Friday, January 29, 2010
Favorite "Catcher" Quotation
"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 24, spoken by the character Mr. Antolini
Memories of Salinger
Since news broke yesterday of the death of J.D. Salinger at the ripe old age of 91 (evidently, his hermit-like existence and obsession with holistic medicine speak to some evidence of aiding in longevity...though he did not make it to 120), memories have been pouring forth. Which is interesting, considering the reclusive author rarely left his New Hampshire farmhouse after withdrawal from public life.
It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a "phony", in the words of Holden Caulfield.
I am touched by this man's desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.
It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a "phony", in the words of Holden Caulfield.
I am touched by this man's desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.
Memories of Salinger
Since news broke yesterday of the death of J.D. Salinger at the ripe old age of 91 (evidently, his hermit-like existence and obsession with holistic medicine speak to some evidence of aiding in longevity…though he did not make it to 120), memories have been pouring forth. Which is interesting, considering the reclusive author rarely left his New Hampshire farmhouse after withdrawal from public life.
It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a “phony”, in the words of Holden Caulfield.
I am touched by this man’s desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.
It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a “phony”, in the words of Holden Caulfield.
I am touched by this man’s desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Chatty Cathy
Yesterday, I went to the dentist. I’ll say first that I am one of those freaks who has their teeth cleaned every three months. This means that while I didn’t have an attachment persay to the in house hygienest, there is comfort in familarity. As such, I was rather sad to find that she was no longer there. In her place was an older woman, the type who probably has a couple of kids who have moved onto college, and a husband who works long hours, and who subsequently decided to go back to the career of her pre-family days: Oral Hygienest.
That’s a profession I’ve never understood. Granted, the ads on t.v. for night school, internet classes and "earn your degree in 30 days" programs have convinced me that despite the fact that we let these people wield sharp instruments in our mouths, it doesn’t take much schooling to earn the right. And it must pay the bills better than working the grease pit at Burger King.
Anyways. While I’ve heard over the years that there are people in this profession, who, like many dentists, feel the need to carry on conversations with you that go beyond the casual. Now, let me make this clear: If you comment on the weather, while holding a little hand mirror and sharp pick in my mouth, I’m perfectly happy to grunt in the affirmative. Yep, it sure IS the hottest summer we’ve had in years. I can’t believe how cold it’s been either! Phew, can’t wait for the weather to change. I’m ok with all that. It’s personable, polite, and I enjoy games of social pleasantries. Then I met the new hygienist. During the course of polishing my pearly whites, she managed to pinball from topic to topic, covering everything from her dry skin (she’s terrible about applying lotion in the mornings. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life was like the Jetsons and a machine took care of that stuff for us?) to inquiring after my chosen profession, asking me various probing questions about gum care, and frequently checking my chart to see my dental history, and then quizzing me about it.
I’ve never understood what it felt like to be imprisoned, but there I was, trapped in a cell of my own making. By the time 45 minutes had passsed, and we were awaiting my dentist’s final inspection, my brain felt numb. I would go so far as to say that I felt dumberfor having listened to it. It was like having a radio you can’t turn off, or a meeting you can’t get out of. Suffice to say, I’ve learned my lesson. When May rolls around, and I am do back for another visit, I’m going armed with my Ipod, and I’m going to see if the glazed-over, sneering look of my teenage years still works. With any luck, maybe surly will shut down the chatter factory.
That’s a profession I’ve never understood. Granted, the ads on t.v. for night school, internet classes and "earn your degree in 30 days" programs have convinced me that despite the fact that we let these people wield sharp instruments in our mouths, it doesn’t take much schooling to earn the right. And it must pay the bills better than working the grease pit at Burger King.
Anyways. While I’ve heard over the years that there are people in this profession, who, like many dentists, feel the need to carry on conversations with you that go beyond the casual. Now, let me make this clear: If you comment on the weather, while holding a little hand mirror and sharp pick in my mouth, I’m perfectly happy to grunt in the affirmative. Yep, it sure IS the hottest summer we’ve had in years. I can’t believe how cold it’s been either! Phew, can’t wait for the weather to change. I’m ok with all that. It’s personable, polite, and I enjoy games of social pleasantries. Then I met the new hygienist. During the course of polishing my pearly whites, she managed to pinball from topic to topic, covering everything from her dry skin (she’s terrible about applying lotion in the mornings. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life was like the Jetsons and a machine took care of that stuff for us?) to inquiring after my chosen profession, asking me various probing questions about gum care, and frequently checking my chart to see my dental history, and then quizzing me about it.
