The Police Blotter in your local paper includes the following entries (these ARE real):
"Caller reported that his brother was 'messing with his head.' " (You go ahead and run with this one.)
"Caller reported that someone dumped trash in the Dumpster and 'made a mess.' " (Umm . . . it's in a dumpster.)
"Caller reported that a 'bald-looking guy' had been in the park 'for a while.' " (Was he bald or just bald-looking? Is that some form of profiling?)
"Caller reported that there was noise that was not coming from her house." (I have never heard noises that weren't coming from my house . . .)
"Caller reported that a young man called her and asked if she wanted to take a sex survey." (I'm guessing a middle-schooler.)
"Caller reported she wanted the number for a suicide hotline after her landlady threatened to kill her." (I think the hotline for that situation is 911.)
Friday, August 27, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
What Dr. Laura Can Say and Can't Say
Most of us have now seen and heard, multiple times, Dr. Laura Schlesinger getting into an argument, during her radio show, about whether it's appropriate to use the "n . . ." word and why. We all now know, if we weren't counting the first time we heard or saw it, that she used the "n . . ." word eleven (or was it fifteen?) times in a very short period of time. We all know that she's been publicly chastised by all sorts of people simply for speaking the word. We all know now, if we didn't before, that there are many people within the African-American "community", in its largest sense, that are working to abolish the word in any and every context. Interestingly, though, only a few folks have actually tried to address the issue she raised: why is it okay for some folks to use that word but not for others? Comedian and actor Chris Rock probably said it most succinctly -- he can use it, she cannot. Dr. Laura's question is left begging.
There are probably many reasons why Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura (indeed, virtually everyone not of African-American background) cannot. Some are historical, some are sociological, some are economic, and some are anthropological. One anthropological reason, which is also historical in nature, has to do with the formation, evolution, and maintenance of African-American culture. This is not the venue for details so let me simply say that because of 17th-, 18th-, and 19th-century slavery in North America, people from numerous tribal groups in west Africa were removed from their native cultural milieus and forced into situations in which they were assumed to be just like each other simply because they came from Africa and had darker skins than their new owners. Those circumstances resulted in a variety of responses and expressions of those responses as African people and their progeny adapted to interactions with their owners and other non-African people (including, by the way, Native Americans) and with Africans from other cultural backgrounds. Over time, those responses and their expressions created a new, unique, cultural milieu with its own language and dialects, social structure and organization(s), stories, beliefs, and behaviors. Within the broadest range of those manifestations was the formation of African-American culture.
Culture is remarkably dynamic; the only thing that doesn't change is change. Please don't assume that I'm saying that there developed a single, monolithic, cultural group of African-Americans, or that such a thing exists today. Not so. Nonetheless, the effects of slavery on generations of Africans and their progeny, as well as on people of African descent even if their families were not slaves, can hardly be overestimated or overstated, even in circumstances in which people had very different experiences. One of those effects was the formation of culture. How do we know? Because Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot.
I think that Dr. Laura was voicing the feelings of many Americans of non-African descent: "Oh, come on, that was then, this is now. I'm not a slave-trader or owner, I'm not responsible for the actions of slave-traders or owners. If we're ever going to move beyond the tragedy of slavery and post-slavery, Jim Crow discrimination, we have to stop the discriminatory use of certain words. If Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word, so can Dr. Laura. If Dr. Laura can't use it, then neither can Chris Rock."
Well . . . not so much. Anthropologist Roy Rappaport identified what he called canonical and indexical aspects of culture. The former are those aspects which are deeply embedded, which reflect cultural foundations, the beliefs, values, and behaviors upon which culture stands. Canonical aspects are very, very difficult to change because doing so potentially threatens the foundations of culture. Indexical aspects of culture, on the other hand, are, as the name implies, indexed to circumstances, sometimes specific and sometimes general. That is, they can shift and change in response to shifting, changing circumstances. Rappaport presented these aspects as a dichotomy but recognized that, in fact, they represent a continuum. Over time, even cultural aspects that have been remarkably canonical can and will change if they become increasingly less relevant to succeeding generations. That's part of the dynamism of culture.
The point? Culture involves identity. One could say, indeed, that culture is identity. So, people of African descent, during the processes of forming, evolving, and maintaining a culture in North American that provided identities for themselves in non-native circumstances, acquired and created values and expressions that manifested identity. One of those, I suspect, was the "n . . ." word, an apparently common term used by traders, owners, and other non-Africans to identify Africans and their progeny. "Black" and "white" are colors and have different meanings in different contexts (witness the confusion today over whether and how to use them with reference to people). "African" was a term that could not accurately be applied to the next generation (although I have consistently used it in conjunction with "American" in this setting). But "n . . ." is a term specifically used, in North America, to refer to people who were and are "obviously" (not so obvious, as it turns out, but that's another subject) of African descent. When used by non-Africans, then and now, it was and remains a derogatory term intended to demean and diminish Africans and their progeny, to reduce them to a less-than-human status in order to justify subjugating them. When used by Africans and their progeny, on the other hand, it apparently was and continues to be a term of identity. Even with what seem to be obviously derogatory connotations (because of historical circumstances), the word expresses identity.
