On hiatus

Well, folks, it took only six months, but I've decided to indefinitely put the brakes on He Writes About Words. Think of the hiatus as being announced with a cyberspace version of a "Closed For Remodeling" sign--you know, you're not sure whether the place will ever be back in business. The fact of the matter is that writing as a contributor to Hoosier Beer Geek is currently enough to satisfy my blogging jones. So, for the 10 or 11 people who regularly visit, thanks for reading.

Becks, Part 2

I spent my last post laying into sports journalists, telling you why you should pay them no mind. SI's Grant Wahl, however, is a guy you can trust to tell it like it really is about soccer in America, and to do so quite knowledgeably. This week, Grant has the SI cover story on Mr. Beckham's arrival.

Enjoy.

Kiss my Becks-side

Time to deviate from the regularly scheduled programming.

Question: Who is this man?

Answer: If you don't know, then (a) you aren't a soccer fan, following only NASCAR and the Sunday morning pro fishing shows on ESPN2; (b) you are a soccer fan, but only to the extent of attending your kid's under-eight league matches; or (c) you a hermit in the vein of the Unibomber.

On July 13, David Robert Joseph Beckham will be officially introduced to the U.S. public as a member of the Los Angeles Galaxy of Major League Soccer. He is expected to make his playing debut in an exhibition match against two-time English Premier League champions Chelsea on July 21.

Like most soccer fans in this country, I'm excited to see what Beckham's presence will do for the league. The media coverage about Beckham's arrival has already begun to reach unparalleled levels when it comes to publicity about a soccer player in the U.S. That was to be expected given Beckham's unrivaled international celebrity status.

However, much of the media coverage (this includes soccer blogs) is beginning to annoy me to a level that I can hardly describe with sufficient eloquence. Why? Because the cliché parade is in full effect. It's a parade in which all of the participants are unveiling the same recycled stereotypes about soccer in America. Most, if not all, of these stereotypes continue to be hollow.

Here are the bandleaders of the parade and what they're saying:

1. Crusty American Sportswriter. Crusty American Sportswriter is typically 45 years old or older and has the classic American contempt for soccer. He writes for a newspaper or an institutional American sports publication, such as Sports Illustrated or The Sporting News. He has rarely, if ever, watched soccer.

In a column written by Crusty American Sportswriter on Beckham's arrival in MLS, here's what you'll read:

• Soccer is boring.
• No one in America cares about soccer. The NASL couldn't manage to make it in this country, so why will MLS? It's going to fail, too.
• There's not enough scoring in soccer. Make the goals bigger and maybe I'll pay attention.
• Soccer is for effeminate boys who are too wimpy to play "real" sports, like football or baseball. Just look at Beckham; he's a sarong-wearing, highlights-in-the-hair-sporting, lispy-talking sissy boy.
• Did I happen to mention that soccer is boring?

2. Snarky British Tabloid Hack. Snarky British Tabloid Hack writes for "newspapers" that would better serve as bum-wiping material, such as The Sun, The Daily Mirror, or The Daily Mail. He claims to have followed football all of his life. He purportedly stood and sang in the terraces of stadiums like Old Trafford, Anfield, or Highbury before the terraces got too dangerous in the 1980's and were made into all-seaters. He boasts that he had a tear in his eye when they tore down the old Wembley Stadium.

Like most British tabloid columnists, he writes about his subjects without any factual investigation. This is what Snarky British Tabloid Hack has to say about Beckham playing The Beautiful Game in front of us Yanks:

• Becks is going to America only to placate Posh in her aspiration to celebrity stardom in the States.
• Stupid fat Americans will never "get" the sport. Case in point: the sport is called "football," not "soccer," you muppets!
• MLS is a "grade zed" league that is on par with English conference (i.e., semi-pro) football.
• Becks, who still has a viable international career with the England national team, is set to ruin that career by playing in MLS. He should return to Europe for his professional football.
• MLS is only doling out big money for Becks so the league can save itself from failure.
• Did I happen to mention that Americans will never get football and that MLS is rubbish?

3. American Eurosnob. American Eurosnob is a usually male between eighteen and forty. He goes to the "local" every weekend to watch the Premiership on the "telly." He likes to post on BigSoccer.com only to impress everyone with his wannabe U.K. vocabulary and disdain for MLS. He might even maintain a blog for this purpose. Instead of wearing a U.S. national team jersey or an MLS club jersey to gatherings with other American soccer fans, he wears an England jersey or a Chelsea shirt. He can't tell you the starting 11 for the U.S. team, but he can tell you the starting 11 for England. He thinks that John Harkes still plays for D.C. United.

Here's what American Eurosnob is posting on his blog:

• MLS isn't worth my time or your time. The last time I went to an MLS game was in the late 1990's, and I saw enough to know that MLS sucks and will always suck. Everyone knows that the only football worth watching comes from Europe.
• Beckham is past his prime and will be a bust in MLS because, at best, he is a one-dimensional player (i.e., good only at set pieces).
• Oh, let's see how many Britishisms I can use to describe football. You play the game on a "pitch." The guy with the gloves is the "'keeper." A local rivalry is a "derby." Shall I go on, old chap?
• Did I happen to mention that the only real football is played across the pond?

If you are at all interested in seeing what MLS is about upon David Beckham's arrival, do yourself a favor--do not pay attention to anything the foregoing people have to say. As I mentioned, none of the arguments they make are novel. What's more, few of these people are credible messengers because, by and large, their knowledge of MLS and the state of the sport in this country is woeful. Crusty American Sportswriter knows nothing because he's too busy perfecting his pathological hatred for soccer to be objective or insightful. British Tabloid Hack knows nothing because his inferiority complex meter has its needle buried in the red, so much so that he has to pump himself up by reminding himself that Yanks don't know how to do real football. And, American Eurosnob knows nothing because . . . well, because his head is buried up other Eurosnobs' asses.

Here are some more enlightened viewpoints about MLS and David Beckham:

• MLS is doing just fine and doesn't need to be saved.
• Millions of Americans certainly do care about soccer.
  
• It's debatable whether Beckham is past his prime.
• The sport certainly does have a future in America.
  

I don't mean to paint a picture that is all positive. Beckham's playing stint for the Galaxy could very well end in failure. It could have no lasting effect on the league. Those events are certainly possible. But my point is that the people who claim to be experts about Beckham's arrival and about MLS are, by and large, not experts at all. So, if you're truly interested in seeing what MLS is about upon Becks' arrival, simply watch a game. Every Thursday night, ESPN2 features an MLS match of the week. If you have Fox Soccer Channel, you can catch another MLS match every Saturday night. Better yet, go to a game. The Chicago Fire have a state of the art stadium with a fervent fan base that makes for a great game atmosphere, even if the team is struggling this season. After watching, you can make your own judgments about David Beckham and the league.

