Signs of Christmas Abound

Maybe it's the poor economy or people's poorer attention spans, but I don't think I've ever seen so much Christmas shilling. Of course, as soon as the Halloween pumpkins were smashed, the Christmas decorations, i.e., advertisements, began to blanket the horizon like a late fall blizzard. And just when I thought I'd witnessed the commercialism saturation point, I saw a Guinness sign in a certain establishment advertising St. Patrick's Day. Now, to be fair, I'm not sure if the sign is from last year's Celtic celebration or alerting us to 2010's frothy festivities. However, two thoughts sprang to mind when I saw the banner. The first one was the aforementioned observation on the sign's vintage; the second was, "Anyone who drinks Guinness does not need a reminder about March 17." I realize advertisers have only one goal: seducing the almighty consumer. Everyone is a potential spender. But I wonder if people can see the forest for the Christmas trees, so to speak. So many ads bombard our senses we have become desensitized. Do we really see the ads right in front of our faces? And even if we do, do we pay them any heed? Canada has suddenly adopted America's sacred "Black Friday." What's next? White Christmas? And I mean "white" in the sense of devoid of colour, as in I blanche in horror at the sight of my January credit card statement. Or Green Christmas, as in the American greenback, the currency of all currencies? When will it all end? Will we be consumed by our own insatiable desire for consumption? Has it already happened? And, as my good friend Dr. P likes to say, "Do one billion Chinese really give a damn?" (or words to that effect).

Technological Imperialist Imperative

“Western society has accepted as unquestionable a technological imperative that is quite as arbitrary as the most primitive taboo: not merely the duty to foster invention and constantly to create technological novelties, but equally the duty to surrender to these novelties unconditionally, just because they are offered, without respect to their human consequences.”-- Lewis Mumford (1934)

Mumford wrote these words in his Technics and Civilization, a book about the historical and sociological impact of technology on culture. As we are currently living through a monumental paradigm shift, we tend to lose sight of previous technologies and their dramatic influence on humankind and the planet. The clock, the printing press, the steam engine, to name a few, transformed the way people live, work and play. What Mumford is implying in the above quote is critical reflection on technology, particularly in terms of its impact on humanity. Where are the contemporary voices of the people? Where are the critics? Are they out there and not heard? Are they quelled by the "mediaocracy"? Or are they, like the characters in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, pacified by the soma of technology? Where are the Huxleys, the Orwells, the Mumfords?

To Purell, or not to Purell...

The threat of the H1N1 virus lurking on every surface has engendered a new word in our rapidly expanding lexicon of "verbified" proper nouns a la Google. To Purell, or not to Purell: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the hand to suffer the germs and microbes of outrageous illness, or to take arms... . Alas, dear reader, I think you get the point. In our sanitized world, we often lose sight of the reality of disease and, G_d forbid, resulting death. Taking reasonable precautions against contracting common illnesses is one thing; becoming a manic, hysterical person exhibiting signs of OCD is quite another. How many people have you seen lately who "Purell" immediately after touching any surface or coming into contact with the flesh of another human being? Children are no longer allowed to shake hands after hockey games. Adults air kiss one another. Don't get me wrong. I am not keen to contract the H1N1 virus or any flu, for that matter. Yes, I will take the proper precautions, e. g., get the vaccination, if my turn ever comes up. However, I am not going to live in a hermetically sealed bubble until flu season passes. At this point, we are much more at risk of losing our common sense than our good health. My advice is to remain calm and not rush for the clinics at the first sign of illness. This too shall pass. And another flu strain, perhaps more virulent than H1N1, will come along next season, ad infinitum...

"The Question Holds the Lantern"

I came across the following piece in The Sun magazine, one of my favourite publications. The sentiments expressed by John O'Donohue are universal and prophetic. Take the time to read and digest his words: http://www.jodonohue.com/reflections/

Tie One On...

Walking away from school on Royal Avenue, I overheard a mother ask her seven-year-old (?) daughter, "Have you been eating your tie?"; to which she responded, "Just a little bit." The mother then said, "I told you not to!"

Surfing for a suitable picture for this post, I came across this one. The guys in this photo are obviously inebriated. I have no idea who they are, but I can tell the guy on the right is pretty strange. Not that the guy on the left isn't strange too, but at least he's not eating someone else's tie. Either the guy on the right has a bizarre tie fetish or the appetizers at the event he's attending are grossly inadequate. In any event, he looks like he could skip a few meals...or ties!

I have worn a tie every workday for 23 years, and I have never felt the compunction to eat any one of my ties--even though some actually have pictures of food on them. Then again, I have never been inebriated at work.

Lesson learned: Try to avoid ties when you're drinking. You never know what might happen. Someone might nibble on your tie. And if you ever feel the need to eat a tie, count to ten and let the urge pass. It's just not worth ending up on the Internet, looking like a complete fool.

