens down?

I so badly want to hear Kirby speak about any implications for academia: how will we (the academics) change in order to go with the flow of evolution? Or are we already part of it? Is there any such thing as correct grammar, spelling, syntax, vocabulary...so long as the idea is put across successfully? And how do we define “successfully,” in light of these evolutionarily necessary mistakes?

Kirby imagines that we will become “more and more stupid biologically, and more and more smart culturally” (my emphasis). I can get on board with that. I have always reveled in the knowledge that humankind’s first cultural endeavors were images, not words. Images that do the work of thousands of words, whether we as historians know the “correct” text or not. Perhaps, if we meet a far more linguistically and culturally advanced civilization, they will communicate in shorter, simpler forms while expressing bigger, more complex ideas as so many artists have striven to do.

Midnight in Ohio

After watching Midnight in Paris, I’m a little too listless to sleep. The film offers a lot of eye candy: shots of Paris, of course, Versailles, and Giverny. I absolutely adored the endless cameos by the likes of Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Dalí. And I must say, Kathy Bates makes a wonderful Gertrude Stein.

All of that brought back my yearning to see more of the world. Not just Paris, but...everything. All places, all times. I suppose that’s what drew me to studying the history of art, and not art itself. I often wish I could have lived in a different time; in fact, my mother did say I was born 25 years too late. I even remember discussing it with an old friend who was horrified that I’d like to have lived in Victorian London. Historical geekdom aside, it’s Paris that has me unwilling to sleep right now.

In the film, Gil finds himself in his Golden Age: Paris in the Twenties. Yet, the woman he meets, Adrianna, has a Golden Age of her own: La Belle Epoque of the late nineteenth century. And Degas and company? They yearn for the Renaissance. The present, to Gil and famous artists alike, is dull and dreary compared to the past.

I just might be in a predicament similar to Gil, though in terms of place instead of time.

The grass is always greener, they say, in someone else’s field. I definitely believe that. My recent trip to New York, not to mention living in New York, is evidence of my desire and willingness to be anywhere but Ohio. Yet I found myself a little tired of New York as well. If things were different for me right now...oh, if only...I’d probably be on to the next wondrous place. Paris? London? And I’d have to ask myself: to visit or to stay?

Is there some fatal romantic flaw, like the Golden Age syndrome, that keeps one dissatisfied not with their present time, but with their present place? If no one else has named it yet, I shall call it Greener Pasture syndrome. Perhaps it is GP syndrome that makes me feel like a stranger in my hometown. And in my college town. And in my graduate school town. Will I never feel at home?

Whatever you call them, both “flaws” seem to be part of the larger battle for self-acceptance, which I hear is a good thing to strive for. That, and slapping Michael Sheen’s pedantic character upside the head.

Mother's Thoughts II

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. ~Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, 29

Mother’s Day has just passed, and with it, bittersweet memories heightened by the well-wishes of friends to their mothers and all mothers. Now the memories are at the “usual” level. But I find it fitting to turn back to my mother’s thoughts at a moment, late at night, when I am in conflict with my own. Her meticulous handwriting brings comfort, and the sensation of holding a book and paper that she once held helps to shake off some ritual negative thoughts.

I have a library book at my bedside—a quite intriguing book entitled The Age of Insight: The Quest to Understand the Unconscious in Art, Mind, and Brain. While Eric Kandel’s work comes recommended both by an national review and by a faculty member in my department, I am truly frustrated that—in between the paragraphs of the preface—my thoughts drift from art and science to the one-liner I saw today in an email from LinkedIn, of all things.

Why You Shouldn’t Go to Grad School.

Seriously? I know the Universe might be a little miffed at me. Lately, I have been reading my Hitchhiker’s Guide, in which the Universe comes across as rather absurd, but to keep tossing this in my face? Really.

I have two main sorrows, if that isn’t a contradiction in terms: the absence of my mother and the loss at a major gamble I call Columbia. So let’s try to figure out the connection between my sorrows and my joy. Because, according to Gibran, “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”

My rehearsed reaction to the my-MA-is-worthless thought spiral is that I wouldn’t be teaching without it. I wouldn’t be able to call myself professor and associate myself with a renowned university. I also wouldn’t have the extra cares such a vocation brings, like wondering why students toss their papers in the trash. I do find joy there, though. I talk and write about art. What could be better? I read about it, think about it in new ways, learn to explain it differently than it was explained to me. Could I do that without the MA and all the (shameful) sorrow?

My mind counters with this: I just saw a post from a former classmate showing her all classy, fashionable, and curatorial. What did I do today? Well, I toted geraniums and verbena in the back of my car for my grandmother and got mad at myself for not being the perfect trim- and window-painter. Provincial, small-potatoes. No need for the MA there.

