Category Archives: Words

Words fail

Beach_house_fire_wart

You may have noticed that I haven’t had anything to say about the kids who died in the fire. That’s because I don’t know what to say, beyond the fact that it’s awful.

More importantly, we haven’t said anything editorially. At least, we haven’t said anything that’s been published. We forced ourselves to do an editorial for tomorrow’s paper. Warren Bolton, God bless him, volunteered to write it after Cindi and I (remember, Mike’s out) both said we didn’t think we were up to it.

Part of this is that Cindi and I are not the world’s best empathizers. Of those currently on the board, Warren (who is almost, but not quite yet, an ordained AME minister), is the best. At times such as this, we really miss Claudia Brinson, who was really good at it. She said the right thing, and said it beautifully. Back when she and John Monk were on the board, they were always the first to say we needed to say something about something like this. I would agree with them; I just wouldn’t know what to say about something like this — something that everyone was talking about, but which did not have an obvious editorial point. No matter of policy or anything like that, which of course is the usual province of editorials. (The term we use under such circumstances is that we just need to "resonate" to the news, something I’m not that great at.)

But there’s more to it than that, at least for me. As I said in our meeting this morning, I don’t even know what to say in a case like this when I’m intimately involved with it. When my youngest daughter’s boyfriend died a month back, I drove up to Pennsylvania to be with her, and was there for the visitation and funeral, and I still didn’t know what to say — to his mother, his friends, even to my daughter. Warren says that sometimes you don’t have to say anything; you just need to be there. And that’s true, which is why I drove up there. But there’s still a moment that demands something be said — such as when I was introduced to David’s mother at the funeral home — and I am struck dumb.

I continue to want to comfort my daughter over the phone, but I continue to be at a loss. I just tell her a lot that I love her.

Pretty lame, huh? I’m at no loss for words when it comes to total B.S. — such as chatting with a celebrity about nothing, in the "Seinfeld" sense of nothing — but wordless when it comes to the things that matter most.

Anyway, we have an editorial for tomorrow — a short editorial, fleshed out with a photo, because there are just so many words you can come up with even when you’re trying hard. Warren wrote it, and I tried to improve it in the editing, but I just finally had to let go and put it on the page, dissatisfied.

Words are just so inadequate.

I do have a column rattling around that is peripherally related to this tragedy, but I think it’s one that would be better a few days from now, so I’m saving it for Sunday. A column is easier than an editorial under such circumstance. An editorial demands authoritative pronouncements; a column allows for vagueness and uncertainty. But I’m going to let that one gestate.

In the meantime, if you have words — perhaps there are some Claudias out there among you, who possess the words I lack — you may put them here. Or better yet, go to this page at thestate.com. That would be more respectful. A blog just seems like an awfully frivolous, useless thing at a time like this.

‘Around the nation?’

This morning, I heard somebody say something on the radio that’s been bugging me lately. If words are not your stock in trade, you probably haven’t noticed it. And I really don’t attach any importance to it beyond my passing curiosity regarding the way language develops.

Someone on the radio said that something was happening "around the nation." Sometimes you see or hear it as "around the country." I’ve seen it a lot in copy that I’ve edited over the last year or so. I always change it automatically to "across the country" or nation.

I do this for two reasons. First, "across" is the established idiomatic phrase (isn’t it? or did I dream that?). That’s the way one expresses that alternative to "nationally." Second, I just have trouble visualizing the newly trendy alternative. What does "around" the country mean? Does it refer to Canada, Mexico and the two oceans? Or is it a reference to the border and coastal states, leaving out the landlocked heartland? That’s what it sounds like, although I realize that’s not how it’s meant.

But "across the country" implies a quick, inclusive, coast-to-coast descriptive stroke that expresses what you’re trying to say without the mind having to stop and think about it.

Not that anyone thinks about it but me. And when I think about it, it’s for no more than a second, when I’m changing it and thinking "I wonder why he/she wrote it that way?" I guess today I just reached the point at which those seconds added up to a critical mass, and I decided to say something about it — which I just did.

Anybody else hear a black helicopter?

Ever since I got some rudimentary training in the manipulating the guts of thestate.com (to help in managing the opinion portion), I’ve been on some list that means I get all sorts of extremely esoteric, bewildering technical e-mails from some entity known as "McClatchy Interactive."

Fortunately, the subject lines are distinctive (gobbledegook such as system_notices-bounces@lists.mcclatchyinteractive.com), so I can delete them without thinking.

But just before I deleted the latest one, I saw this language in the body of the message:

We identified the
offending process and have stopped it from executing. All services are now back
up and should be functioning correctly.

That sounds way cold-blooded. Like the revenge of the Hal and his pals. They stopped it from executing "with extreme prejudice."

Be afraid. Be virtually afraid.

Granfalloons

Back in a comment on this post, I referred to the Kurt Vonnegut term "granfalloon." Let’s examine it further.

I was never that big a fan of Vonnegut back in the day, when so many of my friends were into him. I disliked anything that smacked of nihilism, and Cat’s Cradle in particular seemed to preach the message, "Why try? Everything is pointless." There is something in me that rebels fiercely against that. I remember writing an essay in high school comparing it unfavorably to Catch-22. Yossarian seemed trapped in malignant absurdity, too, but at the end (warning! plot spoiler coming!), there is a life-affirming burst of hope when he learns that Orr had paddled all the way to Sweden, whereas at the end of Cat’s Cradle, the protagonist is contemplating tasting ice-nine.

