The class of 1940

From an article in the New York Times on members of the class of 1940 from James Madison High School in Brooklyn, New York, who now gather every two months for dinner:

They were also lucky with their teachers, said Dorothy Fisch Thomashower, the editor of the yearbook, The Log, who went on to become a biographer and book indexer. The Depression, she said, meant that scholars who might have chosen a professorial track ended up teaching in high school.

Every Thursday evening, Mrs. Touster, an English teacher (no one could remember her first name), invited students to her home in the neighborhood, now known as Midwood, for poetry readings or to listen to her collection of classical 78's. "We were 17-year-old kids and we assumed this above-it-all attitude," said Bernice Tansman Levine. "One would sprawl on the steps, another would lay prone in the living room, and she put on this magnificent music."

Because of her, said Mrs. Levine, who spent most of her working life as a state employment counselor, "I don't read Danielle Steel--I read Saul Bellow and Philip Roth."

You can read the article by clicking here.

[To read the Times, use mediajunkie as your name and password.]

"The Scourge of Arial"

From Mark Simonson's essay "The Scourge of Arial":

Arial is everywhere. If you don't know what it is, you don't use a modern personal computer. Arial is a font that is familiar to anyone who uses Microsoft products, whether on a PC or a Mac. It has spread like a virus through the typographic landscape and illustrates the pervasiveness of Microsoft's influence in the world.

Arial's ubiquity is not due to its beauty. It's actually rather homely. Not that homeliness is necessarily a bad thing for a typeface. With typefaces, character and history are just as important. Arial, however, has a rather dubious history and not much character. In fact, Arial is little more than a shameless impostor.

You can read the essay by clicking here.

Perhaps from the Greek

From Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day email:

cronyism \ KROH-nee-iz-um\ noun
: partiality to cronies especially as evidenced in the appointment of political hangers-on to office without regard to their qualifications

Example sentence:
The newly elected governor appointed many of his old pals to prominent positions, prompting accusations of cronyism from his opponents.

Did you know?
"Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him" (Ecclesiasticus 9:10). Practitioners of cronyism would probably agree. The word "cronyism" evolved in the 19th century as a spin-off of "crony," meaning "friend" or "chum." "Crony" originated in England in the 17th century, perhaps as a play on the Greek word "chronios," meaning "long-lasting," from "chronos," meaning "time." Nineteenth-century cronyism was simply friendship, or the ability to make friends. The word didn't turn bad until the mid-20th century, when Americans starting using "cronyism" to refer to the act of playing political favorites.

16 candles

Happy birthday, Ben!

Classical music for beginners

Greg Sandow on classical music for beginners:

So if you want to start listening to classical music, ask yourself what kind of music you already like. Do you like, for instance, passionate music? Then maybe you should start with one of the romantic classical composers, Schubert, Wagner, or Tchaikovsky. Do you like brainy music? Start with Bach.

Though if I had to recommend just one classical CD, or in this case a classical CD set, I'd suggest Bach's Goldberg Variations, in two performances by Glenn Gould, as reissued in a Sony package called A Sense of Wonder, which costs little more than a single CD, and gives you a bonus disc on which Gould talks about the piece.

The Goldberg Variations is an astonishing piece. It's written in short sections, each based on the same musical design; you can hear that, or at least sense it, so you can start to learn something about classical music's structure. The performances are astonishing, too, but also very different. By comparing them, you can start to answer one question beginners often ask, which is how performances of the same piece differ from each other. And since Gould tells you (on the bonus disc) which performance he thinks is better, you can develop your independence as a classical music listener, by deciding whether or not you agree with him.

You can read more by clicking here. (Via Musical Assumptions.)

My two-cents on the Goldbergs can be found here.

Tools for serious readers?

I like Levenger, sort of. It's a source for beautiful furniture, reasonably-priced fountain pens, and dazzling (and, yes, unaffordable) watches. I'm sitting at a Levenger carrel as I'm typing.

The problem with Levenger though is its tendency to turn any human endeavor into a sham--a mere exercise in conspicuous consumption. Consider its new product line: Bookography™, an array of reading-journals and accessories.

The company slogan--"Tools for Serious Readers"--looks pretty ironic in light of Bookography™. "It's never too late--or too early," the catalogue encourages us, "to start keeping a journal of the books you've read and are planning to read, and the truths and pleasure you take from them. We've found [sic] a new and satisfying way to do so, which we call your Bookography."

Oh, my very own Bookography™.

The Bookography™ Journal must be seen to be appreciated (by clicking here). It's a ring-binder with removable pages ($20, Junior; $24, Letter). An optional leather jacket will cost you $78 or $94. There's also Electronic Bookography™ ($50) and a Deluxe Electronic version ($84, for books, "music," and "video"). A scanner ($14) is available to gather online information via barcodes (I'm not kidding).

Each book is allotted a single page, which travels from section to section of the Journal. The page begins in the "List of Candidates" (books you want to read). Note that a true list would gather many titles on a single page. With Bookography™, you've already devoted a page to a single book you might never read (you get only fifty pages, with "refills" available).

In an ideal narrative, the page travels to the "Library of Candidates" (books you've "acquired"), then to the books you're "Now Reading" (with a section for "Castaways," "proof of your sampling enough good titles"), then to "Après Reading" (while you review the book "a few times at lengthening intervals"), and, finally, to your "Living Library" ("most pages will live here").

The fill-in-the-blanks layout of the book page itself reminds me of the pages my children were filling out not too long ago in elementary school. To wit:

"My reason for wanting to read it": One of the imaginary people whose handwriting graces Levenger catalogue photos has written, in ladylike script, "Sounds like fascinating history."

"Notes as I go": Three lines, with an arrow to the back of the page.

