"...we must constantly look at things a different way."---Keating, Dead Poet's Society
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 42 trips to carry that many people.
photo credit: ohinternet.com
Since I like to write, the value of a well chosen word or phrase is not lost on me. But lately I have noticed some common phrases that once sounded fresh and interesting have become tired and annoying from overuse. Therefore before the year 2011 comes to an end I am officially releasing my list of:
TOP TEN EXPRESSIONS THAT SHOULD CLOSE THEIR EYES ON THIS WORLD FOREVER
Number Ten
Ask-Question-Make-Assumed-Statement
I have never understood this type of crystal ball questioning. The query assumes an affirmative answer. Personally, there have been many times I really DO NOT want whatever is being offered to me. “You want Land Mines? We got Land Mines!” or “You want to swim with Candiru? Oh, I’ll show you Candiru!” and “You want Ebola? I’ll give you Ebola!” (substitute with AIDS, Bubonic Plague, or Meningitis as needed). If you ask me a question at least give me a five second grace period so I can say no and run like, like…well, run as fast as I can.
Number Nine
“Just let it marinate for awhile”
I suppose we should blame Will Smith for this one. While holding down a large, sweaty and hyperventilating Kevin James in the movie Hitch, Will Smith used this phrase to encourage a moment of reflection. But truthfully, he’s the only one who is suave enough to use this expression and get away with it. More than likely Will Smith never says this in real life. He’s too busy saying things like,“I ain’t heard no fat lady!” and “Tha’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” Letting something marinate should once again be relegated to soaking a piece of chicken in lemon, oil and garlic.
Number Eight
“We need to marry these two ideas”
This first time I heard this I thought it as an interesting way to think about bringing two opposing or different thoughts together. But the more I thought about it, the more I found issues with this particular idea. Any good marriage does have its share of compromising, but there are also some things that just do not lend themselves to flexibility. In addition, I have seen many married couples that do everything BUT compromise—for the most part living nearly separate lives. Given the fact that nearly 50% of all marriages end in divorce, I am not sure the idea of marrying two ideas is a good one.
Number Seven
“Oh I went there”
This is one of those phrases that started on Jerry Springer and quickly spread in use to Soccer Moms all over America. They use it when they need to explain the use of obscenities toward the referee who removed little Johnny for roughness. “Sherri, I can’t believe you actually said that.” To which a now-transformed-Mrs. Cleaver snaps her fingers, bobs her head back and forth and says, “Oh, I WENT there!” I have no clue where she just went, but I beseech her, beg her and implore her to stop going there and above all desist from mimicking the idiots she spends all afternoon watching on TV. (To find out where she went, see Number Five)
Number Six
“Oh no he di nt!”
Note the lack of apostrophe after the letter d. This reflects the correct pronunciation and abbreviation of the words, “Oh no he did not.” This is an alternate response a Soccer Mom could use in the aforementioned situation. For instance if she doesn’t quite feel brave enough to actually go there but still wanted to show proper indignation at the incorrect call on little Johnny. Oh no he di nt must be accompanied by the mandatory head bob in addition to waving the index finger back and forth.
Number Five
“She was there for me” and “Been there done that”
Both of these are very similar because they refer to a “there” that is undefined. Being “there” for someone seems to be a colossal sign of support. No matter that this requires absolutely nothing from the person who is doing the “there-ing.” For example: Phone rings—“I can’t believe it! He just broke up with me! What am I going to do?” To which her bosom friend answers, “Don’t worry girl, I’m there for you.” This is huge. Being there for someone relieves you of any further responsibility. To complicate this matter further, a person who is there for someone, can also become tired of being so supportive and exclaim, “I’m tired a’ all that! I was there for her but I just can’t do that no more. Been there done that!” So the relationship between the “there” in the two statements are somehow interconnected. It sounds like the people who were there for someone and those who have been there and done that and even those who went there have all been living in the very same place—The Land of There.
Number Four
“Think out of the Box”
This saying surfaced as a result of an argument in a UPS shipping hub during the pre Christmas rush. There were three UPS workers feverishly working to pack and ship the allotment of packages for the day. One of the workers came upon a set of skis that needed to be sent across country, and became frustrated because there was no box big enough to fit.
“How am I gonna get these skis in a box?”
How ‘bout cutting two boxes and puttin’em together?”
“You crazy? That’ll never work.”
“How ‘bout putting them in this box here and whatever doesn’t fit, we can just wrap in bubble wrap?”
“No, man! Think outa the box! Think outa the box!”
DING! And the saying was born. It was good for awhile and even pithy. It also assumes the user has the ability to think inside the box, which is often not the case. But it quickly lost its charm from overuse. To remedy this situation, we should just get rid of all of the boxes. How shall we eat the Chinese food? Think out of the box. Where can I find something to blow my nose with? Think out of the box. Where will the department store put all the shoes? Think out of the box.
