The Language of Politics

This week I read more of The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling, but that wasn't what captured my attention. 

Following a family fun outing of flu shots, my parents parked me in the Kroger Marketplace cafeteria with my mother's iPad while they went grocery shopping. While perusing the New York Times app, I happened across this article "Gosh Who Talks Like That? Romney Does" and was immediately captivated. If there was any doubt that a linguistics major wasn't the right path for me, it was eviscerated after reading this article. 

The article discusses how Republican Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney's distinct language patterns and colloquialism could be contributing to his inability to connect with voters. The author  states that Romney speaks in "Mittisms." 

 In Romneyspeak, passengers do not get off airplanes, they “disembark.” People do not laugh, they “guffaw.” Criminals do not go to jail, they land in the “big house.” Insults are not hurled, “brickbats” are.

I am admittedly not a Romney supporter, but I was fascinated by how much effect diction and syntax can have on people subconsciously. The fact that Romney legitimately uses the phrase "H-E-double-hockey-sticks" certainly characterizes his personality. 

For Democratic strategists, Mr. Romney’s throwback vocabulary feeds into their portrayal of a man ill-equipped for the mores and challenges of the modern age.  

Aside from the fact that I'm obsessed with the phrase "throwback vocabulary," this well-articulated story caused me to pause and think about my language and language in general. I suppose linguistically we cannot please everyone. It seems good ol' Mittens makes headlines when he describes having "binders full of women" and when he says something as non-scandalous as "golly gee heavens." 

However, in a world of four letter words, Romney does feel out of touch and the idea that his old school vernacular poses an obstacle makes sense. Could Romney adapt? The article insinuates probably not. 

A few acquaintances have tried to drag him linguistically into the 21st century. Mr. Finneran, an admitted serial curser, said that after years of working closely with Mr. Romney, he began to fantasize about provoking him to utter a particularly crude word.

“It got to the point where I started to think that my greatest achievement of all time would be if I somehow or other got him to say the word,” he said.

Once, Mr. Romney seemed on the cusp of fulfilling that wish during a heated discussion. But he caught himself. “And I thought, ‘Oh, God, my closest moment ever,’ ” Mr. Finneran said. “But it’s not going to happen.”

We can dream. 

It's Time

I'm loving this video that a friend showed to me on YouTube a couple months ago that I just rediscovered. It shows this guy, Paul, and his relationship with an unseen person. A montage of little clips, the audience gets a feeling for the strength of the relationship. Eventually it is revealed that the mystery person is another man, but it doesn't matter because we, the audience, are open-minded and the two are clearly in love. It's adorable and evokes such a warm, fuzzy feeling that I immediately want to go snuggle with some teddy bears and drink hot chocolate. Kudos to Australia for this awesome video. Maybe America can follow suit. 

What I'm Loving: The Outspoken Sloucher

The Outspoken Sloucher is a witty and snarky blog by one of my fellow Etymology students. The blogger delivers on point critique of a variety of books and topics. It is, as its tagline decrees, "a blog worth blogging about." The most recent post is an evaluation of John Green's latest young adult novel The Fault in Our Stars. This book was like an emotional roller coaster, leaving me alternating between full-on guffawing and openly weeping with the turn of a page. But it's not perfect, and The Outspoken Sloucher is there to acknowledge but not condemn its flaws. 

So mazel tov, Outspoken Sloucher. It's an honor just to be nominated. 

The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter is my life. I was and still am obsessed with the series about the boy wizard from Surrey. Harry Potter charmed out the reader buried within me, and I am eternally grateful. J.K. Rowling is my idol, the kind of writer and person I wish I could be. She is, in the truest sense, a story teller. She changed the world for the better and created this vast community and force for good. Despite her success, J.K. never forgot where she came from, choosing to leave her money in Great Britain so that her large portion of taxes will help the Benefits program on which she relied. 

That said, I'm unsure about The Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling's newest and only non-Potter-verse novel. As opposed to staying up until midnight and purchasing three copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows so that my sister, mother, and I would not have to share, I waited. The book was released in early October. I waited until my birthday on October 8 to get it. Actually, due to some snooping I figured out it was a birthday present earlier in the week, but didn't end up opening it for a few days after my birthday. 

I was putting off reading The Casual Vacancy because I was afraid. What if the magic wasn't there?

That's the problem. The magic isn't there. The book isn't about Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic. It's about the small English town of Pagford and the death of one of its politicians. Granted, I'm nowhere near the finishing the book, it's strange for me. I keep waiting for Dumbledore to appear and save the day. 

The writing is still Rowling's signature style, yet it's more elevated and mature. The shock value of "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH" by the maternal Molly Weasley gives way to flippant uses of "shit" and "fuck" by foul-mouthed Pagford citizens. The spontaneous obscenities are akin to overhearing one's grandfather make an innuendo. 

I'm going to give the rest of the novel a chance, but I know it is doomed to fail. Harry Potter was the pinnacle of my childhood, and no other book will ever compare. It is unfortunate that The Casual Vacancy is forced to try. 

