What High School Has Been Worth: A Language Perspective

It occured to me as I was reading this post that high school has had a tremendous impact on my character and that its lessons are applicable to many situations in life. Granted, what shoes one wears to prom are not going to matter five years down the line (unless said person really attaches to it as a point of pride or shame, in which case said person should move on). But it's quite difficult to grasp all of the different ways the high school experience has changed me and educated me as a student as well as a decent human being. Therefore, given the language and linguistics umbrella of this particular blog, I'll be highlighting some of the ways high school has altered the world around me and how I look at it, either due to language or through language and languages themselves. And for all you arts and/or politics people, stick around: these two areas do not escape the realm of how we speak or look at the world, and they've been critical points of development for me.

- Most simply, high school has taught me to appreciate language on a very hightened scale. As I've said before, I had never been interested in any tongues but French and English before high school and the Glenbrook Academy (I'm gonna miss you guys!) has profoundly widened my gaze and appreciation. I've come out the back end (almost) wanting to learn Arabic and go to Colombia (what! Aren't there drugs there? In terms of crime, It's actually quite improved, and always has been a beautiful country!). There's something about an education firmly rooted in getting you out of your comfort zone with 29 other kids in the same confusion-rife boat.

- In terms of theatre and acting, my career in high school has helped me develop a whole personal language--a continuously growing method of communicating with myself and of accessing untapped sources of personal creativity--that did not exist while I was discovering acting in middle school. At first, when very confident of the job you're doing in those early years, you try to act as well and as naturally as you can and go out and enjoy family praise when the play is all over. That all changed once I came to Glenbrook South, however: after a brief period of not knowing whether or not I wanted to act ever again in my Freshman year, I quickly realized the year after that it was actually a place of intense personal growth for me. When subjects in school are equated with duldrum in one's head, he or she hpoefully turns to something to have pride in and put an inordinate amount of work into. As I discovered with my rendition of Puck in "A Midsummer Night's Dream", any acting that I'm going to be proud of results from 1) staying in character backstage and making a fool of myself, but being in the character's mindset nontheless, and 2) always finding new ways to effectively put me in the character's P.O.V., especially if a faux pas on-stage frazzles me a bit. I had a brutal entrance to opening night in this year's Musical, "Chicago," but through character-entering rituals and exploring the depths of our set, I found a way to get my marbles back by the end of the show. It's like a writer trying to get out of writer's block, or a painter coming off a period of zero inspiration. As described here by Viggo Mortensen, all art forms are connected, and in my personal opinion, the ways in which we improve our ability in respect to them are intertwined and can grow until we die (much like languages!).

- I've heard people say many times over that politics are for people with enormous egos and connections. High school politics are certainly toned down from that commonly-accepted line of thinking. We don't all have egos the size of an Ice-Aged glacier and money in places as far away as Bond-esque off-shore bank accounts and as close as stashes hidden in the girl's water polo locker room. All the same, I learned something about self-respresentation, and what language I want to use when referring to myself and my core values, through student government. In fact, this discovery eventually led me out of the student government system, more or less, by the end of senior year. I came in as a Freshman president elected on a platform of equal representation in the Student Council itself and of character being more important than any former middle-schooler's "experience."
I probably came off as a little snoot, now that I look back on it. But then just as now, I thoroughly meant what I said about my goals for the student body.
In any event, I ended up learning that as far as student affairs go, no title designates one person more power than the next (until you become the school president, whereupon you've got to have a good grasp of everything. And our president is 100% doing so now). But I found that disheartening, in a sense; the position I was running for really just made me a voice with a name, not what the students expected given the meaning of my title. Granted, I took this all a little too seriously for a freshman/sophomore, but it got me thinking about truth and honesty.
My decision, in the name of honesty, was to run for representative the next year, because that's all I would be in the long run. And I expressed that in my speech. And...although I got elected, what I heard shortly afterward was that it sounded like a defeat speech. Almost like a concession to a grim reality that was neither necessarily the truth nor what the students wanted to hear.
And therein lay my self-discovery: I'm not exactly meant for politics. I may be too honest, I respect and follow only "just" authorities (as I deem them to be...very flawed and subjective, eh?), and although I only want to serve the non-represetative, non-political people--there's some gene in my brain that has unconsciously related administrators to despots when I've made speeches--I end up telling them exactly what they don't want on occasion; brouhaha is not exactly my strong suit.
But I learned something in all that! My prose voice is irreverant; I would drown in a career or politics; honesty is, in the long term, the best course of action; and politics is a great breeding ground for self-discovery. Within PoliSci, it's as if there is a constant reposing of this question: are you in it for you, or are you in it for the people? And, if you are in it for the people, how happy does that make you in the long term?
So I commend today's politicians for, hopefully, sticking with something that truly makes them happy.

--After all, just like for many of us actors, it doesn't always pay big dividends.

