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| Tom Kelly from Enoteca Website |
I enjoyed hearing each pitch and wondered if he'd have the energy to keep it up until six. I didn't go back to find out. But I will got back to buy more of the Montepulciano.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Elevator Pitch for Wine
I've been thinking about the "elevator speech," wondering if I should add it to my public speaking class activities. An "elevator pitch" is a short (one minute or less) promotional presentation selling oneself or a product to another person who is riding the elevator with you (or in a similar, trapped position in which they need to listen to your proposal).
At yesterday afternoon's Newport Market wine tasting (you'll notice they don't take their web presence seriously), I was observing elevator pitch's for wine. A handsome young man named Tom Kelley, the Northwest Ambassador of Small Vineyards, a division of August Wine Group, was pouring four delicious Italian wines. Shortly after the tasting began, he was giving a short pitch with each pour. These were memorized and usually contained two or three words about the flavor (rich, jammy, tobacco, etc.), place of origin, and vineyard. He had pictures of some of the winemakers and a picture of decorative tower with a flock of birds rising upwards. (Frankly, this particular type of picture annoys me: the cliche image of architecture with birds in liftoff.) I picked up a wonderful and very cheap bottle of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo from the La Quercia estate.
I enjoyed hearing each pitch and wondered if he'd have the energy to keep it up until six. I didn't go back to find out. But I will got back to buy more of the Montepulciano.
I enjoyed hearing each pitch and wondered if he'd have the energy to keep it up until six. I didn't go back to find out. But I will got back to buy more of the Montepulciano.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Meaning of Laschcar
As I walked the dog yesterday, I heard a story on PRI's The World in which reporter Mustafa Quadri talked about "lashcars." The lashcars are defined as an "anti-Taliban tribal militia, or lashcar." These words were used by the voice introducing the story.
Then Mr. Quadri, sounding very "classic BBC," tells the sad but millenially common story of an area divided by war. Much of the story comes through through his editing of his interview with Irshad, a lashcar member from Adezai, a village that had become a fort. Irshad says he knows about "80 %" of the local Taliban because he was involved in local elections and sporting events before the fighting started. Now, he says, if a Taliban would pick him up, they'd kill him and if he caught a Taliban, the man would be killed.
This true story saddens and horrifies while making me thankful that I don't live in this situation.
Strangely enough, however, my very first response to the story was my response to the word "laschcar." It brought a mental image of painting of dark menacing man with long mustachios. On boats. With big swords. I think I saw this painting when I was in high school. (Or, Dr's Freud and Jung, did I just dream of that shadow with its long steal/stele?) Later on, looking at 19th Century paintings in museums, I would run across pictures of "lascars." The men in the paintings were dark skinned and usually not presented as heroes of the image. They were often subsidiary characters, decorations, part of "exotic" locals.
So as I listened to Mr. Quadri's story, I felt he was playing on my old, orientalist biases to get me to think of the Afghanis being as different from me as the Victorians imagined these dark skinned men.
It seems to be true that both laschcar and lascar mean a military group of some kind. But the lascars were not evil, though they were treated and pictured as far less "good and decent" than the white folks of the Victorian period. Perhaps to justify their misuse. As historian Diane Robinson-Dunn notes,
they were simply "Asian sailors" or sometimes "Asian or African sailors." They were predominantly Muslim and dark skinned. And they have an honorable history. So the old, "white man's burden" images that popped to mind were probably not what Mr. Quadri was intending me to imagine as I listened to the story. Though he does spend a lot of time emphasizing the bloodiness of the Afghanee quarrel.
Then Mr. Quadri, sounding very "classic BBC," tells the sad but millenially common story of an area divided by war. Much of the story comes through through his editing of his interview with Irshad, a lashcar member from Adezai, a village that had become a fort. Irshad says he knows about "80 %" of the local Taliban because he was involved in local elections and sporting events before the fighting started. Now, he says, if a Taliban would pick him up, they'd kill him and if he caught a Taliban, the man would be killed.
This true story saddens and horrifies while making me thankful that I don't live in this situation.
Strangely enough, however, my very first response to the story was my response to the word "laschcar." It brought a mental image of painting of dark menacing man with long mustachios. On boats. With big swords. I think I saw this painting when I was in high school. (Or, Dr's Freud and Jung, did I just dream of that shadow with its long steal/stele?) Later on, looking at 19th Century paintings in museums, I would run across pictures of "lascars." The men in the paintings were dark skinned and usually not presented as heroes of the image. They were often subsidiary characters, decorations, part of "exotic" locals.
