Monday, June 25, 2012

Stop in the Name of Love


You might or might not know this about me, but I love words. There are few things I find so delightful as a well turned phrase, and there are fewer tools I find so empowering as a language equipped to make those phrases happen. The key to all language is the ability to convey information, and the more information that can be conveyed with a single word, the better. Why spend three adjectives describing a noun when you can use a single noun that conveys the same meaning of all its qualifiers? This is why I love the English language, because it has so many synonyms that all mean various shades of what might otherwise be the same concept. There's a silent hierarchy in terms of size relations when it comes to all the words that essentially mean big (big, large, huge, gigantic); there are a multitude of ways to describe someone as a nerd, yet so many of them have small but key differences (nerd, geek, dork); even down to the minutest separations of color, you can bet there are different words for slightly different hues. I prefer language and diction that allows this level of differentiation, and while I know there are languages larger and potentially better than English, English has been good to me in this regard. I will love and cherish it as one of my most prized possessions, but even so, I feel the need to bring to your attention one particularly grievous, glaring fault.

Love.

Have you noticed this? I sure have. You want to say you're attached to your significant other in a deep, profound, and romantic way? You say you love them. You want to convey how much you appreciate the emotional depth of the latest Batman movie? You say you love it. You want to tell a good buddy that the strictly platonic relationship the two of you share is an asset you will cherish forever? You say you love them. You want to express to your mother just how good her chicken fried steak is? You guessed it, you tell her you love it.

Starting to see the problem here? The word that in English is simply “love” covers a wide range of emotions, all of them in the realm of a deep, personal attachment to someone or something, but all of them with a different connotation. Yet the same word describes them all.

What other forms exactly might be problematic? For comparison, the Greek language utilized four major words (and possibly others) that in English are all translated into “love”: agape, perhaps the most famous version to English speakers, was a strictly platonic form of love, with interpersonal implications, including (but not limited to) parents, children, siblings, close friends, or even spouses. To use it in a sentence, one could say that Alfred the Butler possesses an agape form of love for his surrogate son, Batman. Eros, the other most famous nowadays, was close to the opposite, carrying a connotation of sensuality. While not necessarily sexual, it was a form of devoted love that was stronger than simple friendship; while it could be said that Catwoman loves Batman in this sense, you could also argue that Batman himself loves Gotham, the city he has sworn to protect, in a similar way. Philia, was the form of love that described the love between friends, though it was stretched to include love for your neighbor or other community members, or even the love of activities. You might want to say that you like something, more than straight up love it when trying to translate philia, but it typically is a stronger feeling than how you might use like. Batman, for instance, philia loves his fellow Justice League members, and he definitely philia loves fighting crime, while he may not quite enjoy the company of the Outsiders the same way, or enjoy fixing the engine on the Batmobile. Lastly, there was storge, which could directly be translated affection, but specifically referred to a natural affection, one you just kind of have by the nature of a specific relationship. It might even indicate an affection you have, despite having to put up with copious amounts of crap, in the same way Southerner's use the expression, “God bless 'em” after describing something that annoys them about their spouse. Batman storges Jason Todd, for instance, as opposed to the agape he feels for Dick Grayson.

These are just the different words that the Greek language has, which while obviously a step up from English in this regard, by no means covers all there is to say. There is, for instance, a distinction between sexual love and romantic love, no matter how much overlap there might be between those two. As close as friends or siblings might be, there is typically a difference between familial and close friendships, to the point that one can interchange the two if the situation calls for it, referring to a blood relation as moreso just a friend, or saying a particularly close friend is as close as a brother. There's even a form of love that denotes a religious devotion. The forms and types are nearly endless, and yet English lumps them all into the same batch. This obviously can lead to some confusion, albeit a decent amount of it intentional, but confusion none the less. Ever hear someone say “Well, son, if you love Batman so much, why don't you marry him?” Of course you have, because at some point in your life, you have definitely been so enraptured with your favorite superhero that you made the mistake of saying in a conversation with your father that you loved Batman. The response will always be the same to that; a simple joke that hasn't been funny since roughly 64 years before it was first uttered. But more importantly, it's a joke that relies on the confusion between “love” in the enjoyment sense and “love” in the erotic sense.

