Todo Tiene Su Como-Se-Llama

In Which Everybody Wins

One more hurdle was . . . hurdled today: My History of the English Language group presentation, (which I will tell you about shortly). But first, a little background . . .

In my group were Martinez, Bolt, Blondie, and Trina . . . each of them had written papers as follows: Euphemisms, Apostrophes, English as a second language, and Instant Messenger English. If you haven't seen my paper, back up a coupla posts and you'll find it . . . for the sake of being complete, it was about Allusions. We were required to creatively present our papers to the class together in 30-45 minutes without simply standing up and reading them.

Well, the first idea that we came up with in our initial brainstorming session was to run a mock trial of some sort, and eventually we decided to put The English Teacher on trial for not doing his job in preparing people to enter a world where they are required to communicate. Each one of us would be witnesses at the trial, and thus the information in our papers would come out in what we hoped would be an entertaining way.

The next thing to worry about was the matter of visitors. Dr. Watson wanted an audience of at least one visitor per group member, and realizing that we could not interrogate ourselves as witnesses, we settled on the idea of having our guests fill the remaining courtroom roles. It was here that I leapt into action, wanting to be sure that I had reliable and entertaining people waiting in the wings to fill the proper places.

Of course, two of the first names to come into my mind were Gallagher and Wilson . . . I mean, they're my roommates and good friends, they have no class during this period, and I act with them regularly (y'know, like every week). Randy was another obvious choice, always a solid pick in a pinch. And no presentation would truly be complete without a couple of random professors involved . . . neither Batts nor Solganick have a class during that period, and they courteously agreed to be involved.

After further consideration (this part wasn't difficult . . . I have a bit of experience at casting parts) I placed Wilson and Gallagher in the roles of the Prosecution and the Defense, respectively. Randy became our bailiff, Dr. Batts was the judge, and Dr. Solganick was the defendant. So far, so good . . . but we needed a script, and each witness would have to write their own parts. I volunteered to splice them together provided I got them by Sunday afternoon at 2, and Martinez volunteered to help.

Come Sunday afternoon, we were hard at work in the computer labs, carefully grooming the script. Martinez went through and standardized all of the courtroom jargon, adding things like the swearing in of witnesses and the reading of the charges. We rewrote and corrected whatever seemed to require it . . . particularly the dialogue involving Gallagher and Wilson. Then we came up with closing arguments for both sides. The result was a 16-page script which we were fairly satisfied with. We all rehearsed it that night (sans the Good Doctors) and it seemed to go well . . . I thought of an extra gag that I wanted to add, to my portion with Wilson, so that went in for the next day.

And then, Wilson and Gallagher started getting creative. That's what I love about my friends . . . Most friends will be willing to pop into your presentation if you need some help, but I ask you, how many can and will provide valuable creative input and then see that it gets implemented? Wilson, of course, planned to wear his black suit . . . and, as I mostly sat and looked on (there was a bit of interjection, but mostly I was just laughing), Wilson and Gallagher pulled together a respectable-hippy ensemble. We decided that Gallagher (what with his ponytail and all) could be the laid-back hippy lawyer and he wound up with sunglasses, a headband, a red Hawaiian shirt (from Martinez), a blue tie, khaki pants, and no shoes or socks. The effect worked shockingly well. Randy also dressed the part of a bailiff, and Dr. Batts, of course, wore his black academic robes.

Trina and Blondie didn't really do anything special, nor did they need to, but Bolt was heavily bandaged and walked with a limp. Martinez wore a dress shirt and tie. I . . . wore my usual hobo-ish outfit, plus I had the scarlet letter "A" on my chest and I carried a book, (it was The Sorrows of Young Werther, which I am reading at the moment, not that anyone could tell). Really the "A" was the only different thing.

After the ceremony of leading in the defendant, rising for the judge, and so forth, the presentation proceeded as planned. Trina had a number of large cards with things like "LOL" and ":D" drawn on them. She punctuated her testimony by holding them up, and it was fairly amusing.

Christina . . . talked about ESL. It was functional, and would have been really boring without the rewrite and the lawyers.

Bolt was hilarious. The bailiff had to move the bandages away from his mouth so he could be understood when he was sworn in. His testimony (aside from containing a history of the apostrophe, etc.) told the sad tale of his abduction and subsequent torture by members of the ultra-militant Apostrophe Protection Society because of crimes against said punctuation mark. As he described the pain and suffering he experienced during his "reeducation" I felt tears coming to my eyes. It was just that funny.

