Katzisms Part Deux

Having the pleasure of yet another semester with Professor Katz, I have yet another wonderful bevvy of one-liners. This class was in English, so perhaps they're more easy to contextualize. At any rate, this banter is top notch.

• On seeing a student pull out a fraying string on their shirt: "I hope it's not an apron string, because mom's far away"
• Dismissing a student who didn't actually register for the class: "It's like that old Groucho Marx song 'I Know I Must Be Going'"
• "You're witty if you can use "egg" and "diaper" in the same sentence...Freud would have a field day with that"
• On bohemians: "They live in a rental...they don't own property"
• "These freakish rubber curtains: just like Vegas! So they can wash the blood off...traces of blood, fecal matter, personal fluids..."
• "Hitchcock: the great sadist of American cinema"
• "Kids doing drugs. Thank God they do drugs, because that's life!"
• "LA is a vital mess of a place"
• "I don't know if any of you read the newspaper daily? Or ever?"
• "Go to the Dean's Office and ask about managing desire and you'll get a line of therapeutic bullshit"
• On reform Judaism: "Oh you're reform. Then you just invoke the name of Barbra Streisand"
• "If you can't lie, you can't live"

Bloody brilliant.

Keep it classy,
David

[dis]Engage[d]

It goes without saying that America, in recent years, has been going through a bit of a rough patch. Perhaps it's not even just America, but the world in general. Take for example the purported Vegas of the Middle East, Dubai.  Gus Lubin, a reporter for Business Insider, stated that "40 percent of the buildings in Dubai are vacant...[and in] comparison only 28 percent of homes are vacant in America's ghost town, Detroit."

This kind of information leads me ponder the following:

What exactly does the German-made duschdas showergel entitled "Dubai Dream" actually smell like? While my time abroad is somewhat of a distant memory, I recall it smelling of economic failure and parabens.

What does a troublesome economic condition mean for the market? For the individual? For collective society? Bailouts, foreclosures, and strikes, oh my! What ever is an individual to do in such an unrelenting miasma of fiscal negativity?

Enter Wisconsin and its state workers: pensions slashed and union powers diminished. Public school teachers and other state employees are now fervently taking to the cold, unforgiving streets and decrying the new budget plans, exercising one of the most fundamental of American rights: protest.  While on one hand Governer Walker insists the budget cuts will lessen the burden on the debts facing future generations, teachers are reluctant to let go of the theoretical thousands of dollars implied by cut cuts.

 Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker (R), and what appears to be the kin of Cousin It from the Addams Family

The most important part of Walker's new cuts involve taking away the bargaining power of unions and requiring employees to pay union fees and paying what he calls "a little bit more" for health insurance and pensions. At this point, one wonders just how the protesters will win this battle as funds from out of state flow into the Republican coffers of Wisconsin, ensuring that corporate interests are still up for consideration when privatization comes along.

It is blatantly obvious that big businesses are going to love the opportunity to jump on any public projects and offices that become privatized.  At this rate, law enforcement, healthcare, and basic education are going to slip into the hands of corporations.  And if these ventures fail miserably due to dreadful mismanagement and exploitation of the vulnerable? Well we've learned that the government is pretty keen on bailouts to the order of trillions of dollars. TRILlions. 

Outside of Wisconsin, countless other American cities are now protesting in solidarity, fearing that their state might be next in line for cuts as their local governments mull over Walker-esque policies.  This becomes an interesting dialogue indeed, as Wisconsin rises to be a veritable center of political protest and unrest.  Reuters reports that a Wisconsin man has ordered a rather large supply of vuvuzela horns, to be distributed to protesters when they arrive for their next fight at the capitol.

While saying the word vuvuzela itself renders such terrible auditory World Cup memories, to think the protesters are now arming themselves with such instruments...well they're definitely going to be heard one way or another. Horns aside, one can't help but stop and reflect on how these public workers are the lifeblood of a dying breed of truly "engaged" Americans. They know what they want and they aren't afraid to turn up the volume until they're satisfied.