Looking for Books #3: Summer Reading, Nonfiction Style

Many of you are undoubtedly planning some sort of summer getaway, whether it be to the beach, the city, or the country. Having a literary traveling companion is a must for me, especially if I'm flying somewhere. If you're of a like mind, here are a few engaging nonfiction reads that won't put a lot of stress on your brain cells:

• 40 Watts from Nowhere - Sue Carpenter. Carpenter runs a pirate radio station out of her LA apartment. That station, KBLT, garners a cult following and soon attracts celebrity guest DJ's until the FCC catches up with Carpenter. A picture of what life would be like in a world without Clear Channel.
  
• Electroboy - Andy Behrman. Behrman's memoir recounts his fight against bipolar disorder. He offers a probing look at the disorder's effects on his life, particularly at the wildly compulsive (and sometimes shocking) acts the disease pushed him to commit.
• The Miracle of Castel di Sangro - Joe McGinniss. Crime novelist McGinniss, having fallen in love with soccer during the 1994 World Cup, spends a season with a rural Italian soccer team. A story of "the little soccer team that could," mixed with intrigue worthy of one of McGinniss's crime novels.

As seen in INtake

The other blog to which I contribute, Hoosier Beer Geek, was featured as part of the cover story in this week's INtake. Many thanks to Jim Walker for the great piece that he wrote on us and the finer points of beer. It's wonderful to see beer being recognized as possessing as much character and depth as wine. I also strongly encourage you to read Jim's other column from this week's edition, in which he notes that it would do us staid Hoosiers some cultural good to try new things.

Lyrics in Focus #4: "(These are the) Good Old Days" (2007)

A few days ago, my friend Bryan and I were kvetching about the state of music today, particularly about the type of music that mp3 blogs specialize in--that ubiquitous but semi-amorphous musical category, "indie rock." These sorts of conversations happen when, like us, you're approaching forty but you still somewhat pathetically cling to the last modicum of your youth by making sure you keep abreast of what's happening in music today. Sad, I know, but I can't help that it's true (and yes, I am excited about the new White Stripes album). Besides, what's the alternative--listening to the radio? No thank you.

Anyway, Bryan and I both agreed that the proliferation of mp3 blogs makes it nearly impossible to keep up with all of the new music being released every week. We also agreed that the type of indie rock these blogs promote has become homogeneous. Same old same old, you know? What really rankles me is that some of these artists take themselves so seriously, almost to the point of self-parody. Isn't fun what good music is all about?

So I've been hunting for fun music. What's more, I've been looking for music that is not only fun, but innovative as well.

Enter Josh Dolgin, the Canadian musician better known as Socalled. Last week, Socalled released his second album, Ghettoblaster, on the consistently excellent JDub label (once home to Matisyahu). Ghettoblaster contains Socalled's unique melding of hip-hop, soul, Balkan gypsy music, traditional klezmer, and calypso. Socalled even throws down rhymes in Yiddish. Further, the album has to feature one of the most diverse rosters of guest artists, from underground rapper C-Rayz Walz to octogenarian actor and Yiddish folk singer Theodore Bikel to Montreal country singer Katie Moore.

While this mix sounds like it would be a musical disaster, it works well--astoundingly well. And even when Socalled slips into social criticism, he still does it only half-seriously. Take, for example, the second track on the album, "(These are the) Good Old Days." In this song, Socalled takes a clever lyrical swipe at modern Western culture:

One, two, one two ready go!

These are the good old days
La la la la la, la la la la la

My God’s gonna kick your god’s ass
You’re too dumb and I’m the head of the class
Stop waitin’ around for something better
The boys think it’s better the tighter the sweater
F*** it, take what’s hers, don’t sweat it
You can own it all, just pay on credit
Two to the left then four to the right
You’ve got to fight for your right to fight

Forever never better than late
Sharpen up blades to obfuscate
You can own it all right now, why wait?
Eat what’s on your plate then eat the plate
Say what you can while you’re still allowed to
Every silver lining’s got its cloud too

These are the good old days
La la la la la, la la la la la
These are the good old days
La la la la la, la la la la la

Truly these are the good old days
Where man, woman, and child can log onto the Internet and text message each other across their own house
Where there is any form of contraceptive from solid to liquid to gas
We have reached the point of civilization like the Incans reached when they had gold roads and the Egyptians reached when they had, like, magical buildings and secret things
So, what you do is you go kiss whoever you kiss, grab whatever you grab
Because these truly are the good old days and it does not get any better than this
And when it does you wake up and you’re dead

These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na
These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na

These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na
These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na

My dog’s gonna sniff your dog’s ass
I’m too dumb and you’re the head of the class
Stop waitin’ round for something better
The boys think it’s better the tighter the sweater
F*** it, take what’s hers, don’t sweat it
You can own it all, just pay on credit
Two to the left then four to the right
You’ve got to fight for your right to fight

Forever never better than late
Salivate, never satiate
You can own it all right now, why wait?
Eat what’s on your plate then eat the plate
Say what you can while you’re still allowed to
Every silver lining has its cloud too

These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na
(C’mon now)
These are the good old days
Na na na na na, na na na na na …

Socalled conveys these lyrics over a rollicking klezmer beat, backed by Moore's silky vocals and occasional interjections by a choir of schoolchildren. It is this addictive song that sets the tone for the whole album, which is ripe for repeated listening by the listener just to catch all of the album's layered nuances.

Check out the song for yourself.

"(These are the) Good Old Days" mp3

Sample more tracks from Ghettoblaster at L.A. Weekly. Highly recommended is "Ich Bin a Border by Mayn Vayb," which is the third track provided for listening and which features 92-year-old lounge legend Irving Fields.

Happy Fathers Day

Congratulations to my fellow beer geeks Chris and Jason for being recognized as first-rate fathers.

Yesterday, I brainstormed to name the one literary father that all dads should emulate. After mulling over the possible choices, I nominate the rare dad who was on a first-name basis with his children:


Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. Why Atticus Finch? For those few who have never read Harper Lee's classic novel, the reasons are simple. Atticus stood for--and taught--his children moral values that, for some reason, get buried in today's American culture while many who claim to have "family values" focus instead on bitterly divisive "moral" issues. Atticus practiced and taught his children the virtues of peace, humility, and helping those who are less fortunate than we are. Simple values, yes, but also the most important for humankind.

"I have to pee like a racehorse."

Time to veer into the world of the disgusting...

How many times did you hear this expression in high school or college? If you hung out with the same sort of people that I did--drunken fraternity guys who drank lots of cheap beer--then you heard it a lot. In case you've ever lain awake in the early morning hours wondering where the expression came from, Slate's Explainer has your answer.

The Van That Thought Out Loud

I stopped into Mo'Joe Coffeehouse on the way to the office today to pick up a cup of decaf. After getting my cup of "no fun" (as one of my friends likes to call it), I went over to the area of the coffeehouse where they put event flyers and the like. Sitting there was this intriguing postcard with the photograph posted above. On the back was this message:

The Van That Thought Out Loud is a roaming billboard for your ideas, expressions, thoughts and intentions. It is yours, a vehicle for you the individual to rant or whine, be profound or idiotic, wild or lame. It's just this easy...