This level of confusion, especially of using the erotic sense of love in any situation where the word is used, happens constantly nowadays, either as a joke or in a full out misapplication of someone's usage of the term. Heard of a bromance?

You have now.

A bromance is a word that has been added to the Meriam-Webster English Dictionary, thus sullying a formerly noble collection with yet another portmanteau to feature the disgusting moniker of “bro”. More importantly, it refers to a deep affection between two men, one which is in actuality completely platonic, but it utilizes a word that typically has an erotic love connotation. The application could be two guys (who are comfortable with their sexuality) jokingly talking about their bromance; other guys (who are less comfortable with their sexuality) mockingly using bromance as a put down; or advice sites attempting to get page views by scaring women into worrying about the time their significant other spendswith their best male friend (and losing all comfort with their own sexuality). Why is it that the word bromance has suddenly popped up everywhere now, of all times in history? It's a little bit to blame because our modern society uses supposedly clever portmanteaus like they're going out of style (they are), but it's also a lot to blame because of our language's limitations when it comes to describing love. Words tend to have one major meaning, and populations as a whole tend to latch on to one meaning for a word, often thinking only of the currently most popular definition at any given usage, regardless of the context. Right now in our day and age, we've been so sold on the importance of romantic, erotic love, that it's the first and foremost definition for the word in mind. As this obsession with loving someone has taken hold, it's also wormed its way into all other forms of love, so that now we're starting to think of loving a good friend closer and closer to how we love a significant other. Now that we have the capacity for only one type of love, yet cannot describe our feelings of affection for something in any other way, that definition is subconsciously becoming a part of our other relationships. Bromance is one of these effects, as is Man Crush. A sense of admiration for a figure, a band leader, an actor, or a sports player has become linked with a sexual infatuation with them. And I suspect that this all has to do with our language's limited number of words for love, and our decision to make sexual love our primary definition.

Think about other effects, like actions that are connected with declarations of love. Hugging, kissing, holding hands, sleeping in the same bed; these are all things that Americans identify with romantic love, and therefore are only comfortable performing with someone who they identify (and want others to identify) as their romantic partner. In a number of Islamic and Arabic cultures, for instance, men hold hands, while men and women do not. There are obviously many factors as to why this is acceptable/not acceptable under certain circumstances, but it's important to note that various Turkish languages have a separate word for sexual love and that of other types of love, and physical contact is more often connected with these others. In Chinese, this same physical contact is associated specifically with the mother-child relationship, a type of love which, again, has its own distinct word to describe it. There's also this news article on how often people of various countries think about sex in a day; the winners? Who else but the British and the Irish, the countries that just so happen to have English as their primary language.

And, of course, the English language's limitation here even affect Batman. In a recent interview, comics writer Grant Morrison was quoted as saying, 
“Gayness is built into Batman. I’m not using gay in the pejorative sense, but Batman is very, very gay. There’s just no denying it. Obviously as a fictional character he’s intended to be heterosexual, but the basis of the whole concept is utterly gay… I think that’s why people like it. All these women fancy him and they all wear fetish clothes and jump around rooftops to get to him. He doesn’t care -- he’s more interested in hanging out with the old guy and the kid.”

“Don't worry, I'm not saying Batman is 'happy' or 'lame', I'm simply saying he's more interested in Ra's Al Ghul than Talia.”

Ignoring the fact that this was a Playboy interview, and was spoken with a certain air of sensationalism, and the fact that the viewpoint is already skewed towards the hypersexual when you realize he considers burglary gear as “fetish clothes”, it's interesting to note that the two relationships he uses to back up his claim of Batman's gayness are the ones where Batman definitely loves the other party, just, you know, not in that way. There's Alfred, the surrogate father, and Robin who is either his legally adopted son, or (in the case of the Robin that Grant Morrison himself created) his actual, biological son. Morrison didn't mention the other male relationships Batman has, like the Joker, the man he spends most of his nights obsessing over; Harvey Dent, the former best friend who had a particularly emotional falling out with Batman, and who Batman struggles with fighting as he still has feelings for him; or Superman the guy who has literally let Batman ride him before. On his back.

No. I'm not kidding.

But it's the two male relationships that could most be described as love, and are at heart the most familial of all, that Morrison uses to point and say, “Gaaaay!” Just not in the pejorative sense.

