An Ode to the Subjunctive

(Okay, on to something a little lighter. I promised fun with grammar (or something like that) in my first post, so here you go.)

O! subjunctive, how I love thee;
Please let me count the ways.
And if I were a poet,
Why, I could rave for days.

('Course, if I were a poet,
Then I would need not cheat
When writing up these stanzas
By mixing up my feet.)

When we first were introduced
It was in Spanish class,
Because my English teachers all
Were giving you a pass.

I admit my first impression of you
Likened you to dung;
I was a callow teenager
And should have held my tongue

I didn't see your purpose
In handling a wish
And other situations
Hypothetical-ish.

Now I'm fully 'wakened to
The possibilities
You give me for grammatical
Superiority.

Because I know to use you
Where others miss the chance,
My grammar nazi credentials
Are pretty fancy-pants.

Your conjugations may not sound right
Ordinarily,
But I don't get too many chances
To say, "If it be"

In conclusion, you are awesome
For making me sound smart,
And though your usage dwindles now
I hope you don't depart.

I'm Not an Expert, But...

If you ever find yourself saying or typing the words, "I'm not an expert, but...", and the next words will be a disagreement with the experts, stop. Just stop.

(If that initial clause is instead intended to be a caveat that the following information may not be correct, however, then, by all means, continue. This version of the phrase is used all too infrequently, so I encourage you to promulgate its use and the corresponding humility.)

This phrase has somehow become the magical talisman that allows people to feel like they can disagree with experts and still be taken seriously. I don't get it. You're acknowledging, right up front, that you're not an expert. Why should I listen to anything you have to say after that point?

Just listen to what you're saying! "I'm not an expert, but I obviously know more than the experts, so believe me instead." Does that really sound right to you?

"I'm not an expert, but..." is what allows the anti-vaccination movement to thrive. (Because parental gut feelings are way more scientific than literally decades of research...)

"I'm not an expert, but..." is what keeps people trying to force creationism into curricula at the expense of evolution. (Because anti-science!)

"I'm not an expert, but..." is what keeps abstinence-only sex-ed programs alive, despite all evidence showing that they just don't work, and can even be counter-productive. (I'm actually planning another post in a while on this topic, so snarky comment to follow.)

"I'm not an expert, but..." is basically what every politician says who then goes on to disagree with the experts about climate change. (I don't even have a snarky comment about this. John Oliver took them all.)

"I'm not an expert, but..." is what allows general lay people to post things on the internet claiming to disprove the Theory of General Relativity, for God's sake. (Yes, random 13-year-old, your little thought experiment has definitely proven fundamental flaws that 100 years of careful scrutiny, criticism and lab experiments have failed to reveal. That's definitely right. There's certainly not something that you're missing.)

(Hey, it only took me four posts to break my promise about politics! However, I think it's to our shame as a country that any of these are even political.)

Look, if you're not an expert, then you'd be much better served by trying to figure out why you think you're right and the experts, who by definition know WAY more about the topic than you do, are wrong, than by trying to present a non-expert opinion as just as valid as an expert opinion.

And also, for the love of all that is good any wonderful in the world, can we please stop treating pronouncements from famous people as important just because they're famous? They're. Not. Experts.

(The following example is used just because it's something recent that quickly comes to mind, nothing more. It's not meant to be representative of anything in particular. Please don't read anything into this.)

I saw a link on Facebook, from a certain website, where Terry Bradshaw was expressing an opinion about Hillary Clinton, and a certain political group wasn't going to like it.

What exactly makes Terry Bradshaw qualified to express an opinion on Hillary Clinton that is meaningful to anyone except himself? Is he a political scientist? Has he done investigative journalism on Hillary Clinton? Does he have any information about her that the rest of us don't have?

Of course not. Terry Bradshaw is a football analyst. His opinion of Hillary Clinton is worth exactly what yours or mine is; it doesn't need to be plastered all over the internet. I don't care if you or I agree or disagree with his opinion; that doesn't matter. Just like his opinion doesn't matter, except however much you let it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge the man his opinion; I just don't care. Like the Sara Bareilles song says, "You've got opinions, man. We're all entitled to 'em. But I never asked."

This also, it should be said, goes for experts who start making pronouncements outside of their fields of expertise. That happens too, and it's just as bad. In fact, in some ways, it's even more pernicious, because being an expert in some area can lend an aura of authority that isn't necessarily deserved in other areas.

