In a series of measures to test whether students are paying attention, Rollins has placed our beloved mascot, the Tar, up for adoption. We may have a chance to save it, though the administration appears set on changing it to something hipper and more easily understood to outsiders. Their ongoing search mirrors similar journeys to find a new college logo and shortened name. Recently, an email survey was sent to gauge the reception that a new nickname would garner, and it was quickly volleyed back, with 60% of respondents suggesting we retain the Tar. 20% offered that the “Fox” should be its successor, but the ruling class has announced that it carries “gender connotations” that would be wholly undesirable. This decision also sets a precedent that would immediately rule out the blue-footed booby. A second survey has been issued, this time presenting five choices, with the option to rank each in the order of one’s liking.
The first choice in the list of five was the Tar, which, naturally, should be everyone’s first choice. The Tar is not only historical, as it directly relates to our past, but it is unique, for no other college in the country uses it as its mascot. Its peculiarity leads to discussions about its origin, allowing people to learn about our school. As we all should know, during World War I, the majority of Rollins’ male students joined the navy. As sailors, they were constantly engaged with tar, which was used to waterproof parts of a ship, and some cases, even clothing. With a naval vessel in use on Lake Virginia, the girls on campus would call the sailors “Tars.” Removing the Tar would cause us to forget about our dedication to service, and it would keep others from learning about our proud history as well.
The second choice was “Mariners,” a name shared by Seattle’s professional baseball team. On the positive side, it would maintain the maritime theme set by the Tar. As for the negative side, there is one pressing issue: what exactly is a mariner? Whereas the Tar elicits a Rollins-related explanation when one asks what it is, the mariner has none. Despite this shortcoming, though, the “First Mates” organization may benefit from the name. Part of the aim of the First Mates is to come up with clever chants to lead the crowd in during sporting events. In the case of last month’s basketball game against the Florida Gators, the two most prevalent chants were the all-too-common “Let’s go Rollins” and the even less inspired “UF sucks.” With this proposed name change, they can always fall back on simply reciting Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Thus, when an opposing player “Listens like a three years’ child, the Mariners hath his will!” Opposing teams will become so enthralled in the epic poem that the game will seem insignificant to the consuming verse, ensuring Rollins’ victory. Other teams do this with cheerleaders; to each, his own, I guess.
“Raiders” was the third choice, borrowing the name of the NFL team presently in Oakland. This could offer the easiest transition, as “raider” could be defined as “pirate,” which would make sense with the First Mates, whose t-shirts are already emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. Everyone would respond well to the pirate theme, because, well, pirates are awesome. Negative side effects may include increased rum consumption and debauchery, while possible positives may include increased rum consumption and debauchery. We could also nickname our nickname the “Raid Brigade,” which would be cute. Overall, perception of the Raider image would depend on one’s stance on pillaging.
“Suns” was listed next in the survey. While the “Rollins Suns” does sound appealing, this too continues the string of professional sports swipes, this case being with Phoenix, Arizona’s NBA franchise. If Rollins decides to retain the motto “Fiat Lux,” however, this could be a winning combination. Attendance at sporting events may dwindle with this change, though, for staring at our teams too long may cause cataracts. And with cancer’s presence in today’s society, the First Mates might want to spend their Fox Funds purchasing SPF-30 lotions to distribute at athletics both in and out of doors.
The “Lakers” was the fifth choice, and obviously the worst. If no one knows what a Tar is, how is anyone going to know what a “Laker” is? Even Microsoft Word rejects both its singular form and its pluralized brethren that lack a capitalized “L.” Sure, we have a lake, but does that really make us lakers? People would see it as being too similar to the Los Angeles Lakers anyway, for the names are, in fact, identical. The popularity of the basketball team makes it obvious that we’ve ripped them off. Besides that, though, Los Angeles’ team shouldn’t even be called “Lakers” to begin with. What lakes are in LA? Maybe the name made more sense when they were the Minneapolis Lakers (10,000 times more sense, to be exact), but now it’s just silly. Los Angeles is obviously devoid of originality, for all that Hollywood can come up with are remakes, sequels, and sequels of remakes. But that’s not to accuse them of being the only team to stubbornly retain its nickname, despite the lack of city-mascot cohesion. When New Orleans’ NBA team moved to Utah, you’d think they would have the sense to stop calling themselves the Jazz; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was never led by Duke Ellington.
