Stanley Bing’s “Phoning It In”

Maybe it’s the time of year. Or maybe it’s the time of man, I don’t know. But there’s something going around, and it’s worth evaluating.

I first noticed it in myself, since I’m around myself more than I’m with other people, which may be part of the problem. A certain…inability to take things seriously. Not that I’m taking them lightly. I’m just not taking them.

I called my friend Tom. “I think I’m phoning it in,” I told him. It’s an expression. He’d heard it before.

“Yeah!” he said, brightening the way you do when you hear that somebody else has something that afflicts you. “Are you having trouble focusing on things?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I appear to be having trouble focusing on things.”

“Why do you think that is?” said Tom, but I had lost interest already since we weren’t talking exclusively about me, although we were, sort of.

Full essay found here: http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2002/12/09/333482/index.htm

 

As it might have become apparent from my last few blog posts, I enjoy posts that use style to express confusion. I find confusion to be a delicate springboard for many writers; one that humanizes a narrator and makes an author’s entire piece much more interesting and enjoyable, creating an interest that then catapults the narrator to a position where attentions have been grasped and minds have been engaged. As human beings we gravitate towards hearing and reading things we can relate to and understand and, in effect, to thoughts that appear to come from a vulnerable and humanized source, rather than some highly prestigious renowned  scholar.

The Stanley Bing achieves the tone of confusion and vulnerability by using several different schemes of inversion, along with irony. From the very first sentences, “Maybe it’s the time of year. Or maybe it’s the time of man,” Bing manages to thoroughly confuse readers with his thoughts, juxtaposing a simple common thought/phrase concerning the “time of year”, with a more confusing, philosophical, and wacky concept of “time of man.” The following sentence “I don’t know,” simply is the cherry on top.

Though the first few sentences are confusing and hard to truly grasp and understand, the syntax and writing itself is quite straightforward. This is where irony comes into play. What makes the entire reading truly confusing is the amount of ironic sentences used; all of which are used with a sense of inconfidence and disarray, which makes the reader initially believe the entire article is BS, that the author is spewing gibberish. But as the article continues (skim the article linked above to understand this point) it becomes quite apparent that there is actually an explicit argument and point being made, just in a nontraditional manner. The irony here is that through the use of irony, confusion is expressed in order to make an explicit (and not confused) argument/point. This is the beauty of the style employed in this piece.

Analysis and Imitation: Joan Didion “On Keeping a Notebook”

“That woman Estelle,'” the note reads, “‘is partly the reason why George Sharp and I are separated today.’ Dirty crepe-de-Chine wrapper, hotel bar, Wilmington RR, 9:45 a.m. August Monday morning.“

Since the note is in my notebook, it presumably has some meaning to me. I study it for a long while. At first I have only the most general notion of what I was doing on an August Monday morning in the bar of the hotel across from the Pennsylvania Railroad station in Wilmington, Delaware (waiting for a train? missing one? 1960? 1961? why Wilmington?), but I do remember being there. The woman in the dirty crepe-de-Chine wrapper had come down from her room for a beer, and the bartender had heard before the reason why George Sharp and she were separated today. “Sure,” he said, and went on mopping the floor. “You told me.” At the other end of the bar is a girl. She is talking, pointedly, not to the man beside her but to a cat lying in the triangle of sunlight cast through the open door. She is wearing a plaid silk dress from Peck & Peck, and the hem is coming down.”

Analysis:

In this excerpt, Joan Didion uses very simplistic language, especially in comparison to the syntax she uses in the previous essay I imitated (see my first commonplace blog entry). Her sentences seem to imitate how lost the narrator in the piece is, unaware what’s going on, where he is, and why he has this note in his notebook. He uses the word “presumably” to denote his confusion. This is furthered by the use of questions. Not rhetorical questions, but rather legitimate questions of why things were happening. The narrator then observes small things about his surroundings and those around him, as if he’d never seem it/them before. Or at least, as if he doesn’t remember seeing it all before.

Imitation:

I looked up. I made out the person sitting across from me. Her jawline was defined. Pretty, no doubt. She had a bizarre look plastered across her face, eyebrows scrunched and discerning. Her mouth was moving, I suspect she was saying something, but I couldn’t hear. I glanced to the left. We were in a restaurant. I glance to the right; ah, a fancy restaurant, the kind with waiters and waitresses. I don’t remember ever being in a restaurant with waiters before… Wait. Who was this pretty gal sitting across from me? Her mixed look of confusion and disdain continued. I looked at my hand. A box, velvety black. The kind people usually use for rings. Confused, I reach to open it. The girl across went and hit my hand, repeatedly. Her mouth movements became sharper, quicker. Her eyes were wide. She must be yelling now. I can make out a sound now… “I SAID NO. What is wrong with you!? After you…” Okay that’s not fun, I tune her out again. I realize my cheek hurts; I must’ve been hit there. Slapped? The girl across is now angrily waving a picture of me hugging another girl, she seemed quite pretty too.

