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Archive for the ‘Culture’ Category

The Boston bombings brought out great emotions among my acquaintances, and understandably so. They brought out great emotions in me, as well. One thing I try to avoid, though, is letting my emotions cloud my judgment.

Occasionally, in regard to Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, I hear people say, “We didn’t learn anything from him,” and “Great; now we have to pay for his room and board for the next 50 years,” and “We should have killed him on the spot.” Their rhetoric feeds their frenzy, bolstering their own anger. My calm and reasoned responses to these views are refuted by ad hominem attacks, calling me a hand-wringing bleeding-heart Liberal (and other, crispier descriptions, that I’m sure you can imagine). (more…)

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiI’ve made some additions to my household’s list of neologisms.

Newly remembered/added words are:

  • feep
  • gleep
  • slooby

I was going to add “squiffers,” a word meaning tipsy or drunk (intensified as “squiffer-doodles”) but I learned that “squiffy” is a word in current use, so it isn’t a true neologism. We obviously just bastardized it.

k

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We picked up two “buddy” films this weekend. One was a buddy/fish-out-of-water mashup, and the other was a classic buddy/caper film.

Both were a lot of fun. (more…)

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiIt’s been a difficult week for us all, and continues to be so–nowhere more so this morning than in Boston. In reaction I’ve tried to “Keep calm and carry on” by doing normal things and moving forward with projects. I’ve been able to push the line forward a little in some areas: with this blog, with my gardens, and with the new novel. (more…)

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Blue SunThere’s never an egg timer around when you need one.

As details began to emerge in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombing, one of my Facebook ephemera went toxic on our collective hrm-hrms, asking us all if now Obama was going to require background checks for purchase of cooking vessels. Yes. He went there, and in record time. We hadn’t even finished counting the wounded and he’d already turned this tragedy into a Second Amendment diatribe.

My mind–being the thing it is–immediately went to the satirical end state. I imagined this fellow on paramilitary maneuvers in the upstate backwoods, pressure-cooker at the ready. I imagined him protesting the proposed ban on all pressure-cookers of greater than an 8-quart capacity. I saw him applying for a carry permit, so he could bring his pressure-cooker with him on his travels. I envisioned him, standing proudly before his arrayed collection of WWII pressure-cookers, including his favorite, a Japanese rice-cooker manufactured in Manchukuo. I pictured him as the charismatic leader in a new front against the War on Liberty, ready to lay down his life for the Amendment that read:

A well fed Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Large Cooking Vessels, shall not be infringed.

To him, background checks to purchase pressure cookers were just the thin edge of the wedge.

Then I came back to reality. (more…)

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Composing a post for your blog? Writing an email to a colleague? Here are a couple of tips:

The letter “r” is not a verb.

The letter “u” is not a pronoun.

It doesn’t surprise me when blog posts or emails have this sort of embedded “text-speak.” Nor does it surprise me to find them riddled with bad syntax, incoherent thoughts, and errors both typographic and grammatical. It saddens me that those intent on communicating via the written word don’t have the sense (or self-respect) to proofread what they’ve written before they hit “send,” but it doesn’t surprise me.

What does surprise me is when I come across the same in posts on writers’ discussion boards. What does surprise me is when a writer doesn’t catch his own mistake when he writes “Art thou saint or satin?” And it goes beyond surprise when, as I saw the other day, a presenter of a TED talk repeatedly used the letter “r” as a verb in his Powerpoint presentation.

Dude…srsly?

If you want your words to be taken seriously, stick close to the standards of writing. In speech or in the written word, if you consistently flout the accepted standards of spelling, grammar, and composition, your words, your thoughts, sometimes even you as a person, will be discounted, diminished, or totally ignored by the world at large.

I shouldn’t have to use a secret decoder ring to translate a writer’s words into comprehensible English.

In fact, I won’t.  And I’m not alone.

I’m not being a grammar Nazi or a writerly snob. I’m not asking for high-falutin’ rhetoric or exquisite imagery. I’m asking for comprehensible grammar and correct spelling. Allowances for hurriedly written texts and non-native English speakers aside, a writer must strive for quality in the written word. You can only blame your iPhone’s predictive spelling function for so much.

In the end, if you don’t mind looking like an idiot because you don’t know the difference between “satin” and “Satan,” fine.

Just don’t expect me to take you seriously at the same time.

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Back in grammar school, I did not tease girls. It was not my…not my…

Idiom, sir?

Yes, idiom. My idiom consisted of puppy-eyed longing from afar, followed by tragically romantic love notes, sometimes in conjunction with a back-channel whisper campaign extolling my many but unvaryingly abstract virtues. This engendered little more than epic disinterest, which I naturally interpreted as a sudden but inevitable betrayal, bringing on a mournful but grandiose suffering during which I would often carve my cruel beloved’s monogram into the sole of my boot so I could tromp her name into the dust with my every petulant step.

Others boys had other, more direct methods. Sitting in our rank and file desks, the girl who sat in front of such a boy was a constant target. If the girl had long hair and the boy was deft enough, he might tease out a single strand and–quietly, gently–tie that glossy thread around the body of a housefly he’d caught. Released, the fly would buzz up into the air, quickly reaching the limit of the strand. A clever boy could tie two, even three in place before releasing them to zip around her head like fighters around the mothership.

I don’t know if their methods worked better than mine. The desired culmination of this pre-teen proto-courtship ritual was never thoroughly clear to me. My personal goal (a kiss) was never achieved, but the other boys may have achieved theirs, hazy and conflicted though they were likely to be at that age.

What I do know is that at least one of those boys grew up and got a job at the Smithsonian Institution.

(more…)

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