These choices may not be the most intimidating when given the breadth of mascots to choose from, for this country’s sports landscape is littered with Lions, Tigers, Bears, and other “Oh-my!”-inducing carnivores. Considering the range of nicknames found in lesser-known leagues, though, our choices aren’t as wimpy as they could be. Take Japan’s Nippon Professional Baseball, which features such intimidating forces as the “Swallows” and the “Carp.” Even our country’s Major League Soccer throws in two alternative types of names, in the case of Red Bull New York and the Chicago Fire. American Minor League Baseball teams also have their share of oddities, in the case of the Toledo Mud Hens, the Nashville Sounds, and the Montgomery Biscuits. If our choice would come down to an animal, hopefully it would be higher than the last few links on the food chain.
As much as college is a whirlwind of change, can we at least be stuck as Tars? I don’t think the college will earn the commitment of a highly-touted athlete because we’re Swans, or Pancakes, or Snapple. Sure, we all want to be Foxes, but let’s face it, we already are. Just be happy to be a Tar, or you might wake up one day as a Newt.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
My Love of English* (*Subject to Change)
If I have learned nothing else through my fifteen-plus years of education, it is this: I love words. Beyond this simple fact, I have found that I am interested in too many subjects for my own good. As my college transcript shows, I have willingly taken a wide breadth of classes to satisfy each, including forays into medicine, film, music, art, chemistry, and psychology, with none of them satisfying a requirement for graduation from my community college. Through my study of atoms, cardiology, Freud, and Hitchcock, I’ve narrowed my major field of study to the simple word that contains so many: English. Although I’ve rendezvoused with many educational flings, I have found that my greatest romance is not with the varying subject matter, but in the development and transcription of my ideas.
Throughout my schooling, grade-school teachers and college professors alike have communicated that I possess linguistic skills and have encouraged my pursuit of writing. I never paid too much attention to what I did to receive the praise, but it appeared, and I was grateful. Eventually, I began to devote more time and effort to improving myself as a writer, initiating a willful learning process that will hopefully never end.
Writing has become a foundation of my being, but as I’ve come to find out, even greater joy is elicited from sitting down with my work and shaping it with the editor’s blade, the pen. In my experience, I have found that I will make a correction or alteration during every single reading of every paper (including this one). After a session, my papers often end up looking as though they hold more ink from my utensil than from what the printer bestowed upon it. Realizing this gets me to understand that a piece of writing is malleable and can be infinitely edited without ever becoming perfect.
Through each journey between the margins, I’ve learned that adept writers do not channel beautiful writing by opening a tap in their mind and letting publishable sentences flow, but rather, they create masterful work through the art of revision. I could have taken the time to craft all the sentences in this piece in my mind first, honing them in sequential order before writing them down. If I had, however, your eyes would not yet meet these words. Thus, I feel that talented writers do not earn their reputation on the quality of a first draft, but by their ability to revisit their work, locate what can be improved, and truly improve it.
I have yet to decide whether to pursue editing for a publishing house or a newspaper; I merely know of my desire for editing. I believe that one’s college years are the most formative in their career search, so as a way of investing time in my options, I currently serve as a copy-editor for The Sandspur and devote hours a week working in TJ’s as a writing consultant. Working for The Sandspur allows me to experience journalistic editing with a paper that demands excellence from its staff, as it is the oldest college newspaper in Florida, has remarkable tradition, and is the only newspaper I know that tackles such stimulating issues as dormitory defecation.
As a writing consultant, I don’t have my pen to the page as much, but by helping others grasp grammatical concepts, style and cohesiveness, my own abilities are strengthened. Accepting this job was logical for me, for I have always had friends approach me for advice with their own work, that I might look over their papers and help without altering their written thoughts to become my own.
The title English Simplified may seem to reflect an impossible task, but if I am to remain on course in my education, I must be up to the challenge of deciphering the language myself. As clichés go, the work of an editor is never done; even now, I’m thinking of drawing a caret between “never” and “done” and adding the word “ever” at least fifty-seven times. A quote attributed to Oscar Wide states: “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” It would be funny if it weren’t true.