Maybe I would feel better about it if I read him now; I don’t know. Maybe I could accept fatalism more favorably coming from a soldier of the ill-fated 106th Infantry Division (which may not qualify as a granfalloon, since so many of its members, such as my own father-in-law, indeed shared a similar fate, which might make it a true karass). But having granfalloon pop into my head while typing that earlier response at least causes me to have greater respect for him for having invented that term.

It’s an important word to have, because it explains why the politics of identity leave me cold. I simply don’t ever feel the impulse to identify with, or stick up for, a person who simply has the same color skin that I do, or is the same gender, or believes in the same religion (even though Catholicism for me is a choice, rather than an accident of birth). Assuming a kinship with someone over such things seems every bit as absurd as the shared association of being Hoosiers, to cite one of Vonnegut’s examples.

Sometimes in the past, I’ve tried to express the thing I object to in terms of "teams." I apply this in particular to the political parties — another form of voluntary association (even though, once people have joined them, they seem to act as though they were born into them and are congenitally incapable of contradicting the party line). Since I don’t see either Democrats or Republicans as embracing coherent, rational philosophies, but being coagulations of people with unconnected goals who have decided to band together, I think of them as having formed teams for purely pragmatic reasons — safety in numbers, pooling resources for organizational purposes, etc.

And teams are not a thing I’m into. The importance that some people attach to identification with, say, the Gamecocks seems to me suggestive of something far uglier. I know that’s ridiculous; it’s generally innocent, but such massive demonstrations of pointless solidarity put me off.

Anyway, now that I’ve retrieved it from my memory banks, I should use "granfalloon" more often.

Affricated American

Sometimes I think the spell-check function in whatever application I’m using just ain’t hep. It’s likeGoofy_beard_004
whoever programmed it never actually spoke any English, but read about it in a book.

I was reminded of that again today, when I told Michael Graham via e-mail in Outlook that having me on his radio show via phone before 9:30 a.m. tomorrow is risky, because I am not fully caffeinated before that time.

The spell check really, really didn’t know what to make of "caffeinated." It only had one guess. That guess was "affricated," a word I had neither met nor worked with previously. Even after I looked it up, I’m not entirely sure what the fricative it’s supposed to mean. Ironically, given what I said above, it is apparently a word you will only understand if you hear what it describes, in actual speech.

Strange, very strange.

Buzzword. Buzzword, buzzword, buzzword!

Long, long ago — the ’70s at least, probably during his ’76 run at the presidency — I read a magazine article about Jerry Brown (the slacker blogger — last post, Oct. 2005). It was one of the first things I ever read about him, as I recall. More to the point, it was the first time I ever ran across the term, "buzzword." (It’s even been suggested that he coined the term, that it’s "an old Jerry Brown term for words/phrases that go buzz in your head"".

It was used in the context of showing what a hip, intellectual, cool, detached kind of guy Brown was. It opened, in New Journalism style, with an anecdote that had him seated in front of a TV watching his own TV ad. He was riveted to the tube, and offering a running commentary that consisted of making a slashing or chopping motion with his hand and calling out "Buzzword!" with satisfaction each time the ad used a term to which that definition applied: "Buzzword…. buzzword, buzzword, buzzword!" Chop, slash.

It was probably in either Esquire or Rolling Stone, to list the publications I read at the time that would have been likely to run a piece like that. If anyone can refer me to it, I’d be interested to go back and read it again.

So what got me to thinking about that? Nothing much. I got a press release from the Romney campaign that consisted of nothing more than this statement (I think it was related to the debate yesterday):

A STATEMENT FROM SENATOR JIM DEMINT (R-SC)
"The fact is our federal government has gotten too big, taxes are too high and federal spending is way out of control.  This is why Governor Romney believes Republicans must first make changes in our own house, because as he said, ‘Change must begin with us.’  Today, Mitt Romney once again showed that he is the real candidate of change for fiscal conservatives and that is why I am proud to support his candidacy."

— Senator Jim DeMint (R-SC)
October 9, 2007

… and I was struck, for about the billionth time, with the fact that our most ideological politicians — from DeMint to Pelosi — often seem to communicate almost entirely by way of buzzwords and cant phrases.

There were no specifics in that statement. No reference to a particular point made about a particular situation. Just broad generalities of the sort that communicate (I suppose) to like-minded ideologues but one message:

I’m one of you. I speak your language. So does this other guy.

The statement is as bland and ignorable as beige wallpaper, but it is apparently designed to go "buzz" in somebody’s head.

No attempt to cite an example of something government does that is unnecessary (even thought it would be easy, even for an anti-libertarian such as myself), or a tax that’s too high or an economic argument demonstrating why it’s too high, or anything. Just a sort of bumper-sticker sentiment, too boring in its repetitiveness even to evoke a high-five from the truest of true believers; it was worth at the VERY most a slight nod.

When I read non-statement statements such as that, I often wonder whether the person who typed it and sent it out thought, at any point in that process, "This is a useless exercise. It offers nothing to the debate, for good or ill." Or did he or she think, "Well, at least I’m getting paid for this."

Or perhaps: "Buzzword!" Slash, chop. "Buzzword, buzzword, buzzword!"

