Verbisaurus Blogicus

In class last week and this, we are reading Twelve Years a Slave. It’s part of the slave narrative genre that was so popular back in the waning days of slavery (all the cool abolitionists were reading them). Unlike other slave narratives of the time (I’m thinking of Frederick Douglass’ memoir and Uncle Tom’s Cabin), though, no one much reads this book by Solomon Northup anymore. Admittedly, I hadn’t even heard of it until the first day of class when I saw it on the syllabus and then went and bought my very own copy.

This is the third book we’ve read so far this semester and it’s my favorite so far. Unlike Douglass’ book (which is awesome), Northup’s tale begins with his freedom. That’s right, he was born and raised a free man in New York. But one day, he was drugged and captured and spent a certain number of years (I won’t say how many, because I don’t want to spoil it for you) in indentured servitude, longing for the day when he’d be reunited with  his wife and three children. In a way, then, Douglass’ book takes us on a long rise from despair to hope, while Northup’s follows a curve down to despair, and then back up. Douglass’ book is better written; Northup’s first chapter, in particular, is a boring list of facts and he frequently ruins any chance at surprise and foreshadowing the plot would otherwise have. He also revels in regaling us with details into the life of pretty much everyone he ever passes on the street, for Christ’s sake. Still, it’s a great story that needed to be told, it has a killer subtitle (Narrative of Solomon Northup, a citizen of New-York, kidnapped in Washington city in 1841, and rescued in 1853, from a cotton plantation near the Red River in Louisiana – beat that, Douglass!), and I am eagerly anticipating the movie (Brad Pitt, presumably, will not be playing the role of Northrup).

Anyway, I think the best way to demonstrate just how forgotten this work is, is to show you pictures of the piss-poor manner in which this book is published.

Okay, here’s the cover. Borrrring!

I keep trying to figure out the significance of the colors – black on white? With red? A red S? Does any of this mean anything? Nope. Notice the publisher put their name in parenthesis – yeah, I would too if I published books that looked this boring (and if my books had spelling and punctuation mistakes on every page, which this one has aplenty).  What’s even funnier is that the title page lists a credit for the cover photo. Don’t you see the photo? It must be a photo of a glass of milk on a paper plate in a snowstorm.

Here’s the back cover. I know you probably can’t read it, but it’s mostly one big paragraph that the publisher spent about three minutes writing. The publisher tries to drum up excitement for this book by asserting that you should read this book because – get this: other people have read the book, and they are able to recall the fact that they’ve read it! Don’t believe me? Here’s what it says:

“Scholars reference this work today’ one example is Jesse Holland, who referred to him in an interview given on January20, 2009 on Democracy.now. He did so because Northrup’s extremely detailed description of Washington in 1841 helps the neuromancers understand the location of some slave markets, and is an important part of understanding that African slaves built many of the monuments in Washington, including the Capitol and part of the original Executive Mansion.”

Yeah, if that’s not the crappiest endorsement for a book I’ve ever read, I don’t know what is. Is “neuromancer” really the best word they could use? Oh – and it’s in all-caps for ya’, too, so that helps.

And just to make sure no part of Northup’s amazing story gets the disrespect this publisher feels it deserves, here’s the spine:

Wait…what does that say? Does it say nothing at all? That will really be helpful when I place this on my bookshelf and then have absolutely  no way of knowing which book it is. Is it entirely white? Huh. Maybe there is some symbolism there.

Well, for the first time in memory, I watched the Acedemy Awards ceremony last night without having first seen any of the Best Picture nominees. In fact, the only nominated films in any category that I saw were Brave and The Avengers.

Actually, I didn’t even watch the whole program. We turned it on late, thereby missing the opening monologue, which is generally the most entertaining part. I also went to bed early, and didn’t know who or what won for actor, actress, director, and picture until this morning.

The bottom line is that I really have nothing to say about Argo winning for Best Picture. I hear it was a slight upset, as Lincoln was favored and Life of Pi, by virtue of its numerous nominations, was second-favored. Ask me in a few months, after all these flicks have been made available on DVD, and I’ll be happy to offer an opinion. In fact, I’ll probably offer my opinion here, on this blog, even if you don’t ask.

But in keeping with the spirit of the Oscars, I present this list. Below you will find a list of all the Best Picture winners since 1990. In the third column, I offer my (very brief) opinion. The one-word opinions breakdown thusly:

Bravo!: The Academy nailed it, as far as I can see. In other words, I’m in complete agreement with that year’s win.

Fine: There were better options, which I list in column four, but the film that won was a good choice, and I can’t really gripe about it.

Meh: This film wasn’t my thing. There were better options, which I list in column four, but I can still see why they picked this one. I can respect their choice, even if I disagree.

Yuck: I am baffled that this crap was even nominated, and utterly shocked that it won. What were they thinking? Is it too late to do this year over again? I list two superior choices in column four, though I could easily list another five or six preferable films from that year.

I was going to submit an essay to this online magazine, but after perusing the articles, I nixed the idea. Of note was this doozy, in which the author notes that Father’s Day is less important than Mother’s Day. He says his article is controversial. I’m not sure why. He’s basically saying, hey, kids, give Dad the same due you would give Mom. Sounds good to me; not sure why anyone would feel that’s controversial.

