Well this is just charming. Apparently Kurt Vonnegut, brilliant writer and social commentator extraordinaire, had a theory that all stories could be graphed on a basic happy/sad scale, and that the shapes these stories created said something about our culture.
That’s the very pleasant chart version, with more info at this link.
(And do watch the video. Vonnegut seems like a very lovable professor, maybe a bit dusty, but the audience is having a ball and is just eating it all up. It almost sounds like someone had a heavy hand on a laugh track.)
Someone with a deeper knowledge of Vonnegut than me should really go chart Vonnegut’s stories in this way and see what “shape” they make. I feel like “Slaughterhouse-5” may have some twists and turns to it, though “Breakfast of Champions” might be kinda flat.
What do you think? Does this “graphic” interpretation make sense?
Maybe this will sound stupid, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why we eat. I mean, we have to, on some level of course, to live. But I started a diet (yay New Years’ resolutions!) and it is affecting a lot more than just the numbers on a scale.
In diet world, you only eat because you have to. (Some crazy people will claim that this isn’t necessary–those people are liars.) You eat at regularly scheduled times, in quiet, with only you and the food you must eat. You eat therefore to provide building materials for muscles and bones, to keep your brain singing (unless you’re on a “cleanse,” then you’re breaking your brain long-term), to keep basic processes basically processing. If food tastes good, it is either evil and trying to destroy you or it is merely incidental to your need to eat it.
This, of course, it’s completely wrong.
As real people, we know that, but diet world is sometimes overwhelming, a palpable intensity that you MUST, MUST lose weight, no matter what, no matter how weird it is.
Incidentally, that’s why a lot of diets fail.
Because eating also provides an excellent excuse for socializing. My church has a joke that our symbol should be a covered dish, we have so many potlucks. And you know in college you can’t host an important meeting without buying pizza. It gives you something to do with your hands while you chat; it allows other engagements to last longer, because you’ve got built-in pitstops to refuel. It’s a way to build friendships, as you learn what you like about each other and maybe share a dish.
It also helps us express our feelings. Sure, sometimes we can go overboard with a pint of Bluebell when we’ve had a bad day, but making a cake for someone’s birthday gives me great joy, and it feels like I’m actually transporting that joy to the eater in the process. And we all know that the thing to do for funerals or prolonged illness is make a home-cooked meal, something hearty. These foods sate the body while providing a vehicle for our sadness, which we as a culture are so terrible at expressing. Making a special meal for my fiance wouldn’t be as significant if the act of feeding him didn’t also say something about our relationship, how I want to nourish this thing we have together, make it grow up big and strong.
Cooking is a skill, and it’s a hobby that you are always going to need to spend more time learning: there is always something more. It not only feeds the body, therefore, but it feeds the spirit and the mind (and in my kitchen, the arms. Kneading dough is tough!)
Food also carries its own significance. Sometimes this is a religious significance, such as the sourdough my church has used lately in communion. There is wine at weddings, and Sprite makes me feel a little woozy because it is my I-don’t-feel-good drink of choice.
Food has meaning. Much more meaning than we commonly allow it.
You could (and should, probably) work significant or at least meaningful foods into your work (lembas bread, anyone?), but also take a moment to appreciate the many things your meal is giving you in your daily life.
(Okay, actually, not all of them. America has a surprisingly low literacy rate for a developed nation, and it’s absolutely tragic how people in an industrialized country like ours could have been deprived of this vital skill, which basically dooms them to minimum wage jobs. NPR had a brilliant report on it. I tried to volunteer for an adult-reading program, but apparently this kind of work wasn’t compatible with my 9-5 job.Those people? I do not judge those people. I am sorry we failed them as a community.)
If you are a competent, reasonably educated person–as most folks in America are–then I 100% judge you and think you are less competent if you aren’t opening a book, turning on a Kindle, or otherwise taking time to read something other than your work emails.
The Atlantic article shows that the 23% non-book-reading rate has actually held from the last time the poll was completed, so in 2012 AND in 2014, about a quarter of the population hadn’t read a single book in a year.