Hey, AP guy: That’s MY word

This came in from the AP. It appears that I am part of some vast left-wing conspiracy involving Hillary Clinton (or maybe Obama). Dang. Somebody must have seen Zac Wright and me plotting over coffee:

{BC-SC-Edwards-Authenticity,0901}
{Analysis: Is Edwards real or a phony?}
{Eds: Also moved nationally.}
{An AP News Analysis}
{By RON FOURNIER}=
{Associated Press Writer}=
   NASHUA, N.H. (AP) – John Edwards’ presidential campaign is not so much about the "two Americas" as it is about the two John Edwardses.
   One image of Edwards is that he’s a champion of the embattled middle class and poor, an up-from-his-bootstraps populist waging war against special interests who favor the rich and established.
   The other take: He’s a phony.
   Which is it? Is the Democratic presidential candidate a man of the people, as he says, or the fake his rivals call him?
   It may be that Edwards is not quite either caricature – that the answer, like much in politics, is less black and white than gray, and discerning voters in Iowa and New Hampshire will give Edwards his ultimate gut check.
   "It’s just politics," Edwards said of the questions about his sincerity. "I know who I am. I know I haven’t changed at all. I’m the same person I’ve always been."
   His rivals are working behind the scenes to exploit the "three Hs" – haircut, house and hedge fund. Edwards’ $1,250 haircuts, his new 28,000-square-foot estate in North Carolina and his consulting work with a hedge fund that caters to the super rich undercut his everyman image.
   Some who call Edwards a hypocrite assume that a multimillionaire trial lawyer can’t be an authentic advocate for the poor and working people. That’s nonsense. You don’t need to be blind to help those who can’t see or crippled to aid those who can’t walk, and wealthy families like the Roosevelts and Kennedys had no problem connecting with working-class voters.
   But those fabled Democrats never made lame excuses for making money, as Edwards seemed to do when he claimed to take the lucrative hedge fund job because he wanted to learn more about financial markets.
   The political opportunism of the Kennedys and Roosevelts – as brazen as it was – seems in the rosy glow of hindsight to be less of an issue than it is with Edwards.
   He ran as a moderate Democrat for the Senate in 1998 and the White House in 2004, calling universal health care policies irresponsible and impractical. Now he is more liberal, shifting to the left along with Internet-fed forces within the Democratic Party, and vows to give health care to all.
   After the 2004 election, he stashed his political team on the payroll of a nonprofit anti-poverty group that kept alive his public profile.
   He demanded that all Democratic candidates return their contributions from Rupert Murdoch and executives at News Corp. in a gambit to portray rival Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton as a creature of the corporate establishment. It turned out that Edwards got $800,000 in a book deal with HarperCollins, a subsidiary of News Corp.
   Although he donated his profits to charity, Edwards looked like a hypocrite again.
   A political attack doesn’t need to be right to work, which is one reason why he is on the defensive.
   "I think any time you’re a strong, passionate voice for real substantive change there are very powerful forces that would love to silence you," Edwards said in an interview between campaign stops.
   The theory goes like this: Edwards is viewed as a threat because he embraces bold changes for foreign policy (withdraw from Iraq), health care (universal coverage), education (college for all), and even for his own party (ban lobbyist donations to Democrats and the party).
   These are his solutions for uniting what he calls the two Americas – one for the advantaged and the other for the rest of the people.
   Who are these forces trying to silence him?
   " … In some cases they’re political and in some cases they’re just entrenched power," Edwards says.
   Do they include your Democratic rivals such as Clinton?
   Edwards breaks into laughter. No comment, he says, at least not on the record.
   What he does like to talk about is his storybook life, a tough and tragic narrative that rings familiar to many voters.
   Edwards, 58, was born in Seneca, S.C., to parents who worked at a textile mill. After spending a summer clearing the mill looms – a dirty, dreary job – Edwards graduated from law school and discovered a talent connecting with juries. Along the way, Edwards overcame the nagging feeling that he was not as smart or sophisticated as the students and lawyers around him.
   "It turned out that if you’re willing to work hard enough, you can do OK," Edwards says, though he adds: "I’m still the same 18-year-old boy who went away to college scared to death."
   Edwards squeezed millions of dollars out of personal injury and medical malpractice cases, representing "the kind of people I grew up with" against corporate interests.
   Spending time with Edwards can leave the most cynical person believing that he’s still fighting for those people, driven by the hard knowledge of how short life can be. His son, Wade, was killed in a car accident in 1996 ("I think of him every day.") and his wife, Elizabeth, has incurable cancer ("There have been two huge events in my life").
   That is one John Edwards.
   The question voters need to answer is whether it’s the only one that matters.
   —
   EDITOR’S NOTE: Ron Fournier has covered politics for The Associated Press for nearly 20 years.

And now, for those of you who take interest in the esoterica of journalism… "Analysis" is a word that news people use to allow them to tiptoe up to, if not walk all over, my turf — opinion. Some do it better than others.

The Associated Press is the vanilla news service. It’s great value is that it is good, solid, basic newswriting. You get the who, what, where, etc., presented in a the basic inverted pyramid style, without mucking about with such frills as "why." As I noted about my old colleague Jim Davenport in this post, and about Bruce Smith (somewhat obliquely) in this one, AP writers are expected to write The Official Story of the Day, as unconsciously agreed upon by the great colonial animal composed of the MSM, the talking heads and the Blogosphere. If you want nuts or fruit on your vanilla, you can add it, but that’s up to you — it’s not the concern of the AP.

Consequently — because they do use the Newswriting 101 manual — the writing is flat, matter-of-fact, and yes, boring. Useful, but boring. Because it’s like that, when the AP ventures into "Analysis," which it does daily on a couple of stories per cycle, the parts that read like opinion are particularly jarring against the plain, unassuming style of the rest of the piece.

This piece contained a particularly discordant example of that. In reading it, were you not taken aback when you saw this sentence: "That’s nonsense." It’s like another voice injected itself. Nothing about the tone of the preceding, or following, material seems consistent with that flat statement. The first time I saw it this morning was on a Treo, and I found myself, and I found myself scrolling back to look for the open quotes mark, because surely this was a quote and not the writer himself saying it. The "voice" I had been reading up to that point would not have written that.