The worst part is that this whole confusion could be so easily avoided. Just have more words, ones that describe individual sections of the whole, wide range of love. We won't have any more confusion, deliberate or otherwise; we won't be accused of inappropriate (and non existent) relationships with family members; and we won't have to deal with so many tepid, repetitive arcs in sitcoms. And compared to bromance, if that isn't a better reason for adding some new entries to the dictionary I don't know what is.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Job Jitters: We Don't Need No Education


Nervously, I sat in the chair of my superior's office, waiting as he slowly read the conduct reports. Actually, I say “my superior”, but he really wasn't. My superior was the secretary (I'm sorry, administrative assistant) who worked in my same office here at the college. Her superior was the administrative assistant in the office next door, and her superior was the dean who she directly assisted. And when I say dean, he was technically just the dean of the art school, and his superior was on the school board representing the whole college, and his superior was in the Administrative Building. It was in the office of this last superior that I sat, awaiting my judgment.

“Well, Harry, I assume you know why you're here.”

“My work isn't good enough?” I ventured.

“No, no, your work is fine. You have been an excellent...” he adjusted his glasses while scanning the paper for confirmation of my title, “...administrative assistant's assistant's assistant.”

“Oh, well then have I not been getting along with my co-workers?”

“No, actually, they all seem to love you. The assistants called you a life saver, and one teacher called you brilliant.”

“Oh, then this can only be regarding... the outburst.”

“Yes, that's it. The outburst you had last Friday. You had, um, quite a lot to say, didn't you.”

“I tend to express myself creatively, sir.”

“Indeed. It says at one point you described this job as 'a huge, steaming pile of... baloney sandwiches'. Wait, why baloney sandwiches?”

“This is a pretty tame blog, sir. Families read this, children even.”

Children exclusively, I should say.

“I see. Well, what, might I ask, is the main reason for your concerns?”

“Well, this job just carries with it a whole lot of baloney sandwiches. Like, all the paperwork. I mean an insane amount of paperwork. We have books that keep saved paperwork going back as far as 2008, and that's just on the shelf. In the storage closet, we still have final grades that go back twice as far. And most of it's so useless. There was a huge stack of papers, I kid you not, 600 sheets at least, that were two days late being sent out and were suddenly useless. And I had to shred all of them, one by one, because they had private info on them. There's so much paperwork, 90% of it useless, that our file cabinet just for the empty forms that people have to fill out for any little thing looks like the closet in Zaboomafoo.”

Editor's note: Harry, I want you to make more nostalgia jokes. Internet audiences really respond to nostalgia jokes.

“Okay, well, is that all?”

“No, other problem is that nothing is ever done as it's said. So many times has someone told me to do something, explained it in length, and then when I did it, it was wrong because they expected something else. Even with my hiring, I was only here for a temp job while you looked for someone to fill the spot permanently. But now you've got her, and I'm still here. Then you said you'd reduce my hours so I'd only be coming in 3 days a week, but that never happened. Hell, first you said I'd be paid one thing, then I actually get paid less.”

“To be fair, you weren't qualified for that job title, therefore we hired you at a lower title to do the same work for less.”

“Yeah, but that's another thing that points to this job just being a frustratingly overcomplicated mess. Look at my resume. I'm qualified to do this, I've had similar enough experiences before. But when I applied, I spent an hour and a half being coached by my boss to get previous job experiences to match, word for word, to what your job posting called for. Stupid, little things, like not saying I 'checked out customers' when I was a cashier because it sounds like I was hitting on them; and saying 'experience using a mechanical adding machine' instead of saying cash register. I had to alter the minutest of details and wordings just to get this job. I spent more time carefully rewording my application, after I was already selected mind you, than I did learning what I was going to be doing, all so my bosses wouldn't get in trouble with you guys for hiring someone who wasn't qualified for the $1.00 pay difference between job titles. And the thing is, I'm not really qualified, not for this. I can input data, organize, deal with customers or technology and anything else that the job posting said, but what the posting never said, and what I've never had experience with, was this level of total BS. And because of a well meaning superior stretching my resume to fill a needlessly specific yet woefully under descriptive job requirement list, I'm suddenly in a job where I have no idea what I'm doing and am expected to do it anyway. It's like I'm living my middle school nightmares about the workforce where I ended up in a job I couldn't do and if I screwed up it would be a negative mark against future employment opportunities and also I forgot to wear pants.