America: A Citizen's Guide to Democracy Inaction

One of the positions on my long list of dream jobs is pun writer for The Daily Show. You know, one of those people who designs the punny segment titles that mock whatever the headline news story is that day? Those little graphics at which pretentious try-hards like me laugh?

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart is certainly one of my favorite shows on television. It is consistently funny with timely social commentary that is spot-on. If pun writer doesn't work out, I suppose I could settle for correspondent, but I think you have to be funny and a minority to get that job. I think Stewart himself has dibs on the Jewish position. 

This ten-time Emmy winner invigorated my interest in politics and keeps me informed on the failures of today's politicians. I would credit The Daily Show as about 47% responsible for my 5 on the AP Government test. 

In order to prep for the upcoming election and to brag once again that I GET TO VOTE, I read America: A Citizen's Guide to Democracy Inaction this week. Set up like a textbook, America travels through U.S. history and sheds light on the tenets of American society. 

In "The Judicial Branch: It Rules," I learned how to desegregate a school and how to operate a gavel responsibly and safely. "The Media: Democracy's Valiant Vulgarian" taught me how to identify political bias in today's liberal, bleeding-heart Jew, and gay-run media. 

I would definitely recommend this book for anyone who loves America and loves a laugh. 

50/50 stars.

This American Life: Notes on Camp

I have probably at least fifty episodes of "This American Life" on my computer because I am obsessed. I remember the first time I listened to Ira Glass's soothingly monotonous voice. I was in the car with my parents on a road trip, likely to Chicago or Bloomington. I forget which. Regardless of the destination, we were driving through the scenic Indiana countryside, listening to NPR like the white, liberal family we are. It was Monday, and This American Life came on. 

The title was "Play the Part," centering around people who feel compelled to do crazy things and step outside their comfort zones simply because someone is filming. The first act was Louis Ortiz, an  Obama impersonator. Unemployed for a year, Ortiz shaved off his mustache, suited up, and stumbled into a lucrative new profession. His story was so immensely fascinating to me that, when I got home, I snuck into my sister's room and plundered her "This American Life" official flash drive with 35 hours on it. A longtime follower of the show, my sister supported the program in some way and was rewarded for her efforts. The reward was now being downloaded onto my computer. 

And then I forgot about it for a few months. In June, I was stumbling around on my iTunes library, searching for something to listen to. To my delight, I had 35 episodes of This American Life waiting for me. I selected "Notes on Camp" and pressed play. 

What made this episode particularly special for me was that I was packing for camp as I listened to it. A proud member of the special few with a "cult-like, mystical connection" to summer camps. I was preparing for a nine-week stay at Goldman Union Camp Institute in Zionsville, Indiana. This camp had been my home-away-from-home for the past ten years, and, after over a year away, I was itching to return. Camp instilled me with self-confidence and perspective and introduced me to my best friends in the whole world. 

As I listened, I realized that I wasn't so special. Evidently the ineffable experience I had at GUCI could be and was being replicated at hundreds of camps across the world. The daunting challenges of climbing towers, silly songs and traditions, even Israeli military training could be found at these other camps. Albeit disappointed, I continued to listen and simultaneously stuff as many white v-neck undershirts as I could into my trusty Rubbermaid tub. The program just reinforced what I'd been saying all along. It's the people that make the experience. 

This American Life reiterates that claim. America is about the people who make up her, and this enthralling radio program/podcast focuses on the hoi polloi who have interesting stories to tell but no platform on which to do so. 

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk

"If animals were more like us, if mice kept pets and toads could cuss, if dogs had wives and chipmunks dated, sheep sat still and meditated, then in the forest, field, and dairy, you might find this bestiary, read by storks, by rats and kitties, skimmed by cows with milk-stained titties. 'I found this book to be most droll,' might quip the bear, the owl, the mole. Others, though, would be more coarse. 'Bull,' could say the pig and horse. As to the scribe, they'd quote the hen: 'Trust me, he's no La Fontaine.'"

 This sarcastic poem welcomes all readers to David Sedaris's latest collection of essays Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk. It's no secret that David Sedaris is one of my all-time favorite authors. Despite hundreds of re-readings, I still laugh until I cry whenever I read When You Are Engulfed in Flames. Every holiday season I find myself recounting the tale of "Six to Eight Black Men" or that career-making essay about Sedaris's time working as a Santaland elf. As someone who's literary voice tends to verge on snarky, I am forever indebted to Sedaris. He is my hero. 

That said, I was not particularly astounded by Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk. The stories were chuckle-worthy, sure, but not what I was used to from Sedaris. The idea of personifying animals was funny but grew tired as the book went on. Sometimes it felt like Sedaris was unsure of which human characteristics and how many to assign to each animal. I had a lot of questions, which detracted from my reading experience. 

If one has the time, I would instead recommend reading a short essay from Sedaris's collection Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim about how Sedaris and his longtime boyfriend Hugh, amid an intense apartment search, visit the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. This daring essay finds humor in a dark situation that most writers are too afraid to touch.