Number Three
“What’s he bringing to the table/party?”
I am positive I personally started this, but I was actually talking about food when I said it. I often go to parties that feature a potluck dinner. I’m always amazed at the direct correlation between those that eat the most and those that bring a chipped salad plate containing a few thin slices of a shiny cheese and a sleeve of saltines to share with a group of about 30. This usually prompts me to elbow a friend and whisper, “Hey! What did he bring to the party?” On one occasion the guest who had brought the pathetic cheesefood and crackers, overheard me and started using my remark to rate the unworthiness of potential dates, lazy colleagues, batty aunts and slick deal makers. Since gaining popularity, this question is usually asked by the person who is the least qualified or talented and therefore employs this expression in order to camouflage their own failures.
Number Two
“Let’s make sure everyone is on the same page”
This annoys me on just the pure principle of forming an analogy to an object that most people don’t even touch—given that one in four Americans have read NO books in the past year. The idea of an actual page is foreign to most people since they spend most of their time in mindless time-wasters like texting, facebook, video games, or watching the latest screaming match between snooki and whoever she fights with on that silly show (and no, I don’t think she deserves a capital s for her fake name). Besides, a book is a hallowed object and I take great offense in using any part of it to relate to people who are too obtuse to understand the value of the printed page. Why not change this expression to “Let’s make sure we are all on the same web-page?” I could live with that.
And Number One?
“Wait for it…”
Argh! Why should I wait for it? Not only do I have to listen to what is most likely a boring story, (because if it was interesting I wouldn’t need to be told to wait for it, I would be doing just that) but now you want me to wait while you take a pregnant and dramatic pause. This leads me to believe what is going to follow is going to shake the world from its axis or at the very least I will be treated to the equivalent of the next I have a Dream speech. But no, it’s some horribly trivial story of how first grader Kelly is, wait for it…an honor student! or how cute the baby looks when he spits up, wait for it…organic carrots! If you must use this weary expression then at least use it before saying something life changing as in, “No thanks I don’t need a wedding favor instead, wait for it…I’m going to have to take your kidney” or anything at all to do with PETA and then, wait for it…”The world is ending.”
Using original expressions and words to voice emotions is quickly becoming a lost art. I think my 92 year old father said it best. We were chatting about the woeful lack of variety in common everyday speech and the inability of people to express themselves. He summed it up nicely, “They’re trapped–either in the bedroom or the bathroom.”
photo credit: imagegossips.com
Since September 11, 2001 there have been many opinions, articles, discussions, debates and even some jokes about the rationale and outcomes of the event. The last time there was an attack on American soil was December 7, 1941 when Pearl Harbor was bombed.
The day of this national tragedy marked the beginning of a ten year conflict in the Middle East. There were 2819 lives lost on that day and many more service men and women lost their lives in the aftershock. The event changed our collective viewpoint of our security and vulnerability. As an American I am very aware of the enormity of this reality. But I chose not to watch any of the coverage of the September 11 memorial. It was a conscious decision, because to me there seems to be very little honesty when it comes to dealing with the emotions of loss in the aftermath of the event.
What puzzles me, is the attempt to measure and compensate the people who suffered the loss of a loved one. The families of the 9/11 victims were given 1.8 million tax dollars as long as they promised not to sue the airline companies. They were given a strong voice in what became the national memorial. The families are also allowed speaker opportunities for TSA safety awareness and education, mental and health benefits, legal representation and countless other methods of support[1] Is there really a price that can be paid to compensate for a loss of a life?
Even though the question is a rhetorical one, (even 1.8 million dollars could never be exchanged for someone’s life!) the 9/11 families have been paid for their loss. And this payment gives a sort of impression that these families’ personally own a very extraordinary and rare kind of loss—one that no other person could feel.
Can someone really understand the impact or attempt to compensate someone after they experienced a loss on 9/11? And in the same vein, can anyone grasp or counteract a loss to someone who lost a family member to a drunk driver? Or to a murder? Or even worse, to someone whose loved one has suddenly disappeared and is missing?
It seems that the grief felt by those on 9/11 has been ratcheted up to a point in which there can be no comparison. How can we presume that a person who loses a loved one to a kidnapping or disappearance somehow feels that absence less than someone who lost someone in the attacks? It is as if those who faced the death of a loved one on 9/11 lost more than someone whose loved one died in another tragedy. The grief of the 9/11 families’ has been deemed special or somehow more profound.
I have lost loved ones and their loss to me is no less to me than if I had lost them on 9/11. One of my relatives nearly lost his entire family while he was in his freshman year at college. His house was burned to the ground and his father was admitted to the hospital with 90% of his body covered in third degree burns. The biggest tragedy was the loss of his mother, sister and brother who had all perished in the fire. No one could argue that his grief is somehow less impactful or significant than any other loss—even if it had occurred on 9/11.
