After all, who told them they could lead our cheers?  We can do it ourselves, thank you very much.  After hearing the cheer, “M-O-V-E… Move… the ball!” closely followed by “T-A-K-E, Take that ball away!” we stopped paying attention, so the cheerleaders started copying us.  We would start a chant of “Defense!” and they would follow suit; we would speed up, they would fall behind.  Cheerleaders indeed.

Next lesson is for the football team: if you bore us, we will find ways of entertaining ourselves, as we showed with the endless squadron of paper airplanes cascading down over the fans’ heads onto the front rows, the band, and the field.  They hit their peak around half time when the football game was at its least engaging, then trailed off as the game picked up in intensity.

I think the turning point came when a high-flyer cruised over, headed toward the field.  Its flight was stable, its trajectory was good.  We started cheering it on, and it floated out and out, further and further onto the field.  Our cheering built, and we erupted in applause when it landed a good ten yards past the sideline.  Then I noticed that the Harvard defense had also, coincidentally, sacked the Brown quarterback.  Half of us were cheering for the paper airplane, the other half for the great play.  Oh well.  That’s Harvard sports.

Allan

Besides, what’s wrong with a dissertation about how Scotus used citations?  I think it sounds swell.

Maia

I knock on wood compulsively.  It makes me uncomfortable to say, “Oh it won’t rain tomorrow,” if I fail to knock on wood afterwards.  Part of me believes I must knock, or it will rain.

In a modern age of cause and effect, chaos theory, and science, such old superstitions seem a little bit silly.  However, they persist, and even though I would say I don’t seriously believe that knocking on wood keeps away the bad karma, I nevertheless feel compelled to do so.

Even more interesting is the evidence that superstitions continue to evolve.  Yes, new superstitions are being developed right under our noses!

You may not believe me, but I’m guessing you have heard of making a wish when you see the clock say 11:11.  You can’t wait for the clock to hit the time and then make the wish (that’s just cheating), but if you glance at the clock and it happens to be 11:11, then you’re supposed to make a wish before it changes.

Consider that this superstition can only be as old as digital clocks.  Why would anybody make a wish at 11:11 unless they saw it displayed on the digital screen?  The analogue version of 11:11 looks like any other time of day.

This means that despite our growing scientific sophistication, and even as a direct result of our blossoming use of electronics and gadgets, we continue to develop new superstitions.

I should have concentrated in Folklore and Mythology.

Allan

It’s absurd; it’s misleading; it’s epistemologically vicious, and it’s stupid.  I say trash it, get rid of it, pay a dubious-looking voodoo artist in New Orleans an inordinate sum to push pins through its glassy, grammatical eyes.  Anything to make it stop.

But what exactly is subjunctive history?  

Subjunctive history is a recounting of the past that purposely locates itself in the realm of the counter-factual, the possible.  For example, statements of the form “If Barack Obama weren’t black, then he would not have become the President of the United States” fall under the umbrella of subjunctive assertions about the past.   They can easily be recognized by their “If…then” form, the odd use of the word “were,” and their tendency to throw shit on any topic about which they purport to be true.  

Plain and simple, subjunctive history is foolish because it takes a necessarily un-true statement and tries to make it sound veridical.  It is logically absurd (not to mention plain dumb) to say something like “If George Washington did not have wooden teeth, then he would have smiled more often.”  How could such a statement EVER be true?!?!  The fact of the matter is, the big GW DID have wooden teeth, and he didn’t smile very often.  By what authority could you claim to know something about a circumstance that never happened?  NONE!

Fail me not, dear reader, for I can sense some of you may find this discussion lagging.  Ok, Ok, sure, you say, subjunctive history runs into some metaphysical problems in the realm of philosophy.  Big Deal!  What about everyday life?  Surely, if we make statements about subjunctive history on a regular basis, then they must be understood and serve some practical purpose.  So what if you silly philosophers don’t like them?  Get over it.

The problem as I see it, dear friends, is that subjunctive history causes problems not merely for those perpetual splitters-of-hairs residing in Emerson Hall, but is the source of much distress and discontentment in even the most common of happenings.  How many times have you heard statements beginning with phrases like, “If I had more time…” “If only we hadn’t done x…” “Maybe if it had just…”  Listen now, and listen closely.

STOP IT!!!!!