First, email your post to the vehicle along with your name, birthdate and present location to thevanthatthoughtoutloud@gmail.com.

Second, wait. I will post a list of names with dates when their phrases will be on the van for all to witness.

Third, wait again (see, you really don't have to do anything) for the image of your thought spelled on the van to be posted for all the world (who can log online) to see.

What are you waiting for?

I don't know whether to call this "installation art" or something else. Be that as it may, photographs of the van will apparently be posted here.

The curious history of church signs

Slate has a piece on the history of church signs that is very much worth the read.

And sorry for the slight blogging hiatus. Work deadlines, you know. That, and writing beer reviews.

Newt Gingrich's grammar skills (or possible lack thereof)

Former House speaker Newt Gingrich and his co-author, William Forstchen, have just released their latest novel, Pearl Harbor: A Novel of December 8th. As this review in yesterday's New York Times notes, the editors of Mr. Gingrich and Mr. Forstchen's book could have taken more of a hands-on approach. Try to get your head around this passage from the book:

James nodded his thanks, opened the wax paper and looked a bit suspiciously at the offering, it looked to be a day or two old and suddenly he had a real longing for the faculty dining room on campus, always a good selection of Western and Asian food to choose from, darn good conversations to be found, and here he now sat with a disheveled captain who, with the added realization, due to the direction of the wind, was in serious need of a good shower.

Here's another head-scratching passage:

The boys had money in their pockets to burn and fresh in from the West Coast the obligatory photos with hula girls, sentimental silk pillows for moms and girlfriends, and ridiculous-printed shirts had sold like crazy.

I don't mean to say that authors should slavishly follow grammatical rules. After all, some great writers break the rules to yield unique and effective prose. For example, Cormac McCarthy uses occasional sentence fragments to burn images into the reader's mind.

But, as a member of an e-mail listserv to which I subscribe remarked, Pearl Harbor reads as if it were written by "Hemingway with head trauma."

Absurdistan (2006)

Poor Misha Vainberg. The protagonist of Gary Shteyngart's acclaimed satirical novel, Absurdistan, desperately wants to leave his homeland, Russia, to return to the United States. There, Misha went to college on his oligarch father's ruble and, upon graduation and a move to Manhattan, met his beloved Bronx-born and -bred girlfriend, Rouenna, who awaits his return to the U.S.

But Misha begins the story stuck in his native St. Petersburg (or St. Leninsburg, as he prefers to call it) because the U.S. State Department won't give him a visa. Why? Because his father, Boris--in the stereotypical Russian oligarch (read mobster) fashion--had an Oklahoma businessman offed when a business deal went south.

After Boris is killed in retaliation for the murder of the American, Misha ends up traveling to the former Soviet republic of Absurdsvanï, where he tries to swing a deal with a corrupt Belgian diplomat to obtain a forged Belgian passport in his first step to get back to America. Yet instead of finding himself one step closer to the USA, Misha finds himself further mired when he gets caught in the middle of a civil war between two Christian ethnic groups.

This is the setting for the bulk of Shteyngart's farcical tale, and it works well for most of the story. Shteyngart sharply and vividly portrays Absurdsvanï as a backwater country on the Caspian Sea, rich in oil and possessing a capital city newly invaded by Halliburton and other American oil companies. The two warring ethnic groups--the Svani and the Sevo--hate each other simply because each group prefers a different version of the Orthodox Christian crucifix, which difference in preference led to a bit of ethnic cleansing centuries ago. As the story progresses, we come to find out that there is much more to this ethnic conflict than appears on the surface (which I won't spoil here), and it doesn't have to do with crucifix preferences.

A core strength of the book is the character of Misha. He's grossly overweight (referred to as "Snack Daddy" by his college friends) and has a penchant for vintage track suits, gold chains, and hip-hop. He was the victim of a botched circumcision by Chabadniks, so he has a few issues with his khui (as he calls it). He is hopelessly but charmingly naive when it comes to women. Due to his father's fortune, he has enough money to last him for eternity. But it is this fact, which has allowed him to cruise through his adult life with no true purpose, that causes him to pursue a true sense of manhood.

Shteyngart deftly uses Misha's story to pillory Russian culture and immoral global capitalism. In the book, Absurdi locals refer to Halliburton as "Golly Burton," and the Absurdi government officials do everything they possibly can to suck up to the minions of the energy conglomerate.

The book, however, is not without its problems. Shteyngart's mode of satire is often hilarious, but it also tends to be cloying. His humor borders on the overly clever, and some might find his prose to convey conceit instead of incisive social criticism. This produces some rocky patches in the book that I had to struggle to get past. But these deficiencies do not outweigh the story as a whole, which is unquestionably entertaining. In closing, I wouldn't necessarily recommend this as a purchase unless you're a serious book collector; however, I do recommend it as a library loaner for an entertaining summer read.

Y Kant Jony Reed - The 21st Century Version

Studies in the past several years have shown that adults, particularly young adults, are reading less and less literature than ever before. These studies note that literature reading cultivates critical thinking and analytical skills because of the focus one is required to keep when reading. Furthermore, as a corollary to the drop in literature reading, studies have also shown that the amount of analytical writing that high school and college students are now required to do is a joke and that the writing skills of college and graduate level students have declined and are continuing to decline. High school and college students are lucky anymore if they are required to write any kind of term paper that requires students to begin with a thesis and support that thesis with well-reasoned discussion.

And now, more disheartening news appeared yesterday: a great percentage of high school students who have taken a "college prep" curriculum in high school are still unprepared for the rigors of college level courses. You can read a summary of the study on this topic here.

I may sound like an alarmist (think Dana Carvey's Grumpy Old Man character), but this issue is being buried in today's discussion of current affairs, which is more likely to consist of the latest update on Lindsay Lohan's latest social gaffes instead of more weighty issues.

Without citizens possessing a well-rounded education, the nation is bound to suffer at every level, particularly at the cultural, social, and economic levels.

Man, I really do sound like a grumpy old man.

Business roulette: Finding the bestseller

The New York Times has this article on the publishing industry, focusing on the question of what makes a bestseller. As someone who is a voracious consumer of the products offered by the industry, I found the piece to be fascinating, particularly because of the guesswork the publishers undertake to find a bestseller and because of the lack of market research that those publishers do.

What's on your coffee cup?

"World's Best Dad"? "Soccer Mom"? Some business logo? Footprints?

How about this?:

"Why in moments of crisis do we ask God for strength and help? As cognitive beings, why would we ask something that may well be a figment of our imaginations for guidance? Why not search inside ourselves for the power to overcome? After all, we are strong enough to cause most of the catastrophes we need to endure."

This quote, from a man named Bill Schell, is what an Ohio Catholic found on the side of her Starbucks cup (my apologies, readers, for linking to WorldNetDaily). And she's not happy about it.