Throughout my schooling, grade-school teachers and college professors alike have communicated that I possess linguistic skills and have encouraged my pursuit of writing. I never paid too much attention to what I did to receive the praise, but it appeared, and I was grateful. Eventually, I began to devote more time and effort to improving myself as a writer, initiating a willful learning process that will hopefully never end.
Writing has become a foundation of my being, but as I’ve come to find out, even greater joy is elicited from sitting down with my work and shaping it with the editor’s blade, the pen. In my experience, I have found that I will make a correction or alteration during every single reading of every paper (including this one). After a session, my papers often end up looking as though they hold more ink from my utensil than from what the printer bestowed upon it. Realizing this gets me to understand that a piece of writing is malleable and can be infinitely edited without ever becoming perfect.
Through each journey between the margins, I’ve learned that adept writers do not channel beautiful writing by opening a tap in their mind and letting publishable sentences flow, but rather, they create masterful work through the art of revision. I could have taken the time to craft all the sentences in this piece in my mind first, honing them in sequential order before writing them down. If I had, however, your eyes would not yet meet these words. Thus, I feel that talented writers do not earn their reputation on the quality of a first draft, but by their ability to revisit their work, locate what can be improved, and truly improve it.
I have yet to decide whether to pursue editing for a publishing house or a newspaper; I merely know of my desire for editing. I believe that one’s college years are the most formative in their career search, so as a way of investing time in my options, I currently serve as a copy-editor for The Sandspur and devote hours a week working in TJ’s as a writing consultant. Working for The Sandspur allows me to experience journalistic editing with a paper that demands excellence from its staff, as it is the oldest college newspaper in Florida, has remarkable tradition, and is the only newspaper I know that tackles such stimulating issues as dormitory defecation.
As a writing consultant, I don’t have my pen to the page as much, but by helping others grasp grammatical concepts, style and cohesiveness, my own abilities are strengthened. Accepting this job was logical for me, for I have always had friends approach me for advice with their own work, that I might look over their papers and help without altering their written thoughts to become my own.
The title English Simplified may seem to reflect an impossible task, but if I am to remain on course in my education, I must be up to the challenge of deciphering the language myself. As clichés go, the work of an editor is never done; even now, I’m thinking of drawing a caret between “never” and “done” and adding the word “ever” at least fifty-seven times. A quote attributed to Oscar Wide states: “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” It would be funny if it weren’t true.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Our Game
In America, we have a multitude of traditions by which we are identified around the world. We have our fattening food, our extravagant entertainment, and most importantly, our pastime, baseball. Baseball has been romanticized at each level of play, from the little leagues in which our nation’s youth plays, up to the big leagues, with fathers taking their sons to share with them the game they grew to love. Yet while baseball is our national pastime, it’s not our favorite sport. Football is surely this country’s passion, with the five months of pigskin overshadowing all other forms of competition in the last months of each year. Baseball may be played during the outdoor months of summer, but nothing compares to a crisp, bright Sunday spent overlooking a 53x100 yard field. Instead, baseball fills a leisure-based niche, as the sport is simply a way to pass the time. Its inherent rules and structure lend itself to being recognized as such. The nine innings of play can drag out, which, while boring to some, provides an excellent social experience. And if you though that was laissez-faire, consider this: if a batter succeeds three out of ten times, he is considered great. Forgetting sports, in what other profession can you have such a low rate and keep your job, much less garner you a raise?
Baseball in Florida is backward, however. In the spring, every team in the Major Leagues is either here or in Arizona, for both places offer ideal weather during the pre-season training month. Once the summer begins, though, teams scatter across the country, settling into their homes for the middle months of the year. Florida in summer is not an ideal place to play, with its repetitive sequence of sweltering heat and pouring rain, neither of which being conducive to playing the game. The happy medium would be the retractable roof, which would allow for open air on temperate days and a controlled environment when nature doesn’t comply. But rather, you have the Marlins in Miami, who are permanently outdoors, and experience an unbelievable amount of rain delays yearly, and the Rays in Tampa, who are permanently indoors, playing in a place that is nationally perceived as ugly. Of course, the walls of the structure are industrial-gray, as if the game were being played in a factory. The field is green, but it’s not grass. There’s light, but it’s not from the sun. Tropicana Field is an artificial, manufactured place, and disservices so human a sport. Contrast it with Chicago’s Wrigley Field, where ivy crawls to coat the outfield wall, or Pittsburgh’s PNC Park, where the skyline juts upward beyond the outfield and the Alleghany. One redeemable feature in Tampa is that the sun is somewhat visible during midday games, as it offers a faint bright spot on the thin white roof. Of course, baseball is a child’s game, so why not play it in a place reminiscent of the place of a child’s daydream: under a bed sheet, with the light from an overhead bulb seeping in through the woven fibers?