Our society has become one that arrogates the opinion of the common person to the same level as that of an actual expert. Experience and expertise aren't as valued any more, and in fact are often looked down on. We see it in politics, we see it in science, and we see it in business. (How often do businesses think they can replace experienced workers with inexperienced ones with little or no impact to continued operations or the bottom line? How'd that work out for you, Home Depot?) And to me, as someone who's worked hard to be good at, and, dare I say, even an expert at my job, and to at least have informed opinions about things, that's a shame.

When it's just people blathering on social networks, it's not a huge deal. I'm a big boy, and I'm perfectly capable of ignoring this, as well as any associated call of duty that I may feel. It saddens me at times to see so much misinformation and under-informed opining on my News Feed, but whatever. I haven't unfriended anyone yet, and I don't plan to start.

But when we're talking about the safety of our children, the education of our children, the future of the planet, or even just a basic respect for science, and when it comes from people who actually have a say in such things... that gets hard to swallow. And they get away with it because We The People give them a pass on it.

So let's stop.

Romance is Terrifying

I used to be a lousy boyfriend.

Obviously, I didn't mean to be. No one wants to be a lousy boyfriend, right? But I really kind of was. (Sorry to everyone who already knew that.)

Here's how it went down. First of all, I've never dated anyone I didn't already know for a few years previously. (And I think we can all agree that's probably, on the whole, for the best, because this.) That let me skip the whole "getting to know you" stage where you actually go on dates.

What's that? You're still supposed to go on dates after that stage? Huh. Well, that's a problem.

See, what I thought I wanted was a "low-maintenance" relationship. What that really meant, of course, was someone who was fine with me putting minimal effort into the relationship. (I didn't think about it that way at the time, obviously, but that's really what it boiled down to.) And so I had to be bludgeoned into doing such basic things as going out to dinner or buying presents for significant occasions. You know, what most people would consider "the absolute bare minimum in a relationship".

How I managed to get away with this for as long as I did still baffles me.

(If you're reading this and know the answer, please note that this is a rhetorical statement and does not require an answer. The management appreciates your cooperation in this matter.)

Part of it is that I didn't date a lot of people, and so I simply didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. Except that's not an excuse, because I knew all too well what I was supposed be doing, thanks to things like rom-coms:

Cute outings.

Fancy dinners.

Sweet, meaningful presents.

Bold, romantic gestures.

PANIC.

As I said before, I can barely manage small talk. How am I going to manage any of this? This is way beyond my emotional abilities. I'd be screwed, except I kept managing to coast by, at least for a while. Somehow. (Again, rhetorical.)

Of course, all things are ready if our minds be so, and sometimes it's just a matter of finding the right way to think about things. (And the proper incentive to make it happen.)

The first time I dated Emily, it lasted a week. We both agreed it was weird (although Emily gets the credit for actually broaching the topic. I probably would have just kept blundering on and hoping it got better). We'd been friends for so long previously that it just felt awkward trying to be anything more.

Of course, it's never that simple. We both still had feelings, but weren't sure about the other, or even how to go about trying again if we decided to. So now what?

Enter The Girl Network. (Seriously, guys, we make fun of how much girls talk, but it really comes in handy sometimes.)

One of our mutual friends (who'd seen first-hand how my last relationship went) talked to Emily. Upon finding out that Emily was interested in trying again, but wanted it to clearly be "dating", rather than the weird halfway limbo of last time, our friend took it upon herself to send me this book.

It's not often that you can point to one single turning point in something, but this book was an epiphany.

Yes, romance is terrifying. There's a huge weight of expectations and conventions and societal norms around "romance". Trying to be "romantic" can make you feel like Atlas.

Trying to be thoughtful, on the other hand, is way easier.

Few people have trouble with the idea of trying to be thoughtful. Being thoughtful isn't scary. Being thoughtful actually feels kind of nice.

And conveniently enough, being thoughtful also turns out to be romantic.

Planning dates? Buying presents? Other stuff? Just put a little thought into it, and voila, romance!

(Of course, thoughtfulness only gets you so far. It's all well and good to think about proposing during a nice dinner at a meaningful restaurant, but actually doing so in the middle of all those people takes a certain kind of guts I just don't have. Oh, well.)

See? Not so scary after all.

(Except for proposing in restaurants. That's still terrifying. And I don't even ever have to try to do it again!)