How about you, readers? What did high school teach you about how you speak and think as a whole person? Did you come out of it all feeling more confident or a thousand times more confused? And this is one I'll be able to answer in approximately one month...
Are you happy it's over?!?

Goodnight everybody, and Happy Mother's Day!
Buenas Noches a todos, y Feliz Dia de la Madre!
Bonsoir a tous, et Bonne Fete des Meres!

Rock 'n' Roll

This past Friday, a couple of friends and I achieved a first: we, with two songs prepared, played at our school's fundraising Jamnesty event. Our songs were Tighten Up and Got Ma Nuts from a Hippie, by The Black Keys and The Fratellis, respectively. It is safe to say that that was was of the most fun experiences of my young life, which is surprising, considering I had never sung in front of a crowd like that before and had never tested any rock 'n' roll chops. But I guess for all of us, it was just the right time. Now, because school isn't over yet, I've still come to wonder what knowledge this whole experience, and this whole genre of music, can offer me in terms of a greater understanding of the world around me. This thinking has brought me to the conclusion that rock music itself is a dialect. What could I mean by this, you ask? Of course, rock 'n' roll is related strongly to the blues, rhythm and blues, and hundreds of other variants of music from across the world

Connections from the Four Corners of My Brain

Hi there, everybody. It's the fourth quarter of my senior year now, and I'm starting to feel the effects. What I mean by that is that my mind is expanding and grappling on to what attracts it; my imagination is no longer disciplined, dismissing the power I once had over it to submit to the "to-do's" of uninspiring subjects and regimens. The fact is that even though I may consciously tell myself to continue on as if nothing were new, as if the daily focus on what I am told to do retained its solid foundation, my subconscious mind is well aware of the relatively small amount of time I have left. The subconscious part of my little ol' brain wants to treasure that time. Therefore, tonight I want to focus on the branches of my mindtrunk themselves. I will be remaining within my typical umbrella of languages and cultures, but, in continuing the more open trend I think I've started up recently, my subjects will be a bit more free-spirited. And to actually make my mind work itself analytically, I'll be trying to connect all of these fascinating "things" I'll be talking about. In finding just how the brain goes from one fascination to another, I'll be attempting educated guesses at what has brought my brain's loves to their current stature, and what relationships, if any, they share. I hope you enjoy the easy list format, for starters.

1) Southern Spanish Pronunciation Variety: Audience, you may gag now. I understand; I'm the only guy any of us knows of that finds this kind of thing profoundly interesting. (Well, no, not the only one. But it would have taken me at least a day to find another person with similar fascination in pre-Facebook times). It's just that...textbook Spanish bores me so. "Textbook" almost anything, really. It's not because I'm fighting the power for the sake of it or because of my age (I hope, at least). Textbook language just lacks color. It lacks culture, and its "culturally authentic" subjects appear to have been cast out of an office center-gray mold. Hearing every consonant pronounced with no inflection in Spanish is like seeing Bauhaus architecture in the middle of old Toledo. Doesn't fit. Not one bit. It's warehouse language. It has no food, no body heat, no impulse, no history. The inflection-laden and consonant-lacking, uber-diversified dialect of Andalusia is the pure opposite. So much history, so much art, and so much life is evoked simply in the existence of the pronunciation(s) as they are now. Now tell me that's not more interesting than the hyper-articulate senor/senorita that guides you through audio sections of the AP Test.

2) Penelope Cruz: We're going to ignore one obvious reason as to why she fascinates me. On a more personal level, she's accomplished something I dream of doing--something I am about to jinx (but why not face the situation with confidence all the same?). Penelope Cruz is an accomplished foreign actress. She has won the Oscar (and other very prestigious film awards) for best actress in a film that is played out, in large part, in English, a nonnative language to her. I am speaking of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, in case you happen to be wondering, dear reader. As a devoted actor and learner of languages, she has achieved that which I hold among my paramount goals.

3) The Blues: I'm really unsure about where this one comes from. My dad always has been blasting the blues at home since my early childhood. And, until about last winter, I couldn't stand the stuff. I would listen to certain shiny, navy riffs and be put off. The thing that primarily irked me was that my dad connected it with it so much. "Dad," I would ask, "why do you dig this so much? BB is singing torturedly about how he worked in a steel mill for ten long years and then his ungrateful woman left him one day. You, uh...you've not had that experience, to my knowledge. I really don't see the connection you have to this music. In fact, it seems inauthentic and almost foolish." That's what I thought, at least. Then, somehow, somewhere around February of last year, it clicked. Somehow, BB King's famous concert at Sing Sing Prison sent shivers up my spine. When BB shouts, at the end of a long list of comical offenses, "I gave you seven children, and now you wanna give 'em BACK!" I felt a type of connection that one could easily call contrived. But it still, to this day, feels authentic. Responding to my own critical questions, no, I have never been left by a gold-digging spouse after working in a steel mill. Sure, I've had breakups, but I've certainly never had seven kids. I've had nowhere near that type of emotional imprint on my life, and don't pretend to. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a white male, which dictates that I must like black music that black people "don't listen to anymore", as Stuffwhitepeoplelike.com professes. Regardless, the effect is inescapable. In addition, the man vs. devil canon that weaves itself through many blues songs is one I find profoundly interesting. I am neither incredibly religious nor a wandering blues traveler with temptation beckoning my name and a worn guitar slung across my back. But these are images and stories that attract me inexplicably and tightly.