Baseball is improbability, unpredictability, and surprise. Nothing touts this better than this year’s Tampa Bay Rays. In their first ten years of existence, the team has amassed plenty more losses than wins, but in 2008, they made the playoffs for the first time and advanced all the way to the World Series. I have been in Tampa to see many games when the team was at its worst, when so few people attended that they began to populate the stadium with stingrays. Gimmicks like their fish tank were intended to attract more patrons, but as they’ve come to find, there’s no substitute for winning. No matter how aquatic the stadium became, all that was gained was the image that the empty seats were rows upon rows of flat blue shark teeth. Being in the dome—which was nationally insulted—watching a team that was never televised outside of their home market sometimes even felt like being in the belly a whale.
I went to Tampa when they had some excitement, which was relative, for most teams do not celebrate when they balance their amount of wins and losses. That’s what their fun became—while other teams enjoyed division championships and playoff series (the Yankees not included), the Rays were content seeing how deep into the season they could have a .500 record.
In the past, my dad always thought it was fun to check the standings during the first week of the season to see what teams would be on top after only a handful of games. If the Yankees lost their opening game and the Rays won, it was bizarre to see Tampa Bay above New York in the next day’s standings. This year, however, things were different. “It’s May, and the Rays are still on top!” my dad had said. This time, it didn’t change. Amazingly, their performance never slacked, and even when experiencing major injuries that would set even the best teams back, their collective effort overcame the loss of an individual player. They deserved to win.
I’ve seen the Rays skim the bottom of the standings, I’ve watched as they took baby steps to gain respect, and now, I’ve seen them near the peak of every team’s aspiration. They were eliminated from the World Series on this very night, and their unexpected season came just a few games short of championship victory. But how did they do it? Because baseball allows one’s dreams to be larger than one’s payroll. There’s room for hope in its open fields, and those who love the game know exactly where to look for it.
Baseball in Florida is backward, however. In the spring, every team in the Major Leagues is either here or in Arizona, for both places offer ideal weather during the pre-season training month. Once the summer begins, though, teams scatter across the country, settling into their homes for the middle months of the year. Florida in summer is not an ideal place to play, with its repetitive sequence of sweltering heat and pouring rain, neither of which being conducive to playing the game. The happy medium would be the retractable roof, which would allow for open air on temperate days and a controlled environment when nature doesn’t comply. But rather, you have the Marlins in Miami, who are permanently outdoors, and experience an unbelievable amount of rain delays yearly, and the Rays in Tampa, who are permanently indoors, playing in a place that is nationally perceived as ugly. Of course, the walls of the structure are industrial-gray, as if the game were being played in a factory. The field is green, but it’s not grass. There’s light, but it’s not from the sun. Tropicana Field is an artificial, manufactured place, and disservices so human a sport. Contrast it with Chicago’s Wrigley Field, where ivy crawls to coat the outfield wall, or Pittsburgh’s PNC Park, where the skyline juts upward beyond the outfield and the Alleghany. One redeemable feature in Tampa is that the sun is somewhat visible during midday games, as it offers a faint bright spot on the thin white roof. Of course, baseball is a child’s game, so why not play it in a place reminiscent of the place of a child’s daydream: under a bed sheet, with the light from an overhead bulb seeping in through the woven fibers?
Baseball is improbability, unpredictability, and surprise. Nothing touts this better than this year’s Tampa Bay Rays. In their first ten years of existence, the team has amassed plenty more losses than wins, but in 2008, they made the playoffs for the first time and advanced all the way to the World Series. I have been in Tampa to see many games when the team was at its worst, when so few people attended that they began to populate the stadium with stingrays. Gimmicks like their fish tank were intended to attract more patrons, but as they’ve come to find, there’s no substitute for winning. No matter how aquatic the stadium became, all that was gained was the image that the empty seats were rows upon rows of flat blue shark teeth. Being in the dome—which was nationally insulted—watching a team that was never televised outside of their home market sometimes even felt like being in the belly a whale.