The very act of setting aside a certain type of grief as special or a particular situation as an extraordinary way to lose someone, gives rise to a dismissive attitude toward the very real emotions of sorrow for those who have lost loved ones outside of that set parameter.
September 11, 2001 was a day that changed the psyche of our nation. For 2819 families, it was a day they joined thousands of others who have lost someone they love to a senseless tragedy.
blindfiveyearold.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/link-bubble-pops
Everyone should have a chance to live in a bubble for a few months now and then. This summer I had the opportunity to live, breathe, eat and write with a whole roomful of other writers. Our group consisted of writers from Denmark, Italy, Columbia, India, Siberia and Korea. Together, we shaped, rearranged and constructed our stories. We each finished writing a feature length screenplay. Granted, each script will still need many more revisions and modifications, but we did something that most people just talk about. At the end of eight weeks we had all bonded in a unique way and I met some amazing people from all over the globe.
And then—-there was Writer Number Seven.
No words can explain the who, what and why of this woman. She perplexed and annoyed all us to the point of banging heads on laptops, harming innocent sheets of paper, weeping and gnashing of teeth. For starters, her movie was absolutely ludicrous and it made no sense to any of us. She believes she is the next Tarantino. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the talent to back it up. To add to that, she has a fascination with the world of fantasy and I am convinced she is pathological liar. In eight weeks, she made the following statements:
My ex boyfriend used to a titled fighter, My ex husband is rich owns his own oil well, My ex husband is rich so I can do what I want, My ex boyfriend was a gigolo, I got divorced 6 months ago, I’m getting married in three weeks in Las Vegas, He asked me to marry him after three days, I’m marrying a half Indian half Jamaican, We have an open marriage, I was part of the Russian mafia, I was kidnapped when I was 18 by the Russian mafia, I talked my way out of the kidnapping, The mafia asked me how I want to die—Naked? Crucified?, I have a degree in psychology, I had a successful psychology practice for six years and made more money than my oil husband, My ex husband looks like James Bond, I know all about my fiancée because I went to his job as a security manager and saw how he works with people, My fiancée is a big music producer; he just does security on the side., I lived in Thailand and studied prize fighters, I watched this deranged fighting, when rich women watch men fight and then they choose one., I didn’t have any toilet paper growing up., I taught English, I was struck by lightning—twice, I worked in an orphanage., I am a two time cancer survivor—down there, I’m pregnant.
And yes, I did keep a running list and wrote each one as she told us.
All things must come to an end and last week, my screenwriting course came to an end. The bubble burst and reality came rushing in. I start teaching again this week, I have four baskets of laundry looking accusingly at me and the question “what I am making for dinner” has come back to haunt me. Being in a bubble is fun, but reality has its perks too—I’ll have to tell you what they are later.
By the way—I’ve got the plot already worked out for my next story. The main character starts out with a fighter boyfriend, her life follows a series of outrageous events and in the end she finds out she’s pregnant.
It’s summer—long hot days, nights blinking with neon fireflies and the sounds of crickets lulling me to sleep. But it’s also a time to slow down and perhaps tackle a long-ago shelved project. I always try and accomplish something in the summer that teaches me something new. Sometimes it’s a trip to a country I have never seen, other times I read a book that I have been avoiding or I finish a story or rewrite chapters. Last summer I spent the entire summer rewriting my book and sending out queries to literary agents. Finding an agent is a full time job—trust me!
This summer I have an opportunity to take an eight week screenwriting course in NYC at the NY Film Academy. The course is quite intense; I attend class Monday to Friday from 9 AM to 5 PM. When I registered for the class, I was told I would be required to produce writing every evening after class. I am looking forward to this not only with great anticipation, but also a healthy amount of anxiety…What if I can’t write on demand? What if my story collapses under scrutiny? What if my characters have no depth? What if I find out I have no writing talent at all? All these ask the real question: What if I fail?
When I was younger, the fear of failing kept me from pursuing my dreams. Age has taught me that Franklin D. Roosevelt’s adage; “There is nothing to fear but fear itself” has never been truer. By pushing through and facing my fears I discovered I could do much more than what I believed. By organizing events and fundraisers, I realized that have excellent organization skills. After I learned that a woman had stolen an entire book from me, I was afraid that I would never be able to write again. I was wrong. Eventually, I forgave her (even though she never asked for it) and started to write once again. For quite some time I believed I was too old to begin a new career and was afraid to take a class to earn my MFA. But I soon learned that age is a distinct advantage and now I take great satisfaction when I am the oldest one in the group.
