Category: Humanities

Things in Glass Cases (Part 2): Introversion

Cutie Mark Crusaders
via thatguy1945 @ deviantart

or Finding My Cutie Mark

Looking back, radio also helped me realize my introversion. I don’t remember the show, but I remember a book they were discussing: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain. (Disclaimer: I still haven’t read the book.) I do remember the host and Mrs. (Ms.?) Cain discussing the characteristics of introverts and thinking “Hey! That’s me!”

I never considered myself an introvert before. I’d always been told that introverts are shy, lonely, depressed individuals; I am none of these (generally). Nevertheless, my perspective changed.

I know that the internet is not the fount of all knowledge, especially when it comes to personality tests and the like. However, I discovered things about introversion that helped my understand myself.

I discovered that as an introvert . . .

I don’t have to be shy. I don’t like meeting new people, but I will if I have to. I won’t ignore you, but normally you’ll have to make the first move.

I find energy in being alone. This explains why my perfect day consists of curling up with a good book, lots of coffee, and toast. It also explains why I crave “me time” after a day of teaching.

I concern myself with my inner world and mind. For years people have said “He’s in his own little world over there.” Now I know the reason.

I’m in my own little word. But it’s okay; they know me here!

I enjoy simply thinking. Sometimes I even think about thinking. And yes, it is possible to think about nothing all all.

I *can* have good social skills. Just because I don’t like groups doesn’t mean I can’t function!

I tire quickly in large groups. This explains why, even when I visit friends or family, I start feeling drained and just want to go home. Failing that, I’ll find a quiet space and attempt to recharge. For the record, once a group is larger than 5 people I start feeling drained.

I am not automatically depressed. I can’t tell you how many times people have asked “What’s wrong?”. How many times do I have to tell them nothing’s wrong before they’ll believe me? Apparently they equate “quiet” with “depressed.”

I prefer to have deep conversations about ideas and concepts and become bored with small talk. YES! This is who I am! I constantly tell others that I don’t want to discuss unimportant topics like singers, actors, athletes, and the like. Oh, so they’re important to you? Well excuse me for desiring an intelligent conversation. Granted, I could have an intelligent conversation with Ke$ha; I understand she was offered a scholarship to study history. See, we have something in common!

Sorry, I got carried away there. I guess my people skills need some work.

There is no such thing as a pure extrovert or a pure introvert.

Such a man would be in the lunatic asylum.

~ C. Jung

I also took the “Quiet Quiz” from the Quiet website and recorded my responses:

I prefer one-on-one conversations to group activities.

True.

I often prefer to express myself in writing.

True. This blog, for instance.

I enjoy solitude.

True. I also guard my solitude with general cantankerousness.

I appear to value wealth, fame, and status less than my peers.

True. At least, I think so.

People tell me I am a good listener.

False, but only because I don’t talk to people unless I have to.

I’m not a big risk taker.

Define risk. I’ll eat anything once (especially if there’s money involved) and would love to bungee jump, skydive. or hang glide (but not snorkel or dive). However, I thrive on routine and schedules and despise being told to “go with the flow”. I prefer the known to the unknown, so I’ll say . . .

True.

I enjoy work that allows me to “dive in” with no interruptions.

True. Interruptions are distractions and distractions are evil incarnate.

I like to celebrate birthdays on a small scale, with only one or two close friends or family members.

True. Even if everyone in attendance could be considered “close,” I’d prefer a small group.

People describe me as “soft spoken” or “mellow.”

False, because once I speak, I speak my mind, and it’s often because I disagree vehemently with you.

I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until its finished.

True. And even then I probably won’t share it.

I tend to think before I speak.

True, but my wife would disagree.

I often let calls go through to voice mail.

True. There’s only one number I will automatically answer. The rest get voicemail.

Isn’t it ironic the series is named “Things in Glass Cases”?

In this case, the “thing in the glass case” is me.

How To Care For Introverts
via Flikr

This post is being published as part of Writing 101. Challenge 13: Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. View day four’s post and today’s post as installments in a series.

Pennsylvania Sympathy Ham

KummerspeckThe 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.

 A Note from the Author

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.


A Most Interesting Man (June 2014)

A Most Interesting ManIn 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.

Gottfried_Leibniz
Sorry, Sheldon, I’m a Leibniz man.

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.