I went to Tampa when they had some excitement, which was relative, for most teams do not celebrate when they balance their amount of wins and losses. That’s what their fun became—while other teams enjoyed division championships and playoff series (the Yankees not included), the Rays were content seeing how deep into the season they could have a .500 record.
In the past, my dad always thought it was fun to check the standings during the first week of the season to see what teams would be on top after only a handful of games. If the Yankees lost their opening game and the Rays won, it was bizarre to see Tampa Bay above New York in the next day’s standings. This year, however, things were different. “It’s May, and the Rays are still on top!” my dad had said. This time, it didn’t change. Amazingly, their performance never slacked, and even when experiencing major injuries that would set even the best teams back, their collective effort overcame the loss of an individual player. They deserved to win.
I’ve seen the Rays skim the bottom of the standings, I’ve watched as they took baby steps to gain respect, and now, I’ve seen them near the peak of every team’s aspiration. They were eliminated from the World Series on this very night, and their unexpected season came just a few games short of championship victory. But how did they do it? Because baseball allows one’s dreams to be larger than one’s payroll. There’s room for hope in its open fields, and those who love the game know exactly where to look for it.
A Tale of Two Roosevelts
Ask Americans where the political state of the country lies today, and they’re likely to say, “Washington D.C.” Unfortunately, this is not a state. The figurative state of politics is just as tricky to pin down; today’s game seems to consist of lying, false representation, and slander of one’s opponent. When watching a debate, the viewer is bombarded with ideas, ideals, questions that go unanswered, and answers that leave one with questions. It’s all impossible to decipher without the aid of objective third-party analysis, which, of course, is now virtually impossible due to the biases that networks maintain. Through these unfortunate truths, a question emerges: why is everything in politics inherently vague? The answer, sadly, is that history has shown that the victor is the one with the least definable goals.
Let’s go back to the early 1900’s, when the political ideal in power was neither liberalism nor conservatism, but Progressivism. Both Republicans and Democrats were involved in the movement, for it was apolitical, with both parties operating toward the same widespread goals.
Following William McKinley’s death, Teddy Roosevelt assumed the Presidency in 1901. On a national level, he began the era that was ripe with what democracy is all about: a government that acts on the wishes of the voting majority. The Progressives held the presidency for five consecutive terms, and in that time they initiated the ratification of four Amendments. Without their proficiency, the public wouldn’t have nearly as much voice in politics. Thanks to them, we can not only vote on state-wide referendums, but we can petition to put our own on the ballot, we can elect our senators, we can recall our governor to elect Arnold Schwarzenegger, we can vote in presidential primaries, and we can allow women to take part in it all. It’s safe to say that their impact on American democracy was profound.
But how did they secure the country’s highest office for twenty years? Because from the beginning, Progressive candidates campaigned with their goals at the forefront, clearly stating them, so as to attract voters who wanted the changes they proposed. People at the time wanted more control with their government representatives, and they got it; they wanted prohibition, and they got it. The simplicity of their method was remarkable; they told people exactly what they were going to do, and when elected, they did it.
In 1920, however, it all came to a startling halt. Republican Warren Harding was elected, and the nation-wide love-affair with the Progressives ended. But why so soon? Because they had crossed everything off of their list, and to the public, they no longer needed Progressives; they had run their course. This is why a political party must remain vague.
Now take another Presidential dynasty, this one consisting of a one-man force: Franklin Roosevelt. Just as the Progressive Party before him, he inspired the implementation of several Amendments; because of him, you can’t be elected for a third term, but you can drink, your term starts earlier in relation to Election Day, and you can be replaced if your cabinet decides that your brain can no longer function in a presidential manner. But as for his most cherished legacy, he won his first of four terms in 1932 when he proposed the mysterious cure-all to the Great Depression entitled the “New Deal.” In stark contrast to the winning methodology of the Progressives, he spent his campaign keeping all the details of the program to himself—if he even thought them out prior to his inauguration. With his plan, he eventually initiated enough “alphabet soup” programs to make Rollins proud, each intending to solve problems relating to unemployment, with the hopes of bringing the economy back to its feet. Even into his third term, however, the country was still experiencing the worst financial crisis in its history. In the end, it took World War II to pull America out of the mess it was in. Yet today, FDR is considered our most dime-worthy president, and the New Deal is referred to as a grand plan in action. Why is this? Because Roosevelt never told the country what it was going to be. What were they to expect? By electing not to tell people what the New Deal was, he ensured that he would not tie himself down with personally-imposed dates and deadlines. Perhaps that’s why he’s so revered.