4) Spanish Guitar: I've said ever since my trip to Spain this past summer that the Spanish guitar is an irrationally potent controller of my attention and creative energy. I'm like some stupid moth to a fluorescent light on some hillbilly's rickety front porch. Even tonight, I was watching "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations," and randomly, during the Brazil episode I was watching, some Spanish guitar was suddenly played in a short spill of notes. My head jerked up without even a thought. It was all very corny, I assure you, but I wasn't really tempted to stop myself. I'm normally a guy for masculine electric guitar riffs, and I find pop-y acoustic songs to be generally a little too sensitive for my taste, but there's soooomething about that Spanish guitar. So I'll continue impulsively jerking my head up and flying towards the big white shiny light until the light bulb turns out to be either one of those epiphany symbols that pops to life above one's head or just my bright, blazing, destructive exit.

Now, to twist my brain into finding any potential links between all of these...

As a recap, I first wrote about Andalusian pronunciations, then about Penelope Cruz, then about the Blues, and then about Spanish guitar. Which came first into my life? -The Blues. I've been hearing it since birth and absorbing the oft-recycled riffs for a long time now. It just took a while to appreciate. Also important to remember is that I liked the blues before I liked Spanish, really. The Blues features either acoustic or electric guitar, which comes out either fuzzy or crystal clear, and comes into its own through the plights and emotions of a down-to-earth, oft-overlooked group of Americans: our post-Reconstruction African-American population. The speech is not crisply articulate, similar to concurrent "talkie" films of the era of blues master Robert Johnson; the Blues is all about honesty. In addition, I think it's important to note that, despite the rejection of recounting one's deeply felt emotions within masculine, mainstream American culture, the Blues thrives on such feelings, and it remains one of the most polarizingly masculine music forms alive today. (I do not wish to exclude Etta James or Ma Rainey out of lack of appreciation, it is simply that their well-deserved recognition and stature exists within a gender minority in the world of Blues). I'm finding a lot of links through all this--contrived ones, albeit, but we are rarely sure of the origin of our passions. Continuing on that track, the emotional power of the blues may have brought me to appreciate the spoken word of the Spanish guitar string. Oftentimes, the tapestry woven in sound by the blues guitarist conveys more emotion than the lyrics; this same occurrence is frequent in the world of Spanish guitar. In addition, it was Hispanic music and Spanish guitar that brought life to the language I had always put after French. Without that deep connection I had with the music, my passion for the beauty of the language itself would likely never have blossomed.
I almost forgot how Penelope Cruz fits into all this. Well...she'd been waiting in the wings of my psyche for a while, I have to assume. Having the ability to understand what she's saying without subtitles in films like Vicky Cristina Barcelona has made me appreciate her talent ten times more. It has given me hope as an actor, and has made me more confident as a performer. I can find a way to express myself, to convey the truth of the line, no matter the obstacle. No, it will never be as nice to look at as when she delivers a line, but her example--in addition to the passion and history of the pronunciation of specific peoples and their guitars--has brought me to the point of fixation where brain finds itself today. And it's a really, really fun place up there.

Woody Allen and Filling in the Blanks

In an article I read recently, I found out about a new film coming out, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, made by an artistic hero of mine by the name of Woody Allen. You might have heard of him. This film, like many of Allen's films, reflects the pure luck and circumstantial nature of life, which, from his viewpoint, is without meaning. In the interview, Allen reveals that life is survived by, simply, "distraction. And you can distract yourself in a million different ways, from turning on the television set and seeing who wins the meaningless soccer game, to going to the movies or listening to music." One of the characters in the film whose life's course gets altered by a distracting woman in the window across the street is Alfie; it is through his lens that we learn just how important "figures in the window" are to our survival of life. Allen purports that we fill in the gaps; we create what we don't know about the stranger in the window, day in and day out, to keep us interested, titillated, entertained. In the film, "Josh Brolin plays a writer, Roy, who becomes obsessed with the stranger in the window opposite. Does Allen think this is just the human condition? That we're all captivated by the stranger in the window?

"Yes, because you fill in the gaps. You see the woman in the window and you impute to that person the things you want to hear.""

