What It Is: 12/22/08

What I’m reading: The new issue of The Atlantic, which has a bunch of great articles (as usual), including an entertaining one on the aptly named Rampage Jackson, a UFC fighter. I’m trying to figure out what to read on my trip to Louisiana; I’m just bringing the Kindle along and will settle on something. I’m thinking maybe Gatsby or Heyday.

What I’m listening to: Third, by Portishead.

What I’m watching: The Player and Tropic Thunder. It’s our meta-Hollywood weekend.

What I’m drinking: My associate editor got me some Bluecoat gin for a holiday present (I got her a spa gift certificate, since she could REALLY use some relaxation), so I oughtta have that.

What Rufus is up to: Not enjoying his first experience with snow.

Where I’m going: Off to Louisiana for the holidays with my in-laws!

What I’m happy about: Being done with the year-end 400-page issue.

What I’m sad about: Having to leave Rufus with friends while we’re away. Even though they love him and have 2 greys of their own for him to hang out with, I just feel bad about having to uproot him like that. Which is probably why I went 20 years between getting a pet.

What I’m pondering: Whether it’s actually a blessing disguise that NetNewsWire deleted the 20-something posts I’d been saving for months to read and/or write about.

Great Guns, Great Books

I think it’s great that this article on how the discipline of literary studies has killed student interest in literature is by a professor at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD.

Annapolis, [my students] tell me, is the place dreams come to die in the daily grind of shining shoes and passing inspections. And the verdict of society is as strong here as on poor Emma [Bovary]: There’s only one way to do things here at Annapolis — those who think differently have to give in.

He laments:

Literary studies split off from reading in the early-to-mid-20th century as the result of science envy on the part of literature professors. Talking about books somehow didn’t seem substantial enough. Instead of reading literature, now we study “texts.” We’ve developed a discipline, with its jargon and its methodology, its insiders and its body of knowledge. What we analyze nowadays is seen neither as the mirror of nature nor the lamp of authorial inspiration. It just is — apparently produced in an airless room by machines working through permutations of keys on the computer.

The thing is, there are as many Annapolises as there are, um, Annapolitans. A hundred feet away from where Prof. Fleming works is St. John’s College, where the theoretical claptrap of literary studies will get you laughed out of the room and students must read The Books Themselves, not critical theory about the books.

Or, as I quoted a few months ago from Lawrence Berns’ article on developing St. John’s graduate institute’s syllabus:

As soon as we were seated for lunch [Mr. Ossorgin, another St. John’s tutor] turned to me and said, “Larry, I think all of human life can be understood in terms of the Iliad and the Odyssey.” And then for about two hours he led me in a wonderful discussion about how the Iliad and the Odyssey clarified the foundations of human life, at the end of which I asked him if he would redraw the literature sequence to extend the time for the Iliad and the Odyssey.

Lab Laffs

Reading over the signs and kits at a nearby Lab Corp. location (routine blood draw for my physical), it occured to me that there really should be a death metal band named Fecal Occult.

No directory home

Sorry for the lack of updates, dear readers! I have a pretty heavy workload this week, as I have to lay out my annual Contract Services Directory (part of our 400-page year-end issue). I oughtta be wrapped up with it today, so I hope to get you some good Unrequired Reading links right on time tomorrow!

Lost in the Supermarket: The Flavor of, um, Electric Mint?

In last week’s post, I asked about the wisdom of selling toothpaste in a dark package: “Wouldn’t that be tantamount selling it in a dingy yellow carton?”

Maybe, but it wouldn’t be as bad as selling toothpaste the color of Baby’s First Pea Stool :

Oh, I’m sorry. I meant, “Electric Mint.”

(Unrelatedly, because I couldn’t figure out a non-racist joke tying these two together, here’s a discussion of Thug Passion.)

See the whole Lost in the Supermarket series