Nowadays, “Progressive” is a bad word in politics. Despite the time of change they authored, they failed to exist for more than two decades, and thus failed in the context of being a political movement whose goal is to prolong its reign. But if longevity is considered the sole desire of political group, why would one truly want to succeed as such? Shouldn’t a group be more concerned with the effect it has on the country? The fact is, the Progressives were. And in those terms, they succeeded.
But what started this extraordinarily diligent and successful time in history? The answer is Wisconsin governor Robert LaFollet, who developed a plan to assemble University of Wisconsin students for the purpose of reporting on what the state was doing wrong. This initiated what Teddy Roosevelt termed “muckraking,” the type of journalism that exposed the corruption of politicians. Citizens weary of their elected officials’ unethical practices fueled its popularity, which Roosevelt eventually saw as an asset to him. He saw the power of the public, and sought to gain their favor by campaigning for what they truly wanted, and initiating what would be termed Progressive. Ultimately, this change was fueled by the people, who were sick of the corruption of the Gilded Age in the late 1800s. What will it take for Americans to initiate change again? Will people ever realize the privilege it is to live in a democracy that asks for the voice of the people?
Our two favorite parties have certainly learned from their “failed” friends. Never will they list their goals, lest they target themselves for termination at the completion of their tasks. This election season, listen for when a candidate does promise a specific result. Then, don’t be surprised when the candidate assures it will happen by 2013. Why would he do this, if his term would be over by then? Because even though he has yet to secure his first term as president, he’s already preparing his campaign for reelection. Sure, our country’s lone example of a straight-forward political movement garnered much success, but lest our current parties flounder, they must stay the course. Be brave. Be vague.
Let’s go back to the early 1900’s, when the political ideal in power was neither liberalism nor conservatism, but Progressivism. Both Republicans and Democrats were involved in the movement, for it was apolitical, with both parties operating toward the same widespread goals.
Following William McKinley’s death, Teddy Roosevelt assumed the Presidency in 1901. On a national level, he began the era that was ripe with what democracy is all about: a government that acts on the wishes of the voting majority. The Progressives held the presidency for five consecutive terms, and in that time they initiated the ratification of four Amendments. Without their proficiency, the public wouldn’t have nearly as much voice in politics. Thanks to them, we can not only vote on state-wide referendums, but we can petition to put our own on the ballot, we can elect our senators, we can recall our governor to elect Arnold Schwarzenegger, we can vote in presidential primaries, and we can allow women to take part in it all. It’s safe to say that their impact on American democracy was profound.
But how did they secure the country’s highest office for twenty years? Because from the beginning, Progressive candidates campaigned with their goals at the forefront, clearly stating them, so as to attract voters who wanted the changes they proposed. People at the time wanted more control with their government representatives, and they got it; they wanted prohibition, and they got it. The simplicity of their method was remarkable; they told people exactly what they were going to do, and when elected, they did it.
In 1920, however, it all came to a startling halt. Republican Warren Harding was elected, and the nation-wide love-affair with the Progressives ended. But why so soon? Because they had crossed everything off of their list, and to the public, they no longer needed Progressives; they had run their course. This is why a political party must remain vague.
Now take another Presidential dynasty, this one consisting of a one-man force: Franklin Roosevelt. Just as the Progressive Party before him, he inspired the implementation of several Amendments; because of him, you can’t be elected for a third term, but you can drink, your term starts earlier in relation to Election Day, and you can be replaced if your cabinet decides that your brain can no longer function in a presidential manner. But as for his most cherished legacy, he won his first of four terms in 1932 when he proposed the mysterious cure-all to the Great Depression entitled the “New Deal.” In stark contrast to the winning methodology of the Progressives, he spent his campaign keeping all the details of the program to himself—if he even thought them out prior to his inauguration. With his plan, he eventually initiated enough “alphabet soup” programs to make Rollins proud, each intending to solve problems relating to unemployment, with the hopes of bringing the economy back to its feet. Even into his third term, however, the country was still experiencing the worst financial crisis in its history. In the end, it took World War II to pull America out of the mess it was in. Yet today, FDR is considered our most dime-worthy president, and the New Deal is referred to as a grand plan in action. Why is this? Because Roosevelt never told the country what it was going to be. What were they to expect? By electing not to tell people what the New Deal was, he ensured that he would not tie himself down with personally-imposed dates and deadlines. Perhaps that’s why he’s so revered.