So as I listened to Mr. Quadri's story, I felt he was playing on my old, orientalist biases to get me to think of the Afghanis being as different from me as the Victorians imagined these dark skinned men.
It seems to be true that both laschcar and lascar mean a military group of some kind. But the lascars were not evil, though they were treated and pictured as far less "good and decent" than the white folks of the Victorian period. Perhaps to justify their misuse. As historian Diane Robinson-Dunn notes,
they were simply "Asian sailors" or sometimes "Asian or African sailors." They were predominantly Muslim and dark skinned. And they have an honorable history. So the old, "white man's burden" images that popped to mind were probably not what Mr. Quadri was intending me to imagine as I listened to the story. Though he does spend a lot of time emphasizing the bloodiness of the Afghanee quarrel.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Why not FREEDOM?
My colleague Terry Krueger had an article in the Bend Bulletin today in which he used a metaphor* to describe the growing size of our classroom syllabi. The tenor of the metaphor was the classroom syllabus. The vehicle was a novel. The ground was the concept of "things with many pages." His point was that the current institutional expectation that we clearly state every possible do or don't and our graded or behavioral response thereto has encouraged us to produce syllabi greater than the 2-6 typed pages we received when we were but graduate students.
The novel he offered as an example was one known for its length: War and Peace.
Now, my question. Why use this particular example? Why not Freedom? Why not Middlesex? Why not some other great contemporary tome, popular or literary?
Perhaps because a more creative metaphor would have called attention to the writing of the piece rather than to the point that appears when we extend the metaphor to the inevitable question, who is going to read either?**
Of course it could be we're looking at one of the differences between a readerly and a writerly text, and because Terry's purpose is persuasive, I think, I think he's probably thinking of his audience. (That's at least three thoughts and plenty enough for one post.
_____
*By the way, if you surfed to t-bob's homepage, you could see her interest in Great Pyrenees, an appropriate obsession for a college teacher. I mean, not everyone can have a poodle.
** If you click to these pages, please make sure you read Dan Coleman's comments.
The novel he offered as an example was one known for its length: War and Peace.
Now, my question. Why use this particular example? Why not Freedom? Why not Middlesex? Why not some other great contemporary tome, popular or literary?
Perhaps because a more creative metaphor would have called attention to the writing of the piece rather than to the point that appears when we extend the metaphor to the inevitable question, who is going to read either?**
Of course it could be we're looking at one of the differences between a readerly and a writerly text, and because Terry's purpose is persuasive, I think, I think he's probably thinking of his audience. (That's at least three thoughts and plenty enough for one post.
_____
*By the way, if you surfed to t-bob's homepage, you could see her interest in Great Pyrenees, an appropriate obsession for a college teacher. I mean, not everyone can have a poodle.
** If you click to these pages, please make sure you read Dan Coleman's comments.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Tiny rant: What are they teaching these days?
So I took a look this morning at a paper my nephew wrote for his U of Oregon junior-year English lit class. It was about Shelley's famous sonnet, "Lift not the painted veil . . ." He'd asked his mom, my sis, to look it over and give him feedback. The paper, which he was rewriting, was assessed by what the U of O called a GTF (graduate teaching fellow) but which I used to call (when I was one) a TA (teaching associate) or GS (graduate slave). The final will be graded by the course teacher. I scanned the essay as I was drinking my coffee and was pleased to see him make a thoughtful argument in which he used the term "ontological angst."
I was not pleased to note two knowledge deficits (which I, of course, will blame on his previous education, not him since he is my beloved nephew). First, he didn't know that fourteen lines with end rhymes was a sonnet. How can someone get through high school and not know what a sonnet is? Second, he didn't recognize that "the Preacher" mentioned in the final line is about the writer of the Book of Ecclesiastes. AND, more to the point, neither did the GTF!
So, my mini-rant would be, why wasn't this English major taught something about the Bible? Especially about the book that, arguably, is one of the best known among the non-religious? Eric S. Christensen, in Ecclesiastes Through the Centuries, says this:
My irritation about this lack of Biblical knowledge among English majors is not unsimilar to my irritation with the same lack of knowledge among the conservative Christians who inhabit my classes. The Christians should read the Bible because they profess to believe it. English majors should know at least those parts of the King James Version which so thoroughly influenced British and American writing.