Why would slaves and their progeny use a word picked up from traders, owners, and others to express their identity? Because it was not specific to a particular culture back in Africa so it did not give preference to any one African culture over others. Because it accurately reflected the new, overarching, circumstances in which people originally of diverse cultural backgrounds were being forced to create a new culture, in--and this is an important point--a language that all were being forced to learn and use. Language is always cultural expression; otherwise it's just noises.
The fact that a word that slaves learned in centuries past has been passed down to generations and generations of their progeny, and to people "of color" who are not the progeny of slaves, reveals to us that the word expresses identity and that the identity so expressed is a canonical aspect of African-American culture. Activists like Al Sharpton can try hard to erase it from African-American vocabulary, but they will not succeed until it becomes irrelevant to new generations, and making identity irrelevant is exceedingly difficult. That is, Reverend Al, your task involves finding a way to maintain African-American identity while divorcing that identity from its historical foundation and expression.
That's why Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot. What Dr. Laura finds difficult to understand is that the "n . . ." word is not canonical to non-African-American identity. Those of us who are not of African descent know that the word had and still has derogatory, demeaning connotations and that use of the word is not acceptable in settings in which people are understood to be people regardless of skin color, genetic descent, language, and so forth. It is not canonical for our identities. Apparently, it is for Chris Rock's. To suggest that it should not be is to suggest that non-African-Americans can decide what are acceptable forms of identity expression. African-Americans have been through that scenario already, as have many other groups of people within what became the United States. What is confusing to Dr. Laura is actually a cultural reaction to cultural domination.
The actual question to be asked is whether it is possible to form, evolve, and maintain a United States culture. Keeping in mind that Native Americans were not allowed to be United States citizens until 1924 (despite the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, approved in 1868, which had to be enforced by the Indian Civil Rights Act, signed 100 years later in 1968), could not vote until the 1950s (despite the 15th Amendment, approved in 1870, a right that had to be enforced by the Indian Civil Rights Act), that African-Americans' voting rights, ideally secured by the 15th Amendment (1870), had to be enforced by the Voting Rights Act, signed in 1965 (95 years later), and that Japanese-Americans were forced to live in concentration camps during World War II (suspending the right to habeas corpus, secured to citizens in Article 1 of the Constitution, something that President Lincoln also did during the Civil War), it seems unlikely that we are very close to being the racial-ethnic-linguistic melting pot that many of us think we are supposed to be. I have no idea how to accomplish that, and am not sure that we should try, but until it happens, Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot.
There are probably many reasons why Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura (indeed, virtually everyone not of African-American background) cannot. Some are historical, some are sociological, some are economic, and some are anthropological. One anthropological reason, which is also historical in nature, has to do with the formation, evolution, and maintenance of African-American culture. This is not the venue for details so let me simply say that because of 17th-, 18th-, and 19th-century slavery in North America, people from numerous tribal groups in west Africa were removed from their native cultural milieus and forced into situations in which they were assumed to be just like each other simply because they came from Africa and had darker skins than their new owners. Those circumstances resulted in a variety of responses and expressions of those responses as African people and their progeny adapted to interactions with their owners and other non-African people (including, by the way, Native Americans) and with Africans from other cultural backgrounds. Over time, those responses and their expressions created a new, unique, cultural milieu with its own language and dialects, social structure and organization(s), stories, beliefs, and behaviors. Within the broadest range of those manifestations was the formation of African-American culture.
Culture is remarkably dynamic; the only thing that doesn't change is change. Please don't assume that I'm saying that there developed a single, monolithic, cultural group of African-Americans, or that such a thing exists today. Not so. Nonetheless, the effects of slavery on generations of Africans and their progeny, as well as on people of African descent even if their families were not slaves, can hardly be overestimated or overstated, even in circumstances in which people had very different experiences. One of those effects was the formation of culture. How do we know? Because Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot.
I think that Dr. Laura was voicing the feelings of many Americans of non-African descent: "Oh, come on, that was then, this is now. I'm not a slave-trader or owner, I'm not responsible for the actions of slave-traders or owners. If we're ever going to move beyond the tragedy of slavery and post-slavery, Jim Crow discrimination, we have to stop the discriminatory use of certain words. If Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word, so can Dr. Laura. If Dr. Laura can't use it, then neither can Chris Rock."