I Suck at Small Talk

(All right, finals are done, and class is over for the summer! That means I have more time for you, dear reader, because what else do I have to do in the evenings now except write blog posts? Well, aside from house work, and yard work, and vacations, and parenting, and... You know what? Homework isn't on that list for the next few months, and that makes the list one item shorter. I'll take it. And now, on to the topic du jour!)

I am an introvert. Any of you who know me should be unsurprised by this. And as those of you who are also introverts would no doubt agree, small talk is one of the more excruciatingly awkward things in life, especially with all of those darn extroverts who seem to like that sort of thing.

In general, the incomparable Allie of Hyperbole and a Half has a pretty good primer here. (And if any of you are unaware of Hyperbole and a Half, this is a situation to be corrected at once. Here's your chance to get started. Preferably after you finish this post, though, so that it doesn't seem as unfunny by comparison.) However, there's so much more to be said. (Yes, I'm aware of the irony.)

Here's my problem: small talk is one of the most unnatural things in the world for me. It's simply something I can't do. And that leaves me with two options:

1) Resort to a mental checklist of discussion topics. The problem with this, of course, is that I'm aware that it's a checklist, which makes something that's supposed to feel natural, and doesn't, feel even more unnatural. What kind if competent adult uses mental lists of topics for conversation?

And worse, I always feel like the other person knows that this is what I'm doing. How could they not? Why else would someone ask about your family and what you do for work in such a profoundly awkward way, with perfunctory responses and minimal segue? Honestly, sometimes it's sheer luck that the person I'm talking to finishes one topic before I'm asking them about the next.

And what do I say in response to the same questions? How much detail do I give? Too little, and I feel like I'm being obvious I don't really want to have this conversation. But too much, and it starts being all, "Oh my God, they seriously can't care this much about my answer. Why am I still talking? They didn't tell me this much, did they? I can't even remember! Maybe I'll just never see them again. That would probably be for the best. Oh, right, they're one of my best friends. So much for that hope." And who hopes to never see one of their best friends again?

Yes, I often do this with people I know well, not just total strangers. This is how bad I am at small talk.

2) In situations where I don't have a checklist, or I'm caught off guard... Okay, story time. I have a former boss who had trouble carrying on a conversation. You'd answer a question, or ask him a question, or he'd just be in the middle of telling you something, and he'd just stop. And he'd just stare at you. And stare. And stare. It's literally the most awkward thing I've ever experienced. What do you do about eye contact? You can't just keep looking at him, that's just weird. No one wants to just stare into their boss's eyes. But isn't looking away rude? And so is completing sentences. So you wind up just sitting there waiting for him to come around and start participating in the conversation again.

This is how I feel in these unscripted situations. (Yes, I think of (1) as scripted.) I often have literally no idea what to say. Even the sarcastic quips that I'm so good at aren't coming. (Or they're wholly inappropriate.) Now I'm just desperate for ways to show that I'm listening. How many times have I said, "Uh huh" in a row? Too many? How many times is too many? Can I mix it up with "Hmmm"? Is that even appropriate here?

And then I realize I'm doing this weird thing with my lips where I kind of purse them, or give these weird little half-smiles. It's supposed to indicate sympathy, or chagrin, or shared amusement or something, but now it just feels bizarre. Does the other person think it's weird, too? How can they not? I'm doing this weird thing with my lips and I can't stop and I'm responding in ways that can only barely be called verbal. Why are they still talking to me? How can this be a pleasant experience for them? I'm clearly the worst person in the world to talk to.

THEN, I'll actually think of good things to say. But they'll be too late, and then I'll keep thinking about them in my head, and wondering if that would actually be a good thing to say, and by then the conversation (or monologue, really, because I've barely said anything) has moved on. So hey, I'm participating in the conversation! But only in my head. Whoops.

And is there a single good way in the world to end a conversation? If so, I haven't found it. If I'm lucky, one of us will get distracted by something, and that'll be that. I'm not above feigning distraction, either. It's not something I'm proud of, but you have to end a conversation somehow, and the alternative is just kind of letting it peter out. And then you're left there with the other person, neither of you really talking. And then it just drags on, and on, and on...

The Year I Gave Up Sarcasm

As everyone who knows me is aware, I can be rather sarcastic. What those of you who didn't know me in high school may not be aware of is that I used to be WAY more sarcastic.

As in, virtually everything I said was sarcastic.

I'm afraid that what you just read there was, "I was sarcastic most of the time," when what I meant was "Essentially every word out of my mouth was sarcastic."

Just so we're clear.