But, perhaps I should just calm down. As the Preacher said (Chapter 3) (Quotation lifted from the Bible Gateway site).
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
So now I think I'll go and eat and drink and enjoy the good of my labour.
I was not pleased to note two knowledge deficits (which I, of course, will blame on his previous education, not him since he is my beloved nephew). First, he didn't know that fourteen lines with end rhymes was a sonnet. How can someone get through high school and not know what a sonnet is? Second, he didn't recognize that "the Preacher" mentioned in the final line is about the writer of the Book of Ecclesiastes. AND, more to the point, neither did the GTF!
So, my mini-rant would be, why wasn't this English major taught something about the Bible? Especially about the book that, arguably, is one of the best known among the non-religious? Eric S. Christensen, in Ecclesiastes Through the Centuries, says this:
My irritation about this lack of Biblical knowledge among English majors is not unsimilar to my irritation with the same lack of knowledge among the conservative Christians who inhabit my classes. The Christians should read the Bible because they profess to believe it. English majors should know at least those parts of the King James Version which so thoroughly influenced British and American writing.
But, perhaps I should just calm down. As the Preacher said (Chapter 3) (Quotation lifted from the Bible Gateway site).
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
10I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
11He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
12I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.
13And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.
So now I think I'll go and eat and drink and enjoy the good of my labour.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Wonderful Example of Love Gone Wrong
I followed a Facebook link to the blog "Slightly Disheveled" and found some terrific writing, including a wonderful parable about puzzles and mistaken love. It does a fine job illustrating two important concepts. The first is one that is so important in Interpersonal Communication: ambiguous language and misunderstanding. The second is vital to my love education courses: the unfortunate fact that people "in love" project their expectations onto the love object, thus being unable to see the love object with clarity.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dexter-ous
I began my sabbatical by watching the entire first season of Dexter, on the recommendation of my friend Stacey, a literature professor I trust to give good advice about things narrative. She told me that it was a "novel" like the Sopranos, with the focus of each season on a particular other serial killer. I'd avoided watching the show in part because we don't have Showtime. But now the first and second season of the show are streaming at Netflix. I'd also avoided it because I thought that a show with a serial killer protagonist would be both violent and decadent. It's neither.
Now, it does have a lot, and I mean like BUCKETS of blood, most of it aesthetically splattered about like the work of a grand guignol abstract expressionist. But very little slam-bang viciousness. In terms of gross visions of corpses, it's far less disturbing than any season of NCIS or CSI, two of my favorites. The violence in Dexter is like that in old fashioned horror films -- mostly hinted at.
As for decadence: though he is a serial killer, Dexter is a vigilante version thereof. He "takes out the trash." He is a "dark hero" along the lines of Dirty Harry, Batman, and a thousand other Hollywood and comic book characters. He is also self aware and mentally struggling with the conflict between the normality he desires and his difference. So the show is, in some ways, ferociously moral.
Dexter's struggle is part of what made the show interesting and enjoyable. He knows that he is a monster and he is doing his best to live by the code taught to him by his adoptive policeman Dad, Harry. Harry taught him the practice of looking normal. "Even if you don't want to smile, you should. It's what normal people do." This is the key, of course, to surviving in the bourgeois world. The rich can be monsters without cost because they have the power to make evil actions invisible. Those who live in absolute poverty have some of the same freedom because they don't have trackable connections. But to live in the middle class, one has to maintain an image of normality.
I believe that every bourgeois person in postmodern, information age society struggles with the challenge of balancing their "authentic self" with the need to "fit in" with their colleagues and friends. This is one reason why Americans report having very few friends. According to Social Isolation in America: Changes in Core Discussion Networks over Two Decades (Miller McPherson, Lynn Smith-Lovin, Matthew E. Brashears, American Sociological Review), our social networks have decreased dramatically in the past twenty years. Few of us have more than two or three people with whom we can "be ourselves." Many have only one or none. One of the reasons for this is that most Americans find their closest connections in the workplace and must, perforce, hide from their colleagues any aspect of their character that might put their colleagues or themselves at risk.
Dexter hides his monstrousness from his colleagues, his adoptive sister (he was adopted by the cop when he was 4), his girlfriend and her kids. The show suggests that most people have something to hide and I think that the shows viewers are probably people who experience this hiding in their own lives.