But most of all, I feared that I would fail at the only thing I wanted to do: Write. For most of my life, I never let anyone read my work because I was afraid of the reaction. When I finally got enough courage to take my first creative writing course, on the day on which my short story was to be read and critiqued, I stayed at home—sick to my stomach. I will never forget when my story was finally read aloud. I received some criticism, but to my joy, I also received accolades! It was a day I will always remember; because it was the moment I faced and conquered one of my greatest fears.
This summer I challenge you to do something that would normally cause you anxiety. Read a influential or classic book you have never read before. Take a course in a subject that is out of your comfort zone. Apologize to someone you have wronged. Take a trip somewhere and avoid anything touristy. Introduce yourself to someone new and make a friend. Spend the summer writing letters instead of emailing or texting. Make a goal to face and conquer something you fear. Without a doubt you will uncover a new talent, skill or passion.
morphthing.com
(I apologize in advance for the assumed vulgarity in this piece)
On Sunday night, after a dramatic pause, President Obama announced to the world that through US bomb efforts, Osama Bin Laden had been located in Pakistan and was confirmed to be dead.
While Obama hoped to make a completely surprise announcement, the longer he waited, the more leaks of this astonishing news transpired. By the time Obama approached the podium to make his statement; his thunder had already been stolen by numerous pundits, newscasters and commentators.
What caught me off guard was not the news itself—since Osama’s death had been expected for quite some time, but it was the reaction to the news. . To start, Geraldo Rivera actually cheered on air, clapped and whooped. Kate Perry stated, “AMERICA F–, YEAH, HERE TO SAVE THE MOTHER F– DAY YEAH!” Jack Osbourne: “F– yeah!!! They killed Osama. F– that mother f–! Hope he rots in hell.” Actress Olivia Munn tweeted, “Wait… Does it still count if Obama wasn’t born in America? Damn. #Killhimbetternexttime.” And of course how could we not hear from Charlie Sheen who made the following statement: “Dead or Alive. WE PREFER DEAD!”
As the news spread, I was amazed as the reaction from outside the White House—crowds waving American flags, cheering, shouting and singing; widened to New York Times Square, Boston, Denver and other cities and towns. While I am relieved that Osama can no longer harm innocent lives, I am very disappointed to say the least, over the reaction of my fellow American citizens.
No matter how evil and diabolic Osama Bin Laden was, to enthusiastically celebrate his death brings each and every person who does so, to the same level of reprehensible and appalling human response of which he was so guilty.
What does it say about a people who cheer at the news of another human’s death? To me, it says that there is a lack of respect for the fact that every human, no matter how evil, has some shred of decency in them. If we can say that someone is completely evil and not worthy of even a speck of human consideration, what hope does that offer for all of us who strive to change, learn and grow from our daily mistakes?
For many, Osama Bin Laden was the focus of all we despise and reject as a country. But even Osama Bin Laden had a family, friends and those (perhaps surprisingly to us)—who loved and cared for him. On some level he was still a human. For me, while I am thankful this man can no longer harm anyone, I am saddened that his life was filled with such hatred for his fellow man. A celebration over anyone’s death; is a response that is barbaric, uncivilized and savage.
Lydia Leith Copyright © 2011
In just about six days, the world will experience a royally induced economic blip, because every television channel will be tuned into the royal wedding. The sponsors of channels that will not be carrying the wedding will shell out millions for unwatched television ads. Shoppers will not be spending money in malls or grocery stores. Lack of productivity in the workplace will cause millions of dollars of waste. Royal wedding viewers who are madly snacking on Doritos, ice cream and heavy fried foods will add to the health care crisis when their arteries suddenly clog and they are rushed to the emergency room to await clot buster treatments. Perhaps the only business that will make more money than usual will be pizza delivery and take out—or as our UK friends say “take away.”
Not be too rude, but the whole royal family reminds me of high school. The royals are The Popular Group and the thousands of Hanger-On-ers (the royal bread maker, the royal toe clipper, the royal garbage bag changer, the royal dog bowl washer…) are all the kids who are hoping against hope that if they hang out with the Popular Group, they might just magically also be accepted. The Popular Group does nothing to earn their status—they just fall upon their status, or happen to have older brothers and sisters who were also in the group. Occasionally, one member of this high caste turns their eyes to one of the members of the undesirables and finds that person somehow worthy, and Lo and Behold! that undesirable miraculously becomes a member of the Popular Group.
Supposedly, Ms. Middleton is a commoner and as the British say, “one of us.” I’m not sure what the British consider a commoner, but usually when someone is from a multimillion dollar family, attends an elite and affluent school and lives in a £1.2 million apartment in Chelsea, I wouldn’t consider that person “one of us.” I’m not sure what separates the commoner from a non-commoner, but this is one of the problems I have with the British elite. There is an attitude of disrespect for humble and honest hard work. For some reason, a middle class hard worker is seen as less than desirable. Money and a false sense of gentry take precedence over talent and hard work. To me, the British royal family, represents the epitome of a society which promotes a snobbish and elitist class system.