I mean, I was funny. These were funny, witty, clever things that I was saying. People laughed, usually even the people it was directed at, and that was nice. You'd have laughed, too, but you would have had to be there. (Of course, some of you were.). Give me someone to play off who was just as sarcastic, and we'd be unstoppable. (Sorry, Mrs. Clement, but putting me and Scott together in the back of the room for AP English was NOT a good idea. For you, anyways. We had a great time.)

Nevertheless, I sometimes felt like I was being a little mean; I felt like maybe I could tone things down a bit. Say nice things, or at least not mean things, even if they were funny. (I promise, they were funny. I'm not just making this up.)

So, being Catholic, for Lent one year, I gave up sarcasm.

Yep.

Cold turkey, flat-out no more sarcasm.

I thought it would be for the best. When you try to phase things out, you just lose track of your quota of sarcastic remarks, and figure, "Hey, I'm sure I've got one more, and this is REALLY FUNNY. I can't NOT say this. This is too clever not to be shared with the world. The world would be poorer for not hearing this." And before you know it, you're back to full-time sarcasm. So I thought I'd just rip the band-aid off.

I failed.

Miserably.

Once you get in the habit of thinking up quips to everything, it gets really hard to think of normal things to say. (Especially when you're not great at small talk to begin with... But that's for another post.). But I really wanted to do this! Personal growth, and being a better person, and all that.

The end result was communication from me that consisted solely of two-word sentence fragments. That was generally how long it took me to catch myself. I still made people laugh, but now they were laughing AT me, because I was this frustrated, inarticulate mess of unfulfillment.

To make things even worse, this was right in the middle of a trip to the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival. 20 or so of my closest friends, all of whom know me pretty well, and therefore realize exactly what's happening, and find it hysterical. And here I am, in the middle of a great band trip, basically incommunicado.

If you've seen the episode of the Big Bang Theory where Amy won't let Sheldon finish anything... That was me. Except I was doing it to myself. Voluntarily.

So yeah. I don't think I even made it through the second day before I just couldn't take it any more. Personal growth is great and all, but this? This was hell. Jesus's 40 days in the desert could NOT have been as hard as those two days. There's just no way. I've seen deserts; they're not THAT bad.

I don't remember what I wound up giving up for Lent instead, but I'm sure it was a breeze after that.

And I never tried that again.

EVER.

Hi there

So... I have a blog.  This is new.

I was encouraged to start this after what was apparently an insightful and humorous overview of the standard Curious George plot.  Should you have missed this supposed gem of literary critique, I'll make sure to repost it here at some point.

Two people saying it counts as "encouraged", right?

Anyways, I'm not entirely sure what I'll write about here.  Odds are it'll be a variety of things: scathing literary critiques of beloved children's books (apparently the aforementioned Curious George review "ruined" it for one person, so I'm off to a good start, I guess), random poetry about grammar... Actually, there will probably be lots of things about language on here.  I like language.  Words, and grammar, and whatnot.  It's fun.  Hence the title of the blog.  Well, sort of, anyways.

I'll also probably post random things my son, Kieran, does.  He's three, so he does lots of funny stuff. It's just his idiom.  I may also post about my beautiful and wonderful wife, Emily, but know that if I do so, it will of course be with humorous exaggeration for effect.  How could it be otherwise?

I'll also probably dip into some serious stuff, especially with regards to parenting.  I'll probably stay away from politics and economics and stuff like that.  Partly, that's because I don't want to drive any readership away.  But also, this is tied to my real name, and I like my current job, as well as any job I may have in the future.  And finally, I feel like I'd just be parroting those who know more than I do.

In fact, that's probably my biggest concern here: how do I add something new?  So much of these topics is already covered by people who can do such a great job; how do I add value on top of that?  I guess we'll just see what happens, eh?

Warning one:  I have no set posting schedule in mind.  I'm just about done with grad school for the year, so I can probably update fairly regularly until September.  But then there's football, and then school starts back up again, so you probably won't see me again until January.  And as I said before, I have no real planned content, so I may just have nothing to say.  You've been warned.

Warning two:  As you may have noticed, I tend to be rather verbose.  It is not likely that there will be many short posts on here.  Caveat lector.

So, there you have it.  This is my blog.  There's no clear purpose, no set update schedule, and no promise of value (again, see the title of the blog).  But at least I know how to use the rule of threes when writing, so that's something, right?

If you're still with me to here, I salute you.  We're off to a good start.