The world is everything that is the case, and nothing more. (Thank you, Wiggtenstein)  To dwell on past “possibilities” is to deny one’s self the opportunity to be aware of what is currently happening all around us!  Stop thinking about what could have been, start thinking about what is happening!  There’s a whole world out there waiting to be trodden upon, explored, and otherwise molested.  Go forth!  Fondle away!  Take your place as the God-designator subjugator of all that is, was, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.

Stop thinking about what could have been different and start living the change you want to see in the world.

-Ziek

P.S. And enjoy some ice cream while you’re at it.

One Mr. Geoffrey K. Pollum, an Edinburgh linguistics dude, just came down pretty hard on my bible.  This article has convinced me that neither Strunk nor White were good at grammar, but Mr. Pollum’s passage criticizing White’s stylistic advice just sounds petty.

Fortunately I’ve never really believed in grammar anyway, and I’ve only ever read Strunk & White for the advice on style.  Grammar is to English what the rulebook is to the game of soccer – entirely beside the point when the goal is scored.

Allan

Sometimes poignant…

…sometimes hilarious…

… and always insightful…

 … Indexed has become a seemingly endless source of happy procrastination for me.  The funny graphs scribbled on index cards are generally brilliant, fairly hilarious, and the site itself has received many awards (including webby nominations, and being named one of Time’s top 25 blogs), so you don’t have to take my word for it (especially as I seem to be far behind the curve on this one).

Check out the archives — not only are they extensive (at least extensive enough that after several weeks of stolen moments browsing through them, I’m still discovering new sketches), but they go back several years – which at times can be historically insightful — or just bring back hilarious memories…

But as always, beware of comment sections (which become visible when trolling the archive by date): while most comments are mundane hero-worship “you’re awesome” type dealios, occasionally the quips are vaguely controversial, and attract the ire of internet crazies and the rational people who must shut them down (as perhaps best described by another of my favorite sites, xkcd.com, in this cartoon).

Oh, and Happy Easter!

~Evelyn

Specifically, this track: Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.

Too painfully apt at this particular moment.

~Evelyn

p.s. More to come tomorrow, I promise.

As the Spring semester grinds inexorably by, I see rare hours of the clock on a more consistent, more intimate basis.  Last year as a freshman, I often wrote papers in Lamont library, and any truly late-night battle with the Lamonster resulted in a small but meaningful ritual: conversing with the 4:00 AM birds.

The reading rooms in Lamont are overheated, and the air is dead.  Noise is rare and quickly hushed so as to avoid disturbing the other students.  Everyone is hostile; no one wants to be there longer than absolutely necessary.  As a freshman, I used to inflict this room on myself for hours, cranking out an expos or history paper.

After many hours with my neck hunched, shoulders tight, eyes drying out as they stared at my laptop screen, wrists developing some sort of structural strain from typing, I would walk outside into the cold night air around 4:00 AM, and suddenly everything was fresh and clear.  As late March turned into early April, the air went from cold to cool, and every now and then a light rain would be ready to wash my face and eyes.

And after the oppressive silence of the reading room, I would be met with the upbeat voices of the 4:00 AM birds.  I never once saw one, but in the brief walk across the yard to my dorm, I could hear them chatter amongst themselves, starting punctually at just before 4:00 AM.  They aren’t particularly imaginative; they don’t have the lyric variance of the bluebird or the clear tones of a wood thrush, but they do sound glad that it is morning.  Walking out of Lamont freshman year, it was a small reassurance that the world could in fact be beautiful.

After last year, a new housing situation gave me a much better working space than Lamont, and now when I finish work late in the morning, I don’t have to walk outside to collapse into bed.  It’s nicer than last year, but I forget about the 4:00 AM birds.

Last Friday night, the window was open, and as the cool Spring air found its way across the room, I heard the 4:00 AM birds for the first time in a year.  Not that I needed reminding that the world is beautiful, but once again they told me to be glad it was morning, and it is Spring.

From Francisco de Zurbaran, “Still Life with Lemons, Orange, and a Rose” (1633), in the Norton Simon Museum.

Soundtrack: “Disengaged”, Grouper. Or, like, Schoenberg.

Maia

P.S.  The Zurbaran is now on show on this side of the nation, at the Frick Museum in New York, until May 10.

Case in point: Jessica Biel.

Ahh manhood.  Sometimes being a guy is just fun.

-Ziek