I do not need anyone to put me in my place. Now, that is something I obtained in graduate school. My delusions of grandeur are safe within my mind, never to be acted upon.

It’s far too soon to come to any worthwhile conclusions about this particular topic. That won’t stop me from trying, but I’m pretty sure I’d have to give it a few more decades and look back on this period in time. The period I interchangeably refer to as rural exile, underemployment, and, perhaps, spiritual grounding.

Where is the delight? I believe I’ve found some in rediscovering a relationship, something impossible without my return to Ohio. I may not be a jet-setting curator, and probably shouldn’t be, but I have begun (tenuously) to imagine a simpler though just as fulfilling future. And despite the conservative talking points, it has been a joy to forge a stronger bond with my father. That is one big use of the word “despite,” though. On that note, I hope I am a better political thinker than the other stereotypical liberals in their ivory towers. I can operate in a conservative, rural world because I was born here, and, at the moment, I have to operate here.

I’m interested in determining which period of time taught me more: the fabulous days of Columbia or the rural exile. And I have successfully exited the thought spiral for tonight.

Elegy for a term paper tossed in the trash

You weren't that bad...worth a B-, for Pete's sake! Yet, it might be that one capital letter that the student glanced at before tossing you aside, as if to say "good enough, no need to improve." Not even a pat on the back for you, term paper, for being satisfactorily organized and formatted. Not a second wasted on how your argument might have been strengthened with well-chosen citations.

You were tossed in that trash can far too soon. You had a whole life ahead of you. A life of study and reflection on essay structure and grammar. A life worthy of academic praise.

I'm sorry, term paper, that your creator doesn't give a damn about you.

I suspect many term papers are thus abused and cast away. But what about the students, these creators-turned-destroyers? What is the motive, the thought process behind such a callous attitude toward the written word? And why do I care?

As I picked up a random person's large McDonald's pop to place in the trash, I noticed a term paper with familiar green comments written (rather politely and stylishly, if I may be so bold), in the margins. It was the term paper of one of my students who had finished an exam earlier that day and picked up his term paper on the way out. And, also on the way out, he deposited that paper in the trash. There is, say, a 20-foot walk between my table and the trash can, so I highly doubt the student absorbed any helpful tidbits between picking up and pitching.

To which I say, "Thank you. I'll lose no sleep over your bad grade tonight."

That trashed term paper is a symptom and symbol of the larger ills of academia and the Millennial generation (or at least how Millennials are viewed in society).

This student grew up in the same region I did. I don't know his family background, his social status, or any of that, and I shouldn't know. But I can tell he is at least ten years younger than I am, so he's a Millennial whereas I identify myself (defiantly!) as Generation Y. We are different, yet the same.

We are different, because no one taught him to value his work. Or at least to include writing in what he considered "work." That attitude is far too prevalent these days. Too many people (*cough*Business majors*cough*) think writing is not a worthwhile skill, not something to be practiced and perfected. Writing is simply the act of expressing your ideas, which I should think is useful in any profession. My parents might have stopped reading my writing around 10th grade, once it got more and more esoteric, but they never allowed me to think of it as worthless. Writing made it possible for me to succeed in college, then graduate school.

Further success is pending. And I suppose that's why I have difficulty finding fault only in the student. It's a tough world out there. Yet that's why parents foster a sense of pride in a job well done. Whatever that job may be. That's why teachers give stickers, smiley faces, and praise...at least, they used to before all the standardized testing. The apathy of our students is of our own making. And once they're apathetic, there doesn't seem to be a way of reversing the process. Not that I've found...

I end with this question: how can we expect Millennials to value earning their way through work, when we don't teach them to value what work they do in school?

miss manners

As a reformed impulsive emailer, I feel I have the authority and duty to spread the word about the dangers of typing things you wouldn't say to anyone's face. My latest rule for myself, and for everyone, is Don't type anything you wouldn't say to your boss. This comes after numerous comment battles and one particularly negative email I received from a student, perpetuating that adversarial dynamic that bugs me so much in academia.

There are advantages to email. It's quicker, cheaper, and saves paper. It's standard practice to email professors, and I especially enjoy the advantage of tracking conversations with students in my inbox. It allows us to keep up with friends and family who are far away. However, the ease of typing and the "anonymity" of communicating electronically can be misleading. We don't have the same immediate consequence of someone's verbal (or bodily) reaction. Though I cannot say it is impossible, I should think it is far less likely for a student to yell and curse at me to my face. In either case, I try to keep emotion out of my dealings with students, much as I expect managers to do with their employees. Perhaps my professional tone lacks the "pat on the shoulder" that some seem to expect. And, far more likely, whatever issues the student is facing led to a lack of judgment. That feeling of anonymity, that delayed reaction, can be a relief in awkward situations, but it also tempts us to be bolder to the extent of rudeness and just plain nastiness. The result: I don't really want to communicate further with that individual.