Here's my question: Why should something like this be so offensive, particularly when it may generate discussion, as Starbucks says is its goal in offering these cups as part of a campaign called, "The Way I See It"? And is the complaining Starbucks customer aware of another cup with an overtly religious quote from Pastor Rick Warren? More importantly, is she aware that the vast majority of the quotes on these cups have nothing to do with religion?

I don't want to sound like a Starbucks cheerleader here. After all, Starbucks undoubtedly designed the cups to generate publicity. But, in my mind, this controversy is just another example of modern day outrage that is produced only because of a lack of context.

Looking for Books: The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon - UPDATED

You'll find Michael Chabon's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, on many recommended reading lists. It is certainly one of the best books that I've read in the past decade. Kavalier and Clay has compelling, page-turning ingredients--engaging characters (two boys who make good on their dream to become comic book authors); a common but winning theme (justice for the weak); dashes of fantasy (the Golem of Prague); and enough melancholy to imbed Chabon's tale in your head and heart long after you finish reading it.

Chabon may have one-upped his own masterpiece with his newest book, The Yiddish Policemen's Union. In this new novel, Chabon makes a foray into history--alternative history, to be precise. As the L.A. Times describes the premise for the book,

What if, as Franklin Roosevelt once suggested, a safe zone had been established in Alaska under the protection of the United States for European Jews escaping Hitler? What if this "Federal District of Sitka" had grown and developed until its population was in the millions, a country within a country, as it were? What if Israel had collapsed in 1948, mere months after independence, leaving many Jews with nowhere else to turn?

And what if, 60 years later, Sitka was about to face a process called "reversion," in which its territories would be returned and its Jews cast back into the Diaspora, a Diaspora in which the desirability of their presence was not entirely assured?

If this isn't enough to pique your interest, consider that the primary storyline is a noirish detective tale in which a Sitka police detective, under the supervision of his ex-wife (his superior officer), investigates the murder of the junkie son of a prominent rabbi.

I can't wait to get my hands on this book.

More on the book from the New York Times Book Review.

Read the rest of the L.A. Times review.

UPDATE: Michael Chabon discusses the book with Jewish culture website Nextbook [mp3 file].

Today's multiple choice quiz

Today, I received the following note:

Just as a reminder that as of May 1, 2007 the residence of [name of apartment complex] are no longer aloud to park in the parking lot to the north of the apartment building. The ICI parking lot.

Thank You

The foregoing was written by--

(a) My eight-year-old niece;
(b) Borat; or
(c) The temporary property manager of our apartment complex.

If you guessed (c), then you are (unfortunately) correct. Is the Hoosier State's brain drain problem worse than we estimated?

Looking for Books

Here is the first edition of Looking for Books, a new semi-regular feature of HWAW intended to help you sift through new reading options.

For this edition, the selections focus on the Muslim world.

Hardback: The Reluctant Fundamentalist, by Mohsin Hamid

This is a book that pivots on a smile. A third of the way through Mohsin Hamid’s second novel, “The Reluctant Fundamentalist,” the narrator, a young Pakistani man named Changez, tells an American how he first learned of the destruction of the World Trade Center. While on a business trip to Manila, he turned on the television in his hotel room and saw the towers fall. “I stared as one — and then the other — of the twin towers of New York’s World Trade Center collapsed. And then I smiled. Yes, despicable as it may sound, my initial reaction was to be remarkably pleased.”

The novel begins a few years after 9/11. Changez happens upon the American in Lahore, invites him to tea and tells him the story of his life in the months just before and after the attacks. That monologue is the substance of Hamid’s elegant and chilling little novel

Read on for a full review.

Paperback: The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini

This powerful first novel, by an Afghan physician now living in California, tells a story of fierce cruelty and fierce yet redeeming love. Both transform the life of Amir, Khaled Hosseini's privileged young narrator, who comes of age during the last peaceful days of the monarchy, just before his country's revolution and its invasion by Russian forces.

But political events, even as dramatic as the ones that are presented in ''The Kite Runner,'' are only a part of this story. A more personal plot, arising from Amir's close friendship with Hassan, the son of his father's servant, turns out to be the thread that ties the book together. The fragility of this relationship, symbolized by the kites the boys fly together, is tested as they watch their old way of life disappear.

Read on for a full review.

Signs

No, not M. Night Shyamalan or Tesla.

I'm talking about the signs at my health club. Specifically, I'm talking about signs that some people apparently don't read.

To wit:

SPIT IN TRASH CANS ONLY

This particular sign is posted near each water fountain at the club. But every morning that I go to work out, I find a loogie in one of the water fountains. Nothing like a nice frothy hocker staring you in the face as you bend down to take a drink.

PLEASE TURN OFF AFTER USE

Two signs with this request appear near the electronic scale in the locker room. The scale runs on batteries that tend not to last very long; hence, the signs are necessary. However, nearly every time I walk past the scale, I see that someone has used the scale and left it on. I usually turn it off at least once every trip to the gym. Sometimes, I turn it off multiple times. A bit obsessive compulsive on my part, I know. But I want to weigh in every morning, so I want the scale batteries to last. Therefore, I turn off the scale.

The signs are conspicuously posted. The water fountain signs are right above each fountain. Unless you're severely myopic, you should see them long before you bend down to take a drink. The scale signs are posted on each side of the scale's LCD readout. Anyone who looks at the readout to see his or her weight should see the signs. What's more, the words are done in large, boldface blue and red font so the words stand out.

And yet, the signs are ignored. Why? Are people simply too busy to absorb the words in front of them, too lazy to be bothered with the instructions, or simply acting in defiance of authority? Is there some sort of "sign rebellion" going on at my health club? If I'm correct about human nature at all, the ignorance is willful, as illustrated by this story from Colorado. Many of us have a defiant streak, especially if obeying instructions means that we'll have to suffer an inconvenience.

However, I'll continue to be the sign police at my health club. I'll continue to turn off the scale, and I'll continue to complain about the snot in the water fountains.

Lyrics in Focus: "Thou Shalt Always Kill" (2007)

I know virtually nothing about Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip. Here is, however, what I do know:

• The video for their song, "Thou Shalt Always Kill," has become the viral video of the moment.
• Scroobius Pip, who is the MC on the track, looks a lot like Matisyahu and sounds vaguely like Ali G.
• The song bears a strong resemblance to LCD Soundsystem's "Losing My Edge."
• The lyrics are a baffling combination of banalities and riffs on pop culture. When listening to the song, I don't know whether to laugh at the artists or laugh with them.
• This is not a "meh" song. In other words, you'll either love it or hate it.

The lyrics:

Thou shalt not steal if there is direct victim.
Thou shalt not worship pop idols or follow lost prophets.
Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Dekker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret in vain.
Thou shalt not think that any male over the age of 30 that plays with a child that is not their own is a peadophile.
Some people are just nice.
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thall shalt not stop liking a band just because they’ve become popular.
Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry.
Thou shalt not judge a book by its cover.
Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover.
Thall shalt not buy Coca-Cola products.
Thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend’s best friend, take drugs and cheat on him.
Thou shalt not fall in love so easily.
Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music to get into girls’ pants. Use it to get into their heads.
Thou shalt not watch Hollyoakes.
Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave as soon as you're done just because you’ve finished your shitty little poem or song you self-righteous prick.
Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in, week out just ’cause you once saw a girl there that you fancied but you’re never gonna fucking talk to.

Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.

The Beatles - Were just a band.
Led Zepplin - Just a band.
The Beach Boys - Just a band.
The Sex Pistols - Just a band.
The Clash - Just a band.
Crass - Just a band.
Minor Threat - Just a band.
The Cure - Just a band.
The Smiths - Just a band.
Nirvana - Just a band.
The Pixies - Just a band.
Oasis - Just a band.
Radiohead - Just a band.
Bloc Party - Just a band.
The Arctic Monkeys - Just a band.
The next big thing - JUST A BAND.

Thou shalt give equal worth to tragedies that occur in non-English speaking countries as to those that occur in English speaking countries.
Thou shalt remember that guns, bitches and bling were never part of the four elements and never will be.

Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.
Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.
Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.
Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.

Thou shalt not pimp my ride.
Thou shalt not scream if you wanna go faster.
Thou shalt not move to the sound of the wickedness.
Thou shalt not make some noise for Detroit.
When I say “Hey” thou shalt not say “Ho”.
When I say “Hip” thou shalt not say “Hop”.
When I say "he say, she say, we say, make some noise" - kill me.
Thou shalt not quote me happy.
Thou shalt not shake it like a polaroid picture.
Thou shalt not wish your girlfriend was a freak like me.
Thou shalt spell the word “Pheonix” P-H-E-O-N-I-X not P-H-O-E-N-I-X, regardless of what the Oxford English Dictionary tells you.
Thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Bradley at the club last night by saying “Is it”.
Thou shalt think for yourselves.

And thou shalt always kill.

The video:



The MySpace page for the song.

Buy the song at iTunes.

Kurt Vonnegut dead at 84

An Indiana literary legend is gone.

Rally for Darfur - Sunday, April 15, 2:30 to 4:30 p.m.

This Sunday is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. One way to honor those who lost their lives in the Holocaust would be to come down to the Statehouse at 2:30 p.m. for the Rally for Darfur. There will be several speakers and musicians on hand. Come out and urge our government to take action to end the genocide in Darfur.

Happy Easter-over . . . er, Pass-ster

This is way off-topic for this blog, but I couldn't resist. From fusilli. And for those of you who watched The Ten Commandments on ABC last night, check out the 10 Plagues, Peeps version.

A post-apocalyptic tale: The Road (2006)

Every once in awhile, I'll check in to see what Oprah's Book Club is touting as the "must read" of the moment. Most of the time, I'm not drawn to Oprah's selections. But the current OBC book, Cormac McCarthy's The Road, is easily one of the best books that Oprah has ever picked.

The Road, which was nominated for a 2006 National Book Critics Circle Award, narrates the struggle for survival by a father and son in a post-apocalyptic United States. The American countryside has been incinerated in an unnamed disaster. The air is filled with ash; all flora are charred and lifeless. Groups of scavengers roam the highways looking for food. Bands of cannibals hide out in abandoned buildings, waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander by. The father and son, who remain nameless in the book, are making their way to the sea. The father hopes to find some sort of salvation at the shore; what that salvation is, he doesn't know.

At first blush, The Road may appear to be much like other post-apocalyptic stories, which are too many to count and tend to rely too often on stale plot devices. But McCarthy, whom many consider to be one of the most gifted if not the best living American writer, imbues the tale with something different and remarkable. The dead world depicted in the story is merely a setting, a backdrop, for what is a moving tale of the love between a father and a son. They revere each other, not so much because each depends upon the other for the basic necessities of life, but because they formed their unbreakable bond before the world ended.

The Road also emphasizes the moral ambiguities that we all encounter in life. Most of us consider ourselves to be "good," but what does that word really mean? The father tells the son that they are the "good guys." But on one occasion, the father decides not to help another person in need, all because of his desire to preserve the lives of his son and, of course, himself.

This is a book that will have you pondering it long after you've finished it. If you're like me, you'll have a hard time resisting the urge to immediately read it again. McCarthy's idiosyncratic writing style, which is refreshingly simple yet full of prosaic devices designed to keep the reader rapt with attention, powerfully pushes the story along. Even though I don't have children, I was greatly moved by this story. After putting down this book, those of you who do have kids will probably feel compelled to pull them close to you, hold them tightly, and be thankful for the gift of parenthood.

"Why is this night different from all other nights?"

On Monday night, Jews all over the world will gather in their homes to celebrate the first night of the most important Jewish holiday, Passover (Pesach in Hebrew, pronounced "pay-sahkh"). The holiday commemorates the Exodus--the liberation of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. Those of you who attended Sunday school or who have seen Cecil B. DeMille's unintentionally campy classic are probably familiar with the story, complete with a burning bush, a leader with a speech impediment, ten nasty plagues, and a rousing rendition of "Pharaoh Don't Surf."

Passover lasts for eight days. Before Passover begins, observant Jews clean their houses of all leavened foodstuffs, called khametz, and refrain from eating any khametz during the holiday. To get their bread fix, they substitute an unleavened, cracker-like bread called matzah, which essentially tastes like cardboard with a little salt mixed in. The reason that observant Jews eat matzah is to commemorate the fact that the newly liberated Israelites had to pack up and leave Egypt so quickly that they didn't have time to let their bread rise. Hence, matzah is commonly referred to as "The Bread of Affliction," although some Jews will tell you that it has that name because of the wicked case of constipation that one can come down with from eating too much matzah.

The first (and usually second) night of Passover is celebrated with a ritual dinner called the Seder ("say-der"). The Passover Seder involves the participants reciting blessings, singing songs, eating special ceremonial foods (including matzah), and telling the story of the Exodus. Oh, and there's the drinking of four cups (yes, four cups) of kosher wine (Can you imagine four cups of Manischewitz? Talk about hangover city...).

To follow the order of the Seder, each participant is given a booklet called the Haggadah (plural Haggadot), from which the participants recite the parts of the Seder ritual. Experts in Jewish history believe that most of the Haggadah was written by the rabbis of the Middle Ages. One of the most well-known parts of the Seder, detailed in the Haggadah, is called the Four Questions. The Four Questions begin the Maggid, the retelling of the story of the Exodus. The youngest person at the table recites the Four Questions, which starts with a passage called the Ma Nish-tana: "Why is this night different from all other nights?" The Ma Nish-tana is posed to trigger a discussion of the special rituals of the Seder, such as the reason for eating matzah instead of regular leavened bread.