Nowadays, “Progressive” is a bad word in politics. Despite the time of change they authored, they failed to exist for more than two decades, and thus failed in the context of being a political movement whose goal is to prolong its reign. But if longevity is considered the sole desire of political group, why would one truly want to succeed as such? Shouldn’t a group be more concerned with the effect it has on the country? The fact is, the Progressives were. And in those terms, they succeeded.
But what started this extraordinarily diligent and successful time in history? The answer is Wisconsin governor Robert LaFollet, who developed a plan to assemble University of Wisconsin students for the purpose of reporting on what the state was doing wrong. This initiated what Teddy Roosevelt termed “muckraking,” the type of journalism that exposed the corruption of politicians. Citizens weary of their elected officials’ unethical practices fueled its popularity, which Roosevelt eventually saw as an asset to him. He saw the power of the public, and sought to gain their favor by campaigning for what they truly wanted, and initiating what would be termed Progressive. Ultimately, this change was fueled by the people, who were sick of the corruption of the Gilded Age in the late 1800s. What will it take for Americans to initiate change again? Will people ever realize the privilege it is to live in a democracy that asks for the voice of the people?
Our two favorite parties have certainly learned from their “failed” friends. Never will they list their goals, lest they target themselves for termination at the completion of their tasks. This election season, listen for when a candidate does promise a specific result. Then, don’t be surprised when the candidate assures it will happen by 2013. Why would he do this, if his term would be over by then? Because even though he has yet to secure his first term as president, he’s already preparing his campaign for reelection. Sure, our country’s lone example of a straight-forward political movement garnered much success, but lest our current parties flounder, they must stay the course. Be brave. Be vague.
Wabi-sabi
I believe in wabi-sabi. If you don’t already know, this is the latest craze from Asia that is sweeping the nation, and if origami and feng shui are any indication, this could really become big. But since wabi-sabi consists of neither paper folding nor furniture arranging, it does not strike the same core audience of sufferers of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the bored. Rather, its aim is to please the philosophical, with whom it truly resonates. wabi-sabi is the concept that beauty can be found in what we perceive as imperfect, perhaps more often than where we consider perfection to lie.
To understand the meaning of this pair of words, one must first look at each individually. By their Japanese definitions, wabi means harmony, tranquility and peace, while sabi is the flow of time. Literally, it is the beautiful effect that time has on the world. wabi-sabi is a concept of appreciating what isn’t ideal in life, focusing not on what is pristine and manufactured, but rather on what is earthen and exemplary of natural beauty. wabi-sabi embraces the stained, the frayed; the signs of life, rather than that which is unmarked, unused, and, frankly, therefore unloved. This is already somewhat apparent in our society, as we are currently apt to purchase clothing that has the appearance of wear, when in fact, the jeans may have merely met a pair of scissors, or the hat, a cleansing wash amid stones. Wearing these items may be to impress, as they look as if they have survived a journey through mountainous wilderness, when they’re really just the result of a leisurely drive to the Gap.
Let’s apply wabi-sabi to an unloved aspect of getting older in this society, one that seems to be just as cringe-worthy as aging itself: wrinkles. It’s fair to say that most people that have them want to get rid of them, and they will try any new drug or procedure to smooth their face to a degree that defies physiology. When you realize where how these unwanted “blemishes” form, however, it gets you to think: why would you not want to show the world that you’ve laughed? Why would you hide that you’ve smiled, that you’ve squinted to see the world, or that you’ve shown concern for those that you care about? If Botox induced memory-loss, you wouldn’t trade the experiences that have defined your life for what you think is a superficial enhancement, would you?