I’ve never understood what it felt like to be imprisoned, but there I was, trapped in a cell of my own making. By the time 45 minutes had passsed, and we were awaiting my dentist’s final inspection, my brain felt numb. I would go so far as to say that I felt dumberfor having listened to it. It was like having a radio you can’t turn off, or a meeting you can’t get out of. Suffice to say, I’ve learned my lesson. When May rolls around, and I am do back for another visit, I’m going armed with my Ipod, and I’m going to see if the glazed-over, sneering look of my teenage years still works. With any luck, maybe surly will shut down the chatter factory.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Heidi Montag Seeks Barbie Status
There are many things in the world that inspire my ire, but rarely do I notice the goings-on of the faux celebrity/reality stars like Paris Hilton or Lauren Conrad. For all the things in pop culture that I love, that vein of celebrity holds no interest to me. Until it spills over into my realm of interest. Some of the big news lately has been Heidi Montag's testimonials about her forays into the world of plastic surgery. She admits that she is "beyond obsessed" with plastic surgery, and her quest for the "perfect" body. In Montag's quest, she has spent thousands of dollars on plastic surgery in order to become the what is "perfect" and "normal". It pains me on a number of levels to think that someone so high profile as Heidi Montag would spout forth the belief that perfection for women can only be achieved via plastic surgery. And to go a step further, why must there be a search for perfection anyway? Who ever said that we must be perfect? True, Hollywood has done its best over the last few decades to convince us that women are only beautiful if they are preternaturally thin, large breasted, usually blond, and in great shape. I believe in looking your best, in being fit and healthy, in taking care of yourself. So I suppose this is why it outrages me even more. Montag destroys the idea that we can become out best self by improving ourselves, and instead preaches that going under the knife will make you the dream person you always thought you could be. See Newsweek's article, which breaks down Montag's proclivities nicely: http://www.newsweek.com/id/231093/page/1
Friday, January 15, 2010
Haiti in Ruins
Living in Florida, Haiti occasionally enters into the everyday, as a lot of Haitian expats live here, and many go back frequently to see family. Outside of that, I don't know much about the country or it's people. My knowledge was limited to some vague notions about old voodoo legends and that it was a terrifically poor place.
However, thanks to the internet and social media, I have learned more about Haiti in the last two days than I ever thought possible. And the photos of this island nation and its terrible destruction have made me weep. The Times reports that survivors can be heard shouting in the wreckage, but many cannot be reached as their is no safe route. The living share space on the streets with the dead, water is running low, and for all the relief pledged to this destroyed country, it is having trouble getting there.
In the midst of this sadness and loss, there is one thing that warms my heart. Social media has been a boon to many in times of loss in the last couple of years. However, the outpouring of grief and support that have splashed across the twitter feeds, run unerringly through facebook, and encouraged a viral campaign for donations via text message remind one that there is something to have faith in for humanity.
We have been able to mobilize and organize that much quicker, and connect those who want to help with those who can get them there. Imagine if we had all this when 9/11 occurred? Then we saw a nation rally itself together as we hadn't seen in years, and we felt a national unity that many in my generation have never been privy too.
In the midst of the tragedy, I am grateful that something like social media is able to help us help each other.
My thoughts are with Haiti, and those who are waiting to hear from friends and family who are yet lost.
However, thanks to the internet and social media, I have learned more about Haiti in the last two days than I ever thought possible. And the photos of this island nation and its terrible destruction have made me weep. The Times reports that survivors can be heard shouting in the wreckage, but many cannot be reached as their is no safe route. The living share space on the streets with the dead, water is running low, and for all the relief pledged to this destroyed country, it is having trouble getting there.
In the midst of this sadness and loss, there is one thing that warms my heart. Social media has been a boon to many in times of loss in the last couple of years. However, the outpouring of grief and support that have splashed across the twitter feeds, run unerringly through facebook, and encouraged a viral campaign for donations via text message remind one that there is something to have faith in for humanity.
We have been able to mobilize and organize that much quicker, and connect those who want to help with those who can get them there. Imagine if we had all this when 9/11 occurred? Then we saw a nation rally itself together as we hadn't seen in years, and we felt a national unity that many in my generation have never been privy too.
In the midst of the tragedy, I am grateful that something like social media is able to help us help each other.
My thoughts are with Haiti, and those who are waiting to hear from friends and family who are yet lost.
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