But it had. The writer was saying it. It was just really awkward.

A teachable moment

This should help anyone out there who is still confused about the standards of this blog.

Someone — actually a regular here (an anonymous regular, of course) — tried to post a comment that called the U.S. commander in Iraq "General ‘Betray Us.’" He did so without irony, and he wasn’t using it as a quotation in condemning the revolting, indefensible use of that bastardization by MoveOn.org.

Of course, the comment was not approved for publication. Nor was a gratuitous second comment from the same source that had no substance beyond a monotonously over-repeated ad hominem slap at me.

It may be that MoveOn.org did not completely place itself outside the realm of acceptable public discourse this week, but there are general indications that it did just that. It has set a new standard for "beyond the pale."

But one thing is clear — such trash rhetoric is most assuredly outside the boundaries on this blog. Those of you requiring sharper delineation of those limits might want to take note.

There might not be such a thing as "polite society" any more. But this will be a virtual version of that. Come here and argue back and forth all you like. And I urge you to have fun doing it. If I don’t find it fun, there won’t be a blog any more, because I certainly don’t have time for it otherwise. But find a more grownup way to argue other than calling those who disagree with you liars, as your default position. That won’t be accepted.

‘Bout TIME we got US some free trade, ‘stead o’ wastin’ it on them furriners…

The Grocery Manufacturers/Food Products Association sent out a press release today announcing that "GMA Urges Congress to Pass Columbia, Panama and Peru Free Trade Agreements."

The release went on in that vein, repeatedly using the spelling, "Columbia:"

(Washington, D.C.)  At a trade rally hosted by long-time supporter of free trade, Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa), the Grocery Manufacturers Association (GMA) today strongly urged Congress to pass Free Trade Agreements (FTAs) with Peru, Columbia and Panama, and to renew Presidential Trade Promotion Authority (TPA), noting that lowering barriers is the cornerstone of U.S. export policies.
    “We applaud Senator Grassley for his unwavering leadership on these important issues,” said GMA Vice President of International Affairs Emily Beizer.  “GMA and our member companies strongly believe Congressional passage of FTAs with Peru, Columbia and Panama is vital to foster our country’s important trade relations with these key segments of the Latin American market.  Likewise, swift renewal of Presidential Trade Promotion Authority is critical to ensuring that American business, agriculture and workers are able to continue to compete in the rapidly changing global economy by allowing the further development of new and improved trade partnerships, and ensuring that other countries do not have a competitive advantage over U.S. products.

You know, that’s hard to argue with. I hope the economic benefits of such a close association with los Estados Unidos will drag our poor land right out of the 19th century. Si se puede!

Don’t Blame Me; I Voted UnParty

Is there anything more offensive about political parties than their insistence upon boiling complex truths down to a bumper sticker? You say parties don’t do that? The hell they don’t. That’s what they’re all about — simplifying things so that voters don’t have to think. Just pull the lever, and go back to stuffing your face in front of the tube

At the moment, one of the parties is running a bumper-sticker contest. Sorry, but it’s a bit late to have your own submissions considered. They’re down to four finalists, which you can see here.

Sure, this time it’s the Democrats, but Republicans — who as I recall stuck "Don’t Blame Me; I Voted for Bush" on their bumpers before Bill Clinton even took the oath of office in 1993 — have no room to talk here.

The Clock Also Ticks

Regular readers know that I struggle to manage my time, and in keeping with that, whenever I file a comment, or answer an e-mail, with anything more than a "thanks for writing" or "you got that right," I try to turn it into a separate post. And so it is that I pull out my evasive response to Randy’s good-faith question:

Brad,

with the vacations on the sand, dining at the CCC and writing an article each week where do you find time to maintain a blog?

Kidding aside, what is a typical day like for you?

Lousy. In fact, not a day goes by that I don’t consider chucking the blog entirely, but I simply don’t have time for it. No sane person with even rudimentary time-management skills would ever start one.

But wait… I’m not supposed to be frank about such things. I’ve always tried to hold to the ethic that Hemingway wrote of in The Sun Also Rises:

    "Come on down-stairs and have a drink."
    "Aren’t you working?"
    "No," I said. We went down the stairs to the café on the ground floor. I had discovered that was the best way to get rid of friends. Once you had a drink all you had to say was: "Well, I’ve got to get back and get off some cables," and it was done. It is very important to discover graceful exits like that in the newspaper business, where it is such an important part of the ethics that you should never seem to be working. Anyway, we went down-stairs to the bar and had a whiskey and soda. Cohn looked at the bottles in bins around the wall. "This is a good place," he said.
    "There’s a lot of liquor," I agreed.
    "Listen, Jake," he leaned forward on the bar. "Don’t you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you’ve lived nearly half the time you have to live already?"
    "Yes, every once in a while."
    "Do you know that in about thirty-five years more we’ll be dead?"
    "What the hell, Robert," I said. "What the hell."
    "I’m serious."
    "It’s one thing I don’t worry about," I said.
    "You ought to."

So I hope you’ll excuse me now, but I have to go get off some cables…

God Bless Robert Samuelson

This is just to make sure you saw this important piece in the paper this week. Some people get all excited about taxing or spending or this or that public policy. But Robert Samuelson took the time to write about something that is very dear to my heart, and to my daily life. Study it, and become wiser:

We are, it seems, too busy to pause
By ROBERT J. SAMUELSON – Washington Post

I have always liked commas, but I seem to be in a shrinking minority. The comma is in retreat, though it is not yet extinct. In text messages and e-mails, commas appear infrequently, and then often by accident (someone hits the wrong key). Even on the printed page, commas are dwindling. Many standard uses from my childhood (after, for example, an introductory prepositional phrase) have become optional or, worse, have been ditched.