Well . . . not so much. Anthropologist Roy Rappaport identified what he called canonical and indexical aspects of culture. The former are those aspects which are deeply embedded, which reflect cultural foundations, the beliefs, values, and behaviors upon which culture stands. Canonical aspects are very, very difficult to change because doing so potentially threatens the foundations of culture. Indexical aspects of culture, on the other hand, are, as the name implies, indexed to circumstances, sometimes specific and sometimes general. That is, they can shift and change in response to shifting, changing circumstances. Rappaport presented these aspects as a dichotomy but recognized that, in fact, they represent a continuum. Over time, even cultural aspects that have been remarkably canonical can and will change if they become increasingly less relevant to succeeding generations. That's part of the dynamism of culture.
The point? Culture involves identity. One could say, indeed, that culture is identity. So, people of African descent, during the processes of forming, evolving, and maintaining a culture in North American that provided identities for themselves in non-native circumstances, acquired and created values and expressions that manifested identity. One of those, I suspect, was the "n . . ." word, an apparently common term used by traders, owners, and other non-Africans to identify Africans and their progeny. "Black" and "white" are colors and have different meanings in different contexts (witness the confusion today over whether and how to use them with reference to people). "African" was a term that could not accurately be applied to the next generation (although I have consistently used it in conjunction with "American" in this setting). But "n . . ." is a term specifically used, in North America, to refer to people who were and are "obviously" (not so obvious, as it turns out, but that's another subject) of African descent. When used by non-Africans, then and now, it was and remains a derogatory term intended to demean and diminish Africans and their progeny, to reduce them to a less-than-human status in order to justify subjugating them. When used by Africans and their progeny, on the other hand, it apparently was and continues to be a term of identity. Even with what seem to be obviously derogatory connotations (because of historical circumstances), the word expresses identity.
Why would slaves and their progeny use a word picked up from traders, owners, and others to express their identity? Because it was not specific to a particular culture back in Africa so it did not give preference to any one African culture over others. Because it accurately reflected the new, overarching, circumstances in which people originally of diverse cultural backgrounds were being forced to create a new culture, in--and this is an important point--a language that all were being forced to learn and use. Language is always cultural expression; otherwise it's just noises.
The fact that a word that slaves learned in centuries past has been passed down to generations and generations of their progeny, and to people "of color" who are not the progeny of slaves, reveals to us that the word expresses identity and that the identity so expressed is a canonical aspect of African-American culture. Activists like Al Sharpton can try hard to erase it from African-American vocabulary, but they will not succeed until it becomes irrelevant to new generations, and making identity irrelevant is exceedingly difficult. That is, Reverend Al, your task involves finding a way to maintain African-American identity while divorcing that identity from its historical foundation and expression.
That's why Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot. What Dr. Laura finds difficult to understand is that the "n . . ." word is not canonical to non-African-American identity. Those of us who are not of African descent know that the word had and still has derogatory, demeaning connotations and that use of the word is not acceptable in settings in which people are understood to be people regardless of skin color, genetic descent, language, and so forth. It is not canonical for our identities. Apparently, it is for Chris Rock's. To suggest that it should not be is to suggest that non-African-Americans can decide what are acceptable forms of identity expression. African-Americans have been through that scenario already, as have many other groups of people within what became the United States. What is confusing to Dr. Laura is actually a cultural reaction to cultural domination.
The actual question to be asked is whether it is possible to form, evolve, and maintain a United States culture. Keeping in mind that Native Americans were not allowed to be United States citizens until 1924 (despite the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, approved in 1868, which had to be enforced by the Indian Civil Rights Act, signed 100 years later in 1968), could not vote until the 1950s (despite the 15th Amendment, approved in 1870, a right that had to be enforced by the Indian Civil Rights Act), that African-Americans' voting rights, ideally secured by the 15th Amendment (1870), had to be enforced by the Voting Rights Act, signed in 1965 (95 years later), and that Japanese-Americans were forced to live in concentration camps during World War II (suspending the right to habeas corpus, secured to citizens in Article 1 of the Constitution, something that President Lincoln also did during the Civil War), it seems unlikely that we are very close to being the racial-ethnic-linguistic melting pot that many of us think we are supposed to be. I have no idea how to accomplish that, and am not sure that we should try, but until it happens, Chris Rock can use the "n . . ." word and Dr. Laura cannot.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Gender and Fruit Communication, Part 2
We were stuck in Rogers, Arkansas for a LONG FRIGGIN' time back in the fall. I won't go into the reasons here, and you can't make me. Anyway, that's when my cell died. As in, one day it was okay and the next day it had digital Alzheimer's -- wasn't sure who it was, where it was, or why it was. Then it wasn't. I've known people with Alzheimer's -- I know the symptoms.
I figured it was the battery, so I trotted down to a nearby Verizon store to get a new one. Turned out that replacing the battery would have been like doing a heart transplant on a dead guy. Something straight out of Grey's Anatomy, where the docs have their scrubs in a bunch about whether the transplant might give the dead guy enough juice to make it back from the netherworld in time for one profound statement. Well, not my cell. The diagnosis was terminal and the docs thought that a new battery might -- might, mind you -- give the cell enough juice to speak its final words; in this case, that would be getting my contact list and maybe a few photos transferred to a new cell. If it worked. The prognosis was not good, there was no hope for life support. It was a one-shot deal.