Martinez was quite amusing as well, as everyone knew he would be when he replied to the swearing in by euphemising the phrase. He did well, hitting everything from death and bodily functions to . . . ummm . . . statutory rape. And then it was my turn. Right before class started, Dr. Batts had gushed about the joys of drama allowing you to get outside yourself and be someone else for awhile. As I walked to the witness stand, my nose buried in Goethe's Werther, I wondered how many people in the classroom would realize just how close to type I had cast myself. And then I didn't have time to wonder anymore because I was too busy enjoying myself. My portion of the script is included below the fold.

I don't know precisely what effect Dr. Batts was going for, but he fairly nailed pompous, pontificating, and pedantic (this worked perfectly for the role). Wilson was suitably . . . "bulldog-ish" in his hounding and worrying of the witnesses. And he had that whole dry delivery of his going for him. Gallagher was . . . Gallagher was a hippy. He couldn't even stand up without getting people to laugh. Referring to the judge as "man" (as in "I object, man!") on multiple occasions was a nice touch.

After the passionately-delivered closing arguments, the jury (that is to say, the class) was given three minutes to decide the guilt or innocence of The English Teacher. Audience participation was extremely minimal. And Gallagher lost because, of course, everybody wanted to crucify Solganick. Two things in particular really didn't help: First, we had Mrs. Stuckey (another English teacher) in the audience, and she wanted blood. Second, Solganick stood up to say a few words in his own defense. He was doomed.

Martinez had written up a sentence in case it was needed, and one portion of it declared that Solganick was required to serve "12 years in the Center for Delinquents and Cultural Losers." Dr. Watson, who was sitting near me, muttered, "Oh, so he'll be staying here then." I have no idea what happened for the next thirty seconds or so . . . that was too funny.

The proceedings came to a close and Dr. Watson handed us our grade (he keeps notes during the presentation and assigns a grade on the spot). We got 100!!! This is my third class with Dr. Watson, and it is the second 100 I have received from him, ever! He grades group presentations like a maniac . . . and who could blame him for being a hardened critic? He must see a couple dozen of the lousy things every semester!

There were various comments scrawled here and there on the slip of paper with the grade, but the one that I remember verbatim is "No food, but a near perfect presentation . . ." It positively warmed my heart, and we were sure to heartily thank all of our wonderful guests for their help. I just thought it was insanely cool that we had 2/3 of the English department (not counting adjuncts) present for the proceedings. And the ones who couldn't be there certainly heard all about it . . . Dr. Olson, for instance, was driving out of the parking lot as Gallagher and I were walking to SAGA later on, and she called out congratulations. It was truly a triumph and a joy, and I left class a happy man.

Judge: Next witness.

Bailiff: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Wheeler: As God’s my witness!

Prosecuting Attorney: State your name for the record, please.

W: Call me Ishmael.

P: Sir, would you please tell the court what your occupation is?

W: Well, thanks to a rather cruel and ironic twist of fate, I work closely with engineers, editing and refining technical reports and the like so that they will be both literate and intelligible. This requires a number of communication skills and the ability to relate to my co-workers on some level.

P: And how well do you relate to your co-workers?

W: [dirty look]

P: Ah. I see. [awkward pause] Do you think the engineers will ever find common ground with you?

W: Nevermore! Nevermore!

P: Describe your education to us, please.

W: What do you mean?

P: Well, tell us about your college years.

W: They were the best of times; they were the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,
I had everything before me; I had nothing before me,
I was going direct to Heaven; I was going direct to—

P: That will do, sir!

W: Sorry, sorry. But you see a bit of my problem . . .

P: Precisely what is your problem?

W: I have read too many books. Large portions of my conversation consist almost entirely of allusion. Half the time, no one seems to understand what I’m talking about . . . and for the rest, nobody gets my jokes! Oh, the horror! The horror!

P: Mr. Ishmael, please control yourself!

W: That’s just it! Don’t you see? My name isn’t Ishmael at all! It’s Jared. I couldn’t resist making a reference to a book when they asked me my name . . . and you didn’t get it!

P: Hmmm . . . I’m beginning to see what you mean. I suppose that red “A” on your chest has something to do with this?

W: Yeah! It’s the scarlet letter that brands me as an Allusionist . . . I wear it as a mark of eternal shame in reference to the-- you have no idea what I’m talking about do you?