If all this involved only grammar, I might let it lie. But the comma’s sad fate is, I think, a metaphor for something larger: how we deal with the frantic, can’t-wait-a-minute nature of modern life. The comma is, after all, a small sign that flashes “pause.” It tells the reader to slow down, think a bit, and then move on. We don’t have time for that. No pauses allowed. In this sense, the comma’s fading popularity is also social commentary.

It is true that Americans have always been in a hurry. In Democracy in America (1840), Alexis de Tocqueville has a famous passage noting the “feverish ardor” with which Americans pursue material gains and private pleasures. What’s distinctive about our era, I think, is that new technologies and astonishing prosperity give us the chance to slacken the pace. Perish the thought. In some ways, it seems, we Americans have actually become more frantic.

Evidence to support this hunch hasn’t been hard to find. Exhibit A is a story a few months ago in The Washington Post headlined, “Teens Can Multitask, But What Are Costs?” We meet Megan, a 17-year-old honors high school senior. After school, she begins studying by turning on MTV and booting up her computer. The story continues:

Over the next half hour, Megan will send about a dozen instant messages discussing the potential for a midweek snow day. She’ll take at least one cell-phone call, fire off a couple of text messages, scan Weather.com, volunteer to help with a campus cleanup (at the local high school), post some comments on a friend’s Facebook page and check out the new pom squad pictures another friend has posted on hers.

Whew! And remember, she’s also studying. Naturally, the story includes the obligatory quote from a brain scientist, who worries that so much multitasking will turn young minds into mush. “It’s almost impossible,” says the scientist, “to gain a depth of knowledge of any of the tasks you do while you’re multitasking.”

In reality, multitasking isn’t confined to the young. It’s hard to go anywhere these days — including restaurants and business meetings — without seeing people punching furiously on their BlackBerrys, cell phones or other handheld devices. More mush, maybe. At the least, serious questions of etiquette have arisen. In one survey, almost a third of the executives polled said it is never appropriate to check e-mails during meetings.

Next, there’s work. Unlike most rich nations, the United States hasn’t reduced the average workweek during the past quarter-century. In 2006, annual hours for U.S. workers averaged 1,804, barely different from 1,834 in 1979, reports the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development. By contrast, the Japanese cut annual hours by 16 percent to 1,784, the Germans 20 percent to 1,421 and the French 16 percent to 1,564. A study by economists Daniel Hamermesh of the University of Texas and Joel Slemrod of the University of Michigan argues that long working hours, especially among the well paid, may be an addiction, akin to alcoholism and smoking. (The paper is titled “The Economics of Workaholism: We Should Not Have Worked on This Paper.”)

I could go on, but the column is only 800 words, and more evidence would simply reinforce the point: de Tocqueville’s “feverish ardor” endures. There’s always too much to do, not enough time to do it. The comma is a small victim of our hustle-bustle. If we can save a few seconds a day by curtailing commas, why not? Commas are disparaged as literary clutter. They’re axed in the name of stylistic “simplicity.” Once, introductory prepositional phrases (“In 1776, Thomas Jefferson….”) routinely took commas; once, compound sentences were strictly divided by commas; once, sentences that began with “once,” “naturally,” “surprisingly,” “inevitably” and the like usually took a comma to set them apart.

No more. These and other usages have slowly become discretionary or unacceptable. Over the years, copy editors have stripped thousands of defenseless commas from my stories. I have saved every last one of them and piled them all on a secluded corner of my desk. They deserve better than they’re getting. So here are some of my discarded commas, taking a long-overdue bow: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.

I’m not quitting quietly. By my count, this column contains 104 commas. Note to copy desk: Leave them be.

Mr. Samuelson also writes for Newsweek.

God bless Robert Samuelson. He is fighting a battle I’ve fought for over 30 years now. I thought I was alone.

Back in the early ’80s, I had a reporter covering the Jackson, Tenn., city commission who just wouldn’t use commas. She was in a hurry, of course — the commission met at midmorning, and it was our policy to have a story about that meeting in the edition that was actually on the streets downtown at noon. As I edited her story, I would call her over and point to all the places where I was inserting commas (among other changes, of course).

This was at the very tail end of the typewriter era. One day, she strode impatiently back to her desk — I can see her now — and sat back down at her IBM Selectric. Less than a minute later, she whipped out the paper, strode back over to me and handed the page to me with a flourish. It was a page full of commas. She urged me to hang onto them and insert them into her copy at my leisure, rather than bothering her about it when she was busy.

Ellen Dahnke went on to write editorials at The Tennessean. In the spring of 2005, I saw her at a reunionReunion
of Sun staff from those days when everyone was young. That’s where I got this picture (with Wichita Eagle cartoonist Richard Crowson and Washington lobbyist Joel Wood). She was fighting breast cancer. She and my wife, a survivor since 2001, talked at length about it.

We lost Ellen back in December.

I like to think that on the editorial board, in those later years, Ellen had the chance to slow down and think. I like to think she had time for the commas. Silly, I know, but I think it’s a thought that would make Ellen smile.

What we have here is a refusal to communicate

The nature of this discussion is changing for me. That is, the nature of what interests me in it is changing.

I find myself becoming less interested in my original question, and more interested in the phenomenal barriers to communication that human beings will erect when having a discussion of political philosophy.