"Give it a try," I said, valiantly. So a cabal of salespeople and techs went to work. And, just like in Grey's Anatomy, they pulled it off. With a wheezing death rattle, my cell gave up my contact list and a few photos. Then it was gone, destined to be recycled back into the electronic earth from whence it came.
Now what to do? Being the 21st century guy that I am, I am tethered to my cell. Even if I decide not to carry it around, nobody but me knows that and I get calls and more calls. And people feel it's their right to expect me to respond immediately, or sooner, so if I have "missed" (i.e., ignored) their calls I am, apparently, obligated to return their calls as soon as possible. Or sooner. Evidently, then, I had to get a new cell.
That's where gender and fruit came into play.
First, as to fruit . . . my daughter has a blackberry. I know lots of folks with blackberries. So do you. The REALLY cool people, of course, have iPhones, but the next coolest people have blackberries. The rest of us have something else. Doesn't matter what, because it's not an iphone and it's not a blackberry. I won't go into iPhones here, because they are so cool that they are actually specialized. One must be a Mac geek and use a particular cell service provider to effectively use an iPhone. Yes, I'm typing this on my MacBook, but I'm not cool enough to use the right service provider, so that's that. (By the way, am I going to start seeing people walking around downtown Santa Fe holding their new iPads up to their ears, talking to their offices or spouses? I don't think I can handle that.)
Back to blackberries. I actually get e-mail messages from people that have little notes at the bottom that say the messages were sent from blackberries. If we had a data plan with our cells, I could do the same thing from my cell, but it wouldn't be cool because it wouldn't come from a blackberry. I could have a blueberry or a strawberry or a mango, but I wouldn't be cool, because it's not a blackberry.
My son is quick to point out that blackberry is really Blackberry, a brand name, and that what I'm wondering about actually has to do with corporate identities, brand recognition, and superior marketing strategies. Yeah, I got that. But why blackberry? Why not blueberry or strawberry or mango? Or peach. I love peaches. I'd probably buy a phone named peach. Or melons. I really love melons. I'd buy a cantaloupe phone any day. Of course, melons aren't actually fruit, so perhaps the point is moot. Still . . . Why the heck is it so cool to have a phone named after a fruit? And not really a very auspicious fruit at that. What can you do with blackberries, except make jams and pies? Oh, and call people. Wait! I can do that on my non-fruit cell. I can even do that on -- a gasp fills the room -- our land-line telephone.
I'll tell you what I can't do on my non-fruit cell, or my land-line phone: I can't drop it in my briefcase (I don't carry a purse, but I know someone who does and has the following problem with her blackberry, frequently) and have it call someone, anyone, randomly, just because it's tiny, miniscule, buttons get pushed accidentally. The recipient, then, gets to scream and holler to try to get the attention of the fruit-phone owner to let him/her know that s/he is racking up billable minutes talking to a billfold or a pair of sunglasses or a bottle of aspirin at the bottom of the purse or briefcase (or spare change in a pocket).
Anyway, when my old cell (I had a Razor, which was really cool in its day, but somehow it didn't make me cool enough) gave up the ghost, commending its spirit to the Father, the cabal of salespeople and techs at the Verizon store immediately shifted into a whole new mode. I'm pretty sure I heard the store manager whisper, "It's dead. Now go sell him a new one." No time for mourning or last rites. Time to make a sale. Sorta like having your spouse die and immediately getting a call from eHarmony.
I first noticed that the tech, who was a young male, went to the back room, presumably to tech on something else, perhaps a patient that hadn't passed yet. Next I noticed that two young women came to help me, in my grief, select a replacement. After all, I had to be re-tethered to some portable communicative device. This is where gender came into play.
On principle and for practicality's sake, NO WAY was I going to get a fruit phone. Unless they had a cantaloupe or peach, which they didn't. So that was out, although the young women who were double-teaming me certainly tried. Realizing, though, that fruit phones were out, they then played on my fragile male ego. Surely I didn't want just another plain, old-school ("old" meaning older than last summer), push-button cell. Right? If I'm going to be a 21st century guy (see paragraph 4, above), I need a smart phone. No, seriously, I NEED a smart phone. I NEED a phone that has a touch screen and apps and a pop-out keyboard for REAL texting, not that old-school, hold-it-in-one-hand-and-text-with-one-thumb technique but modern, just-like-the-teenagers-do-it, hold-it-in-two-hands-and-text-with-both-thumbs texting. I NEED a phone that not only takes photos but takes them in hi-res and has options for lighting and flash. I NEED a phone that, when (not if) I decide to get a data plan, can surf the internet and do e-mailing. And get maps, to replace my beloved Garmin. Aaaggghhh.