A few interesting facts: The royals do not bring in the most tourist dollars. Visiting one of the royal sites barely makes the top tourist attractions in UK. Buckingham Palace is not even listed on the most profitable tourist attractions, “The Tower of London is revealed as the most popular paid for attraction in 2007 with over 2 million visits, followed by St Paul’s Cathedral (1.6 million visitors) and Pleasure Beach in Great Yarmouth (1.4 million visitors). Xscape Milton Keynes becomes the country’s most visited free attraction with 6.9 million visits in 2007, followed by Blackpool Pleasure Beach (5.5 million visitors) and the British Museum (5.4 million visitors)”[1].
While the Queen employs three chauffeurs to drive her one body around (how she could possibly be in three places at once is beyond me) and Prince Charles has a team of four valets to “to squeeze his toothpaste on to his brush, and another who once held the specimen bottle while he gave a urine sample”[2], at a cost of £38.2 million or $631 million, the citizens of the UK are experiencing a 10% unemployment rate and a national debt that has risen above 70% of GDP[3]. In the midst of this, Will is spending £30 million or about $48 million on his wedding. Because the day is an official holiday, forecasters predict it will cost another whopping $9.84 billion in lost productivity[4]!
I, for one will be doing my part to keep our global economy moving forward. My television will not be tuned to the “wedding of the century.” I will be contributing to growing the economy while shopping for dinner ingredients at Shop Rite and going to work as usual. As a rule I love weddings—the idea of two people coming together surrounded by family and friends while they express their love for each other, always brings tears to my eyes. But this is not a wedding; it’s a production, complete with script, set, directors and a producer. Oh sure, supposedly this wedding is somehow more genuine because Welfare Will dared to fall in love with a…(gasp!) Commoner! (Oh, the wonder of it all!) But to me—it’s just another silly and expensive event that is even more ludicrous, in light of all the challenging global events with which we; the commoners, must cope.
1] “Top UK Tourist Attractions,” Visitbritian, 16 November 2008, <http://www.4hoteliers.com/4hots_nshw.php?mwi=5197>.
[2] “Spoiled Prince has a flunkey to squeeze his toothpaste.” The Sun Herald, Stuart Millar and Jamie Wilson, 7 November 2002, <http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2002/11/16/1037080965729.html>.
[3] “UK Economy: UK Economy 2010, UK Economic Forecast.” Economy Watch, <http://www.economywatch.com/world_economy/united-kingdom/uk-economy-2010-forecast.html>.
[4] “Royal Wedding to Cost UK Economy $7.9 Billion.” Newser, Rob Quinn, 24 November 2010, <http://www.newser.com/story/106064/royal-wedding-to-cost-uk-economy-79-billion.html>.
Pegasusnews.com, 2009
If you have never seen the film, 12 Angry Men, perhaps this essay will prompt you to watch it. This month, I finished three weeks of jury duty and unfortunately, my experience was much like being trapped in a real-life antithesis of this film. Instead of one lone voice of reason in a room with eleven close-minded jurors, our jury was cursed with Eleven Sane Jurors all held at bay by One very, very Angry Man. How I longed for Henry Fonda, with his white seersucker suit and pressed white shirt to saunter into our deliberation room and save the day.
To begin with, the case was a rather touchy one—sexual assault of a minor. The defendant was a 59 year old Eastern European immigrant and the victim was his distant ten year old cousin. On the first day of deliberation, before anyone could even say a word, One Angry Man asked for a vote. He wore 1980′s style, giant, round, gold rimmed spectacles and a black Velcro back support belt on the outside of his clothing. He stated he had already made up his mind and nothing we could say would change it. Why oh why, didn’t we pack it in that day and save ourselves three more days of hell? Maybe it was because we dutifully wanted to follow the law of the land. For some reason the meaning of the word “deliberate” seemed to escape the angry Juror #8 (He might have been #9, but Fonda was Juror #8 so I’ll stick with #8). One Angry Man refused to explain his rationale and didn’t want to try to convince anyone else. To be honest on the first day, the jury was roughly split 6-6, but slowly as we deliberated, one by one by the end of day, eleven of us became convinced of the defendant’s guilt.
It was fairly clear from the start that One Angry Man had some hidden issues. During jury selection we were all asked a number of questions about our backgrounds in open court. This man neglected to tell the judge that he had been involved in a lawsuit some years ago, which he told us about in the jury room. He also revealed to me that he had watched a movie called, Ek Ruka Hua Faisla (One who suspended the decision). This movie is a Bollywood remake of 12 Angry Men. He assured me that in our jury, he was going to be that one lone juror, the one who stood for right against wrong and for the American way. He beamed as he told me this, blinking his huge, magnified eyes at me, looking briefly like Clark Kent just before he emerges as Superman.