I’m going to explore this further — maybe even in my Sunday column. But in the meantime, let me share this post on The Shot, which was responding to this post of mine. And then, let me share the comment I wrote on that blog:

First, to whom am I speaking. Is this Tim, or Casen? These multiple-hand blogs are confusing to us lone-gunmen types…

I’m about to do a post, when I get caught up with real work, about "The Cognitive Barrier." It’s a profound problem, and it seems to get even more in the way when we deal with broader philosophical issues such as this.

Here’s what happens — I write something. It’s bound to provoke people, but I want them to engage what I’m saying, and help me understand them better. I’m not interested in one of those tit-for-tat name-calling contests you usually see on blogs. I’m careful in how I state my position so as to make sure I’m being completely clear as to what I mean, because I’m talking to people who seem to have a very different set of assumptions from mine, so you can’t assume understanding of portions of your points. I can’t use shorthand, and I certainly can’t use slogans. I’m not going to dress up what I say to make it more palatable; I’m not selling. My one interest is in being clearly understood so that the honest response I get helps me in understanding.

And what do I get? Well, one thing I get is a lot of favorite bumper stickers and battle cries from the adherents of the philosophy I’m questioning — you know, the sort of taunts that members of a gang toss out so that the other members of the gang will be impressed, and say, "That’s tellin’ ‘im, man."

But that’s not as bad as this — having people come back at me NOT with what I said, or with what I believe, or anything I have ever even thought, but with what they would LIKE for me to have said, because they have an answer for THAT that they think works very well.

And the cause of understanding, of synthesis, of people who disagree learning to communicate so that maybe they can work together to solve something, is set back. I take a step forward, and I find us two steps back, making me have to work even harder to explain what I said before we can even get to better understanding what the OTHER guy might want to say in response.

The above is an example of that. For instance, "What you want is for a third party (government) to forcefully remove the fruits of another’s labor and give to those, who just as easily could have been making the money." Really? I didn’t know I wanted that. I didn’t say that or think that. So why are we talking about that?

And excuse me, but who the hell are you to tell me what I want, when I just told you what I want, and it wasn’t that?

"you love the idea of government controlling your retirement" — Say what? What do you base that on? What did I say like that?

Here’s what I said, and what I keep saying: What I want is to abide by a system of representative democracy. I want us to deliberate, through our elected representatives, of how to address all issues that involve us all as a community — provide for the common defense, etc. If we decide through that process that we will pool some of our income so that those who slave away all their lives at low wages won’t starve when they’re 75, then that’s what we’ll do. If we decide that everybody’s on his own, then everybody’s on his own. If we decide just to give money to people who’ve never worked a day in their lives, then that’s what we’ll do. Ditto as to whether contributions will be voluntary, involuntary, in a "lockbox" or in private accounts. All of these things are open questions to be dealt with through the political process. May the best ideas win.

Of course, if you lose the political argument, you do live under the agreement that was reached. You don’t get to opt out. Oh, you can move to Sweden, or Somalia (depending on whether you prefer civilization or a true State of Nature). You don’t have to be a part of the community. But if you live in the community, you will abide by these rules and policy decisions, whether you advocated them or not. To say you should not have to do so is stupid and childish, period. If you don’t like the outcome of the debate, and you want to live in the community, there’s always another election coming within two years. State your case.

But the question raised by my post wasn’t about any of that, so all of the words I just wrote were simply extra work to try to get us back to the starting place:

Never mind what kind of governmental system we should have. It’s established that it really bothers you for anyone — other than someone you have personally approved — to enjoy any fruits of your labor. No, let me define that more clearly — Doug Ross said that. He said any system that does NOT expect him to contribute toward anyone else’s retirement.

Let’s say he’s right, or let’s say he’s wrong. Never mind that. What I want to know is, WHY does he feel that way? WHERE does that powerful "don’t touch it; it’s MINE" impulse come from?

Everybody has it to some extent. If you’re hungry, and here are the nuts and berries you gathered, you don’t want somebody taking them all away — at least, not before you’ve had your fill. But what Doug says, and what libertarians espouse, goes so far beyond that fundamental survival instinct. He seems to say — and I stand here fully ready to be corrected on this if I’m misstating it; I’m TRYING to understand it — that he doesn’t want ANY of what he’s gathered to go to ANYBODY unless he specifically decides himself whether that person should have any.

He can have it that way if he wins the political argument. All I’m asking is WHY does he want that? It’s a powerful impulse that goes far beyond anything I have ever felt. So help me understand it.

‘… and on banjo, Mr. Giddily Pickets!’

Quick, go to the search function on thestate.com and search for "JoDell Pickens." You’ll see one of the most delightfully goofy guesses I’ve ever seen a search engine or a spell-checker make.

I was looking for that name while reading tomorrow’s proofs. There were a couple of letters mentioning thatGiddily Ms. Pickens had asserted in a news story that she employed illegal aliens. I thought I’d better double-check that. (It was true, by the way; that was in the story.)

Anyway, the search engine asked, "Did you mean giddily pickets?"

Wouldn’t that be a wonderful stage name for a performer on the Grand Ole Opry?

Or perhaps it refers to the actions of a particularly blissed-out-looking protester, such as the lovely young Italian antiwar demonstrator below?

When I told a colleague about the question the computer had asked me, he replied, "No, but I am intrigued…." Unfortunately, the impertinent machine was merely teasing us; it had no such association to share.

Alas, not even Google could sate my curiosity on the point. Shame.

Antiwaritaly

‘love me some fred’

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve got nothing against Fred Thompson. I like that ol’ Tennessee boy just fine. But I can’t help marveling at the extent to which others get excited about him.