I pass up the very opportunity to question my bank when I'm charged a three-dollar "transaction fee" or when Sprint tacks on an extra ten dollars a month for "premium data usage." It's a sense of complacency, knowing that going through the proxies to fight these charges feels like an epic struggle between man and corporate behemoth. I, myself, am "OK" with far too much to make a long story short. 

But when these Wisconsonians and other state workers across the nation feel like they've just been given short shrift by government cuts, they kick the shit off their boots, grab their vuvuzeli, and rush the capitol. These are the truly engaged citizens, these are the citizens that can beat the state into submission. It would seem they fear nothing, except of course going home empty-handed.

One might simply say that capitalism is tearing America apart with the threat of privatization. I would however present the counterargument that capitalism, in its most simple, unadulterated form, would never have left America in its current state.  (Even Marx has my back on this one, I assure you.) Theoretically, the state provides the infrastructure for society to function and the market operates within these confines.  Perhaps we're in need of a redefinition of "infrastructure," to make sure that this "structure" is more conducive to social benefits and services that need to reside outside the market, independent of the market.

Let us, for a moment, interrogate is the idea of an economic "crisis."  We hear left and right that consumer confidence is up, that economists speculate a resurgence to occur "soon." This interesting dialectic of economic crises and recoveries only grows curiouser and curiouser, to quote a rather infamous Alice. But when exactly will America crawl out of this rabbit hole? When will America allow its most spirited of citizens the benefits they so passionately cry out for?

I was told once by an English teacher that to end a paper with a question or questions was poor form. But in this time of such uncertainty, it would seem that we still await the end to this economic fairytale gone awry.

DC


I've made use of the following articles for facts and figures:

• In Wisconsin, a jarring new note in discordant debate
• Wisconsin Gov. says Democrats failed to do their job
• Prank call fallout stokes Wisconsin union fight
• Wisconsin governor gets ovation from business group
• Dubai 40% vacant

Dans ma memoire...

If we think of ourselves as houses, the wake-up calls we get in life can tap our roofs in pebbles, heave stones through our windows, or crush our entire framework with immense boulders. Considering such a figurative spectrum, sometimes we're inconvenienced and other times nearly destroyed.  From these places of despair, we are pressed to remodel, reconstruct, or buy new windows to replace shattered glass depending on the gravity of our wake-up call. The "call" I received the other night is what I'll attempt to explain in the lines that follow:

It would seem a simple task to write a composition for a French class. Mine in particular was to regale the reader with what I deemed, during my youth, to be my favorite meal. I could have spent the 250-word requirement on cheese pizza, but when I really thought about it I came up with something a bit more meaningful. Wintertime meals at Babcia's house. (Babcia translates to "grandmother" in Polish, to be noted by my non-Pole readership)

And what a treat it was to experience a visit to chez Babcia! The ice tea was always sweet and tangy, the roast chicken always perfectly cooked, the linzer-tarts nutty and jammy, and the gravy...well the gravy was simply otherworldly. I wrote about all of this in French, hoping that my use of the imperfect and the composed past tenses jived and my adjectives agreed with their nouns in gender and number. But when I came to my last sentence, all of this "regaling" brought me to tears after I typed the following line:

C’est triste maintenant qu’elle s’est tombée gravement malade et elle ne peut plus cuisiner.

"It is sad, now that she has fallen gravely ill and can no longer cook." So maybe it's not perfect French, but a Frenchie could definitely see where I was going. These words became figurative stones, thrown right through each and every one of my windows, leverage courtesy of guilt.  The places and spaces I described in my composition were my days of good family eats: before my parents were divorced, before I knew the ways in which world politics wreaked havoc on our lives, before chronic illness immobilized a special woman in my life. Ignorance was such bliss. And in my case, it was a tasty bliss. But "bliss" no more it would seem.

If you've ever had a relative diagnosed with a terminal illness, or know someone who has had a family member diagnosed with one, you'll find that no one really deals with the situation in the same manner. In my case, I chose to stick my head in the proverbial sand and pretend it wasn't happening and that the experience would soon come to a close. I didn't want to hear that my grandmother couldn't remember who I was, nor did I want an account of her last horrible fall down the stairs. What a coward is this man, I say.