The reddit conversation about this report raised good questions: What counts as a book? Are we just talking adult fiction? Would the training manual for work qualify? How about “Hop on Pop” that I read to my kid?
I don’t know the answers to that, but my answers would be: maybe yes, if you actually read it and didn’t skim; and probably no, but chapter books should totally count.
Another set of comments suggested that it didn’t matter because people were reading more than ever, just not books–reading news online, reading personal correspondence, reading magazines. They contend that therefore, it doesn’t matter that people aren’t reading books. I disagree. We’ll get to that in a minute.
The study also reports that only a quarter of people said they had read more than 11 books in a year–not a high sum, and that means that most people (about 50%) have read between 1 and 10 books in a year, far less than one a month.
Last year, I used Goodreads to track my reading, and surprised myself to find that I read more than 30 books last year. I didn’t even find it to be that hard; after all, I’m a fairly busy person. I guess the only thing I do differently from others is that I don’t watch TV…but even then, I watch a show or movie on Netflix several times a week, so I still have an affinity for the boob tube.
(The Atlantic story dug in a little deeper to suggest that because more people are graduating college, more people will likely be readers later on. Maybe. I certainly hope so.)
But–all those non-readers: I’m judging you. I am judging you for your shallow appreciation for fine literature, for an experience that literally takes you out of yourself and teaches you to empathize for others; to allow you to be anyone you could imagine (or can’t imagine!); to teach you new words and concepts that are beyond your ken. Reading unlocks worlds, both within you and outside of you, and I think you are a pathetic person if you can’t be bothered to even read ONE BOOK in a year.
I don’t even care what it is–Young Adult books have seen a surge recently, and it ain’t just kids reading those. Some YA books are my favorites! It’s a great way to escape adult pressures.
Why don’t magazines and online reading count? Basically, they are too short and don’t provide that escapism or empathy portion that you get from complex storylines in a novel or nonfiction work. There isn’t sufficient complexity. I mean, the average newspaper (and magazine) is written at the 8th grade level. That’s not a very high bar. You can do better! Stretch your mind! It will make you more interesting. I am full of random tidbits and knowledge picked up in a book somewhere along the lines!
And the time thing isn’t really an excuse; you’re just not trying. I read before bed. I also bring a book to lunch with me, in case my coworkers are busy. Reading while eating is far better than just eating alone because you got ditched for a meeting!
One of my favorite college professors recently declared on Facebook that she read 177 books a in the last year! That’s incredible! I mean, I felt accomplished with 30! I told her that Stephen King claims to read 70 books a year, so clearly she needs to start writing.
Reading is good for the soul and the mind. Go pick up a book, you lazy louts.
Fun little test here to see how quickly you read (and there’s a vital comprehension part to ensure you aren’t skimming and cheating).
Mine was pretty quick, in the 575 words per minute range, which was faster than I’d expected! Supposedly at that rate I could read all of War & Peace in just over 17 hours–hard to believe, really. (But could I read Harry Potterand the Sorcerer’s Stone in two and a half? Bet your bottom dollar. In fact, I might’ve…)
Plus it tells you how many books you could read on an ereader without recharging. Clever.
I’m a little late to this story, but it’s so precious I feel like I have to share it. One of Neil Gaiman’s books–a rare signed hardback ARC of Stardust–is worth a whole lot more than its cover price.
Author Patrick Rothfuss has been coordinating a charity fundraiser for Heifer International (aside: This is one of my favorite charities, too, making me love this story that much more. I mean, you already knew I love Neil Gaiman). Other authors jumped on board this great cause, including Gaiman, who donated an ARC of Stardust.
The book was put up for auction via random drawing: anyone who donated through Rothfuss’ fundraiser had a chance to win it. And so someone won it.
And then gave the book back, with the stipulation that it be re-donated to the auction.
So it was up again. And then the NEXT guy who won it (for a cool $2500!) ALSO donated it back, same as the person before.