Okay, enough with the educational stuff. What does this discussion of the Passover Haggadah have to do with words? Well, while all Haggadot have the same basic elements, the wonderful thing about the Haggadah is that no two Haggadot are alike. Some are very traditional and adhere very strictly to the Seder ritual as it has been passed down through the generations. Others are very new agey, complete with all sorts of allusions to nature and spirituality. Still others are quite secular, with more of a humanist theme than a religious theme. There are vegetarian-themed Haggadot, punk Haggadot, feminist Haggadot, leftist Haggadot, and Haggadot filled with literary references. Run a Google search and you will find dozens of Haggadot for downloading. There are even Haggadot that are like open source computer codes, where users from all over the world add to and improve the Haggadah each year. And coffee-maker Maxwell House has been printing a Haggadah since 1934.

But, despite their differences, all Haggadot hearken back to the central themes of any Passover Seder: the celebration of freedom and the desire for freedom for all of humankind. This year, I'm sure that many Passover Seders will have special sections devoted the humanitarian crisis in Darfur. Here in Indiana, I believe that many Seders will have a portion devoted to urging others to become dedicated to the defeat of SJR-7 so that our state constitution will not become a weapon of discrimination.

In closing, if you're not Jewish but happen to get invited to a Seder, I strongly urge you to accept the invitation. There's more than enough in the ritual to be embraced by everyone, Jew and non-Jew alike, especially the call to supporting the cause of freedom.

Sources:

• Judaism 101
• Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, Jewish Literacy (2001).

Socalled - "2nd Cup: Bless The Wine", from The Socalled Seder: A Hip Hop Haggadah.

Matzah!

McReality check

McDonald's Corporation is not happy with the Oxford English Dictionary's definition of the word "McJob," which the OED says is "an unstimulating, low-paid job with few prospects, esp. one created by the expansion of the service sector." As a consequence, the company has decided to urge dictionaries in the UK to remove the definition, claiming that "McJob" means the exact opposite (i.e., a job that is stimulating and offers good chances of career enrichment and advancement).

By extension of the company's logic, Ann Coulter henceforth will be identified as a paragon of tolerance, intelligence, and wisdom.

The Hebrew Hammer fronts a band from Indianapolis

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming at He Writes About Words for this entry, which is cross-posted at extrawack!

This is Jim, your final extrawack! guest blogger. Before I get to the real substance of this post, I should say Erin Go Bragh. I hope you enjoy a nice cool (not cold) Guinness as you celebrate the snake beater holiday. Here in Indianapolis, we dye the Canal green, drink green beer, and have a parade with lots of guys in kilts playing bagpipes. So I suppose that we celebrate St. Patrick's Day like just about every other large city in the United States.

We also have an often overlooked music scene. It's certainly not Austin or Montreal. Hell, it's not even Omaha. But it is what it is. It is certainly trying to get noticed with events like the Midwest Music Summit, which gets bigger and better each year.

One of the Hoosier State's best musical assets is Secretly Canadian. After allowing the world to hear great artists like Jens Lekman, the Bloomington label continues its run of excellent musicians with David Vandervelde, who recently released his first full-length album, The Moonstation House Band. Vandervelde, who is from Chicago, has been dubbed a latter-day Marc Bolan by critics. I can certainly understand where they're coming from, as the new album's lush sounds evoke shades of T.Rex circa Electric Warrior. Secretly Canadian has kindly offered up the first two tracks on the album for public consumption:

"Nothin' No" mp3
"Jacket" mp3

Stream The Moonstation House Band at David's official website.
Buy the album from Secretly Canadian.

Vandervelde will appear at Luna Lounge on April 21 and at Pianos on April 22.

I really miss the Clash. I still haven't gotten over the fact that Joe Strummer is gone. As a result, I have a huge soft spot for bands that borrow heavily from the Only Band That Mattered. One band falling squarely into that category is Indianapolis' Those Young Lions. The band released a self-titled EP last year on local label Affirmation Records after the members joined forces upon splitting from other Indianapolis bands. Their shows are always packed with kids desperate for noisy, boozy rock after getting their fill of sensitive-guy indie pop. I will be seeing the Lions tonight at my favorite local club.

Sample the wares:

"Showdown" mp3
"Trainwreck Times" mp3

Buy the EP from CD Baby.
Watch the ultra-low-budget video for "Trainwreck Times" and see if you don't think that frontman Tony Beemer bears a strong resemblance to Adam Goldberg.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention Musical Family Tree, which is a diamond mine of mp3's from Indiana bands. Recommended listening: Gentleman Caller.

Guest blogging at extrawack!

After a long hiatus from writing about the world of music--well, aside from writing about lyrics--I'll be putting on my hipster badge again this week in a guest blogger stint at the venerable and unquestionably cool music blog extrawack! My official guest blogger day isn't until March 17, but in the meantime, please stop by and check out extrawack!'s offerings.

Flipping the bird to the English teacher - Grammar Myths, Vol. 1

At some point in our childhood, most of us had a teacher that we didn't like. Some of even hated that particular teacher. I didn't have any issues with a teacher until the ninth grade, when I managed to get an English teacher I shall never forget. I'll call her Miss Smith.

For some reason, I could do nothing correctly in Miss Smith's eyes. This was very difficult for me because I had never had any problems with English. In fact, I did exceptionally well in every English class I had taken until Miss Smith's class. In that class, I received sub-par grades on just about every assignment. I truly believe that she disliked me. Why she did, I don't know. She even accused me of cheating on a quiz when I had not cheated.

I managed to somehow redeem myself with her on the last assignment in the course, which was a short story. I wrote a cheesy sword-and-sorcery tale that ripped off just about every fantasy story and action movie I could think of, including Raiders of the Lost Ark and Conan the Barbarian. In a weird about-face, Miss Smith gushed about my short story (which I believe was called "The Chalice"). She called it "compelling" and "masterful."

Unfortunately, on my other English assignments, the comments that I received from Miss Smith were much less complimentary. For instance, in one assignment, I had written a sentence that began with "and," followed by a sentence that began with "but." In huge red letters in the margin, Miss Smith wrote something like this: "It is NEVER permissible to begin a sentence with either one of these conjunctions. Whoever taught you that you could use them in such a way did you a grave disservice."

Ah, Miss Smith, how wrong you were. In fact, it appears that you did a grave disservice to me, an impressionable fourteen-year-old who anxiously clung to this grammar "rule" for several years before deciding that it was nonsense. You see, there is simply no grammar rule that prohibits a writer from using the conjunctions "and" or "but" to begin a sentence. Random House's Word of the Day mavens note that writers have used "and" and "but" to begin sentences for centuries:

Sentences beginning with "and" or "but" are found in English as early as the ninth century, in the Old English Chronicle, and such sentences can also be found in Shakespeare, the King James Bible, John Locke, Edmund Burke, Lord Macaulay, Charles Dickens, and others.

Patricia O'Conner, author of the fantastic grammar book Woe Is I, notes that writers should feel free to use "and" and "but" to begin sentences, but not to overdo it. Just like any other type of stylistic device in writing, overuse of a particular word or phrase can make writing dull.