Sticking my head in the sand not only fractured my relationship with my grandmother, but also fractured my relationship with a past I can revel in.  All things pass and life is not static, no matter how sandy our hair gets. But as we reflect on the past, we sometimes see something we didn't before. If we're of the olfactory sort, a smell sometimes triggers a sensory memory of a certain place. And for the more visual or auditory soul, the mystery of déja vu feelings lend the sensation of, "I've been here before: in this exact moment, place, and time."

The flood of memories I experienced completely paralyzed me. Every single visit to the mall carousel, every trilled laugh, every preparation of the dog's dinner: I allowed this woman come alive in my head in such a lucid way.  A professor once told me that nostalgia was an unnecessary glorification of a fictitious past, but I beg to differ on so many levels Professor Katz! We have every reason to glorify and place importance on our memories--almost an obligation. So let's take a closer look, shall we?

We can very deeply internalize the values hidden among our memories, good and bad. The types of lovers we won't soon seek again, the places we return to for pleasant nostalgia, and advice we disregarded now actualized, initially thinking ourselves the wiser.  There is no greater bounty than the treasures of our past, in the ways they shape our current reality and self. We must in turn be able to equate the experiences of burning our hands on the stove and for the first time producing a delicious feast from that very same appliance--in both instances we learn, we experience.

One might say that those who disregard history are doomed to repeat it. Verily, I say. I merely suggest that we examine our own histories, our own memories: going local instead of global for a moment. Where did I fracture something, and where did I shed light? What moments did I come at someone from a place of hate, and when love? Life is simply too short, and too quickly allows for a growing list of things we "should" have said or done.

Memories can so effectively inform our decisions, so why not hold onto the good, the bad, and otherwise ugly souvenirs of life?

I know living in the moment is really big right now. It's hard to browse the self-help section without seeing something about living in the "now." I'm not asking for anyone to live anywhere else in the temporal continuum. What I think might be helpful, though, is an occasional glance rearward to make sure we aren't destroying anything in our wake. And of course, a glance forward in good health and clear conscience doesn't hurt, either.

In community,
David

You knew?

If you've ever taken a French class, even at the introductory level, you'll learn that there are two verbs that both mean, in essence, "to know." Savoir connotes something logical, or perhaps a concept. Connaître creates a gray area, though, and can be used to indicate a certain familiarity you might have with a person or place. (Geek out: used reflexively it can also mean to meet someone.) Spanish is exactly the same with conocer and saber. Knowing and knowing. And I'd be a fool if I didn't flaunt that I know the Germans came up with kennen and wissen that present like dilemmas.

So what does knowing mean and what is the power of knowing? Can we immediately attribute knowing to knowledge or does it smack of something completely different? Take for example the book-smart, ivory-tower academic and the streetwise blue collar fellow with experiential knowledge--I think it's safe to agree that a mélange of the two is ideal. But consider, for a moment, the word in itself and its most common uses:

"David, you must be circumspect when you wander in the woods!"
--"I know."

Here we have the classic scenario wherein we don't want to be told what to do. We insist we know, attempting to disarm any accusations that run contrary. And when I think of the times I use knowing in this way, the majority of the time...well...I didn't really "know" and as a result faltered in some way. I know I should have went up and talked to him or her, I know I should have studied more for that calculus final, etc. Can we even conceive of an exhaustive list for instances like these? Certainement pas!

So then we come to yet another question: why aren't we taking our own advice if we, in fact, know? If we know better why don't we do better? Fear obviously takes some of the blame here as it looms over and in our heads, taunting us with prospects of dire consequence. It then becomes a question of reclaiming our human agency, our ability to choose a path that best suits our wants, passions, and desires. And pardon me, but would anyone really like to go down a different path? (At this point in the program, I'd like to kindly ask that the Champagne socialists refrain from chatter.)

In the Bible, "knowing" someone implicitly implied a sexual relationship. In another incarnation, "knowing" attributes itself to a familiarity with something and at the very least, refers to acquaintance relationships. For instance, "If only you knew the Ken I know, then you'd understand!"