That idea in itself struck me. The fact that such a nihilistic thinker like Allen came up with it is not what surprises me; it is, rather, the statement itself and its truth that have brought me to this blog post. I, myself experience this "stranger in the mirror" magnetization in regards to Allen: hooked by Allen's frequent directorial use of New York as a backdrop and of relationships' futility and insanity as a canonical device, I have created Woody Allen himself to be the neurotic, psychoanalytical, endlessly humorous little man that he portrays in film. In reality, however, Allen admits to being quite dedicated to certain arts (like film, jazz, and his clarinet) and therefore very regimented and average regarding his approach to life. This made me wonder: where can we find instances of the self-influenced "stranger in the window" in our own lives, and how and why do many of us construct such characters from reality? Allen would have us believe that we simply need to create non-mortal problems in life to continue on, things with which to distract us. But muses like unknown window figures can be much more than distractions; for some, they can become the object of artistic flourishment.

Let's take a portrait painter, for example. He or she sees an attractive individual across the street and begins to paint him/her, every day, as they go to and from the market to buy cucumbers. The artist will grow and grow and soon delineate from the original sketch or outward appearance of the individual. The artist's own personal talents have interjected, forcing themselves onto the the page and creating an entirely new individual in paint. Even better, however, is the fact that the process will teach the artist his/her faults. Such doting recreation highlights in brilliant clarity the mistakes and inconsistencies of an artist's technique; this is almost paradoxical in that a subject largely created or altered by the bias of the artist's fascinated mind can still be portrayed lamely and unfashionably. Sometimes, therefore, doting on the stranger in the window can do much more than distract us from the pain of life or even improve our creativity--it can also teach us about our own flaws and ways to improve how we look at the world, as long as we, the doters, steal a breath every once in a while from the sea of fascination.

What do you, the readers, think about the importance of the distractions we make for ourselves? Can devotion serve as a platform for self-improvement in your own lives? Do you feel as though the "Stranger in the Window" fascination of unknown individuals is a legitimate, common lens? If so, what foundations does it hold within your perception of life and entertainment?

New Historicism

In studying the various ways to read and interpret Hamlet, our class came across the approach called "New Historicism."
First, I just want to put it out there that I am so phenomenally thrilled with the fact that my education in History throughout high school has been largely taught through a new historicist lens. Hopefully you'll see why shortly.

The history that is told in old, stuffy, leather-bounds books regarding, for example, "The Boer Wars" (or any number of wars or events, really) is largely traditionalist. Although there may be accounts of life from some diverse cultures, those who do not "win out"--be it economically, militarily, or socially--certainly do not get to write their own narrative. What you see and hear comes from the lens of the victor. How he (more frequently than "she" in traditionalist history) views the world from his moment on the high horse is the best way, and the only way, to see (and rarely analyze) life. In addition--and, for me, this is the real kicker--Traditionalist history would deem that there are known, indisputable truths in this world. To me, such a statement, robbing existence of its infinite ability to surprise and robbing humanity of its endless lenses and lifestyles, is unendurable and misinformed.

An idea that arose in the 1980's and gained much steam in the coming decades, however, was that of New Historicism, in which every culture is influenced to some extent by another, removing the idea of purity; every criticism contains elements of what it criticizes; concrete, universal, 100 per cent fact does not exist; and that influence occurs as much from the bottom of society-up as it does from the top-down, to the extent that neither can exist without the influence of the other.

I personally love this point of view. I think it is essential to the growth of social equality on this planet. I personally recommend shows like Anthony Bourdain No Reservations (in English, on the Travel Channel) and Taxi 022 (in French), which are both programs centered around an individual's views and explorations of the world around them. The former, centered around how food, culture, and history intertwine across the world, helps us interpret the world more openly. The latter, consisting of the philosophical ramblings of a working-class, unintentionally farcical Montreal taxi driver with a fiercely opinionated world view helps us learn from example about how we should/should not approach the world from our limited, provincial perspectives.

One of the things I look for in a person is that he/she does not take his/herself too seriously. If they have a fault, they can see it, accept it, understand it to an extent, and roll with the punches. They are open to change and accept that they do not have all the answers, while still being undeterred from trying to find these answers to life's many questions. I find that New Historicism, much unlike the rigid, frequently Westward-biased traditionalist history, would be such a person if it had two arms, two legs, human features, speech, etc. New Historicism acknowledges that, although I write a blog, I can both have criticisms of blogs and can be amused by others' criticisms of blogs. For example, Rogatien's rant on blogs in the Taxi 022 posted here and above, although ignorant of blogs used to record and document profound personal discoveries, reveals what many people think about the what he calls (translated) "the internet: democratization of the moron" and about blogs in specific, in which "someone has a boring, crap day and then--on top of that--comes home and tells us about it!" I, myself, know that my blogs have their weak points like Rogatien points out. I ramble, I'm fascinated by too many things at once, and sometimes I post things that most readers won't understand! (That's called static noise interference, by the way. Go broadcasting class!)

In any event, New Historicism is both at the forefront of the democratization of information (a new phenomenon) and the longtime evidence of power/influence of the people: see The French Revolution and Gandhi. What are your thoughts on how we interpret and transmit history? Am I blowing smoke? Is there really some truth that is easily identifiable for all people under all the eccentric mass that is Earth's inhabitants? Feel free to comment.