And so, Miss Smith, wherever you are, I'd like to leave you with a quote from Charles Allen Lloyd, who taught English (among other subjects) for 30 years. This is what he said about Miss Smith's admonition in his book, We Who Speak English:

One cannot help wondering whether those who teach such a monstrous doctrine ever read any English themselves.

Clique speak

Slang is one of my favorite language topics. In my mind, slang is one of the keys to the vibrancy of the English language. It helps the language to grow and change. It also reflects contemporary culture and attitudes. In short, slang could reasonably be considered the lifeblood of any language.

So this article from the local alternative newsweekly got me thinking about the power that peer groups can have over the slang that one uses. In fact, the groups that I hung around with when I was in college virtually had a language of their own. Since these groups were comprised primarily of college guys, most of the group slang centered around sex, girls, drinking, and sports. While I can't claim that the slang we used was entirely original, it was certainly colorful, humorous, and sometimes (gasp) offensive.

Here's a sampling of the "clique speak" of my college peer groups. Be forewarned--if you're easily offended, particularly by remarks about women that could be considered disparaging, then you might not want to read any further. I contemplated censoring some of these entries, but I thought that I might as well be totally honest about the language that we used. I'm not proud of some of it, but I and my peers certainly weren't as mature or reflective at the time that we used it.

After reading these words, you might not be shocked to learn that I was in a fraternity in undergrad; many of these terms come from that experience.

burt (verb) - To vomit. "After Solly did that beer bong, he burted all over his shirt."
Craftsman (noun) - A jerk. Originated as an attempt at a more creative variant of the slang tool. "Steve - He's a total Craftsman."
fat house (noun) - Off-campus housing. Originated when several hefty fraternity brothers moved off campus. Came to be used as a blanket term for any house or apartment in which fraternity brothers or other friends were living off-campus. "Dude, let's head on over to Joe's fat house."
goat (noun) - An uncool person. "John's a goat because he listens to DeBarge."
hee-her (interjection) - Used in response to an act of stupidity. The rough equivalent of duh. Comes from an attempt to mimic the sound of the laughter of a fraternity brother who was not considered terribly bright. "Dropped your beer, dude? Hee-her!"
Santo (noun) - A sixteen-ounce can of Old Style Beer, so named because Chicago Cub Hall of Famer Ron Santo's picture was once featured on the back of the can. "Dude, toss me another Santo."
saving throw (noun) - When one escapes the clutches of a drunk, unattractive woman. From a term used in the fantasy role playing game Dungeons and Dragons that describes the dice roll a player makes to see if he can escape a dangerous situation. "That girl had Joe cornered, but he managed to make a saving throw."
skeetch (noun) - A physically unattractive girl. "Did you see the skeetch that Woody took back to his room?"
skeetch stud (noun) - A guy who has a reputation for chasing skeetches, particularly after he has consumed alcohol. "Woody is the king of skeetch studs."
Well, Gorby (interjection) - Used simply as a pause in speech when the speaker is thinking. Substitute for um, uh, and the like. Inspired by a comedy sketch depicting a conversation between Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. Came into use when one of my college friends began to repeatedly use the phrase at the beginning of each sentence. "Well, Gorby, I guess we can go get some beer now."
wet (adj.) - Uncool. "Those acid wash jeans are wet, man." Variant is the noun waterfall, used for someone who is extremely uncool. "He's such a waterfall because he wears acid wash every day, dude!"

Lyrics in Focus, Special Edition: "Push The Button" (2007)

When I began this blog, I envisioned Lyrics in Focus as a monthly feature. However, some songs are just too intriguing to pass up.

The Eurovision Song Contest is the pinnacle of musical cheese on the Continent. In short, the contest works like this--European nations enter a native musical act in the contest. Each act is selected by telephone voting in each country. After the contestants are chosen, the winner of the whole contest is again chosen by telephone vote.

The acts themselves are rarely musicians who would or should be taken seriously. Many are purveyors of syrupy techno-pop that is coupled with banal lyrics. Last year's winner, a Finnish band called Lordi, sort of broke the Eurovision mold because they're a hard rock band. However, they don't win any originality points because they're essentially a rip-off of GWAR (at least from a cosmetic standpoint).

For some reason, Israel gets to compete in the contest. The country has won three times. The last time Israel won was in 1998, when transsexual singer Dana International took the prize with her song "Diva," which typifies the type of music that rules in the contest.

For this year's contest, which will take place in May in Finland, Israelis overwhelmingly chose "Push The Button" by Teapacks as their country's entrant. In the song, the band careens through musical styles, beginning in an Israeli folk/Balkan gypsy style and then shifting to rock. The bridge of the song is done in a grimy techno-rap. The lead singer, Kobi Oz, shifts languages along with musical genres, singing and rhyming in English, French, and Hebrew.

Truth be told, I find the song to be catchy in a perpetual-mental-tape-loop way. The lyrics, however, are causing some controversy. Here's a snippet from the English portion of the song:

The world is full of terror
If someone makes an error
He’s gonna blow us up to biddy biddy kingdom come
There are some crazy rulers, they hide and try to fool us
With demonic, technologic willingness to harm

They’re gonna push the button
push the button push the bu push the bu push the button

Many are interpreting the lyrics as an inflammatory and not so veiled reference to Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who, like other leaders in the region since the State of Israel's establishment, has threatened to wipe Israel off the map. The contest coordinators have received complaints are are apparently going to discuss whether the song should remain eligible for the contest.

For those who want an excellent perspective on Eurovision, The Believer did a great piece on the contest this past summer.

More on the song from the New York Times.

Enjoy:

Lyrics in Focus: "What's Going On" and "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)" (1971)

It may be trite to say that history repeats itself. But unfortunately, our world leaders rarely seem to learn from their mistakes.

When Marvin Gaye released his landmark album, What's Going On, in 1971, the United States was in the grip of turbulent times, as it is again today. Pollution, poverty, and the Vietnam War were all prevalent in the American consciousness. Gaye managed to address these issues of the time in a sonically lush collection of songs that were beautiful, sorrowful, and yet full of hope.

The songs from the album that attracted the most attention were the title track and "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)." In the U.S., "What's Going On" charted at #2, and "Mercy Mercy Me" charted at #4. I brought the album in the car with me a few days ago and listened to both of these songs several times, soaking in the words. They are quite simple, but that simplicity does nothing to detract from the message. Indeed, if anything, the straightforward lyrics make Gaye's heart-felt pleas for social justice all the more powerful. Perhaps our leaders and those of other countries will finally listen. If only things were that easy...