Hold up. Knowing leads to understanding? Well there's a concept. If we accept this to be true, can we say that learning leads to knowing, which in turn leads to understanding? Ladies and gentlemen, we've definitely arrived at the crux of our discussion.

Whether we learn formally or informally, we convert these teachings to understandings. We learn that 10% of 100 is 10, understand that one typically tips 15% on a restaurant bill, and we thus will give a waiter $2.25 for our $15 bill for a tartine and tea at Le Pain Quotidien. While some of what we understand helps us pragmatically navigate the world, these understandings often take the more noxious form of the belief. Believing: the act of internalizing absolute truths and understandings.

Assume someone believes:

• The ringing in your ears you sometimes hear is an indication that you're moving to a higher vibrational level.
• Tom Cruise and John Travolta are straight.
• Eating raw and vegan foods make sex ten times better.
• I buy this car because Jesus Christ gave me an order to do so.
  

These beliefs are no longer just ideas at this point. These are stubborn statements that aren't going to readily change. And what exactly about the course of our existence leads us to believe that things are static, that things are absolute? We change our hair color, replace our electronics with newer technology, and elect a president every four to eight years. Thinking works with the world, ideas come and go. But in the case of beliefs, do we really want to hastily write everything into stone? Beliefs close off the causeway to change, and very actively so might I add.

Knowing is a dangerous thing sometimes. It brings people to the most interesting of conclusions. But let's for a moment reconsider the age old axiom that "Knowledge is Power." It sure as shit is power, but what about everything we don't know? What we have left to learn, to experience, to know: all of that in no way should be associated with a "lack" of power. Being humble about what you don't know leaves your mind open for ideas to come in and out with ease. Not to mention, an open mind thinks for itself and critically examines the world around itself. Case in point, "I thought Britney was done for, but look at that comeback! She's adding $300m a month to our GDP!"

To step off the track for just a moment, I must note that the English language is indeed a tricky one. Verbs are conjugated in a manner reminiscent of fun house mirror reflections, words are easily stolen from other languages and "loaned" into our lexicon, and dialects are distinct but not distinct enough to foster "real" misunderstanding. English is rank with innuendo and even the slightest exchange of a preposition changes meaning entirely. Let us take, for example, the instances of strapping "in" versus strapping "on." Is my point clear enough?

Go ahead and clean your mind of unfriendly imagery and return to the discussion at hand, if you please.

We must be careful about our vocabulary--what words we favor, what we think we know, and what we believe. So folks, open up your mind and question some of those things you hold dear. Be critical and don't be afraid to deconstruct, unlearn, and hear people out. Keep in mind that human experience must be valued above all else: we must hold it dear to our hearts as it regales us with our past, whether good, bad, or downright ugly. Life is truly beautiful if you take the time to experience and share it.

And though you may be familiar with something or someone, life never fails to turn on us: the strange becomes familiar and the familiar becomes strange. I bid you all adieu, and wish you pleasant mental meanderings.

Sincerely Yours,
David

10 Things I miss about living in America

1) Eating real bacon. 'Nuff said. Speck is by no means bacon.

2) Mexican food. Germany doesn't have so much of that, by and large. The one Mexican restaurant I found in Basel seemed like a few Francs too many to shell out for Mexican food, when I'm used to paying about five bucks.

3) Whole Foods. Seriously, Germany, you haven't even come close with any biomarkt I've seen. I love the food here, and I appreciate the great quality dairy and eggs...but what if I wanted some organic, free-trade cocoa powder? What then, Germany?!

4) Flat-rate cellular telephone plans. Yeah they exist. I'm just not eligible for one because I'm not here long enough. .09€/text, .09€/min, 9.00€/MB of data. FML. So much for bringing my unlocked Blackberry.

5) Really "free" toll-free calls. It's nice to know that Kimberly-Clark is there for me, free of charge, if I have questions about using their bathroom tissue to wipe my bottom. If I need to call Nivea Deutschland with questions about their antiperspirant, it'll cost me Eurocents a minute.

6) Gargantuan coffee beverages. I shell out about 3€ for maybe two shots of espresso. I'm looking for a good three to four shots for that price. Yeah, Starbucks is here, but I thought somehow it would be easier to replace my blood with espresso in the European continent.