P: Yes, actually . . . rings a bell from high school.

W: Thank you! Thank you!

P: Rosethorn . . .? Something . . .?

W: No. No. Just . . . stop.

P: How did you come to be in this condition?

W: Through the compulsory study of literature, taught in English classes by English teachers.

P: Could you elaborate, Mr. Wheeler?

W: Certainly.

P [after a brief pause]: Would you elaborate?

W: Why, yes. Of course.

P [after another brief pause]: Elaborate!

W: Oh. Sorry. Well, from the moment I learned to read in school I was always at it. My teachers pushed piece after piece of magnificent literature under my nose. It became a never-ending cycle: Read. Write. Discuss. Read. Write. Discuss. Read. Write. Discuss . . . On and on and on until, at last, I came to enjoy it! These were the things I was told that I needed to know: important themes . . . great ideas . . . so many famous quotes! I liked knowing them. I could converse with my teachers and they understood me. In college, the problem only got worse . . . many of my friends had similar fields of study, and we would go back and forth, back and forth . . . spouting the famous words of the great writers to one another . . . working them into everyday conversation. It was a game at first, albeit an exclusive one, but recreation turned into addiction, and I had no idea what I was doing to myself until I had graduated and it was too late.

P: Tell us a bit more about that.

W: Well, I already told you a bit. I have a hard time connecting with anyone who isn’t widely read. They don’t laugh at my jokes . . . most of the time they have no idea that I’ve even made one! I can’t speak efficiently anymore because I spend all my time explaining allusions or simply coming up with my own inferior words to get across what I mean. I’m miserable.

P: How does allusion block communication, exactly?

W: Consider, if you will, Darmok and Jilad at Tenagra.

P: What?

W: Temba, his arms open.

P: Huh?

W: Shaka, when the walls fell!

P: Mr. Wheeler, what are you talking about?!

W: *sigh* Nevermind.

P: So, to summarize, you feel that the accused has not equipped you properly to relate effectively with the common man using the language you both share?

W: Yes. I would say so.

P [to Defense Attorney]: Your witness.

D: Mr. Wheeler, I am intrigued by your statement of a few moments ago . . . That you have difficulty forging connections with others. Tell me, has this always been the case?

W: Oh, no. As I said, when I was—indeed, when I am—around people who share similar experiences and similar knowledge we become fast friends, and understand each other perfectly even after a short period of time.

D: So, far from blocking connection in such situations, your frequent use of allusion even expedites it?

W: Yes.

D: Why is that, do you think?

W: Well, I . . . ummm . . . That is to say . . . I’d have to give it some thought, I suppose.

D: You can’t explain it?

W: Well, it’s . . . slightly complicated, and not the sort of the thing I am prepared to thoroughly address at a moment’s notice.

D: Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Allow me to call your attention to Exhibit R . . . a paper written by you on this very subject for Dr. Watson’s History of the English Language class near the end of the year 2004.

W: Let me see that . . . [leafs through it] Of course! I remember this! It came due, along with several other papers, shortly before Thanksgiving weekend.

D: Do I detect a tinge of bitterness in your tone?

W [clears throat]: No. No. Not at all.

D: Very well. Could you explain your views on allusion as expressed in this paper?

W: Yes, I could.

D [after brief pause]: Would you?

W: Of course, sir. You have only to ask.

D [through gritted teeth]: All right. This is me, asking you to explain your paper. Explain.

W: Okay. [insert elaboration here: Discussion of possible analogous nature of cliché and myth and how allusion is and can be used as an effective method of communication. End with something like:] “And that is roughly . . . ‘the gist.’”

D: I see. Mr. Wheeler, you say here in your paper that we should, quote, “learn as much as we can about our own cultural history and literature, and those of others; use our knowledge to gain understanding of and to foster communication and connection with others; but not make the mistake of building walls with incomprehensible words, for that flies in the face of everything that makes language, myth, and allusion what they are,” end quote.

W [squirming]: Yeah . . . Sorry. I was a bit of a sentimentalist when I was in college.

D: Quite. Do you still believe this?

W: Well, yes, I suppose so . . . in theory.

D: It seems to me then, Mr. Wheeler, that my client has had little or nothing to do with your problems. After all, you did write this for an English class, and it is not my client’s fault if you have failed to follow your own advice.

W: I guess not.

D: No further questions, your honor.

Posted by Jared at December 6, 2004 04:41 PM | TrackBack