And it happened again the NEXT year.
Then it gets trippy. The year after that, the person who won the last time won AGAIN–so they mailed it to her, feeling like this was destiny.
She took a picture with it, admired it… and sent it back again!
(Man, Gaiman must be a bit hurt that no one wants to keep his book!)
In other words, this one (admittedly awesome) sweet little book has raised thousands of dollars (donated oodles of goats!) for a good cause.
I don’t know if I would have the strength to give it back like all those other nice folks did, but it sure does make for a great and wonderful story.
Yet again, people are in an uproar. Yet again, much to the disappointment of many, it’s for a ridiculous reason. This time, it’s because a multinational company dared to produce an extremely patriotic advertisement with ample not-so-subtle product recognition, but included people who weren’t white and didn’t all sing a song in the same language. (Dios mio, am I right?)
Here’s the ad, in case you’ve missed it:
Cue gnashing of teeth and rending of clothing.
First, my opinion: It’s a commercial. Moreover, it’s a commercial with zero offensive imagery and ample lovely landscape images and happy people. If that is the kind of thing you choose to get upset about, I feel sorry for you. And I hope you have health insurance, because you’re gonna need to stock up on blood pressure medicine.
But it stirred up a lot of discussion. I’m sure you can find some, if you haven’t already. Some of this discussion happened among friends on my fiance’s Facebook page.
One person who chose to be offended in turn said some pretty thoughtless, stupid, and frankly horrible things. Among them, he said, basically, America has a culture. And it’s English-only. If you want to “celebrate your culture,” go ahead open a restaurant, I’m sure your food tastes great.
And another friend saw it.
This friend–we’ll call her A, for Exhibit A, is half-Chinese half-Indian culturally. I believe she was born in the United States, but either way she’s a citizen. She is studying for her PhD, in something involving linguistics–so yes, she speaks perfect English, and can teach others how to do it, too. She intimidates the heck out of me because she owns (and dominated) every Zelda game. She even got a Zelda wedding ring.
I had the privilege of attending her wedding, which was a Hindu ceremony (vivaah sanskar) conducted mostly in sanskrit, and had Chinese elements. Her groom, who is white, wore a kilt. She wore, in turn, a white wedding gown, a red Qipao, and a red sari. I’ve heard the couple was disappointed they couldn’t include more subtle Beauty & The Beast references in the reception, but still, it was the most beautiful wedding ceremony I’ve ever witnessed.
Anyway, A saw this conversation, and later she wrote this (copied with her permission):
So out of all the commentary I’ve seen on this whole “Coca-Cola” ad thing, there’s really only one thing that I would like to say:
My culture is not my food.
It can be found in the food that I eat. It’s in the lunches I took to school as a kid and the dinners I cook for my husband. But the actual dishes served at meal time are only a small part of what makes up my culture.
My culture is not just the food that I choose to eat, it is the way that I choose to eat it. Whether I use my hand instead of my fork or hold my soup bowl to my lips. My culture is the way we don’t eat meat when my grandfather visits, and the way we had barbecue every 4th of July and moon cake every September. It is in the way that my grandmother chastised me for putting my chopsticks into my rice or the way that my family shares meals at the dinner table, instead of serving individual plates of food, THAT is my culture.
My culture is the way we celebrate. From New Year to New Year to New Year, it is the way we dance and sing and drink and eat and wish good fortune on friends and family. It is my grandparents living with their grown children and my cousins who are as close to me as siblings. It is the plays I performed in, the movies I watched, and the songs I listened to. It is the respect I show when praying at the temple or in church. It is the guilt I feel when I have to choose between making my parents happy and being a grown woman with values far different from the ones they grew up with. It is community, and giving, and welcoming, and sometimes ignorant or snobbish and it is wonderful.
My culture is diverse, both in its peoples and in what it can bring to the country in which I was born and raised.
So yes, my culture can be found in my food, but it is NOT my food.