On day two of deliberation after a weekend break, Juror #8 treated us to “My Life as an Immigrant—a-cliché-hard-working-land-of-opportunity-left-everything-I-had-story.” A real yawner. More than likely you’ve heard most of this story before, so I’ll just skip ahead to the more amusing highlights. He had arrived from Assam, India in the late 1970’s. His father gathered together enough money to send him to Minnesota. His mother had given him a bowl of fried rice and the only stainless steel fork the family owned, so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable eating rice with his fingers as he sat in the lobby of a five star hotel. (I know, I know…This is just one of the many inconsistencies that were to badger me and eventually cause my breaking point). All this was told as his lip trembled, his chin pointing at us, tears in his eyes, “Da hardest ting I ever did in my life, was to trow away dat fork before getting on dat plane.” What? That was hardest “ting” he ever did? Why not just put the fork in his pocket if it was so precious?
Finally, Juror #8 made his point. In his infinite wisdom, he had discovered the motives for the accusation made by the ten year old victim. Motive One: The defendant was rich and because he was an immigrant (like himself—thus the reason for telling us his hard luck immigrant story), it was obvious that the other family members were trying to make money by accusing the defendant of this crime. No matter that no such disharmony was presented by the defense, or that the ten year old had immediately reported the crime, or that the defendant was a fork lift driver and admitted to his crime in two taped confessions. No, no, no. Because One Angry Man had once been brought to court by a fellow immigrant, he was convinced that this was the reason the 59 year old immigrant was being accused. Motive Two: The family of the victim had decided to further the career of the detective by accusing the defendant of the crime, so the detective could “add one furdder notch to belt.” This was such an asinine statement, that most of the jurors were reduced to gapping like goldfish, repeatedly asking “WHAT?” I must confess that I began openly laughing at this point.
As you can imagine the absolute lunacy of these so called arguments drove the eleven of us mad. We were nearly foaming at the mouth, gnashing our teeth in frustration. No amount of logic, reasoning or common sense could sway this man with such an obvious limit in his intellect. In the middle of the second day, right before lunch, I lost it. Up to this point the prodding had been insistent, but still very polite. After our third viewing of the defendant’s confession—that yes, he had touched the breast of his ten year old cousin, One Angry Man began to loudly refuse to consider our arguments. I morphed into One Angry Woman. I sat up straight, gesturing wildly with my hands and just as loudly stated, “What part of the confession don’t you get? How many times does he need to confess that he TOUCHED her!” At this he pushed his chair back, slamming his hands on the table shouting, “He is not guilty! You will NE-WER conwince me!” A number of other jurors joined in the bedlam and before we knew it four cops rushed in, hands on their batons. After lunch I found out that the argument had set a precedent. It was the first time a deliberation had to be interrupted because of the possibility of violence. They told us even when there were fights between convicts; it had never reached that volume before.
As you can guess, we were never were able to reach a verdict. Our deliberation was brought to an end when the lone mad juror passed a note to the judge without approval stating that we were “hopelessly deadlocked.” When we returned to the jury room to gather our things, I said, “I hope you are satisfied with your behavior. Your lack of ability to be honest and open minded thwarted justice, besides wasting thousands of tax dollars.” To which he said, “Don’t you talk to me!” Then he threw back his chair, shouted for me to shut up, and stormed out.
While the experience was a valuable one, my time as a juror left much to be desired. For me there was a real sense that this time the system had not worked. I knew that the young girl would have to once again stand in open court and graphically demonstrate how she was touched. I hated that we were unable to complete our duty as jurors and that the entire trial would have to be played out once more, but to a different and hopefully, untainted jury. I felt helpless, frustrated and had a strong feeling, that this time justice had eluded this victim—all because of One Angry Man.
(By the way, despite the brilliant costume choices for 12 Angry Men, no costume designer was credited. Ahh! The days of old Hollywood, when people were actually more concerned with creating art rather than getting credit; back when they made films, not movies!)
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It’s just about Valentine’s day again, and for most people this is a reminder to show care to those they love. February 14, also means that my mailbox will once again be filled with letters asking for funds to support teens or young adults who are ready to embark on a short term mission trip in the summer. Their trips will take them to a remote area in which they will be given a chance to show love and care to the local people of that area. Do short term mission trips really embody the command of loving others as we love ourselves? Or could the resources be used in a more effective ways? Perhaps it is time to take a fresh look at short term service trips.
I grew up in a small town in Minnesota and attended a Methodist church in Minneapolis called Emmanuel Methodist Church. It was there that I first understood what a missionary was. I remember reading the true-life Paul White series. Paul White spent his life as a medical missionary in Tanzania, Africa. The books inspired me and gave a picture of a full time commitment to serving those in need. Missionaries were wonderfully mysterious people who spent time in our home telling us their extraordinary stories of faraway lands during their “furloughs,” (a word I was forced to look up after hearing it time and time again.) When I think of a missionary I think of people like Mother Teresa or my elder sister, both who gave up lives of comfort to live full time with people who need love and care.