War Intepreters: More Crucial Than Just That Bit Part in the Movies.

When I first saw Saving Private Ryan, the character I attached to almost immmediately after hearing his story was "Corporal Upham", who was brought on the near-suicide mission because he spoke French and German. Granted, wars are not expected to pop up in large European countries anytime soon, but in a way I've shaken in my boots since watching the scene in which Upham is recruited, causing me to imagine myself in his shoes almost simultaneously. In light of me having gotten my selective service card today in the mail (surprise!), the subject of what I would do with myself were I ever to be in a multilingual war has been scurrying about in my head. In the end, if either Spanish or French were primary languages of said hypothetical conflict, I would opt to be an interpreter. But is such a post any more or less dangerous than that of a unilingual, traditional footsoldier?

In the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, translators and intepreters face much of the same dangers as Coalition forces do. Although the large majority of interpreters are native to the particular country, they risk being killed if found out; to many communities, working with the U.S. military equates you with being a traitor. Some interpreters even hide when the find out they might be called up for an imminent job. Even more risky to the survival of soldiers, civilians, and missions, however, is the fact that many interpreters do not speak fluently some of the languages they say they do. An interpreter named only as Yousef--for security reasons--said that a town's pastures for grazing, populated by and governmentally designated for a myriad of livestock, were mortared and destroyed due to Yousef's confusion of the army word "illume" (for "flare") with "mortar" in the language of Pashto, which he had lied about speaking fluently. The livestock were largely massacred and the ISAF (international forces) had to repay the villagers. It gets worse; whole towns of civilians have been destroyed due to misunderstood army messages (which even a fluent speaker of both English and Pashto would have a hard time understanding and translating without a solid comprehension of official army jargon). In our contemporary wars, this may portray an image of interpreters being incompetent and not worth our time. The opposite, however, can also be true.

Army Lt. Jason Faler grew so close with friend and translator Walid while in Iraq that Faler chose Walid as one of the very first people to hear of the Lieutenant's new child--news he recieved and happily dispersed while on duty in Baghdad. Since returning to the States, Lt. Faler has started the Checkpoint One Foundation, a fund that seeks to bring interpreters from Iraq and Afghanistan to the United States for a safer existence. Walid was the first recipient of this token of gratitude by the Lieutenant; since then, Faler has helped an Afghani couple move from San Francisco to a cheaper Portland, Oregon area suburb by the Falers for support. Since then, with help from :Lt. Faler to establish bank accounts, a steady income, and other fundamental components of a healthy life, the couple has been able to move to the East Coast and provide proudly for themselves. Faler hopes that someone with a stronger economic foundation can soon take the reigns of the Foundation to give a larger contingent of interpreters the free lives they deserve.

In the end, the dynamics of the relationship between soldiers and interpreters, as with interpreters and the success of missions in their native countries remain as murky as a botched translation itself. But who can deny the bravery of going against the expectations and threats of one's own community to help him or herself survive and/or to help along a cause that is misunderstood and rued within his/her society? To what extent ought we re-evaluate the interpreter-making process? In a conflict that so fundamentally relies upon good communication from one side to the other, interpretation is, no matter what, a subject that cannot be ignored or--even worse--intentionally cast aside in lieu of less co-operative military action.

What do you think?

Happy Valentine's Day!: How Far We've Come Since the Days of Knights, Maidens, and "Courtly Love."