The workforce, how I see it. Did I mention this blog was also created by a child?

I mean, this is supposed to be a college. Teachers are trying to actually get some stuff actually done, and students are trying to get an actual education, but it's made increasingly difficult by your ever mounting pile of pointless, stupid, inane, petty BS.”

There was silence in the office. My superior shuffled the papers, staring at them hard, and eventually let out a long sigh.

“Well, Harry, I'm sorry, but there's only so much I can do. Perhaps my... superior could address your concerns more completely.”

“Wow, that sounded... sinister...” I began, though before I could finish, he had stood from his desk, leapt to the door at the side of his office, the door I had somehow failed to notice until now, and rapped gently on its wooden frame. He was responded by a light gurgling from the other side of the door.

“Sir, I hate to disturb you, but we have another dissenter. He seems quite perturbed by the workings here. Shall we invite him in for a look at the... bigger picture?”

He must have received a nod of assent, because without further sound from the thing past the doorway, he turned and bade me enter. Against my better judgment, I slowly made my way to the door frame and peeked within, and found myself confronted with a great and colossal being that defied all reason and spat upon the notion of sanity itself. It looked upon me with ancient eyes, and all I could feel was dread; the dying warmth of the last day of summer, the bitter tears of an old friend's departure, the painful droplets of rain ruining an otherwise perfect day. There were so many details about the monstrosity that it could only truly be described as indescribable; it's face had fangs, yet also mandibles, yet also tentacles; it's limbs were hideously bulbous yet acutely lithe; its breath was sickly sweet yet nauseatingly bitter; its skin was of some tone that I was certain my eyes were not able to see and no language was able to name; it had so many countless eyes and yet when I stared deeply, uncontrollably, I could see only the one. It's craggy, eldritch visage was nothing short of Lovecraftian.

Editor's note: And internet audiences really respond to that one horror writer you don't really know much about other than that giant squid guy. Also, you don't have an editor.

It spoke with a tongue that lashed and slathered, and while its language was alien to my ears, the words echoed inside my mind with startling clarity.

“Speak, insignificant one. Voice your concerns that I may answer with mocking and laughter.”

“I... I don't understand why you make this job so difficult. It should be easy, it should just be light filing, and organizing, and occasionally answering simple questions to bewildered freshmen. Why is there so much complications to this simple job?”

“You lack the capacity to truly understand. This is a question I cannot answer in full.”

“Then answer in terms I can understand.”

“Very well. I, I and my kind, we do not subside ourselves on physical food; our forms require much more, nourishing delicacies. Frustration, panic, fear, dread. These emotions to us are the most filling bread, the sweetest wine.”

“Then, you're torturing us on purpose?”

“That is correct.”

“But why this college, why these people, why here?”

“Again you do not understand. This campus is not our only source of food. The entire world is rife with our secret presence. This college is but one of many, of thousands, of myriads of places where we exist; slowing things down, mucking things up, complicating processes and perplexing workers the whole world over, and feeding. Always feeding.”

“So here, and in other colleges?”

“Yes.”

“And in courts and legal proceedings?”

“Yes.”

“And governments?”

“And Hollywood?”

“Especially Hollywood!”

pic:
It makes so much sense!

“No!” I cried, “This can't be allowed to continue! I have the knowledge now, and that compels me to act. I can tell the others, I can make everyone see what you're truly doing to them!”

I was greeted with nothing but laughter, much of it foreign and unrecognizable, but a small part of it human. I quickly realized this part was my superior, standing in the doorway still, laughing maniacally with the beast before me.

“You foolish whelp, there is nothing you can do. No one will believe you, and even someone did, we control everything. Any investigation would be put through bureaucratic hoops until it dissolved, any party who sought to confirm this would be met with frustrations upon frustrations, until nothing was left of their curiosity except lamentations and defeat. You are powerless against us.”

“Then I'll bring them here, to look directly upon you. No bureaucracy can stand against man's resolve when it sees these horrors with its own eyes!”

“Ah,” it countered, “How can you bring others here when your clearance to these offices has been revoked!”

“Wait, what?”

“Bwa-ha ha ha ha ha!” it laughed once more, it's languished cries of mirth filling the room and beyond until the very sound of it felt as if it must shake the earth to its core.

I am fired.