My friend A represents the ultimate of our hopes for America. She’s amazing. And for someone to have made her feel less than because of a stupid 30-second commercial during a sporting event? That’s not the America I support.
I hope I’m wrong about this, but in recent years I’ve noticed something: the Genius Asshole can do anything he* wants, at the expense of almost anyone he wants, and still be nigh-deified. In other words, it doesn’t matter if you are a complete failure as a human being, as long as you have some success.
Example one: Steve Jobs.
Don’t get me wrong: I love Apple products and I think he was literally a genius at predicting consumer needs and doing amazing things. But he has seriously had a sort of cult form around him (or, rather, the idea of him), and I find that a little alarming when you dig even a little bit into his personal life. He had a daughter that he refused to acknowledge for years; he habitually yelled at employees and threw temper-tantrums; he called in the middle of the night with unrealistic expectations for work; he is “fondly” remembered as a “slavedriver.”
It seems all that has created a “results are all that matters” outlook. It doesn’t matter that he was kind of a jerk to everyone around him; consumers got what they wanted.
Nationally broadcast but locally hosted radio DJ extraordinaire Kidd Kraddick just passed away, and his death has brought attention to his life, as so often happens. And he seems to follow a very similar formula as Jobs. Both were beloved. Both invented something from essentially nothing and worked relentlessly. Both are considered overbearing and difficult by those close to them. The personal assistant to Kraddick said working for him was “hell.” He also enjoyed the “call employees in the middle of the night with ridiculous demands” trick.
(Morbidly? They both died relatively young.)
It seems Walt Disney was also a Genius Asshole. He was overbearing, anti-semetic, and kind of a bully. Meryl Streep had some excellent remarks on his legacy.
Maybe it’s just me, but I have zero desire to work with or for someone like this, regardless of how “inspired” they may be. Intelligence, real intelligence, is sadly undervalued in our society, but genius — when it works, anyway — is praised to no end. But I was taught that intelligence wasn’t the end-all-be-all; kindness is. And there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of kindness or even basic empathy in the backstories of these men. Personally, I think you should just write down your super-great-middle-of-the-night idea; why can’t we work on it at sunrise? And I say that as someone who is particularly driven and can’t stop working on things; heck, maybe I say it because I’m like that. I value that time off, and I think it should be respected.
Maybe it’s just part of America’s culture of workaholicism. I had hoped that was easing, but looking at our idols, it seems maybe not.
What do you think? Is there a connection between Genius and Assholery? Or am I missing the mark entirely?
*So far, I’ve mostly noticed the male variety, so I’ll use that pronoun, but that doesn’t mean the female Genius Asshole doesn’t exist. Yahoo! CEO Marissa Meyer seems to be making a run for the “office,” at least when she took away the company’s generous work-from-home policy, but it’s yet to be seen if she will be seen as either a success or sufficiently worshipped by others.
I said on Tuesday that I’m one of those “make a resolution” people. I totally am. I just printed off a list of 5 goals, some with sub-goals to help me achieve the main goals.
But what are these goals? I’m not telling.
Why? A TED Talk told me not to.
Basically, the speaker says that we get such a mental “hit” from talking about our ambitious goals that our brains get confused and feel like we have actually achieved those goals, making us, weirdly, less likely to actually complete them.
BUT! It’s still a good idea to have goals, even if they are tiny. I really love this talk about SuperBetter, a “game” that helps you improve your life.
At the beginning of last year, I had just finished reading Stephen King’s On Writing, in which he, among other fascinating things, discusses how gargantuan of a reader he is. He said he read 80 books a year, easily, which I found mind-blowing.
I wanted to see how many books I could read this year. Thankfully, Goodreads has a Reading Challenge Widget, so this was easy (plus it reminded me to write a review after I read something).
I have a day job, a small business, a fiance and a small social life, in addition to any personal writing I want to get done, so King’s goal was stupidly out of reach. No, for me, I needed to lower that bar a little bit. So I picked a goal of 26 books, a book for every two weeks.