Today’s contemporary American church seems to be almost obsessed with the idea of short term missions. Every summer thousands of churches send their teenagers and adults to lands outside of the United States. When I was living in Chicago my curiosity got the better of me and I went on one such trip as an adult leader. I, along with other seven other adults chaperoned a group of about 20 teens as we spent about ten days in Tijuana, Mexico. We arrived in Mexico and we settled into tents that were set on land owned by larger missionary operation, whose entire function was to provide opportunities for Americans and other Westerners to experience a short term mission trip! That was one of the most outrageous facts I uncovered. The living was by no means luxurious but it was almost as though it was purposely made crude so the attendees would have the feel of a “real” mission field. Nonetheless, our living standards were much superior to the Mexicans all around us. Our goal was to play soccer with the kids, help build better living quarters and basically understand the struggles of the community in Tijuana. There were only three interpreters available and most of the teens and adults (including myself) had no more than a rudimentary understanding of Spanish. Two of the leaders had chosen to bring along their preteen children who had to be taken back over the border to a hospital in California for bacterial infections. Most of the communication was done with smiles, gestures and gift giving. Before returning to Chicago we enjoyed two days in California. One day was spent at the ocean, (since most of the teens had never seen the coast) and one day in Disneyland. I had paid for the trip with my own personal funds, but it troubled me that we had spent time and money on frivolous pastimes such as the beach and Disneyland. I had many other concerns regarding the money and effort spent to make us comfortable.
I began to read and research about short term service trips. Most of them are fairly similar. These trips are designed to provide the attendee with “a broader perspective of the world and increase cross cultural understanding, taste of culture other than their own, a transformed view of the world and its needs”(Anderson). Some trips are evangelical in nature while some are working trips. They involve fixing or building schools, homes, churches or handing out medical supplies, or providing some kind of emergency relief. Most of the people who attend will not be required to have any particular skill and even a basic foreign language skill is not required. While the mentioned goals are worthy, are short term mission trips to a far away land the best way to acquire them? Is the money that is given put to the best use possible?
On one of my visits to India, my sister and her surgeon husband who had spent over 30 years on the mission field, told me about their experiences with the short term mission groups that would occasionally visit them. I found their comments fascinating and asked them for their insight about the subject.
First, short term missionaries while good intentioned, often can be a burden to the community which is hosting them. This is particularly true for countries which are not English speaking or those that have extreme climates. Most of the time special living arrangements must be made as well as special food and toilet facilities. While those organizing the trips emphasize tolerance of cultural differences and encourage the attendees to acclimate to their surroundings, in practice this most often does not take place. While I was in Mexico, the food we ate was provided for us by an outside source and we used specially built toilet and shower facilities. We were warned not to eat the food or drink the water provided by the community we were serving. My sister relayed the difficulty in providing food and housing for the short term visitors. Most people cannot tolerate the local spicy foods, toilet and living facilities, so special preparations have to be made. These additional arrangements cost the community time, money and labor.
Second, the work that is done on site is often not as effective as perceived by the those who are sponsoring the trip. My own experience in Mexico was eye opening. I was baffled by the “building” we did. Most of the work we did was slipshod. I wouldn’t have put my dog inside and I knew it was substandard, even by Mexican standards. In countries like India where the cultural divide is so vast, the methods to accomplish a particular task are so different, that often the local hosts must make time just to serve those that have come to serve. Could not the work be done better and much more efficiently if those who understood the language and the local customs were given the resources they need?
Third, the money that is used to send short term workers to foreign countries can be much more effectively used by the local community or missionary. One person going to India will spend at least $1,500.00 for just the airfare. The current exchange rate in India is 43 rupees to one American dollar. One plane fare translates to roughly 65,000 rupees! In a country where labor is still fairly cheap, this would be enough money to pay a teacher’s salary for a year, equip a classroom in a school, or buy two laptops! Which option is the best use of charitable funds?
Granted, a service trip inside the USA, would not allow the team to experience a foreign country, but the benefits would greatly outweigh this one drawback. If we use the definition of a short term mission trip mentioned earlier in this essay, a trip to any American region would still offer a broad perspective of the world and increase cross cultural understanding. One only has to travel from Texas to the New York/New Jersey area to realize that these two regions are as different from one another in terms of culture and varied perspectives as Alabama and Argentina.