“YOU THINK YOU COULD POSSIBLY ASK ME THAT AFTER I FOUND OUT….”

(BTW, the above imitation is complete fiction. Lol)

Analysis of Meg Cabot’s “The Princess Diaries”

“Tuesday, September 23

Sometimes it seems like all I ever do is lie.

My mom thinks I’m repressing my feelings about this. I say to her, “No, Mom, I’m not. I think it’s really neat. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Mom says, “I don’t think you’re being honest with me.”

Then she hands me this book. She tells me she wants me to write down my feelings in this book, since, she says, I obviously don’t feel I can talk about them with her.

She wants me to write down my feelings? Okay, I’ll write down my feelings:

I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S DOING THIS TO ME!

Like everybody doesn’t already think I’m a freak. I’m practically the biggest freak in the entire school. I mean, let’s face it: I’m five foot nine, flat-chested, and a freshman. How much more of a freak could I be?

If people at school find out about this, I’m dead. That’s it. Dead.Oh, God, if you really do exist, please don’t let them find out about this.”

– The Princess Diaries: Volume I, Meg Cabot.

 

This excerpt is from Meg Cabot’s “The Princess Diaries.” The uniquely realness in the tone is extremely noticeable. Colloquial language is used to reduce the footing between the writer and the reader. In fact, no footing seems to exist at all. It is written to be at the exact same level as the reader, with little to no differentiation in status/class/rhetorical setting. The writing is literally what the book’s title says it to be. It is a diary, by definition, a record of the writers innermost thoughts; raw, unedited, unchanged, unfiltered, and simply real. This sense of realness is what makes the entire piece, and the book series itself, so highly riveting. Captivating stories and narration, narrated in this natural thought-process-like style is unique, and difficult to execute in a manner that makes it more compelling than our own daily thoughts and regular conversations; compelling enough to have a followership of readers buying and reading the books.

 

In regards to the textual arena, this piece functions in the informal spectrum of the arena. It’s use of colloquial language, as well as simple diction and word structure all lend towards it’s textual style. This leads into the social aspect of the piece, as it maintains a relatable discourse from the writer to the reader, with its use of basic day-to-day language.

 

Culturally, the piece evokes certain reactions, understandings, and interpretations from readers of a certain culture; specifically, Americans. In the sentence “Like everybody doesn’t already think I’m a freak,” the grammatically incorrect use of the word “like” is used to maintain a sort of “valley-girl,” white, Californian, female tone. Subject matter — being 5’ 9”, flat chested, and a freshman in highschool — are all culturally specific and significant, and might not have much meaning outside of the United States, or at least outside of the western world.

Joan Didion’s “On Self Respect”

“That kind of self-respect is a discipline, a habit of mind that can never be faked but can be developed, trained, coaxed forth. It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my head in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult in the extreme to continue fancying oneself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with ones head in a Food Fair bag. There is a similar case for all the small disciplines, unimportant in themselves; imagine maintaining any kind of swoon, commiserative or carnal, in a cold shower.” Joan Didion “On Self Respect”

 

Full essay found here: http://mallarytenore.com/2008/11/17/an-essay-worth-sharing-joan-didions-on-self-respect/

 

As Didion writes of self-respect, I write of self-worth. Though commonly confused and thought to be meaning the same, self-worth, as I view it, is what one sees as valuable in one’s self and existence. The determination, well-being, sustenance, rigor, and means for all that someone does; all tied into one comprehensive package that determines one’s worth, to his/herself. The most obscenely uncomplicated thing about it all is that what defines a person’s self-worth is none other than themself. The correlation between what one wants their self-worth to be and what it actually is, is exponentially direct. It is a discipline. It is a lifestyle. It is a philosophy of work ethic and desire to accomplish goals and conquer challenges. Recently, I’ve come to understand a new measure or extent of value for myself, after reaching a point in my life that was stuck at an unflattering plateau, dissonant and inactive, stuck in an tepid dull plain, achieving nothing, attaining no higher feats, sitting idle and incongruent with the rest of society. This was the nadir of my existence. This was the epitome of my despondency. But all peaks have a descension, and mine began as I came across a person who saw my worth or potential for self worth to be high, and succeeded in establishing that in me; to accept and believe it. That spurred my ceaseless insistence to salvage, raise, refine, polish what was left of my understanding of self worth. The seed of my now incessant impetus to redefine my ‘self’ was planted, and with the hope that that force remains undeterred; a sort of Newton defined-esque object in motion, to remain in motion. Unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. With a stronger sense of self-worth, a stronger discipline and ethic, such unbalanced forces can’t possibly reach close enough to the force of my conviction to define myself in the spectrum of having high self worth.