We also apparently lack the ability to spell-check and proof-read before hitting "send." And don't even get me started on text abbreviations. You'd think, sitting at a keyboard or tapping away at a phone, we'd all benefit from correct grammar and spelling. Much more so than when the pen is in hand, and our writing is not so pretty. Not so, in our culture. Is it just laziness? "Hey" and "u" are just as jarring as any poorly scribbled note. The result: I'm sorry, I'm just not impressed.

Does the internet facilitate communication or a breakdown in communication? That is what is at stake, here.

If you read my facebook posts, you'd think I walk around talking about politics and cats. Well, that's not far from the truth. However, when I compartmentalize my political self on the web, I feel braver, more capable of making a point. I can post articles that really make me think. I can provide support for my views. But add to that the dangers of electronic communication, and it calls into question my responsibility as a poster. Am I responsible for the reactions, positive or negative, to things I type? Am I responsible for friends who insult one another while commenting on my posts?

Lower Education

This semester, I've been confronted with some rather troubling views on higher education. Naturally, I'd like to achieve a better understanding of this through a survey. I realize responses won't be anonymous, but I cannot imagine that would stop my more opinionated acquaintances! It's not a scientific poll, anyway...

Respond to each statement using the scale:
Strongly Disagree--Inclined to Disagree--Neither--Inclined to Agree--Strongly Agree

And feel free to elaborate on any of your responses, of course.

1. Paying tuition for higher education is the same as paying for any other service.

2. Higher education is an investment in yourself.

3. When you are paying tuition, especially out-of-pocket, institutions should follow the "customer is always right" rule.

4. There should be no consequences for missing classes, whatever the reason.

5. There should be no due dates for assignments.

6. You should spend at least 3 hours of out-of-class work per credit hour of class.

7. A degree is earned, not given.

8. It is unfair to offer a makeup exam because it gives that student more study time than his/her classmates.

9. It is the teacher's job to make the subject interesting for students.

10. Enrollment is a choice, and completing coursework is the student's responsibility.

11. Everyone should have at least a bachelor's degree.

12. Higher education is a privilege.

Thank you for participating! I'm no Bill O'Reilly, but I hope I'll be able to compile some results and share interesting opinions about education today.

purpose

Movies that most people wouldn’t waste their time on are one of my few vices. The others include Coca Cola and sleeping in. So, if you needed further proof of my lack of wildness, there you are. One of those movies is Ever After, and I bring it up only because one line has been repeating in my head for a few months now: “I used to think, if I cared at all, I would have to care about everything...and I’d go stark raving mad.”

That is rather like how I feel right now. Maybe not the stark raving mad part, but the anxiety about finding a “purpose.” I’ve been honing in on something to do with my own journey beyond southeast Ohio and back again, but that makes me wonder if I should keep piling on the purposefulness. Do I care about poverty? Hunger? Child abuse prevention? Sure. I wish I could solve it all.

I have trouble letting go. In effect, I let go of the Heifer Project for some complicated and silly reasons that no one has thus far directly asked me about. I completed a term in AmeriCorps, but chose not to pursue another. In all fairness, that decision came at the same time I was asked to add a second art history class to my schedule. The field I obtained two degrees in of course takes precedence. So letting go feels good. It’s a relief, in many ways, but it is also...sad isn’t the proper word. Bitter is too strong. Disappointing, perhaps?

One of the major criticisms of my generation—and the next one—is that we’re wayward. We flit from job to job, from interest to interest. But isn’t that a more natural way to live? Apart from the nuts and bolts of it all: eating, sleeping, socializing; can one really dedicate their lives to one thing, or one realm of things, and stick to it? Maybe not in this job market. One of the few good things about my crooked path is where I am right now, teaching. It’s growing on me. That’s not to say I’ll be a professor from now until the end. But I’ve found a realm I’d like to stay in/near/vaguely adjacent to.

That realm is difficult to define. Not simply “the arts,” not just “academia.” I want to be involved in the literacy movement as well as art history. I want to keep trying to broaden the views of people who have never seen the value in looking beyond Ohio’s borders. Or even the county’s. I’ve already let this drive me a little crazy, taking it personally when one student or another doesn’t see the value and might never see it. That’s the caring about everything, or everyone, part.

But, did you read up there, “I want to be,” not “I am”? I still feel like I am in flux. Not settled. Not like I’ve found my place. At what point do I become just a talker and not a doer. Am I already there? Looking back on the past three years, I wonder why I haven’t already reached maximum purposefulness. Yet while I say I’m in flux, am I really where I am meant to be? Where is the line between passion and waywardness? Because I seem to be dancing on it.