Briefly, we returned to the blackberry stand, where I was shown fruit phones that meet those criteria. Again, though, not wanting a fruit phone, we moved on to other options. Did I prefer a cell without the QWERTY keyboard (not a smart as those with one, apparently; sort of a mid-IQ phone)? Did I prefer one that hinged open to reveal the full-size keyboard ("full-size," in this case, meaning about 2.5 inches long), or one that slid open to reveal the keyboard (in which case the keyboard was about the same size as those on a fruit phone, maybe 1.5 inches long, max)? Would I need a charger cord for the truck (of course)? Oh, I would need a plastic cover for cell, along with clear films to cover the screen lest it get scratched and ruin my touch-screen experience.
By the time I left the store, I was reeling. I had a new smart phone with home charger, a charger for the truck, covers and films, and a receipt for the rebate I would get that would help with the cost of the cell. I managed to get out without a data plan, since Ginger's cell is way too old-school for that and it seemed presumptuous to get a plan just for my cell. I was due a new cell anyway and could have gotten a free one, but the free ones aren't smart.
I'm not sure I am, either. I like my cell, mind you, and I have discovered that, with the plastic cover on it, it almost looks -- from a distance -- like an iPhone, so sometimes I look cool using it, as long as I'm not too close to other people. But I got double-teamed by two young women; I think maybe my common sense was overshot by my ego. And I'm pretty sure that I'm not as smart as the phone. I have a nagging suspicion that it is capable of things that I don't understand. If it's true that we typically only use about 10% of our brain's capacity, and if, as I suspect, I'm only using about 10% of my cell's capacity, then I'm pretty sure that my smart phone could take over the world, or at least New Mexico, and I might not even realize it until I found myself taking orders from my cell.
Uh oh -- gotta run. My cell's ringing.
I figured it was the battery, so I trotted down to a nearby Verizon store to get a new one. Turned out that replacing the battery would have been like doing a heart transplant on a dead guy. Something straight out of Grey's Anatomy, where the docs have their scrubs in a bunch about whether the transplant might give the dead guy enough juice to make it back from the netherworld in time for one profound statement. Well, not my cell. The diagnosis was terminal and the docs thought that a new battery might -- might, mind you -- give the cell enough juice to speak its final words; in this case, that would be getting my contact list and maybe a few photos transferred to a new cell. If it worked. The prognosis was not good, there was no hope for life support. It was a one-shot deal.
"Give it a try," I said, valiantly. So a cabal of salespeople and techs went to work. And, just like in Grey's Anatomy, they pulled it off. With a wheezing death rattle, my cell gave up my contact list and a few photos. Then it was gone, destined to be recycled back into the electronic earth from whence it came.
Now what to do? Being the 21st century guy that I am, I am tethered to my cell. Even if I decide not to carry it around, nobody but me knows that and I get calls and more calls. And people feel it's their right to expect me to respond immediately, or sooner, so if I have "missed" (i.e., ignored) their calls I am, apparently, obligated to return their calls as soon as possible. Or sooner. Evidently, then, I had to get a new cell.
That's where gender and fruit came into play.
First, as to fruit . . . my daughter has a blackberry. I know lots of folks with blackberries. So do you. The REALLY cool people, of course, have iPhones, but the next coolest people have blackberries. The rest of us have something else. Doesn't matter what, because it's not an iphone and it's not a blackberry. I won't go into iPhones here, because they are so cool that they are actually specialized. One must be a Mac geek and use a particular cell service provider to effectively use an iPhone. Yes, I'm typing this on my MacBook, but I'm not cool enough to use the right service provider, so that's that. (By the way, am I going to start seeing people walking around downtown Santa Fe holding their new iPads up to their ears, talking to their offices or spouses? I don't think I can handle that.)
Back to blackberries. I actually get e-mail messages from people that have little notes at the bottom that say the messages were sent from blackberries. If we had a data plan with our cells, I could do the same thing from my cell, but it wouldn't be cool because it wouldn't come from a blackberry. I could have a blueberry or a strawberry or a mango, but I wouldn't be cool, because it's not a blackberry.
My son is quick to point out that blackberry is really Blackberry, a brand name, and that what I'm wondering about actually has to do with corporate identities, brand recognition, and superior marketing strategies. Yeah, I got that. But why blackberry? Why not blueberry or strawberry or mango? Or peach. I love peaches. I'd probably buy a phone named peach. Or melons. I really love melons. I'd buy a cantaloupe phone any day. Of course, melons aren't actually fruit, so perhaps the point is moot. Still . . . Why the heck is it so cool to have a phone named after a fruit? And not really a very auspicious fruit at that. What can you do with blackberries, except make jams and pies? Oh, and call people. Wait! I can do that on my non-fruit cell. I can even do that on -- a gasp fills the room -- our land-line telephone.