In 2013, I logged 27 books, and if I finish The Shipping News by the first, I’ll have 28 official books for the year. Of the 27 books logged in Goodreads, that is apparently 8,479 pages.
That’s pretty good! But it’s not actually the full picture. The Wool Omnibus would have otherwise counted as three novels (or novellas; I’m not sure how Goodreads makes that distinction). I also read two books for work that I didn’t log, because they were poorly written business aphorisms that I was forced to read and never want to acknowledge actually existed. Plus I read a sizable stack of comic books (Star Wars, four issues of the Avatar comic, and Saga. Go read Saga. It’s amazing.) and I felt like it was weird to log comic books because they are generally only 12 pages long (I finally included Saga in my reviews, sort of, after I had read the whole first collection, making it sort of book-length.)
That means, without changing my habits at all, I read about 35 books in a year (and that includes some stupidly thick books like Leviathan Wakes and The Forgotten Garden. Don’t read those if you’re going for a speed challenge, kids).
35 books a year? Not too shabby!
I really enjoyed logging my books. It’s a good way to reflect on what I’ve read and what it means to me, so I’ll definitely be participating in the reading challenge for next year. Let’s clock it at officially 30 books this year.
Will you join my reading challenge? How many books would you like to read in 2014?
I’ve written before about how, despite my interest in dystopian subjects and new ways to destroy the world, I am not anything remotely like a “prepper” because I don’t want to live my life motivated by fear.
And I still feel that way. But we just had a wicked ice storm that paralyzed north Texas, and it made me think.
I was fairly well-prepared for the storm. My mom’s a worrier, and had alerted me to it well in advance. I’d followed the weather, made lots of hearty foods and ran out to buy extra wood and supplies the night before it hit. I have an ice scraper that looks sort of like a wizard’s staff and two cans of de-icer, blankets and a nice winter coat.
But things did not go according to plan. At all.
First, when I got home, my water had been turned off. There went my plan to fill a few pitchers before the storm really hit, and it was too late to try to get any from the store, which was overrun by panic-stricken shoppers. A miserable-looking work crew was on it, though, and it was restored by 9 p.m., just in time for me to enjoy a hot shower (and fill my tea kettle).
Then, overnight, my power went out. About 100,000 people lost power, all together, and the power company had no timeline on when it would be up. My plan to work from home was out the window, so I had to trek in to work. By the time I got home, it still wasn’t back, so I had to go stay with family for the weekend. Alternative sources for heat and light just hadn’t been part of my preparations.
TL;DR: Ice storms are unpredictable.
But it made me realize the most important part: I had somewhere to go. Even if my parents hadn’t lived in town, I would have been able to call a number of folks who would have let me stay with them while I waited for the power to come back.
And that’s why I’m not afraid.
When faced with a crisis, we (humans) tend to help one another. In addition to the people I knew would let me stay with them, I saw folks working together to clear downed trees, carve cars out of the ice or pull them back into the road, share resources. (I gave some neighbor kids a few board games to keep them entertained while they waited out the power problems.)
People help. Sure, sometimes people cause harm or damage, but by and large, people help.
A coworker who has a “prepper” bent and is new in town was surprised that there wasn’t any looting. The thought literally never occurred to me. How sad that fear of others was his first concern. (I guess he would say how sad it is that I wasn’t worried about my stuff…)
I think I’m not the only one thinking more about community lately. Our self-imposed technological isolation from other people is starting to have ramifications, and we’re starting to talk about it. More and more, it’s becoming clear that people NEED people. It’s considered socially acceptable to be very close to your spouse, but what happens when your spouse dies? We need more than one person, or two people, or three people in our lives. We need a community, and that takes time and effort to build.
I need to do it better. This week, I started by being nice to a neighbor who has lived nearby for six months. I shook her hand and said hello.
At the beginning of last year, I had just finished reading Stephen King’s On Writing, in which he, among other fascinating things, discusses how gargantuan of a reader he is. He said he read 80 books a year, easily, which I found mind-blowing.
M.E. Kinkade 