Happy Valentine's Day to all! Now go out and smooch everyone who looks like they may be a good suitor!
Alright, mayyyybe that wasn't such a good idea. A bit drastic (just maybe)? Alright, how about this: let's assume you have a lover or significant other, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, wife-o, huzzy, etc. Now, assuming you can, go to that person and either tell him/her a sweet little something (or a sweet nothing), maybe profess your love, or just give him/her a kiss and some chocolate. Whatever else you choose to do with your time is your own business, but at least the large majority of Western, American society accepts the romanticism of your illicit or explicit actions. We're not going to enjoy PDA, in large part, but, hey, it's Valentine's Day--to many of us, it's simply what coupled-up people do today. And, despite the relatively new phenomenon of open romanticism within Western culture, we take it for granted.
As with many popular holidays, Valentine's Day earns the phrase "things weren't always this way." Just as Christmas didn't start out with a fat man in a red suit, but rather a holy, slim one in a robe/loin cloth variation, (St.) Valentine's Day didn't start out all hugs, kisses, and tums with "hug me" on them. In fact, it started with a priest who was martyred in the third Century C.E./A.D. Legend tells that he was executed for marrying Roman soldiers; apparently, the emperor of the time thought his soldiers would be stronger unmarried. So yes, Valentine's execution was due to his faith in preserving love (the soldiers he was marrying to women on the front were not exactly of the high-and-mighty, chaste variety). However, as Rome became Catholic in the coming centuries and the influence of the church reached across the kingdoms of Europe, St. Valentine's Day was adopted under very different pretenses: to warn against the sexual, carnal, and thereby infernal motivation of pagan marriage and to promote the more civil, God-approved binding of the Christian marriage. This strict ideological and religious thought regimen was so ingrained in Catholic European society that, in the 12th Century, a book (a rulebook, in many ways) called "De Amore," written by Frenchman Andreas Capellanus (Andre de Chaplain"), was published and strictly adhered to. In English Society, this oeuvre became known as "The Art of Courtly Love."
In this Art of Courtly Love, he who is not jealous cannot love; when made public love rarely endures; every lover regularly turns pale in the presence of his beloved; when one lover dies, a widowhood of two years is required of the survivor; and a new love puts flight to an old one. I would argue that in contemporary society--with the exception of the widow rule, which I simply found entertainingly arbitrary and rigid--the notes Capellanus/Chaplain was actually making were statements concerning infatuation, whether he recognized it or not. People who enjoy long bouts of love with another individual do not always turn white upon seeing them; think of married couples who put up with each other's imperfections every day and yet still find a way to love them--there's no misguided, head-over-heels depigmentation going on every day in that relationship. Therefore, to me, it appears that the intense passion of infatuation (likely brought about by the fact that everyone had to appear almost rigidly asexual in proper, high society--until bedroom doors were closed) was what was being guarded against so steadfastly by the Catholic church. But, happily, things changed once the world became a bigger place...
I'm simply hypothesizing here, but I'm willing to bet that the expansion of Spanish conquistadors and French fur trappers in South and North America, respectively, after Columbus's discovery of the New World put love, and at the very least, passion, "in vogue." Yes, both societies were strongly and contentiously "more-Catholic-than-thou," and the pope and everyone back home in Europe would have hoped that Jean-Jacques and Cristobal remained chaste and moral-driven in that inhuman wilderness, but the sheer amount of disease spread through sexual and interpersonal contact in Latin America and the Caribbean show that this was not the reality in the early colonization period. Early on, the metis and mestizo populations of the French and Spanish interactions with natives served as our earliest evidence that not all was kept pure in the New World treasure chest. Andthen to make matters more sexual and love-oriented (I would argue), the Spanish and French kings both sent their variations of "the Daughters of the King" (Las Hijas del Rey/ Les Filles du Roi) to the colonies to literally propogate new Spains and Frances. Now, let's imagine a situation: Jean-Jaques has just met Josephine; she came in to port at Quebec a few days ago, and JJ has been eyeing her at the local "tavern" ever since. JJ's going off into the wilderness soon to catch some beaver pelts, and, without the influence of parents or an overly-apparent high society to dictate their actions, JJ and Josephine have a night on the town, and, shortly before he takes his three months in the woods, they are married by the local chaplain.
Whether or not the old Catholic guard of Europe would have approved of so casual and impulsive a marriage, they Kings sent women over with this intention in mind: to make children and spread France's/Spain's colonial influence. It is simply my argument that the new presence of independence and income (gained through men who could, for the first time, come from nothing and gain serious yearly winnings for their, say, beaver pelt sales) made a much more inviting, cultivating environment for love as we know it today. And, in a new world where you may freeze to death, contract malaria, or be killed by non-ally natives or hunger, and where you had a revolutionary sense of independence...why not fall in love? Why not rely on someone for support not only because they have money, but also due to that emotional warmth that comes from them may be the very heat that gets you through the winter every year?
I suppose, in the end, on this very Happy Valentine's Day for so many of us out there, I would just hope that people realize how far we've come, and contemplate how they can incorporate love into their lives no matter the rules or expectations of their society. After all, as I've tried to show here, people have been breaking the rules of Courtly Love for a milennium. Heck, if you don't like chocolate, give someone a heart-shaped Korean red bean pod package for Valentine's Day. Go ahead and take some of the rebellion pie for yourself. And if your chance at love this Valentine's Day was lost, remember that there's always next year (and that you might want to thank ol' JJ, Josephine, and Cristobal for that lurvely luxury).

Just How Important Is Language?

Above this paragraph is the explanation of what it is like to be prosecuted. How so? It's blank space, after all.
Well, the man in question is deaf, mute, and illiterate in Spanish and American sign language. And he's being prosecuted as a drug mule. And, if you can wrap your head around it, that blank space above us doesn't show a lack of intelligence, but, rather, an absolute void in the space where language would be. This is a man without language.
How does anyone function without some form of language or of grammar, you ask? What does such a person do?

Well, in this case, much to the chagrin of prosecutors, the man makes the perfect, unbreakable, "brings-"strong-and-silent-type"-to-a-whole-new-level" drug mule.

In my personal opinion, just how many more there could be like him or how these individuals get this way are not the most important questions to ask. The world has so many billions of possibilities for the turnout of someone's life that I am compelled to argue that we ought not even be surprised by this man's ultimate illiteracy. To me, it is instead what we can gather about human expression from this case that is most fascinating and beneficial.