Three Selections from My Life in Music

music_by_melintelinas-d3aall1
“Music” by Melintelinas via DeviantArt

I often find it difficult to explain why I value certain pieces of music. Rarely will the same pieces move others in the same way they move me, yet that does not diminish their importance. Rather, in a way, I find I develop a unique relationship with the piece, a kind of camaraderie only it and I share. Take, for example, the following compositions:

MOLDAU1
Courtesy WikiMedia Commons

First, “The Moldau”, composed by Bedřich Smetana, is considered by many to be one of the best examples of the symphonic poem. I first encountered this masterpiece during senior year of college while taking Art Appreciation to fill out my electives. Although I had enjoyed classical music since the seventh grade, I consider “The Moldau” to be the first classical piece I ever truly appreciated. I can’t say exactly what moved me that night in my dorm room as I snacked on black coffee and tortilla chips, listening to a selection of CDs rented from the music library to fulfill my outside listening requirement. I remember experiencing a sense of place, (as wine aficionados might say, terrior) and feeling the movement of the river. Even today, “The Moldau” generally moves me to tears, and I haven’t even been to the Czech Republic.

burning leavesSecond is Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” The obvious connection is that I’m a social studies teacher, and the song does an excellent job at conveying major events over thirty years of world history. It was also the first rock/pop song I can recall learning. However, there’s a much more personal importance to the song. It’s one of the few things that brought my sister and me together. As most siblings do, we disagreed on almost everything throughout most of my childhood (she’s eight years older than I am). However, there are two songs I remember us singing to: Garth Brooks’ “Ireland” and Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” In fact, my sister is the one who introduced me to the song and helped me learn the lyrics. She and I and her then boyfriend listened to it over and over and over again one summer at the Wayne County Fair. It’s one of my fondest memories.

jurassic_park_logo_by_camusaltamirano-d6azrtd
“Jurassic Park Logo” by Camusaltamirano via DeviantArt

Finally, there’s “Theme from Jurassic Park” composed by John Williams. Jurassic Park was the first movie I was ever allowed to stay up late and watch on TV. I loved it. I still consider it tied for first on my all-time favorite movies list (the first is the Godfather trilogy). This score is the theme of my childhood. It captures the grandeur and majesty and wonder and curiosity of all things new. I often hear it in my head when inspiration strikes or when something momentous occurs. It is, in my mind, the best score ever composed for a movie. Yes, even better than the haunting trombone opening to Godfather or the terror-inducing bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum of Jaws.

Music moves us in ways nothing else can. Which pieces move you?

 

 

This post is being published as part of Writing 101. Challenge 3: Using the free writing technique, describe three pieces of music important to you; publish the result without editing. No editing has been done; photos and links were added later.

What did you learn this year?

classroom_desks
Photographer: dcJohn | edited by the author

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.

 

The Ballad of Magellan

In working on an article about how cartoons teach history, I came across one of the first historically-themed songs I remember learning. For your enjoyment, I present “The Ballad of Magellan” as performed by the Warner Brothers (and the Warner Sister!).

The Ballad of Magellan

Lyrics by John P. McCann and Paul Rugg; harmonies arranged by Julie Bernstein.

For best results, sing to the tune of “Git Along, Little Doggies.”

There once was a man, his name was Magellan.
A Portuguese skipper, the girls found him cute.
He sailed with five ships to find the East Indies
Then come back to Spain with a bounty of loot.
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, oh, happy Magellan!
Starting your journey with hardly a care!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, strong, brave Magellan,
You’ll find the East Indies, you just don’t know where!
They crossed the Atlantic and spotted a country.
Magellan said…
It’s the East Indies at last!
But then someone shouted…
Hey, that’s Argentina!
Magellan got cranky and chopped down the mast.
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, settle down, Magellan.
Put down that ax! There’s no time to despair.
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, keep trying, Magellan,
You’ll find the East Indies, you just don’t know where!
A great storm arose in the mighty Pacific.
The five little ships were diminished to three.
At last, land was sighted. Magellan was happy.
But then someone shouted…
Hey, that’s Chile!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, cheer up, Magellan.
Check out your map and don’t tear out your hair!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, keep trying, Magellan,
You’ll find the East Indies, you just don’t know where!
It took them five months, but they crossed the Pacific.
They spotted a land that was dotted with palms.
Magellan proclaimed…
Yes! That’s the East Indies!
But then someone shouted…
Hey, I think that’s Guam!
Ai yi yi yi, oops, Magellan!
Your fun little journey’s become a nightmare!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, keep trying, Magellan,
You’ll find the East Indies, you just don’t know where!
They sailed due west to the Philippine Islands.
Magellan was pleased as the natives drew near.
But then someone shouted…
I think they’re attacking!
Magellan said…
What?
And got hit by a spear.
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, farewell, Magellan!
You almost made it! It’s really not fair!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, oh, ghost of Magellan,
The East Indies Islands were right over there!

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