Instead of being controversial, I found the article stupid. He starts off by noting that Mother’s Day is a bigger deal than Father’s Day. Apart from citing Wikipedia, though, he doesn’t have any solid way to back up his claim. And his Wikipedia citation is merely to note that Father’s Day evolved many years after Mother’s Day. Which proves…well, nothing. The Super Bowl came into existence after the World Series, so, to use Eber’s logic, that makes the World Series a bigger deal, right? And since Valentine’s Day came into being before Thanksgiving, I suppose that makes Valentine’s Day a bigger deal, too, right?

Then he notes how difficult it can be as a father (which I agree with) by offering this lame anecdote that has nothing to do with fatherhood:

As a partner in a law firm for many years, I observed my male colleagues put in their 80-hour workweeks while trying to meet their wives’ expectations that they be home in time for dinner every night and turn down most, if not all, business trips.

Oh, man, that’s so true. I can’t tell you how tough it is to work all day, only to have my spouse expect me to spend some time with her. Man, at the end of the day, if there’s one thing I hate doing, it’s leaving work and going home for dinner. Sometimes life can be so impossible for fathers.

But wait, it gets worse:

It’s now understood that if son Jake is on the soccer team, dad is the team coach. When little Susie takes to the stage as the lead elf in the school play, dad must be in the audience. Is this work life balance? [sic]

Yeah, you really nailed it that time, Eber. It’s so unbalanced to work 80 hours a week and be expected to participate in your kids’ lives. I know when I went to my son’s school last week to have lunch with him and play games with his class, I kept thinking, “Damn, this is so unfair. I’m only gonna be at work 45 hours this week as it is, and now my lousy son goes and interferes with that time.” And what is “work life balance,” anyway?

 The article ends on a low note, straight out of Leave it to Beaver, in which he asserts that “dads are easy to please” and all they really want for Father’s Day is to not have to be home with their kids. That’s right, Eber claims that, on Father’s Day, men want to be excused from their nagging wives – who are constantly insisting they get projects done around the house – and go play golf with their friends.

In our house, I am probably more driven to get stuff done around the house than my wife, and I look forward to the weekends to be with my kids and work on our house and yard. The idea that there’s a “honey-do” list implies that it’s only my wife who wants to, for example, finish our daughter’s room, and that I only begrudgingly participate. Unlike Eber, I won’t speak for all dads, but I know I’m not alone.

Also – far from feeling cheated when I have to go to work early or late (or not at all) because my kids have activities going on – I would feel like a complete asshole if I wasn’t with them during special occassions. Having to work late is understandable, but golf? Come on.

Today, Feburary 11th, is National African American Parent Involvement Day (NAAPID). So, since my ancestors are from Africa (well, if you go back far enough), I figured I’d better get involved in my son’s school day.

Actually, despite the event’s name, the day is open to parents of all ethnic persuasions and identifications, and there were plenty of other parents at Owen’s school today from different continents-of-origin.

First, I brought Owen to school and went in and had breakfast with him. We grabbed breakfast from the cafeteria, then headed over to his locker. His locker has four coat hooks in it, but Owen doesn’t use any of them; he just shoves his jacket, snowpants, and backpack in there. He also shoved my jacket in there and then complained that, for some reason, he couldn’t get his locker door to shut properly. We then went into his classroom where I sat and ate with him. I was a tad mortified to see I was the only parent, but Owen didn’t seem to care. Once the day began, the teacher and the students sang a “Good Morning” song (Owen didn’t sing – but he said that’s because he was busy eating), and then I took off for a couple of hours until lunch time.

At lunch, I again met up with Owen and again went to the cafeteria. I had a chick drumstick for the first time in about three years. Owen promptly called me out on it, but I explained that there were no other options. Actually, there were these wraps, but they had cold cuts in them, so that looked very unappatizing. I guess I could’ve nixed the chicken and just overloaded on the salad bar, but at the time the lunch lady dropped a drummy on my tray, I didn’t know there was a salad bar option. Speaking of salad bar, Owen’s salad consisted of the following three ingredients (and only the following three ingredients):

-Cherry tomatoes

-Diced tomatoes

-Ranch dressing

While eating, I asked Owen if he always sits at this same table with these same students. He shrugged like that was the dumbest question he’d heard all day. “No,” he answered, “I jsut sit whereever.” I’m glad to see he and his peers spice it up a bit – back in my day, all the kids sat at the same table every day – first grade through twelfth. I was also happy to see that there was a “sharing tray,” which is a place where you can set unopened food and drink to share with kids who forgot their money or lunch. I was more than happy to set my chocolate milk on that tray and I offered up a silent curse to my former elementary schools as I did so. Long story.

Anyway, after lunch, I went back to Owen’s classroom. Most of the kids’ parents were there, too, and we all played math games. First Owen and I played a game with fake money along with one of his classmates (whose mom hadn’t arrived yet). Then we played a second money game with the kid and his mom. He and his mom were very kind, and his mom explained that she had to run over to the Kindergarten class after this to go be with her other child, and that she also had two younger children at home. Wow. I was impressed with her ability to find time to come to her oldest’s class.

Then Owen and I played a number-guessing game by ourselves. And then it was time for the normal day to resume, so the other parents and I took off.

All in all, a good parent involvement day. Totally kicked ass over going to work today.