Sometimes, they achieve a sort of frenzy that positively cracks me up.

Compared to a staid forum such as, say, an editorial page, the comments on this blog may seem wild and woolly to some — despite my occasional attempts to encourage decorum. But when it comes to sheer intellectual rigor, this is the Algonquin Round Table set against some other places out there on the ‘net.

Such a place is the comments feature on YouTube. I glanced today at one of the video clips I had posted of Sen. Thompson earlier this week, having noticed that it had already joined my top ten most-watched videos. (It had even bumped my least-watched Thomas Ravenel clip, so Mr. Ravenel now occupies only four of the top ten slots.)

There were only three comments so far, but one respondent had gushed:

For Gods sake Fred!!! Please annouce your candicacy!! We are all ready to support you anyway we can. I’d go along with that flat tax too igloo54! GO Fred GO!!!!!!

My absolute favorite, though, was the one before it:


Love me some fred

That’s it. No punctuation. This literary innovation allowed the beholder multiple interpretations. I assumed it meant, "Love me some, Fred!" A colleague took it as saying, essentially, I’m really loving that Fred! Either way, the tension created by its very sparseness, the fact that this writer is excited beyond the ability to articulate, is what strikes me: Don’t have to make sense! Doesn’t matter! I’m just so excited!

Increasing my enjoyment was a movie that I watched as much of as I could stand last night: "Idiocracy," starring Luke Wilson. I had rented it just because Mike Judge was behind it, and I really loved "Office Space."

It was, after a while, hard to take. But the premise was hilarious, and painfully true-to-life. It was based in the idea that in this generation, we have started reversing the evolutionary principle of the fittest surviving, at least in intellectual terms. With high-I.Q., educated people making a fetish of delaying having children, often until it’s too late, and everybody else fully attuned to a culture that increasingly spurs them to copulate like rabbits, the species is bound to get dumber and dumber.

So it is that Owen Wilson, as average a guy as you could find, wakes up from a frozen state 500 years in a post-literate future, and finds himself easily the smartest man in the world. In that new world, "Love me some fred" would pass as Shakespeare.

Unfortunately, "stupid" jokes do get old very quickly. And… well… some of the hyperbole wasn’t all that far beyond today’s reality — especially today’s reality TV. That made it it sort of painfully close to home. Is a show called "Oh, my Balls!," consisting entirely of some poor schmuck getting hit repeatedly in the yarbles, all that much dumber than today’s fare? I fear not.

A working class hero is something to be

Check out this excerpt from the Associated Press about our governor’s signing of the Workers’ Compensation bill for which the business community has been clamoring for years:

   "This bill really is about the working man," Sanford said as he signed the bill at a gated housing development in this city off Interstate 385 near Greenville. "If you look at the numbers, about 25 percent of that house right there that the working man will one day buy, goes into costs associated with an out-of-control workers’ comp system. And that is a real tax on working people across South Carolina that will be dealt with in this bill."

If you didn’t get it the first time, read it again.

It’s "about the working man." So of course, Mr. Common Touch signed it in a gated community. But that’s where all the working men will live in the future, you see.

That leaves me wondering: If that’s true, then who will live outside?

Reading the numbers

Reading proof for our Monday page, I again run across that famous statistic, "one cat and her offspring produce 420,000 kittens over seven years." It’s in a letter promoting spaying and neutering.

You know, one of these days I’ve got to see that cat. That’s got to be some cat.

Speaking of statistics, there’s an interesting column in The Wall Street Journal today about another one you may have heard before:

Call it the reading income gap: Children from
low-income households average just 25 hours of shared reading time with
their parents before starting school, compared with 1,000 to 1,700
hours for their counterparts from middle-income homes.

These oft-repeated numbers originate in a 1990 book by
Marilyn Jager Adams titled, "Beginning to Read: Thinking And Learning
About Print."

Here, according to columnist Carl Bialik, "the Numbers Guy," is where that stat came from:

Ms. Adams got the 25-hours estimate from a study of 24 children in 22
low-income families. For the middle-income figures, she extrapolated
from the experience of a single child: her then-4-year-old son, John.
She laid out her calculations and sources carefully over five pages,
trying to make clear that she was demonstrating anecdotally the
dramatic difference between the two groups.

Mr. Bialik isn’t arguing that the general trend Ms. Adams is trying to describe is false. He notes that the stat "makes sense. It’s a hard thing to measure and therefore hard to contradict; and the figures meld with related research."

But still, he warns against the temptation to which various child-advocacy groups succumb, that of citing the numbers as though they are statistically defensible. They are not. Using data such as that can hurt your credibility, even when you’re right in the overall point you’re trying to make.

Boys, give me something in a C progression…

Hey, those guys had some pretty good timing, didn’t they?

Anyway, this morning I see that The New York Times is saying that:

Former Senator Fred D. Thompson  of Tennessee has taken new steps that make it clear that he is likely to run for the White House, potentially shaking up a field of candidates that has failed to strike a chord with the Republican base….

… and with my uncanny ability for going right to the heart of the matter, I immediately wondered, "which chord would that be?"

I’m thinking a basic C chord, within the context of a blues progression. That would be very Nashville, with a hint of Memphis thrown in. It would go with the drawl and the red pickup truck, which has been Fred’s campaign persona in the past.

Get out your ax (not the one you grind, the acoustic one) and strum C, F, G, G7 — maybe throw in an A minor in there someplace, or an E minor, or…

OK, I’m way out of my depth on music here. I can strum it, but when I try to write it, it’s too hard. Phillip, or anybody else out there?