Writing takes Time; Time takes Writing

I teach a writing class to seventeen-year-old students. As they are handpicked for the course, they tend to be competent writers. Some are very good writers; others have the potential to be professional writers. I am not a professional writer, but I do know a thing or two about the craft of writing. Having been an avid reader most of my life and an English teacher for twenty-three years, I possess some relevant knowledge. Although I am not a fuddy-duddy grammarian, I do respect the conventions of writing and expect others to do so. I have my pet peeves, like the misuse of the appositive or "however;" however, dear reader, I have read Joyce and understand the rules are meant to be broken. The key, however, is knowing the rules. If one breaks the rules willy-nilly, with no conception of precision or accuracy, one is not James Joyce. Nor will one ever be, for that matter. There is only one James Joyce, though there are many imitators. In the email-blog-text age, individuals are taking less responsibility for their writing than they have since Gutenberg. If the medium is the message, the message is often swift, abbreviated and inaccurate. Some writing is meant purely for expedient communication; other writing is intended to last centuries, if not millennia. How would Homer or Shakespeare compose an email? How would Austen or Woolf blog? How would the Bronte sisters text one another across the moors? Would any of these writers embrace the current technologies? What would they think of Kindles? Although I suspect they would be circumspect in their appraisal or criticism, they could not help but be affected profoundly by the rapid innovation we are undergoing. The sea change in publishing, communication and networking is on a scale never witnessed by humanity; it is farther reaching than Gutenberg's press (pictured above) or Bell's telephone. So where does all this put my students? I am not entirely sure, but I am grappling with the issue and keeping them in mind as I continuously reinvent myself as a teacher of English. The implications for our profession are deep and broad; however, they are part of what makes teaching challenging and stimulating.

Today is Yesterday and Tomorrow

We live in the continuous present, even when planning for the future or ruminating on the past. This moment, this now, though evanescent, lingers in the air like a fragrance stimulating memory: the proverbial Proustian madeleine. Most moments do not allow for reflection as they occur because we are hurrying from pillar to post in the diurnal pursuit of the delay of death. Photos capture moments; words freeze time; art allows us to remain in the present even as we flee to the future.

I took the picture above on March 18, 2009, from the beach of the El Presidente Hotel, as the sun was setting off the coast of Cozumel. This photo captures the earth in flight and the illusion of the sun's dropping off the face of the earth. As we hurtle through the cosmos on our blue planet, we are not aware of the rotation of the earth or its movement around the sun. The only ways to perceive these phenomena with the naked eye are the movements of the sun, moon and stars. Urban inhabitants, we are far removed from this visible evidence of of our planet's velocity. The stars, our most profound connections to the past, are masked by ambient light and pollution. Stellar light brings us the origins of the universe; it reminds us we are all interconnected in the continuous present.

Incivility in Transit

About a week ago, I rode the 105 east to Vendome. When I entered the bus, I sat in the seat right beside the rear exit. After a couple of stops, I noticed across the aisle a woman standing with her infant in a stroller. Most passengers were oblivious, plugged into their music or phones, paying no attention to anyone, let alone a woman in need of a seat. I did the civil thing and gave the woman my seat: a small gesture easy to enact. She was happy; I felt good. After standing for a few minutes, I spied a vacant seat in the rear. Not seeing anyone else in great need of the spot, I took it. From that vantage point, I could see most of the passengers isolated in their cocoons of self-absorption. The words that ran through my mind were "incivility" and "lack of community." One day, one bus ride, a random group of passengers do not a society make. And a crowded bus doesn't necessarily bring out the best in people. Yet if this bus were a microcosm of our society, I would fear for our collective survival. If we lose our civility, we lose an integral part of our humanity. Show compassion for your fellow passengers on the bus ride of life because who knows when you will need a seat. Simply stand up and smile.

Educators

I work in one of the most "blue collar" of white collar professions: education. What I do for a living is more like what I do for living and the living and the unborn. I also work with the ideas and thoughts of dead men and women: the giants on whose shoulders we stand (to paraphrase Sir Isaac Newton). My profession is timeless, timely and timed by bells; it is also priceless (to borrow the Master Card slogan). Undervalued, underpaid, (mis)understood, we rise above the madding crowd every day. The best educators bring light to humanity and hope to the desperate; the worst, darken the spirit and close doors of the imagination. Our work is important; our students are our inspiration. From Socrates to Anne Sullivan to the men and woman who passionately pursue this noble calling, educators are the life blood of society. "If you can read this blog, thank a teacher."

Blogito Ergo Sum

The dead white guy, philosopher Rene Descartes wrote: "Cogito ergo sum" (I think; therefore, I am), so I thought it would be "cute" to name my blog Blogito Ergo Sum (I blog; therefore, I am). Of course, I am probably not the first person to have thought of this clever connection. However, not being first has never been an obstacle for me. In fact, I am usually not first. And this is fine by me. How many bloggers have come before me? Millions? Billions? Too numerous to count on all the fingers I know, which is probably several thousand.

Why have I undertaken this endeavour? I suppose "idle curiosity" is the apt response; a curiosity about the blogosphere; about "more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." In any event, I have made a start and we'll see what turns up in this little patch of cyberspace.