There are many ways to provide care and concern to people in need right here in the USA. I am privileged to volunteer at a free health clinic in New Jersey called Zarephath Health Clinic. Since my area of expertise is pediatrics, during the pediatric nights, I work with a volunteer pediatrician, a secretary and my son—who works at the reception desk and does office work. Together we tend to the healthcare needs of many children who have very little insurance or no insurance at all. Zarephath Health Clinic does not ask for payment of any kind and many times even the medications are free due to the generosity of pharmaceutical companies. The clinic was founded by Drs. John and Alieta Eck. The clinic is an amazing place where adults and children can find unconditional, non judgmental care. You can donate to this worthy cause by visiting their website at: http://www.zhcenter.org/index.php
My hope is that those who have so much, think before going to Haiti or Bosnia. Instead of using charity dollars to fund a trip to a foreign country where so much of the money and effort is spent on travel, amenities or accommodations, perhaps these trips should be funded with personal funds, rather than asking others for charitable contributions to support a trip that is more about a personal experience than a trip about serving and caring for those in need.
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“Creating a World Vision,” Christian AnswersNetwork, ed. Beth Andersen, 8 June 2005,.
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Can we Talk?
October 4, 2010 in Uncategorized | Tags: anonymity, body language, care, comment, communicate, compassion, context, crime, Dharun Ravi, email, emotion, EU, exchange, facebook, gay, gay bashing, hate, hate crime, human, internet, internet crime, lesbian, mask, Molly Wei, New Brunswick, responsibility, Rutgers, talking, text, time, tone, tweet, Tyler Clementi | 18 comments
Bozeman Daily Chronicle, April 27, 2011
The recent tragic events on the Rutgers University campus have prompted a variety of responses. For me, this was significant because not only do I teach at Rutgers, but I have a son who is a freshman there. The official RU responses to these events have been appropriate and compassionate. Students and faculty have expressed shock and sadness. On a larger perspective, the media has responded by distorting some of the facts while searching to place blame. The gay and lesbian community held a rather poorly attended demonstration on the New Brunswick RU campus and called this a hate crime. The death of Tyler Clementi was not a crime of hate, bullying or gay bashing but rather a crime of stupidity.
The coming of the internet has brought many positives into our lives; easy access to information, an instant connectedness to people far away, increased efficiency in the workplace, jobs and of course the blog. At the same time it has taken from us giant, whole pieces of what makes us human. We are quickly losing our ability to communicate and to take responsibility for that communication.
A real life exchange requires a person to think, listen and respond, all the while taking responsibility for what is said. Even a negative exchange allows time to retract or restate statements and the ability to say, “I’m sorry” or “I understand”. An internet exchange provides none of these. Within seconds the most foolish comment is available for the world to see—and interpret. Not only is there an issue with time, there is the problem of context. The words, “I could kill you,” can be interpreted to be ominous, funny, clever, joking, happy, surprised, angry…the possibilities are many. When removed from their context words have different meanings. Internet communication also fails to provide body language and tone. Yes, there are the occasional smiley faces that can accompany a snide remark to show that it is only meant to tease, but for the most part body language and tone are absent. Much of our talking and listening happens when there are no words being exchanged. A laugh, a wink, a shrug, leaning forward or back, our voice going up or down. A face to face conversation provides time, context, responsibility, emotion and body language.
Instead of engaging with each other, we are spending time in a world that provides a veneer of anonymity—a mask of sorts. When most communication is done via email, status updates, texting or twitter, there is confusion between the real world and the mask. A person who would never dream of describing their innermost feelings or fantasies in a face to face conversation, all of a sudden feels a false sense of security. Just read a few status updates on Facebook for a minute or two; “Feeling rather empty right now plz only comment if u do love or care about me!… Stop holding out on me Jew damn Jew… Ted’s a retarded &*#% that should be chemically castrated!…Jared has aids… Tammy go f— urself and go back to hell…Is diarrhea a sign of syphilis?”and it is evident that any shred of civility has vanished. Posting every feeling and every emotion all the time, has led to a jaded, apathetic, cynicism toward real human pain. My response to this constant stream of needless information? Stop stating your feelings! Try talking to someone instead.
An average American spends eight hours a day on the computer. Eight hours is the time it takes to hold a full time job, get a good night’s sleep, fly to the EU, have a leisurely dinner and enjoy a movie or read a great book. I find it pathetic that people are replacing human contact, compassion and care with status updates and tweets. Instead of meeting for coffee or lunch, people resort to stating every single emotion on the internet. Some post minute by minute updates. The sheer absurdity that someone can actually claim to have 600+ friends has diluted the very meaning of the word friendship. Everyone wants to be heard and to be known. But when everyone is screaming, no one is listening.
The place to find trust, honesty, compassion and care, is in our small real world circle of family and friends. Instead of spending eight hours on the computer, spend it talking to a friend, meeting a family member or lending a helping hand to someone in need. Perhaps if someone had taken a moment to have a real, live, accountable, honest conversation with Dharun Ravi, Molly Wei or Tyler Clementi we would not have read Tyler’s haunting last words on the internet.