I'll tell you what I can't do on my non-fruit cell, or my land-line phone: I can't drop it in my briefcase (I don't carry a purse, but I know someone who does and has the following problem with her blackberry, frequently) and have it call someone, anyone, randomly, just because it's tiny, miniscule, buttons get pushed accidentally. The recipient, then, gets to scream and holler to try to get the attention of the fruit-phone owner to let him/her know that s/he is racking up billable minutes talking to a billfold or a pair of sunglasses or a bottle of aspirin at the bottom of the purse or briefcase (or spare change in a pocket).
Anyway, when my old cell (I had a Razor, which was really cool in its day, but somehow it didn't make me cool enough) gave up the ghost, commending its spirit to the Father, the cabal of salespeople and techs at the Verizon store immediately shifted into a whole new mode. I'm pretty sure I heard the store manager whisper, "It's dead. Now go sell him a new one." No time for mourning or last rites. Time to make a sale. Sorta like having your spouse die and immediately getting a call from eHarmony.
I first noticed that the tech, who was a young male, went to the back room, presumably to tech on something else, perhaps a patient that hadn't passed yet. Next I noticed that two young women came to help me, in my grief, select a replacement. After all, I had to be re-tethered to some portable communicative device. This is where gender came into play.
On principle and for practicality's sake, NO WAY was I going to get a fruit phone. Unless they had a cantaloupe or peach, which they didn't. So that was out, although the young women who were double-teaming me certainly tried. Realizing, though, that fruit phones were out, they then played on my fragile male ego. Surely I didn't want just another plain, old-school ("old" meaning older than last summer), push-button cell. Right? If I'm going to be a 21st century guy (see paragraph 4, above), I need a smart phone. No, seriously, I NEED a smart phone. I NEED a phone that has a touch screen and apps and a pop-out keyboard for REAL texting, not that old-school, hold-it-in-one-hand-and-text-with-one-thumb technique but modern, just-like-the-teenagers-do-it, hold-it-in-two-hands-and-text-with-both-thumbs texting. I NEED a phone that not only takes photos but takes them in hi-res and has options for lighting and flash. I NEED a phone that, when (not if) I decide to get a data plan, can surf the internet and do e-mailing. And get maps, to replace my beloved Garmin. Aaaggghhh.
Briefly, we returned to the blackberry stand, where I was shown fruit phones that meet those criteria. Again, though, not wanting a fruit phone, we moved on to other options. Did I prefer a cell without the QWERTY keyboard (not a smart as those with one, apparently; sort of a mid-IQ phone)? Did I prefer one that hinged open to reveal the full-size keyboard ("full-size," in this case, meaning about 2.5 inches long), or one that slid open to reveal the keyboard (in which case the keyboard was about the same size as those on a fruit phone, maybe 1.5 inches long, max)? Would I need a charger cord for the truck (of course)? Oh, I would need a plastic cover for cell, along with clear films to cover the screen lest it get scratched and ruin my touch-screen experience.
By the time I left the store, I was reeling. I had a new smart phone with home charger, a charger for the truck, covers and films, and a receipt for the rebate I would get that would help with the cost of the cell. I managed to get out without a data plan, since Ginger's cell is way too old-school for that and it seemed presumptuous to get a plan just for my cell. I was due a new cell anyway and could have gotten a free one, but the free ones aren't smart.
I'm not sure I am, either. I like my cell, mind you, and I have discovered that, with the plastic cover on it, it almost looks -- from a distance -- like an iPhone, so sometimes I look cool using it, as long as I'm not too close to other people. But I got double-teamed by two young women; I think maybe my common sense was overshot by my ego. And I'm pretty sure that I'm not as smart as the phone. I have a nagging suspicion that it is capable of things that I don't understand. If it's true that we typically only use about 10% of our brain's capacity, and if, as I suspect, I'm only using about 10% of my cell's capacity, then I'm pretty sure that my smart phone could take over the world, or at least New Mexico, and I might not even realize it until I found myself taking orders from my cell.
Uh oh -- gotta run. My cell's ringing.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Language is Grand!
YO! Just recently, I have been introduced to three new words in the English language! These are SO cool! Seriously, they are actually English words!
1. "Whilom," adverb or adjective, from Old English "hwilum," meaning "at times." As an adverb, whilom means in the past or formerly. As an adjective, whilom means former or erstwhile. Whilom is a great word for an archaeologist.
2. "Quidnunc," noun, from Latin "quid nunc," meaning "what now?" Quidnunc refers to a curious, inquisitive, and gossipy person. I am a certifiable quidnunc.
3. "Poppysmic," noun, from Latin "poppysma," used for "a kind of lip-smacking, clucking noise that signified satisfaction and approval, especially during lovemaking" (according to worldwidewords.org). In Old French, "popisme" "referred to the tongue-clicking tsk-tsk sound that riders use to encourage their mounts" (also according to worldwidewords.org). It reminds me of the sound women make when they even out their lipstick immediately after application.
