A long, long time ago, a popular singer by the name of Madonna released an uncatchy song attached to a bizarre, super expensive video. Today is the last day that I’m using words…. Some words might be nice to explain the birds flying from out of your stomach, but cools. Lost their meaning…. don’t function anymore.
There are times when I agree. I love language. I wish I knew more languages. English, as clumsy as it is, still has a wonderful potential to dazzle me. Like I said, I can’t do rap because the lyrics will get stuck in my head and I’ll just ruminate over them until I go crazy and start singing to total strangers. And Shakespeare? I know we love Shakespeare, but I know if I got too close, I’d just become obsessed, desperate to memorize a body of work that threatens to make all original communication unnecessary (I was seriously fighting back tears after Hamlet in New York. I hate that I like Jude Law).
But, after a few weeks of casual observations of other people’s conversations, hearing about a person’s attempts at communication with other people, and even trying to communicate myself in certain situations, I wonder if Bjork (the lyricist for Bedtime Story) and Madonna (who allegedly changed some of the lyrics and altered Bjork’s intent) are right.
Yesterday, I watched as an awkward guy tried to tutor an out-of-his-league classmate in accounting. I feel strangely privileged to have witnessed such a cliche, now that I’m fascinated by this sort of thing. Throughout the conversation, the guy seemed to be throwing desperate hints out that he wanted this relationship to extend beyond tutoring. He told her she could text him any time, if she needed help on other problems. She told him that she sometimes figures out stuff while taking a shower. He had no response. He told her how often female friends of his call him when they’re too drunk to drive and are afraid of going home with a guy they’ve been fooling around with at the clubs. He races to their rescue, even though he lives ten minutes (actually, it’s twenty) away. He’s dependable, smart, devoted, (apparently) insomniac, and he’s got access to some amazing financial calculation apps for the iphone. Message to girl: he’s the perfect boyfriend! Except he’s too eager, too awkward, and way too useful. Personally, I like that in a man, but I don’t know that I want that in a casual tutor. Meanwhile, she did everything she could to reinforce his role as the intelligent guy. She played with her hair and said things like, “You’re soooo smart! I could never have figured out half of this without you!” She mentioned that her friends were always going home with strange guys and that it was stupid, but what can you do? They’re, like, stupid, you know, like, girls. tee hee. She was the damsel in distress. He was the Knight in shining armor.
Normally, I’d have to excuse myself to puke, but for some reason, I kept it down. The more she emphasized her helplessness, the more he emphasized his helpfulness. In the end, though, I doubt he’ll get what he wants. She, however, will probably get her homework done for her, get to cheat off of him during class, and maybe even get bootlegged copies of Hollywood blockbusters for free.
Awesome.
Couldn’t he have just said, “Hey! I want to be your boyfriend.” ??? Couldn’t she have just said, “I don’t want to learn anything. I’m just trying to get a job in a field that will put me in close proximity with rich men?”
Obviously not.
And still, all this insinuation… I realized the reason I love language is because it has the power to cut through the bull shit. I love reading a passage and thinking, That’s exactly how I feel. It’s so intimate. But we’re not a direct species. Candor is an indulgence. Insinuation is the way of the world.
On the flipside, that intimate connection I feel upon encountering the perfect phrase only happens because I am somehow receptive to it. Not everyone will be ready or even willing to absorb something as gorgeous as a Martin Luther King sermon or a Dorothy Parker one-liner or an observation by Balzac. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear, said someone at some point. Maybe that applies to writers and readers.
And maybe the best of verbal and written communication will never achieve what body language and insinuation can. What a shame.
However, the most excruciating and wonderful internal dilemmas often stem from wondering about words and intentions. As Talleyrand said, “We were given speech to hide our thoughts.”
From ourselves as well?
How can we have nothing to say when we have so much nothing to say?
No comments:
Post a Comment