"My review notes": Another three lines, another arrow.

(And here I'm really reminded of elementary school: "Use the back if you need more space!")

"I'll recommend this book to," "I'll buy this book for," "This book led me to these books," "This book led me to these experiences or interests": These prompts are each allotted a single line. (All that's missing is "I liked this book because.") There's no arrow next to "This book led me to these experiences or interests." Levenger customers must be pretty darn succinct (or else they write more about their experiences in their leather-bound journals).

Here's a different approach to keeping a reading-journal. Keep a list of books you might want to read (an index card, text file, or Palm memo will do just fine). Buy a notebook. Buy or borrow some books. Read. Write.

It surprised me at first that the Levenger catalogue gives away the whole idea of Bookography™ by showing the page format in a large, easy-to-read photograph. There's nothing to stop someone who really wants to do a Bookography™ Journal from typing out a reasonable facsimile, printing copies, punching holes, and getting started. But Levenger must know its customers well enough to know that what they're really after is the feeling that comes with possessing this, uhh, tool. A tool for a serious reader? A tool for a serious dilettante, I'm afraid.

An aside: For several years I asked students in my classes to keep reading-journals--tremendously rewarding for them to write, tremendously exhausting for me to read. The minimum entry was 400 words per class (in college classes meeting three times a week). I graded journals on length, relevance, and completeness. A finished journal typically filled one or more two-inch looseleaf binders. That's what I call a tool for a serious reader.

I dream of Mingus

A dream with Charles Mingus in it: He and I are sitting in a dark room with floor-to-ceiling red drapes. There are bookshelves attached to metal posts on one wall. Mingus is methodically signing LPs (not mine) with a Sharpie and talking: "Remember--what I will be tomorrow, you have already been." The words in this dream seem backwards (me ahead of him?), but my guess is that they're related to the multiple selves in the opening paragraphs of Mingus' Beneath the Underdog (1971):

"In other words, I am three. One man stands forever in the middle, unconcerned, unmoved, watching, waiting to be allowed to express what he sees to the other two. The second man is like a frightened animal that attacks for fear of being attacked. Then there's an over-loving gentle person who lets people into the uttermost sacred temple of his being and he'll take insults and be trusting and sign contracts without reading them and get talked down to working cheap or for nothing, and when he realizes what's been done to him he feels like killing and destroying everything around him including himself for being so stupid. But he can't--he goes back inside himself."      "Which one is real?"      "They're all real."

Moxie

From Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day service:

The Word of the Day for May 6 is:

moxie \MAHK-see\ noun
1 : energy, pep
*2 : courage, determination
3 : know-how, expertise

Example sentence:
It took a lot of moxie for Brandon to go back to school to follow his dream of becoming a lawyer.

Did you know?
"Hot roasted peanuts! Fresh popcorn! Ice-cold Moxie!" You might have heard such a vendor's cry at a baseball game--if you attended one in 1924. That was the heyday of the soft drink called "Moxie," which some claim outsold Coca-Cola at the height of its popularity. The beverage was a favorite of American writer E.B. White, who wrote, "Moxie contains gentian root, which is the path to the good life. This was known in the second century before Christ and is a boon to me today." By 1930, "moxie" had become a slang term for nerve and verve, perhaps because some people thought the drink was a tonic that could cure virtually any ill and bring vim back to even the most lethargic individual.

Here in the midwest, you can find Moxie in stores that carry "specialty sodas." Moxie must be tasted to be believed.

Words, words, words

From a New York Times article, "SAT Essay Test Rewards Length and Ignores Errors":

In the next weeks, Dr. Perelman studied every graded sample SAT essay that the College Board made public. He looked at the 15 samples in the ScoreWrite book that the College Board distributed to high schools nationwide to prepare students for the new writing section. He reviewed the 23 graded essays on the College Board Web site meant as a guide for students and the 16 writing "anchor" samples the College Board used to train graders to properly mark essays.

He was stunned by how complete the correlation was between length and score. "I have never found a quantifiable predictor in 25 years of grading that was anywhere near as strong as this one," he said. "If you just graded them based on length without ever reading them, you'd be right over 90 percent of the time." The shortest essays, typically 100 words, got the lowest grade of one. The longest, about 400 words, got the top grade of six. In between, there was virtually a direct match between length and grade.

He was also struck by all the factual errors in even the top essays. An essay on the Civil War, given a perfect six, describes the nation being changed forever by the "firing of two shots at Fort Sumter in late 1862." (Actually, it was in early 1861, and, according to "Battle Cry of Freedom" by James M. McPherson, it was "33 hours of bombardment by 4,000 shot and shells.")

Dr. Perelman contacted the College Board and was surprised to learn that on the new SAT essay, students are not penalized for incorrect facts. The official guide for scorers explains: "Writers may make errors in facts or information that do not affect the quality of their essays. For example, a writer may state 'The American Revolution began in 1842' or '"Anna Karenina," a play by the French author Joseph Conrad, was a very upbeat literary work.'" (Actually, that's 1775; a novel by the Russian Leo Tolstoy; and poor Anna hurls herself under a train.) No matter. "You are scoring the writing, and not the correctness of facts."

How to prepare for such an essay? "I would advise writing as long as possible," said Dr. Perelman, "and include lots of facts, even if they're made up." This, of course, is not what he teaches his M.I.T. students. "It's exactly what we don't want to teach our kids," he said.

You can read the article by clicking here.

Mixed metaphors

From an article in the Orlando Sentinel on saxophonist Branford Marsalis' explorations of the classical repertoire:

So, Marsalis embraced the crucible to propel himself into a higher orbit.

Yikes!

[Thanks to my dad for sending this article my way.]