1. "Whilom," adverb or adjective, from Old English "hwilum," meaning "at times." As an adverb, whilom means in the past or formerly. As an adjective, whilom means former or erstwhile. Whilom is a great word for an archaeologist.
2. "Quidnunc," noun, from Latin "quid nunc," meaning "what now?" Quidnunc refers to a curious, inquisitive, and gossipy person. I am a certifiable quidnunc.
3. "Poppysmic," noun, from Latin "poppysma," used for "a kind of lip-smacking, clucking noise that signified satisfaction and approval, especially during lovemaking" (according to worldwidewords.org). In Old French, "popisme" "referred to the tongue-clicking tsk-tsk sound that riders use to encourage their mounts" (also according to worldwidewords.org). It reminds me of the sound women make when they even out their lipstick immediately after application.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Dietary Question
If I eat a piece of coconut cream pie, does it count as one of my three pieces of fruit for the day? Coconut is fruit, right?
I'm just asking . . .
I'm just asking . . .
Monday, April 19, 2010
Gender and Fruit Communication, Part 1
So, back in the fall my cell died. Yep, my cell. Back when we got our first one -- yes, we had one for our whole family -- it was known as a "cellular telephone." But that was when we all had a lot more time. Before long, though, we didn't have time to say "cellular telephone" all the time, so, like most folks, the name got shortened. To "cellular phone." I think we still only had one phone, but it had a new name, and we were way cooler.
Then we had to replace our cellular phone. The new one wasn't big, it didn't have two pieces connected by a cord, and it didn't have to be plugged into the cigarette lighter in the car. It was small and it flipped open. It was for Miles to carry when he went to school (the tragedy at Columbine High had happened and everyone was scared and needed more immediate communication). And it was a cellular phone.
Then it became a "cell phone." Apparently because, as our phones got smaller, we also found ourselves (all of us, not just us us) with even less time that before, so there just wasn't enough time to say "cellular phone" anymore. We had to go to "cell phone."
They were cell phones for a long time. Cell phones got bigger, a little bigger, for a while, because that whole flip phone thing didn't have a long enough use life -- the wires got crimped or broken or something and they quit working and had to be replaced. Then they started getting smaller again. And then, I guess, somebody figured out what to do with the flip-open thing, because we got phones that opened again. Oh, and I say "we" because each family member ended up with one. Still cell phones.
I went through a couple of them. Not as many as Miles, mind you, but a couple. Ginger went through one; I think she's still on her second one. She takes care of her things. It's a high bar to meet. I won't even begin to discuss Meg's phone cemetery -- and anyway she went off and got married and her phones were someone else's problem.
Along the way, we all lost some more time. Maybe you weren't watching, but we did. How do I know? Because our cell phones became "cells." I no longer have a cell phone. I have a cell. Everyone I know has a cell. Okay, not everyone. My friend Jim doesn't have a cell. He's never had one, in any of their incarnations. Doesn't want one. He and Jane also don't have a TV. And they have dial-up. Can you imagine? They're positively pre-post-modern.
Anyway, those of us who have one, have cells. Not cell phones, not cellular phones, certainly not cellular telephones. Cells. We don't have time for those old-school communication devices anymore. No sir. Time's a-wastin'. We're burnin' daylight. There are things to see, people to do. These are the days of twerping and sexting and other "I-don't-have-time-to-think-I-have-to-say-stuff-even-if-it's-completely-stupid" means of communication. I predict that soon we will be talking on our "Cs" because we won't have time to say "cells."
"Here's my C number, call me." Then it will be, "Here's my number, C me."
Next time, I'll fill you in on gender and fruit and replacing my C.
Then we had to replace our cellular phone. The new one wasn't big, it didn't have two pieces connected by a cord, and it didn't have to be plugged into the cigarette lighter in the car. It was small and it flipped open. It was for Miles to carry when he went to school (the tragedy at Columbine High had happened and everyone was scared and needed more immediate communication). And it was a cellular phone.
Then it became a "cell phone." Apparently because, as our phones got smaller, we also found ourselves (all of us, not just us us) with even less time that before, so there just wasn't enough time to say "cellular phone" anymore. We had to go to "cell phone."
They were cell phones for a long time. Cell phones got bigger, a little bigger, for a while, because that whole flip phone thing didn't have a long enough use life -- the wires got crimped or broken or something and they quit working and had to be replaced. Then they started getting smaller again. And then, I guess, somebody figured out what to do with the flip-open thing, because we got phones that opened again. Oh, and I say "we" because each family member ended up with one. Still cell phones.
I went through a couple of them. Not as many as Miles, mind you, but a couple. Ginger went through one; I think she's still on her second one. She takes care of her things. It's a high bar to meet. I won't even begin to discuss Meg's phone cemetery -- and anyway she went off and got married and her phones were someone else's problem.
