We're All Special; Or, The Moral of "Harrison Bergeron"

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Apropos this blog entry from last month; And apropos the idea that we're all "special" and therefore presumably equal, or at least equally special; And apropos the corollary that anything especially "special" is therefore verboten, my husband mentioned "Harrison Bergeron," a short story written by Kurt Vonnegut in 1961. (*1)

The story is sufficiently "special" that it merits its own Wikipedia entry, which is here. Read it and ponder. Or, ya know, weep.

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*1: The subject came up when my husband, who is a philosopher, wondered aloud how his students, who are mostly young enough to be his grand-children, could engage with Facebook, Twitter, etc., and still find the long moments of deep concentration necessary for substantive thought.

WHOOOO HOOOO!

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It's March 1. And if you live in the upper midwest, that means one thing:

Winter is over.

Yeah, it'll still be cold for another month. We may have another blizzard or two.

But none of it will amount to much and rather than signify the beginning of months of the same, they'll signify minor roadblocks en route to daffodils, leaf sprouts, and puffy clouds skittering across pale blue sky.

Bliss.

Notes From the Realm of the Pathetic

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Hey, you! Take THAT!

Twittering stems from a lack of identity. It’s a constant update of who you are, what you are, where you are. Nobody would Twitter if they had a strong sense of identity.

And:

[Twitter] is a giant baby monitor.

Want more? Take THIS!

We Twitter to reassure ourselves that we are alive.

Auuggghhhhhh......... Please! Stop! Please, I beg you . . . Allow me to save what's left of my feeble, insecure, infantile identity.

Tip o' the mug to Moby Lives.

Twitter Is For the Cool Kids. Facebook Is . . . .Not?

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Heee heee..... This is truly funny -- and for all I know, maybe even true.

Honesty compels me to disclose, re. Facebook, that I set up an account only so that -- I could see photos of our new (and probably only) grandchild. His parents, being, ahem, somewhat younger, informed us it would be easier to stay in touch that way. (Apparently not, however: So far they've I-phoned us every photo of the baby BEFORE they've posted it at F'book.)

Tip o' the mug to Stan for sending me to this hoot-inducing article -- Stan,who claims to be older than me, but I don't believe it. (My main question, however, is this: Why in the world am I suddenly so aware of my age??? It's something I otherwise rarely think about. Is Twitter inducing age-pains?)

The Never-Ending Battle Between Professors and Students

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Last week, there was an unintentionally hilarious article in the New York Times about the on-going debate over grading, students, and expectations. No surprise, among the denizens of academia -- and the escapees like me -- this provoked a fair amount of commentary. I

f you're interested, there's this at Scholars & Rogues. (The comments will provide considerable entertainment because the back-and-forth between and among commentators turned into a kids versus oldsters battle.)

Then there's this from the always-worth-reading Alan Jacobs, who also has a link to an equally hilarious response from a writer for The New Republic.