SPOILER ALERT
In the first season, the show has a mythic quality because the serial killer Dexter and his cop colleagues are investigating turns out to be his "real" brother, the other boy who sat in a cargo carrier two inches deep in blood. Through the season Dexter thinks of the Ice Truck Killer as a genius, a master class teacher, and a friend. When he discovers it is his brother, he is tempted in a very deep way. His brother is the only one who can possible understand him, who can accept him as he is. His brother wants him to kill his adoptive sister and Dexter has his hand on the knife, but can't do it.
I think this is the most powerful struggle anyone can face -- the struggle between our desire to feel loved for ourselves and our desire to follow a social code of conscience. It is the struggle of addicts. It is the struggle of anyone whose "true self" is experienced as unworkable. Most people in our overly regulated, surveilled, and measured society have something they want to keep private. Or perhaps something that they should keep private. Yet we have been taught, perhaps by our parents, perhaps by some teacher along the line, to just "be ourselves:" "I know I'm somebody, cause God don't make no junk," as the poster tells us. But what if the self is not acceptable to most if not all of the people surrounding one? The desire to release the constant control, to just be open, to flow as an animal flows without self-consciousness, to feel accepted and loved, to feel connection becomes more powerful as it faces constant thwarting.
In the show, we see Dexter go to a therapist (who he is about to murder) and say, "I'm a serial killer. Whoo! Wow! It feels great to say that out loud, finally!" We know how much Dexter wants to feel accepted, wants to have his monstrosity seen, recognized and celebrated. At the end, Dexter fantasizes about a crowd celebrating him. His desire to be accepted, however, is fulfilled only by the evil actions of his brother, a different kind of monster who has gone to great lengths (buying a freezer unit, chopping up hookers, etc) to bring Dexter to consciousness so that he can recognize his brother's love.
I think that, as viewers, this might be a hidden desire we all experience -- to have someone need us so much that they go to great lengths to help us realize ourselves. But at the end, this dark and evil "therapy" must end. Dexter kills his brother as every acolyte is taught to conquer or move past his teacher in order to become a master. "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him."
Somewhere there must be a Jungian analysis of this show.
Of course, Dexter's duality also gives the show plenty of dark humor. The lead actor, Michael C. Hall, manages to play Dexter with complexity and wit. The visuals are stunning and the ensemble cast is excellent, all of which add to my pleasure in the show. I think I'll go start season two.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Long Time No Sea
Which is what Lewis and Clark said just before they reached the Pacific Ocean.
Last year I resolved to post often -- that resolution died very quickly through a combination of laziness and lack of purpose. Then I hit a couple of walls last spring that left me considering the whole blog thing.
First wall was legal: what can I actually write about my life and not get sued over? I was so excited last spring to take my first cell phone pictures of a student group presentation that seemed to me very creative. Then a few of the students in that creative group basically blew off their final written work. I wanted to post the picture and also write about my disappointment but news stories were surfacing about teachers being sued or fired for blog posts.
Another wall is my conflict avoidance. I had one nasty criticism about a post and it evoked such an unfortunate scumble of unpleasant emotions that I realized I probably don't have what it takes to engage with lively topics in the wild west of the web. While I enjoy live intellectual debate and have found methods to manage personal face-to-face relational conflict, the whole anonymous attack thing took me back to graduate student days of receiving nasty anonymous reviews of material I sent to journals.
So I'm not sure, at this point, what this blog is for. When I find out, I'll tell you.
Last year I resolved to post often -- that resolution died very quickly through a combination of laziness and lack of purpose. Then I hit a couple of walls last spring that left me considering the whole blog thing.
First wall was legal: what can I actually write about my life and not get sued over? I was so excited last spring to take my first cell phone pictures of a student group presentation that seemed to me very creative. Then a few of the students in that creative group basically blew off their final written work. I wanted to post the picture and also write about my disappointment but news stories were surfacing about teachers being sued or fired for blog posts.
Another wall is my conflict avoidance. I had one nasty criticism about a post and it evoked such an unfortunate scumble of unpleasant emotions that I realized I probably don't have what it takes to engage with lively topics in the wild west of the web. While I enjoy live intellectual debate and have found methods to manage personal face-to-face relational conflict, the whole anonymous attack thing took me back to graduate student days of receiving nasty anonymous reviews of material I sent to journals.
So I'm not sure, at this point, what this blog is for. When I find out, I'll tell you.
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