Jun 11
JamesSpiel
The standards editor at the New York Times has passed an edict (or banned or as he states editorial guidelines) forbidding the use of “tweet” for non bird or onomatopoeia related usage; in other words, Mr. Phil Corbett has decreed that the NYT will not recognize the word tweet in relation to Twitter.
In his own words:
Some social-media fans may disagree, but outside of ornithological contexts, “tweet” has not yet achieved the status of standard English. And standard English is what we should use in news articles.
Except for special effect, we try to avoid colloquialisms, neologisms and jargon. And “tweet” — as a noun or a verb, referring to messages on Twitter — is all three. Yet it has appeared 18 times in articles in the past month, in a range of sections.
Of course, new technology terms sprout and spread faster than ever. And we don’t want to seem paleolithic. But we favor established usage and ordinary words over the latest jargon or buzzwords.
One test is to ask yourself whether people outside of a target group regularly employ the terms in question. Many people use Twitter, but many don’t; my guess is that few in the latter group routinely refer to “tweets” or “tweeting.” Someday, “tweet” may be as common as “e-mail.” Or another service may elbow Twitter aside next year, and “tweet” may fade into oblivion. (Of course, it doesn’t help that the word itself seems so inherently silly.)
“Tweet” may be acceptable occasionally for special effect. But let’s look for deft, English alternatives: use Twitter, post to or on Twitter, write on Twitter, a Twitter message, a Twitter update. Or, once you’ve established that Twitter is the medium, simply use “say” or “write.”
I have to say I can see the argument and the justification Mr. Corbett is using. You don’t want to be lured into using a new technological term like (made up) “bilzbop” for it to fade away over night. But his weak discussion and hiding behind some ideal “standard” English is troubling. Of course, this new usage for tweet has not yet been recognized by whatever higher power recognizes and labels words as “standard”. That takes time and usage. But not just usage by every day people. No, it requires usage by the “standard” bearers.
And here is my problem. English is a language of the people. It is a living language and it should be treated as such. As words grow in usage and receive different meanings, the language and the people who use the language should not wait on some “standard bearer”.
This style edict is all the more troubling when you realize that it continues to reinforce archaic media walls. Old media versus new media mirrored in the behavior of dead language and living language. I am not, nor would I ever dare, suggest that the Times begin to speak in broken internet short hand. I would ask them to consider a few things though:
- When brevity and page space matter, why use several words for one?
- When clarity matters, why not use the exact term?
- When you are battling for your audience and part of that battle involves the vernacular of your readers, what do you lose by embracing the term from a service that you yourself use?
- And, lastly, if your pride yourself on the motto, “where the conversation begins”, why are you letting others dictate the terms of your conversation? Seven hundred years ago, the poet Dante explained that the vernacular was the more noble language over Latin, because the vernacular was the language of the people. That it was the language that was natural to us. Like babies learning new words, our language grows with us on a yearly basis. And it grows quickly, with reckless abandon.
As it should.
And as your audience falls away to the bloggers and other new media, you have to ask not just who you’re having that conversation with, but how and why you use the words you use. Because really, it might not be a big deal to not use “tweet” or our fictional “bilzbop”, but as we push forth with new ideas and new technology and new devices, waiting around for the standard bearers to say “its okay” isn’t going to be okay when you have no one left to say it too.
The text of Mr. Corbett’s comments came from The Awl.
May 04
JamesMovies, Spiel
I’ve been watching the Halloween movies lately. Don’t ask why. Sometimes you just get in the mood to watch something out of season. And sometimes that urge leads you to watch movies that aren’t always good. (And while I’ve watched Bad Santa during July, I’ve never made the plunge to watching Tim Allen’s The Santa Clause on Memorial Day weekend).
Anyway, after watching the original and then the Zombie remake (coupled with watching the recent Elm Street reboot), it becomes apparent what doesn’t work about Rob Zombie’s film. These creatures — Michael, Freddy, Jason — are very much tied into suburban fears. It’s where they draw their strength from.
Jason represents the thing that goes bump in the night outside of the city. Sure, he’s out at a campsite, but everything and everyone in the movies scream suburban (even when the characters come from the city). Take the “bump in the night” out of the night and put him in the city (aka the dismally bad Jason Takes Manhattan) and his effect is diminished. Is a hockey masked, machete wielding slow moving mass really that scary in an alley way full of rapists and drug dealers?
Similarly, Freddy is the thing inside of our head. No matter where you live, your own imagination can betray you. As a character, he turns on the idea that our dreams give him power. It’s that chill that keeps us awake at night and that we can’t hide from no matter we live. Inner-city crime rate too high? Flee to the nearby small town and feel safe. Safe, that is, until a news report plants a chilling seed in your mind that gnaws at you in the middle of the cold night.