7) A basic understanding that things probably should be open on holidays and weekends. No, Germans aren't lazy. Germans are just under some interesting impression that the entire state or country is observing a Catholic holiday and that no one anywhere would need to purchase groceries on such a day. I think if stores stayed open, they'd actually experience quite an influx of business on holidays. Whatever. I rest my case. Until that day, I'll have to schlepp on over to the gas station for milk and bread and eggs on the Himmelfahrt.

8) Grocery baggers. Seriously, grocery clerks have it so easy in Germany. They get to sit down, scan groceries, and do practically nothing else. You're expected to bag your own damned groceries, and bring your own damned bags. (Unless, of course, you'd like to shell out a damned .20€ for one of their store's Tüten)

9) The standard system of measurement. I know, it's a backwards system. But right now it's 20° outside and I've got 6 liters of milk in my fridge and my chorizo costs 3.50€/100-g and I haven't been this confused since I saw the movie Vanilla Sky.

10) Not having to pay to be hydrated. At restaurants, it's kinda gauche to order tap or Leitungswasser without ordering another beverage. And ordering water by itself results in a 2.50€ bottle of Gerolsteiner showing up at your table, usually with carbonation. Lucky for me, I appreciate the carbonated goodness. This is not the case with some other Americans I live with here, though. And as for those Americans who disregard the gaucheness of ordering Leitungswasser and do so anyways? Well just imagine a little four ounce glass filled with water brought to you, with no refills in its forseeable future.

"10 Things I love about living in Germany" list is forthcoming.

Katzisms, or What the German Language Taught Me About Life

The following were recorded jottings of some of the most brilliant phrases to ever depart a human mouth.

"German is a very scatological culture. They're obsessed with dirt, and messes, and feces."

"You're like George Washington and the cherry tree! I would have lied."

(On "hearing" money, horen das Geld)
"That's kind of weird, like Joan of Arc."

(Context forgotten)
"They muddle through life like that."

"You know Germans actually believe in beauty. Like a cult. But more about that when you read Nietzsche."

"The French believe in prettiness, but the English just believe in the Pound."

"9/10 of life is bullshitting with confidence."

(On the creativity of our colleague, Logan)
"That's very rich in fantasy."

"The power is actually in the hands of the functionaries and bureaucrats."

"A great musical orgasm."

(On, Mir geht is heute schlecht)
"We have to carry sunshine in our hearts today."

"That's a very adult thing. You have to learn to eat around the apple, even if it's covered in worms."

(On, pinkeln)
"It's a light urination."

"Self-doubt is the beginning of enlightenment."

A "sideways" getaway

It seems to me that Fall Break always smacks of something significant for me, be it spiritually meaningful or poignantly processed. This time, I'm not really sure what to make it, suffice it to say I have a new sense of independence.

Turning the big two-one felt like a big deal, that's for certain. I couldn't wait to get to BevMo for some savings on some...well...let's just say less than "savory" fluids. It was such an experience, just knowing that I wasn't limited to anything, nor was I not "permitted" on the premises. It simply felt more adult, replete with commensurate responsibility down the road, of course.

At any rate, Fall Break fell soon after this momentous birthday, and I decided to hit up Santa Barbara Wine Country for a few days of R&R, á la Sideways. No I wasn't about to get married, and no I wasn't about to hatch a verbose novel erstwhile stuck on some ex-lover. I just wanted to "get away" and enjoy some nice food and wine for a day or two, with some pals to help it go down easier.

Boy was it a trip. We stayed in a hotel sans grownups, had our own fake fireplace, and watched tons of trashy tv. We popped some bubbly and non-bubbly and just thoroughly enjoyed our own company. Throw in The Game of Life, aebelskivers, and antiquing and you have our vacation! Staying in a Danish village in California's Central Coast does wonders, let me just say.

I think that the getaway in general serves not as a means to escape one's problems, but to give perspective. Where am I? Where am I going? What do I need to be thinking about? All of these are questions on my mind as I near my departure. So with this fresh perspective, I hope to return to academic pursuits with a more focused vigor and a dash of newly-found enthusiasm.