"What's Going On"

Mother, mother
There's too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There's far too many of you dying
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some loving here today

Father, father
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some loving here today

Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
What's going on, what's going on
What's going on, what's going on

Mother, mother
Everybody thinks we're wrong
But who are they to judge us
Simply 'cos our hair is long
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some loving here today

Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
What's going on, what's going on
Tell me what's going on
I'll tell you what's going on

"Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)"

Whoa, mercy mercy me
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east
Whoa mercy, mercy me, mercy father
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon our seas, fish full of mercury
Ah oh mercy, mercy me
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no
Radiation under ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh mercy mercy me
Ah things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land
How much more abuse from man can she stand?
Oh, na na...
My sweet Lord... No
My Lord... My sweet Lord

"Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)" live, 1972


Sources:

• Lyriki
• Lyrics Wiki
  

Maus: A Survivor's Tale (1973-1991)

When I was a kid, I was somewhat of a comic book reader. I can't say that I was a comic book collector because I never went searching for rare, priceless issues of Spiderman or The X-Men or put my comic books in plastic laminate. Rather, I just wanted to read good stories coupled with pictures.

And good stories I did read. It's amazing that compelling, complex plot lines appear in the comic book medium, but both Marvel and DC have tackled some pretty weighty issues. For example, my favorite comic series was The X-Men, in which the heroes were not only busy saving the world, but were also dealing with and battling racial prejudice.

While I read plenty of comic books, I never got around to reading a graphic novel. This is probably because the graphic novel phenomenon didn't take hold until the mid- to late 1980's, when I began to cop an attitude about comic books and had decided that they weren't worth my time any longer.

In retrospect, that was an unfortunate and misguided decision because I just finished one of the best books I've read in the last several years, and that book happens to be a graphic novel: Art Spiegelman's Maus: A Survivor's Tale.

Spiegelman was a pioneer in the alternative comic genre and began writing Maus as a comic strip serial that appeared in the alternative comic magazine RAW, which he co-edited with his wife. In Maus, Spiegelman tells the story of his father, Vladek, who was a Polish Jew and a Holocaust survivor. Those involved in Vladek's story are depicted by Spiegelman as anthropomorphic animals. Jews are mice; Germans are cats; Poles are pigs (a depiction which drew some ire); the French are frogs; the British are fish; and Americans are dogs. At first blush, these depictions might seem to trivialize the events of the Holocaust. But they actually serve a metaphorical purpose, particularly in the case of the Jews being depicted as mice and the Germans as cats. Indeed, at the beginning of the second half of the novel, Spiegelman quotes from a German newspaper article from the mid-1930's that drives home the metaphor:

Mickey Mouse is the most miserable ideal ever revealed. . . . Healthy emotions tell every independent young man and every honorable youth that the dirty and filth-covered vermin, the greatest bacteria carrier in the animal kingdom, cannot be the ideal type of animal . . . . Away with Jewish brutalization of the people! Down with Mickey Mouse! Wear the Swastika Cross!

Vladek's story is like the story of so many other Holocaust survivors. We see the Nazi's seizure of the businesses and homes of Vladek and his family. We see the terror that gripped Europe's Jewish communities as they were herded into ghettos. We see the eventual deportation of the Jews to the death camps in Eastern Europe. And, we see the combination of resourcefulness and luck that Vladek used to survive the Holocaust.

But Spiegelman makes his father's tale unique and engaging in several ways. First, there is the obvious difference from other Holocaust stories: the medium through which it is told. By telling Vladek's tale in words and pictures, Spiegelman permits the reader to take in a story that is more palpable than it would have been had it been told merely in prose. Second, Spiegelman tells us not only about Vladek's harrowing experiences in Nazi-ruled Europe; he also tells us about his strained but loving relationship with Vladek. Finally, and probably most effectively, Spiegelman does not portray Vladek as a saintly figure. Instead, we get to see Vladek's good traits--his resourcefulness and intelligence--as well as his flaws--his mistreatment of his second wife, his overly miserly nature, and his prejudice against African-Americans. By showing us his father's drawbacks, Spiegelman humanizes Vladek in a way that allows the reader to closely identify with Vladek.

Spiegelman won the Pulitzer Prize in 1992 for the book, and deservedly so. Maus is a powerful book that will have you thinking about it long after you have finished it.

Speak English or else

Organizations like this one concern me. As far as I can tell, those who are are dying to make English the official language of the United States are motivated by fear and ignorance.

Like it or not, Spanish has become the second language of this country. But while our country continues to experience wave after wave of Hispanic immigrants (both legal and illegal), and while more and more Spanish-language television stations, radio stations, and publications are appearing in the U.S., English is not about to be supplanted as the predominant language of the United States of America. This is so for two important reasons. First, Hispanic immigrants today adopt English as a first language at the same rate that previous generations of Hispanic immigrants did. Studies show that by the second generation, around 50 percent of Hispanics speak English as their primary language, and by the third, nearly 100 percent speak it as their primary language. Second, English is the lingua franca of global commerce and diplomacy. With the advent of the global economy in this century, Americans who want to succeed need to speak English. Hispanic immigrants are aware of this. After all, they come to the U.S. to get ahead. They know that the ability to speak English here means more economic opportunity.

If anything, Americans could stand to experience some linguistic diversity. When it comes to countries that have a high percentage of bilingual citizens, our country undoubtedly lags behind others.

Sources:

• Robert MacNeil and William Cran, Do You Speak American? (2005).
• Wikipedia
  

Grammar Girl

Want to get your grammar geek on? Check out the Grammar Girl podcast. That's right--there's actually a podcast about grammar. Mignon Fogarty, the namesake of the podcast, was recently featured on CNN.

For those who are curious about correct grammar yet don't want to get bored to death...

The Four-Letter Film - F*ck (2005)

"Oh, Boone!"

If you slammed your hand in the car door, is this the sort of interjection you'd use? Absolutely not. You or I would probably have no qualms about dropping the f-bomb. But Pat Boone, who is featured as one of the talking heads in Steve Anderson's documentary, F*ck, uses his own last name in place of the most powerful word in the English language.

Anderson's documentary examines various facets of the word: its etymology (the word's history is still a mystery); the political ramifications of its use, particularly in today's "culture wars"; its obvious application to sexual situations; and, its versatility (it can be used as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and, yes, as an interjection). The dissecting of "fuck" is presented through that commonplace documentary vehicle--a series of interviews with people who are presumably learned on the subject of the film. While this documentary technique is far from original, Anderson uses it well by assembling a list of experts from all walks of life and from all points on the political spectrum. Boone is among several interviewees from the right wing, along with Alan Keyes, Michael Medved, and Dennis Prager. Interviewees from the more liberal end of the spectrum are primarily comedians: Drew Carey, Billy Connolly, Janeane Garofalo, and Bill Maher, among others. In between are several experts in the English language, such as Jesse Sheidlower, principal editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, and Reinhold Aman, a scholar who researches "verbal aggression." The end product is a funny, informative, and engaging examination of what the freedom to use this word means to the vitality of our society.

Unfortunately, my review of this documentary comes a bit late for those of us who reside here in Indianapolis, as the film ended its run at Key Cinemas on Saturday. It is, however, available on DVD and would be well worth adding to your Netflix queue. Locals should encourage Rick and Keith at Mass Ave Video to add it to their outstanding selection of independent films and documentaries if they don't already have it in stock. I'm sure that it won't take much to persuade them to do so.

• The official website for F*ck.
• View the trailer (NOT safe for work!)