Unfortunately for Juan Jose Gonzalez Luna, this court case has cast a light not only on his less-than-angelic activity, but also on a new way of looking at the subject of human communication that has rarely, if ever, been presented in this light. This situation brings up many questions: are words more effective than images in human brains, in general, outside of their obvious advantage in rapid communication? In other words, given that Luna only has images and pantomime to display his thoughts or process the actions of others, does this imply that images are just as effective as words in processing images within the human brain? Granted, all brains are unique in how they best receive and analyze information, but what can we learn from this man?
In political parties, is yelling across the aisle something that's going to gain you supporters, or will a graph or presentation proving the worth of your opinions have much more success at the same task? There are both auditory and visual learners, and many times, learning which is simply visual is determined "artistic" and, sadly, less worthy of our esteem than lectures on more conventional, strictly job world-oriented subjects.
If you had no voice, no hearing, and seemingly no way of making yourself understood at all times by at least one person in the world, how would you choose to express yourself. I feel as though that would open up more time to artistic musings and exploration--assuming one is less expected to contribute to the continuing mechanics of society when they simply cannot communicate, there could be an incredible amount of time dedicated toward digging up one's creativity and developing new ways to perceive and interpret the world. Therefore, although we may determine individuals like Luna as lesser contributors to conventional society, people with similar conditions to his could be much-overlooked idea tanks. And, perhaps most importantly, if that is the true, then how to we as a society access the information floating around in mute, illiterate, deaf individuals?
This is a very new topic to me, and I simply found its subject matter very conducive to hypothesizing and analyzing the nature of our perception of language. If you have any ideas of your own on the possible efficacy or secret benefits to having such a condition, please let me know! Let's let this topic build up steam and really grow.

Impersonation in the Human's Humor Consciousness

The recent State of the Union speech gave many of us Americans--at least 50 percent of us--a fresh, positive idea of President Obama and the direction of the country under his leadership. Luckily, the president may be able to rest his mind a little bit with respect to worrying about his reputation or personality being critiqued; half of the Gallup-polled Americans appear to like where he seems to be taking us as a nation. The kids in the back seat of his family van are calm for the most part. However, Obama himself and many other political figures (not to mention celebrity figures outside of the political sphere) have endured the jabs and the mockery of other individuals, typically comedians. In my personal opinion, the most fascinating and relevant of these genres of comedic satire of elected officials is that of impersonation. In this post, I'll discuss the relevancy of the art of imitating public political figures in contemporary society and ask some questions about just why this art captivates us humans and how much scoffing politicians may owe to its effectiveness in swaying an audience.

Although we typically see impersonation as a biased representation of an official to poke fun at his or her flaws, the art of impersonation itself doesn't necessarily have roots in man's malicious feelings towards another man or woman. I, myself can remember when my mother would be on the phone with my relatives in Quebec and, unable to speak or understand French at the time, I mimicked her high-pitched, sing-songy language and body language for fun. I never meant to make my mom feel bad; my four year-old self and 17 year-old sisters simply thought it was funny.
(By the way, Mom was a good sport.)
All the same, this brings us back to the implications for impersonating our more (or less, depending on your political alignment) respected political figures. Are all of these impersonations, say, by Tina Fey of Sarah Palin in SNL, meant to be negative? Many would argue that they have to be central in alignment in some cases. As Amy Poehler points out in her comment in the above article about SNL's coverage of the 2008 election, "the minute you sit down and say, "I'm going to write an important political piece," you're doomed." The public wants to be entertained, not necessarily swayed in any particular way. That may be why President Bush was so comfortable with allowing his most famous impersonator into the 2006 White House Correspondents dinner , surrounded by media men and women who could have "less-than-favorable" views of him. The comedian even points out, serving as President Bush's inner thoughts, more or less, that he has surrounded himself in this room with people who don't like him. He notes how these people are simply chomping at the bit waiting for him to have a verbal slip-up--another "new-cyuh-luhr" (nuclear) mispronunciation, for example. For most of us, the presence of this comedian/doppelganger not only showed the fact that President Bush was a good sport and wanted to appear as though he took his criticism lightly (whether that's a good or a bad thing), but that even a comedian who makes someone look bad doesn't necessarily have an adverse effect towards the imitated individual in the eyes of the viewer. Now, it would be hard to understand just what was the impact of this comedic impressionist on George W. Bush's career as President. It was probably minuscule. Perhaps before we contemplate what role humor serves in the realm of politics--perhaps as an escape, or to elevate one's sense of political righteousness, or simply as emotional therapy due to a negative state of national existence--we need to understand why we keep the art around at all.