The concepts communicated by wabi-sabi go hand in hand with other ways that we can view life, by which we can increase our appreciation of the world around us. Often we hear that people view their existence as a glass that is either half-full or half-empty, denoting whether they approach the world with an optimistic or pessimistic disposition. Regardless of whether you ascribe to either side, why not just be happy that you have a glass? You may think that your lifetime of experiences can be classified as either “good” or “bad,” but this life is of endless possibility, so why not appreciate it for what it is?
The “imperfections” of life can be loved just as well, and they can bolster appreciation for the root goodness that is associated with whatever “bad” thing is happening. Let’s say that your dog has fleas. It’s easy to imagine the frustrations that build from such a simple, common occurrence, but instead of lamenting the affliction, why not think: “I’m grateful to even have a dog. Many people would love to have such a companion but can’t due to money constraints or allergies. To keep its joy in my life, of course I’d be willing to give my dog a bath once in a while.” It’s opportunities like these that we can use to become either disenchanted or enlivened by life. The key to remember is that you have a choice.
Wabi-sabi does not have rules; you don’t have to hire someone to tell you if you’re doing it right, and you won’t be judged if yours doesn’t end up looking like a swan. Just take it with you, and when your tree begins to shed its leaves, when your cat sprouts a few gray hairs, or when the spot on your shoes won’t budge, think of it. If you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, let these reminders guide you to appreciating what you have while you still have it. When time shows you what true beauty is, wabi-sabi.
To understand the meaning of this pair of words, one must first look at each individually. By their Japanese definitions, wabi means harmony, tranquility and peace, while sabi is the flow of time. Literally, it is the beautiful effect that time has on the world. wabi-sabi is a concept of appreciating what isn’t ideal in life, focusing not on what is pristine and manufactured, but rather on what is earthen and exemplary of natural beauty. wabi-sabi embraces the stained, the frayed; the signs of life, rather than that which is unmarked, unused, and, frankly, therefore unloved. This is already somewhat apparent in our society, as we are currently apt to purchase clothing that has the appearance of wear, when in fact, the jeans may have merely met a pair of scissors, or the hat, a cleansing wash amid stones. Wearing these items may be to impress, as they look as if they have survived a journey through mountainous wilderness, when they’re really just the result of a leisurely drive to the Gap.
Let’s apply wabi-sabi to an unloved aspect of getting older in this society, one that seems to be just as cringe-worthy as aging itself: wrinkles. It’s fair to say that most people that have them want to get rid of them, and they will try any new drug or procedure to smooth their face to a degree that defies physiology. When you realize where how these unwanted “blemishes” form, however, it gets you to think: why would you not want to show the world that you’ve laughed? Why would you hide that you’ve smiled, that you’ve squinted to see the world, or that you’ve shown concern for those that you care about? If Botox induced memory-loss, you wouldn’t trade the experiences that have defined your life for what you think is a superficial enhancement, would you?
The concepts communicated by wabi-sabi go hand in hand with other ways that we can view life, by which we can increase our appreciation of the world around us. Often we hear that people view their existence as a glass that is either half-full or half-empty, denoting whether they approach the world with an optimistic or pessimistic disposition. Regardless of whether you ascribe to either side, why not just be happy that you have a glass? You may think that your lifetime of experiences can be classified as either “good” or “bad,” but this life is of endless possibility, so why not appreciate it for what it is?
The “imperfections” of life can be loved just as well, and they can bolster appreciation for the root goodness that is associated with whatever “bad” thing is happening. Let’s say that your dog has fleas. It’s easy to imagine the frustrations that build from such a simple, common occurrence, but instead of lamenting the affliction, why not think: “I’m grateful to even have a dog. Many people would love to have such a companion but can’t due to money constraints or allergies. To keep its joy in my life, of course I’d be willing to give my dog a bath once in a while.” It’s opportunities like these that we can use to become either disenchanted or enlivened by life. The key to remember is that you have a choice.
Wabi-sabi does not have rules; you don’t have to hire someone to tell you if you’re doing it right, and you won’t be judged if yours doesn’t end up looking like a swan. Just take it with you, and when your tree begins to shed its leaves, when your cat sprouts a few gray hairs, or when the spot on your shoes won’t budge, think of it. If you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, let these reminders guide you to appreciating what you have while you still have it. When time shows you what true beauty is, wabi-sabi.
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