Which leaves Michael Myers. The shape. The boogeyman. The representative of the darkness that lurks within the family unit. Nearly all of the movies boil down to the idea of family (Resurrection is the only one that ignores it after it’s first 15 minutes and the movie is a slow walk down the horrible trail at that point).
But in Rob Zombie’s Halloween, we get nearly forty minutes of back story to explain why a young boy would snap one Halloween and kill his sister. It’s supposed to be a look into the developing mind of a sociopath. Except it doesn’t work out that way. Just like Jason’s little trip to New York, the character loses its power once we surround it by other horribly mean characters. Is Michael Myers scarier than racist, redneck mental hospital guards who gleefully gang rape a traumatized patient?
If the story puts you in the position to think about something like that, then the story’s lost its battle. And if your Big Bad Scary Evil Monster-Man wastes time taking out criminals or vile disgusting human beings, then you’ve weakened the scare. We should be afraid for these relatively innocent (if stupid) people and not feeling pretty blase that a rapist received cinematic just desserts.
Apr 05
JamesSpiel, observation
I’ve been reading many of the plays of Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa over the past few days. He’s a very talented playwright, who’s works are brimming with a strange mix of pop-culture and literary awareness that has been seasoned with sexuality.
What I’ve enjoyed about this journey through Aguirre -Sacasa’s published works is just how unique each play and universe feels. Obviously like all writers, he has common themes he retreats to but each of them has stood as separate individuals.
But what’s really gotten me thinking since I started reading them is wondering how long it will take before the plays could fall into the hands of high school english classes (my guess: never). Obviously the sexuality and language present a block that will most likely remain, but the discussions that could be spawned from some of these plays almost begs to be had (at least in an AP class).
For instance, the play Good Boys and True takes a look at the high pressure exclusivity of a private school and the scandals that a sex tape can bring. Its an interesting look at at a phenomenon all the more common in this post One Night in Paris world and one that speaks to different generations with a relevancy that something like Oedipus Rex does not. (And don’t mistake me there. I love me some Greek incest and eye gouging, but its low on the relatability scale for most people who read it regardless of age.)
On the other end of the scale, though, is a play by Aguirre -Sacasa called Rough Magic. It’s the story of a woman who has found herself with the ability to literally bring life to the characters in plays and has. For instance, The Merchant of Venice’s Shylock now lives in modern day New York as a bookseller. It’s more of an action oriented play with the focus on the struggle between this woman and the real-life Prospero (not Shakespeare’s fictional one), but it works as such a wonderful survey into characters from different works and to the nature of stage storytelling. The furies from the Oresteia working side by side with Caliban works the same way as post-modern TV shows like Robot Chicken. And as a comparison piece to movies, having an action play to discuss works conversational wonders.
I did not enjoy the vast majority of the books I read when I was in high school, but I loved all the plays. It’s not that the books were bad — I can recognize quality while hating the tale — but there was always a sense that the value of these books was determined not because of their conversational or exploratory merits, but because of an abstract intrinsic work. And I understand certain materials have to be read. I get that and it’s hard to fight for change.
But, man, reading these plays makes me wish those discussions could be had. New blood could leak into the literary canon. And, yknow, sometimes all it takes is the right taste to get someone hooked for life.
Dec 28
JamesSpiel
Every story has a prologue — a “what came before this” tale that seems to be important enough that the story teller feels the need to share it with you. The first decade of the twenty-first century is no different in that regard. It has a prologue and it’s a very important one. The first ten years of this century are a golden lesson in harvesting the crop that the 90′s planted. And its prologue begins during those closing moments of the last decade.
It had a cute little acroynm that by now brings chuckles but at the time, for many people, was a real fear: Y2K.
That’s right. The decade began with many in the world afraid that the world was going to collapse on its self. The age old fear that technology run rampant was going to throw off its shackles and overthrow its masters through a collapse of biblical proportions, collared the first few seconds of the decade. The news leading up to the 2000′s was rampant with Y2K updates. And some people, in an effort to do what was right, hoarded and built survival kits. If you had grown up in an age where there was a tangible threat that at any moment a Soviet nuclear missile could destroy you, the idea of the world turning upside down in moments might not seem so laughable.
But when the first clock in the first part of the world hit midnight, and we officially left behind the 90s, the apocalypse never came.
* * * *
In 2000, the first film of the Final Destination series entered theaters. The film series follow a basic premise that a group of people become aware of and cheat death. Death — portrayed as an entityless cosmic force, spends the rest of the movie making things right. An incredible number of people viewed entering the year 2000 as an achievement and that we as a global community cheated catastrophe. If that is true, then catastrophe spent the rest of the decade trying to fix that.
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