Why do we even find impersonation funny? Is it related to some old gene or experience embedded in the more animalistic sections of the human brain? At least one other animal mimics things: the mimic octopus impersonates other animals so as to avoid predatory danger. Perhaps the human finds impersonation so hilarious because it doesn't need it anymore. Humans look so diverse and their needs are so distinct, in some cases, that the need to camouflage or impersonate other beings or objects has disappeared; to see someone do as such may have become so bizarre and otherworldly that it has become humorous. Please, readers, if you ever agree with me without doing research of your own, do not take that last bit to be scientific truth. It was merely a preliminary guess as to why we are fascinated by mimicry. All the same, as a follower of how we implement language and expression and as an impersonating comedian, myself, I think a knowledge of what triggers a human attraction to comedic impressions may unlock a wealth of new ways of generating laughter and positive or negative sentiment for or against a candidate. What if candidates themselves were to impersonate themselves, or advisers, or be more comedic in their outlook on politics when necessary? After all, Obama made his now-"famous" comment on the bureaucratic nightmare that is the jurisdiction of salmon waters only days ago, and it remains something that sticks with viewers more strongly than some of his more substantial talking points, such as, I don't know...uhh...education(?).

Please relay me some of your own opinions on the reason for the hilarity of impersonations! And no, I don't mean the illegal type of impersonation of you that ends up in your money being taken by a crafty criminal. That type is sad. If you have any comments on the more snarky, irreverent genre of impersonation, send them this way, please!

Book Review--the Very Refreshing and Enlightening "Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue: the Untold History of English"

Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue is a name lovingly attributed by author John McWhorter to the nigh-universal, surprisingly graspable brew of a language that is English. Has anyone ever told you that English was easier to learn than other European languages? (McWhorter argues that, technically, they were right.) Have you ever heard that English is quite the cosmopolitan language, with all those “foreigner” words implanted into its vocabulary? (Although whoever said that may be correct about the many connections of English to other languages, they are lacking in the historical reasoning for its roots—and, likely, the sheer magnitude of borrowed, bastardized words and grammatical systems utilized in Modern English). And have you ever read or listened to a stuffy, high-and-mighty, and near-incomprehensible explanation of English linguistics and the “purity” of the language? (If that frustrated you, then this book is for you.)

The breaking with convention displayed in this account of the English’s history and why English is what it is today is presented here to a multitude of readers; for linguists, it will likely be an enlightening reconfiguration of the reason for the state of Modern English. For casual readers, it could be an exciting entrance into a largely unknown world of fluid language, where change is made not by professors but by common-folk adapting to a second language as they move from country to country, only sometimes raping and pillaging along the way (as bands of Europeans both pre-and post-Roman Empire were known to do).

Although you may never have wondered why Anglophones seem to be the only people in the world to use “do” before actions (e.g., “Do you like potatoes?” “No, I definitely do not dig potatoes” instead of “Like you potatoes?”), you will nonetheless find answers while reading this book. Essentially, McWhorter reveals and then richly explains these intricacies about English that make it one of the most unique languages in the world and, paradoxically, one of the most influenced ones as well. (The only other language to use “do” in such a way is Celtic, and their immediate proximity to those old Anglo-Saxons and their resulting influence on English grammar is one aspect of our language that McWhorter uses to highlight English’s lovely bastardization.) Oh, and for all readers bored to tears by history, have no fear, McWhorter has a section designed strictly for you, one that criticizes he grammatical “elite” and those who would lead you to believe that history has left us with a proper, unmoving English to be unwaveringly obeyed by the masses. McWhorter proves--citing the changes English underwent as illiterate Vikings had to learn Britain’s Saxon-Celt-Cornish tongue to buy things, sell things, and procreate with suitably attractive locals--that English HAS no set, unchangeable rules! Prepositions at the end of sentences? Go ahead! Language adapts, and it’s the power of the young, the succeeding generations, that steers the development of how we ought to “properly” speak.

The rules we break in common speech that English teachers cringe at upon hearing are myriad, and McWhorter addresses and uses them all. In fact, he surrenders himself so openly to this type of commoner speech that, at times, his train of thought requires patience and an acceptance of organic language to tolerate and understand; he once made obvious the jarring but common linguistic change of “p” to “f” by writing “fopcorn” and then asking the reader to soak it in, to understand what it was to be a speaker of Proto-Germanic hearing his/her language being butchered (173). Although he quickly went onto a new idea, he brings up the fopcorn example again on page 193. The mind has moved on by then, but like a speaker of casual, almost conversational English, he delivers with the hope and expectation that you’re along for the ride, NOT with the mathematical, repetitive, and stuffy style frequently encountered in linguistic journals.

If you’re not interested in language at all, do not read this book. But if you have to learn about linguistics or have been forced through miles of conventionally oppressive papers on the subject, this is a refreshing and divergent view to be appreciated by commoners and scholars alike. Language as thought, the mobility of language, improper vs. proper English, and many other subjects are covered in this work; and some are both respectful and blatant rejections of what is commonly accepted within the linguistic community. If you have some time to sit down and read an enriching work and are in any way interested in just how strongly you relate to the foreign world around you while still being a speaker of one of the most unique—and easy-to-learn—languages on the planet, then “Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue” is the untold history for you.