rantings & ramblings
Prepping my new Western Civ lectures.
I can’t cover everything about the ancient Near East, so I guess I’ll have to Sumerize.
Fame came too quickly. I had only been semi-seriously blogging for two months when I got the email:
Hiya Jay,
Dust off the welcome mat and get ready to welcome some new readers — we’ve picked your post ( https://runninginmyhead.wordpress.com/2013/06/17/16-life-lessons-from-monty-python-and-the-holy-grail/ ) to feature on Freshly Pressed on WordPress.com!
We found your post very funny – it had a nice, well paced buildup of detail which can be appreciated by Monty Python fans and non-fans alike. We thought it was a great read and think the rest of the community will agree — we’re really looking forward to the discussion that comes out of it, and are glad we can give it (and you) some more exposure.
– Ben Huberman
Indeed, I received a lot of exposure, but I didn’t know what to do with it. I had followers and readers, even a few I actually connected with, but I had nothing to say. My featured post was a listicle like those found on Cracked or Buzzfeed (two of my guilty pleasures), but it wasn’t really me.
You see, I hadn’t found my voice. In fact, I’m still finding it. Looking back, my post might be funny, but it’s not mine. Not really. It’s time that changed.
So I edited and included more pictures. I used my voice. I claimed it as my own.
Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail.
Please note that this post is several pages in length. Scroll past the media buttons and keep reading!
Dear Cholera,
I don’t know you personally, and for that I am extremely grateful. Obviously I’ve heard of you; after all, what historian worth their salt hasn’t devoted some time to studying the great plagues and epidemics of the past? I must confess, however, I had a dismal regard for your power to infiltrate, terrify, and decimate entire cities. I had considered you a distant cousin to y pesits; I now realize that you are brothers in arms.
What changed my mind, you ask? Author/historian Steven Johnson’s work The Ghost Map. Now, I must confess that Mr. Johnson’s writing leaves something to be desired. His redundancy reminds me of students padding a term paper. His asides and personal vendettas add little to the narrative. He berates historical ideas of science and medicine for not knowing better, only briefly pausing to consider they had no reason to know better. They were ignorant, not stupid. And yet, Mr. Johnson, while making the same claim, treats our forebears as stupid.
Nevertheless, once the chaff is removed the kernels of knowledge remain. In reading of the London plagues that led to understanding you, I have developed a new respect. No longer will I confuse you with dysentery. To call you dysentery would be akin to calling anaphylaxis “an allergy.” I had long known alcohol was safer than water for much of human civilization, now I know you were the reason why. You struck with apparent impunity and malignancy, infiltrating and poisoning seemingly healthy water. The master of disguise, many blamed bad air or meteorological catastrophes for your appearance. Despite our best efforts, you continued to plague our great cities well into the nineteenth century.
And still you remain. Africa and the East and South America – where sanitation and hygiene are poor or nonexistent – know you all too well. We see our politicians and entertainers “bring awareness” to AIDS and cancer and illiteracy and women’s rights. Where are the spokesmen for cholera? It baffles me that something so basic as “don’t drink where you crap” needs to be taught; and yet it must. Where is the outrage? Where are the PSAs? Where are the contribution campaigns?
I hope that one day the only way anyone will hear of you is in a history book.
This post is being published as part of Writing 101. Challenge 14: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What jumps out at you? Start there, and write in the form of a letter.
The Germans have a wonderfully exact word (is there any other kind in German?) called kummerspeck. Idiomatically, it refers to weight gained from emotional overeating. Literally, it means “grief bacon.” In the part of Pennsylvania where I grew up, we had a similar term. We called it “sympathy ham.”
I have no idea where the term came from, but I don’t think it’s related to the Germans (unfortunately). We’re a bit too far removed from the Pennsylvania Dutch/Deutsch for a cultural impact. Nevertheless, I suppose it’s possible.
Sympathy ham only came around when there’d been a death in the family. Where others might bring casseroles or stews or things like that, the people of Wayne County brought ham. Lots and lots and lots of ham. Baked ham, smoked ham, ham sandwiches, ham soup, and yes, ham casseroles. Glorious, salty ham.
Wait a minute! This is supposed to be about foods for celebration, and here I am talking about death. To you, a funeral is not a cause for celebration (unless you’re one of those kinds of people), but for me, a funeral is a celebration of life. We sit and talk about our loved ones: the things we remember fondly, their quirks and idiosyncrasies, family stories they had shared, and sometimes wondering about things we’d found out just a bit too late. All the time we munch on ham: ham with mustard, ham with mayonnaise, cold ham, hot ham, ham in all its varieties. Think of it like a modern wake, but without the alcohol. Great. Now I’m stereotyping. Sorry.