Beyond that, in order to strike this chord in the electorate, would Fred have to sing a new song, or should it be something we know already that he could cover? I’m thinking a cover of an old favorite, or a new song that sounds old-timey. Anybody have any titles?

My big mistake

Here’s a confessional memo I just sent to my associate editors here at the paper. While I await their responses (which could take a while, since one of them is out of the office), I seek your advice as well:

Folks, I need
your advice as to whether I need to do a correction and, if so, what in the
world it would say. Here’s what John McCain said last week during the debate, in
the context of general remarks on immigration, following an accusation from Tom
Tancredo that he (McCain) had favored "amnesty." (Note that he was not
responding to anyone else having said anything about the Fort Dix plot; he just
brought it up.):

My friend, the people that
came, that almost attacked us at Fort Dix — thank God they did not — these
people didn’t come here across our borders; they came with visas that were
expired. So, we’ve got to enforce our border, that’s our first and foremost
priority, but we also have to have a comprehensive solution and it has to be
bipartisan, and I believe we’re close to reaching that, and that’s what the
American people expect us to do. The status quo is unacceptable.

THIS is what I wrote in
my column Sunday:

    Former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani’s campaign
put out a statement purporting to address the proposal that was, to say the
least, oblique: “The recent Fort Dix plot is a stark reminder that the threat of
terrorism has made immigration an important matter of national security. We need
to know who is coming in and who is going out of this country if we are going to
deal with those who are here illegally.”
    As Sen. McCain had said during the debate, the
Fort Dix plotters didn’t sneak into the country illegally. The issues are
completely unrelated.
Essentially, I was
expressing my objection to Giuliani linking Fort Dix and immigration, and I just
dragged in a paraphrase from McCain in which I had thought that he was agreeing
with me. Of course, I still think what I think regardless of what McCain said.
But I was wrong that none of the plotters had entered illegally, and I later
changed the blog version of the column to say, "the
Fort Dix plotters didn’t all sneak into
the country illegally."
 
That’s one thing that
would warrant a correction, if y’all think it’s worth it this late. But then, at
the start of the interview this morning, McCain said:

First of all and foremost it
is a national security issue. Since 9/11 the issue has gone from one of either
social or economic or humanitarian to one of national security. The six people
that were apprehended that were planning on attacking Fort Dix were in this
country illegally; three of them had crossed our border illegally, and the other
three had overstayed valid visas, which also describes the dimension of the
problem as well. Now we can’t have 12 million people in the United States of
America who we don’t know who they are or where they are and what they’re doing.
So it has become first and foremost a national security issue, ,and of course,
border security and enforcing our border should be and is in this legislation a
first priority.

Thinking uh-oh, I
screwed up, I said this when I had a chance to ask a
question:
I’m
a little embarrassed because I think I misheard you last week in the debate; I
had thought that you were making the point that what happened at Fort Dix was a
separate issue from this particular immigration issue, but what you’re saying is
the opposite, is that you believe that they’re very closely
connected…
And he
responded thusly:

As I mentioned, three of the people who wanted to
attack Fort Dix came across our Southern border. Every nation has the
requirement to secure its borders; if it doesn’t, it’s not carrying out its
obligations to its citizens.

… I don’t know what impression I gave you, but if we
have people who are able to cross our borders and come into our country without
us taking every step to prevent them from doing that and they do it in an
illegal fashion, then we’re not fulfilling our
obligation.

After all
this, I still think it’s a stretch to conclude that the Fort Dix plot teaches us
that the 12 million people in our country illegally, mostly Mexicans, are a
threat. And that’s what I meant. But I think McCain is right when he points out
(as he did a moment later in the interview, but I’ll spare you THAT quote) that
while most of the illegals are no threat, how will we separate out any who ARE a
threat — and it only takes a few — and protect our country from them, if all
these folks are invisible and underground?
 
So — what do
you think I should do, aside from posting all this on my blog, which I already
plan to do? And if I do a correction, how do I explain what I did wrong in less
than column length?
 
Folks, I
can’t remember when I’ve screwed one short paragraph in a column this
thoroughly. I’m sorry, and embarrassed.
 

Brad
 

Brad Warthen
VP/Editorial Page Editor
The State

Actually, I can’t remember when I’ve screwed anything up that thoroughly — particularly, I don’t remember ever having mischaracterized the thrust of what someone was saying to that extent. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to get that right, whatever my flaws. So yeah, ditch that one little paragraph and the column is fine; I stand behind what I said. But that doesn’t make me feel better about it.

 

The post that wasn’t

How do you write about Nazis?

That very question is so out there, so absurd, so
anachronistic, that’s it’s hard for me to write any other way than in
the facetious tone I used in previous posts on the subject.

But that doesn’t seem appropriate. And yet I can’t react with the urge to violence that the Nazis of old inspire. I can’t even work up the indignation that seemed to inform the protesters who were there to shout back at them. The spectacle was just so grotesquely ridiculous.

But irony isn’t the right response, still less amusement. Because behind their game of dress-up was the ugly fact that Columbia, South Carolina looked like a hospitable place to them. That presents us with a certain challenge.

For the last hour or so, I wrote about the implications of that. I had intended to post it here, but it ended up being as long as a column, yet pretty uneven. I decided to save it as a column, to look at it again on Monday, and if I can whip it into shape, run it on Tuesday or Wednesday. It I decide it’s just to lame for print in the light of day, I’ll come back and post it here.

In the end, though, what do you say about Nazis in front of you on a magnificent spring day right here in Columbia, SC, in the 21st century. Today. Springtime for Hitler — Mel Brooks was making fun of this stuff forty years ago.

But it’s not funny, is it?