Wit & Whim

Do not ask me to believe in the rational human. No society took to the enlightenment with the same vigor as the Germans. Granted, the French butchered each other and regularly overthrew their republican governments in their illuminated fervor, but they do not compare to the Germans when it comes to how deeply the enlightenment took in the middle and professional classes. One might question what drove this exceedingly advanced attitude--and unusual stability--I do not know quite enough to say, but I intend to find out. This advanced society continued to flourish as the most progressive and cultivated society of the middle 19th and early 20th centuries. None equaled them in the field of academics, in the sciences or humanities. Yet all know that this great society went on to wage war against most of the world, and to kill off large segments of its own people, many of whom were the best and brightest of German progress. They held the single most evil belief which has ever infiltrate...

I enjoy receiving gifts and, even more so, giving them. But it is with a certain antipathy that I consider the feeding frenzy of the Christmas shopping season. Every night the mall is packed, and on the weekends it is hard for someone like me to move without nearly mowing someone over. But it is not their poor sense in cramming themselves like sardines into the stores that irks me. I am frustrated, rather, by their frustration. Many of them are buying their presents without any pleasure; they expect little gratefulness. Christmas gifts, instead of being recognized as an act of generosity and sacrifice on behalf of the giver for the sake of their love of the recipient, are seen as due by the receiver; these gifts are what they are owed, by right of merely existing. So much the worse for the giver, should their offering be found wanting, because scorn certainly waits in the wings to belittle their efforts. Parents, friends, grandparents are held to ransom by expectations, and not by ...

A little bit too much of an unfortunate happenstance. I spent my entire day yesterday, and the majority of my night, working on a paper, which was due this evening. I failed to make satisfactory progress yesterday, so I wound up calling off of work this morning, so that I might actually turn something in before the deadline which was not the literary equivalent of a heaping mound of organic waste product. I spent my morning, and a decent part of my afternoon, hammering out something which I would not blush to own, only to discover upon arriving at class, that the professor had pushed the deadline to the end of the school year, to give us time to get him something polished. Gratefulness and rage mingled momentarily, giving way to maniacal laughter. I found the email telling us that he was giving the extension in my spam folder. How it got there, I know not. He was not offering us any used cars, or massages we wouldn't forget, so I could not fathom what gmail was thinking; I be...

I woke up at 6 to the deafening klaxon of my alarm. After I had chastised it in the most severe of terms for its sin, I proceeded to snooze it for the next 45 minutes or so. Astonished each time that I woke that the cheeky little thing had the impudence and courage to sound again in the face of my displeasure. I dragged myself out of bed...correction, I spent the next five minutes pulling off my covers bit by painful bit, allowing the cold of the room to shock some wakefulness into me, without sending  me into immediate cardiac arrest. The shower was another struggle. The hot water was irresistible, and I had to call up every last ounce of my self-control to turn it off. Amazingly, I escaped after fewer than ten minutes had passed. Dressing was an even more difficult challenge. I did not like clothes this morning, and the clothes I did like were not enough clothes, or else, did not match with my new jeans, which I felt it was my sacred duty to wear. It was the kind of morning w...

"History and German," I reply for the 47th time that day. And everyone knows the question which follows after. The question follows because my hearer misapprehends my purpose for studying German and History; not only that, they do not properly comprehend what I mean thereby; that is to say, those subjects signify to me. To some, the study of history comprises the study and rote memorization of lists of dead men and the equally dead events of their lives, the only use for which is to torture the already wandering minds of bored children. To others, thinking in a slightly more sophisticated way, it is the study of human development; perhaps the evolution of human civilization. Interesting, but not really of great utility. These sorts always respond with support, but perhaps with a shadow of amusement behind the eyes. To others still, it is necessary. We must study history, or else we will keep making the mistakes of the past! If only people studied history, they would...

During this afternoon's edition of German Language Skills, the topic of loan words came up. Wolf Schneider, in Deutsch fuer Profis is against using transliterated words when simple--alltaeglich--German cognates exist. An example which Schneider used, and which Lee specifically highlighted, was the use of "asphyktisch" rather than atemlos. If one is trying to reach the widest audience, then one should use simpler language. Six hours later, a realization puzzled me. I was unable to provide an etymology for the word "Asphyxia." I sat there--ok, so maybe I was playing Meerca Chase--and ran through all the possible Latin and Greek words for breath or anything remotely related that I could call to mind. Still nothing fit. I had one of my research assistants look into it, and what he uncovered I found, if not ironic, at least amusing. If one means to say without breath, or atemlos, then asphyktisch, though it might often be used in such cases now, does not literall...

Maurice Sendak died today and I feel a strangely strong sense of bereavement. Where the Wild Things Are was  my favourite. I loved the book, I loved the Wild Things, and I loved Max. I identified myself with Max. I wanted to be Max. I wanted to have my solitary adventures into the night, through a day, in and out of weeks, and over a year. And I wanted to return back to where someone loved me best of all. Where the Wild Things Are became a part of who I am, and to know the man who wrote it is gone kind of hurts. So I send my love and kind regards to Maurice Sendak. He will never receive them, but I am grateful nonetheless.