When my grandmother died, the ham seemed infinite. Our car seemed packed with it after church; our doorbell would ring, and there was more ham; I think someone even brought ham to the viewing. Perhaps I’m remembering that wrong. Whatever. Our refrigerators and freezers were soon maxed out with majestic ham. I think we ate ham for a month or more.
I know that science and medicine claim that salt may help stave off depression and that depression is likely to kick in after the death of a loved one, but I don’t sit down and eat ham thinking “man, I’m depressed. I need more salt.” I eat it because of the memories. Because when I eat ham I’m back in Pennsylvania sitting with family talking about days done by and things I never knew, things I half remember, and things I know all too well. Ham is the catalyst for my family’s history. Without it, I would be lost.
Writing 101 has challenged me. Today, we’re supposed to write in our own voice, as if we were talking to a friend over coffee. So that’s what I did. I made myself some coffee and had a friend ask me “So, what’s sympathy ham?” and typed my response as if I were verbally answering them. It might be disjointed, but that’s how most of my conversations go: I start out technical, then realize I’m being too technical, and start to dial it back. Thanks for your continued patience.
This post is being published as part of Writing 101. Challenge 10: Tell about your favorite meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory. Tell the story in your own distinct voice.
In general, I don’t meet new people. The reason is simple: I am not a social person. I guess it makes sense that I met my newest friend in our local bookstore.
We were both in the science section: I for something new; he for the math. Don’t get me wrong; I love math to a point. I actually enjoy algebra. I even like tolerate geometry. I despise calculus with every fiber of my being. I suppose my hatred stems from high school, where I literally had to teach myself calculus (yes, for a grade, and yes, it hurt my GPA). He, on the other hand, is a math fiend who loves adores worships calculus. Not the basics for a friendship, but we both speak German, so there’s that.
He’s probably not the type with whom most people strike up a conversation: small, shortsighted, large nose, slightly misshapen – stereotypical nerd. Continuing the stereotype, he’s done relatively well for himself.
A published author, he’s had the opportunity to debate argue with meet some of the biggest names in the scientific world. (Unlike him, I won’t name drop. After all, I didn’t meet them). Knowledgeable in biology, ethics, geology, history, law, linguistics, medicine, philology, philosophy, physics, politics, probability theory, psychology, technology, and theology, one might accurately call him a Renaissance Man.
Despite his obvious intellect, his character leaves something to be desired. On occasion he’ll complain about money, but it’s obvious he’s well off. At least, he’s better off than most. He tends to be ruthless, but claims it’s the nature of his field. I know for a fact that he has altered some of his work ex post facto, which has (naturally) placed him in poor standing with his peers.
His biggest flaw is his temper, at times appearing to revel in argument. He continues to hold a grudge against a colleague who accused him of stealing work, despite vindication from the scientific and academic community. He also has a tendency to take an argument reductio ad absurdum and will continue to argue his point even while cognizant of the illogical, irrational and sometime contradictory nature of his claims.
Despite these flaws, they appear to extend only to his professional life; in person, many find him well-mannered and charming, possessed of wit, humor, and imagination. Without exaggeration, he’s the life of the party (just don’t start an argument with him).
If you’d like to meet him, I can introduce you: his name is Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, whom I first met in The Clockwork Universe. I trust you find him just as interesting.
This post is being published as part of Writing 101. Challenge 6: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year? Turn your post into a character study.
Final exams start tomorrow. Nine months ago I challenged my students with this phrase: “I don’t expect you to think like me, but I do expect you to think!” Tonight, I wonder not just how much they learned, but also what they learned.
Too often the social sciences place too much emphasis on facts alone. Describe the three regions of North Carolina. Name the seven continents and four oceans. Define the three eras of human history. List the American Presidents. Explain the steps a bill takes to become a law. These facts may be deemed important for the test, but are they actually significant for life? Do not ideas and concepts trump facts and minutiae? For example, which matters more: knowing the date a war began, or knowing the causes that led to war?
As historians, we are ultimately the keepers of philosophy. We preserve the why and the wherefore for future generations. So while I earnestly hope my students have retained the required facts, I also hope they learned to be better citizens of the world.
Geography should teach more than continents, climates, and cultures. It should impart a sense of place and belonging, an understanding of where we fit in the rich tapestry of nations. Imagination should ignite some spark of interest to visit new lands, acquire a new language, meet new people, and taste new food. Even if one must be an armchair traveler with Rick Steves or Burt Wolf, don’t just hang on for the ride.
History is more than a never-ending list of people, places, and philosophies. It is a study in how man has answered those questions posed by Aristotle and Plato so many centuries ago: what is the best way to live and how does one live that life? In understanding how man has answered these questions in the past we come to understand the present world around us. It is only by understanding the world around us that we can strive to make it better.
Ultimately, the exams I give will only test my students’ memory skills. Their lives will show what they have learned.
Running In My Head 