Along the way, we all lost some more time. Maybe you weren't watching, but we did. How do I know? Because our cell phones became "cells." I no longer have a cell phone. I have a cell. Everyone I know has a cell. Okay, not everyone. My friend Jim doesn't have a cell. He's never had one, in any of their incarnations. Doesn't want one. He and Jane also don't have a TV. And they have dial-up. Can you imagine? They're positively pre-post-modern.
Anyway, those of us who have one, have cells. Not cell phones, not cellular phones, certainly not cellular telephones. Cells. We don't have time for those old-school communication devices anymore. No sir. Time's a-wastin'. We're burnin' daylight. There are things to see, people to do. These are the days of twerping and sexting and other "I-don't-have-time-to-think-I-have-to-say-stuff-even-if-it's-completely-stupid" means of communication. I predict that soon we will be talking on our "Cs" because we won't have time to say "cells."
"Here's my C number, call me." Then it will be, "Here's my number, C me."
Next time, I'll fill you in on gender and fruit and replacing my C.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The Real Victims
WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT CHILD-FRIENDLY. REALLY.
Maybe I'm wrong, but I think I'm seeing a pattern. Turns out that Tiger Woods and Jesse James (guys with those names have to become celebrities, don't they?) are junkies. They're addicts. Now they qualify for rehab. And it's a good thing, too. Because it looks like the REAL victims of Tiger's and Jesse's "indiscretions" aren't Elin and Sandra. Oh sure, we all thought they were the victims when the stories first hit the news. We all understand why Elin went after the Big Cat with a golf club, and none of us believed his assurances that there was no club. We have all wept, at least metaphorically, for Sandra when Biker Boy's trysts began to come to light AFTER she made those heart-breaking statements from different awards platforms about how much she loves him and relies on him.
But, folks, it looks like we rushed to our conclusions. It looks like the real victims were Big Cat and Biker Boy. Why, you may reasonably ask? Because, for crying out loud (and they've both done nearly everything but that), NOBODY TOLD THEM that if they weren't careful about where they put their wee-wees and how many times they put them there, they might become junkies!! And that's exactly what happened!
They both have WANDERING WEE-WEE DISEASE. Well, they might have several diseases--that's not been made public . . . yet. Anyway, the point is that because nobody informed them of the potential risks involved in philandering, they contracted Wandering Wee-Wee Disease and they are now junkies, addicts, stricken with an illness. They are the real victims!
Fortunately, our celebrity-obsessed culture and it's unscrupulous media outlets will make sure that we hear about every friggin' step each of them takes as they recover from their illnesses and reclaim the lives that, really, were taken from them by the people--whoever they are--that should have told them about the risks they were taking. Oh, and the women who made junkies of them. It's their fault, too.
The poor boys. Tiger and Jesse--they're the victims in their situations. They're sick.
I have a cure for their addictive illnesses--it involves a rusty sardine can lid and no anesthesia, but I probably shouldn't lay out the specifics in this venue.
Maybe I'm wrong, but I think I'm seeing a pattern. Turns out that Tiger Woods and Jesse James (guys with those names have to become celebrities, don't they?) are junkies. They're addicts. Now they qualify for rehab. And it's a good thing, too. Because it looks like the REAL victims of Tiger's and Jesse's "indiscretions" aren't Elin and Sandra. Oh sure, we all thought they were the victims when the stories first hit the news. We all understand why Elin went after the Big Cat with a golf club, and none of us believed his assurances that there was no club. We have all wept, at least metaphorically, for Sandra when Biker Boy's trysts began to come to light AFTER she made those heart-breaking statements from different awards platforms about how much she loves him and relies on him.
But, folks, it looks like we rushed to our conclusions. It looks like the real victims were Big Cat and Biker Boy. Why, you may reasonably ask? Because, for crying out loud (and they've both done nearly everything but that), NOBODY TOLD THEM that if they weren't careful about where they put their wee-wees and how many times they put them there, they might become junkies!! And that's exactly what happened!
They both have WANDERING WEE-WEE DISEASE. Well, they might have several diseases--that's not been made public . . . yet. Anyway, the point is that because nobody informed them of the potential risks involved in philandering, they contracted Wandering Wee-Wee Disease and they are now junkies, addicts, stricken with an illness. They are the real victims!
Fortunately, our celebrity-obsessed culture and it's unscrupulous media outlets will make sure that we hear about every friggin' step each of them takes as they recover from their illnesses and reclaim the lives that, really, were taken from them by the people--whoever they are--that should have told them about the risks they were taking. Oh, and the women who made junkies of them. It's their fault, too.
The poor boys. Tiger and Jesse--they're the victims in their situations. They're sick.
I have a cure for their addictive illnesses--it involves a rusty sardine can lid and no anesthesia, but I probably shouldn't lay out the specifics in this venue.
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