the Scott Stein http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/ en-us 2009-04-20T12:04+00:00 National Review publishes my story http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1240179183.shtml ... Scott Stein 2009-04-20T12:04+00:00 National Review has published my new story, "The Big Switch." It's a simple tale of how linguislation turned America downside-up and saved us all.]]> English Tragedy http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1190226941.shtml Okay, letting your blind friend drive your all-terrain vehicle is stupid. No argument there. And no one should be happy when someone dies an unnecessarily violent death. But that's not what... Scott Stein 2007-09-19T18:09+00:00 this story from WTOV Channel 9:
Chief Deputy Allen Haueter said Hoyle was with two friends behind a home on Steubenville Pike when he asked one of his friends if he could ride his ATV.

But Haueter said Hoyle didn’t have a license to drive, and that he was considered legally blind.

Haueter told NEWS9 the men helped Hoyle onto the ATV anyways and warned him to go slow, but Hoyle didn't listen.
Did you read that? Anyways. What the hell is that "s" doing on the end of anyway? This is an NBC affiliate, not a high school television station.

(If someone goes back and removes the "s" by the time you read this and visit the link, you'll have to take my word for it. It says anyways right now.) ]]> The right to curse upheld http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1170522827.shtml Fuck, yeah!... Scott Stein 2007-02-03T17:02+00:00 Fuck, yeah!

If you can't curse at a township meeting, where cursing is probably most called for, where can you curse?]]> In Loving Memory http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1169165016.shtml On the campus of the University of Pennsylvania, outside the entrance of College Hall, surrounding the statue of Benjamin Franklin that tourists sometimes use as a backdrop for photographs, is a... Scott Stein 2007-01-19T00:01+00:00
Attached to little wood stakes in the grass on both sides of the brick path, are laminated pieces of paper, each bearing the name of someone killed in Iraq, along with the date and the cause of death. The names are mostly if not exclusively of Iraqis, of various ages, though many or most are young adults, teens, and children. Some of the causes include tank fire, missile, shrapnel, suicide bomb, execution. I don't know how many of the dead were innocent bystanders and how many were targets, or how many were killed by American forces and how many were killed by militia groups or terrorists, since the displays do not provide a great deal of detail. At the top of each laminated paper is printed: "In Loving Memory."

I first saw the display, which covers a fairly large area and can't be missed as you walk to or by College Hall, a couple of weeks ago. Nothing about it strikes me as particularly noteworthy, except for the "In Loving Memory" headline. I don't think you can have a loving memory of someone you've never met and don't even know. You might regret the war, abhor it, be sad at the deaths, but I don't see how you can have memories--loving or otherwise--that you just don't have. Semantics, of course, but I like to think about words and what they mean, and when someone writes, "In loving memory of my husband of 48 years," it means something very different than that same phrase being used in a protest about people the protesters have never met. Language issues aside, the protest makes its point: A lot of people have been killed in Iraq, one way or another. It doesn't explicitly argue for anything beyond that (implications being obvious), and presumably that is intentional.

Today I noticed a small bit of counter-protest. Taped to a light pole, right next to College Hall and the dozens of "In Loving Memory" stakes, was a small poster depicting a mushroom cloud in full color, red and orange flames. There is very large text that says "In Loving Memory" and beneath, in smaller letters, something like: "of me, and you, and everyone else who will be killed because we didn't stop Iran when we had the chance."

What did you see on your way to work today?]]> wtf?! r u nutz? http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1163255820.shtml I am not looking forward to reading papers handed in by students a few years from now, especially if we go the way of New Zealand. It's hard enough getting students... Scott Stein 2006-11-11T14:11+00:00
New Zealand students may 'text-speak' in exams.]]> Crippled Words (or, Words with Disabilities) http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1158935122.shtml Frank Wilson's blog led me to Andrew Cassel's Philadelphia Inquirer piece, Growing Market for Euphemisms. I wrote an essay a few years back about euphemisms, in which I referred to... Scott Stein 2006-09-22T14:09+00:00 Philadelphia Inquirer piece, Growing Market for Euphemisms. I wrote an essay a few years back about euphemisms, in which I referred to "my friend" (as you can see below). That friend, Chuck Sheehan, passed away (euphemism) almost two years ago, at the age of 33, I think. My forthcoming novel is dedicated in part to his memory. Chuck, who had osteogenesis imperfecta, had read the below and was not offended (in fact, he was the one who pointed me to the misconception about "handicapped"--a misconception he held at the time--when we discussed an early draft). So I'm posting it here:

Crippled Words (or, Words with Disabilities)


Our society is waging a war with the English language on many fronts, and, though some of the attacks might have noble origins, I am not sure all of the battles are winnable. In an effort to help people live to the fullest and feel good about themselves, an assault was launched on the words used to describe people who have permanent physical ailments. But the foe in this case is not just the English language, a formidable enough opponent; reality itself is under attack. And reality is capable of fighting back--the power of words includes their way of meaning what they really mean, regardless of our intentions.

I have a good friend who is--how does one say this these days? It isn’t appropriate to use the cliché, “confined to a wheelchair.” My friend does not live a confined life--he has an important job (I think he gets to fire people), drives a car, is bright and talented, has a wicked sense of humor, and, back in college, could drink most people under the table (sometimes literally). He isn’t “confined” to a wheelchair. But he certainly needs one to get around. He also has to be careful because he has fragile bones and has had frequent operations as a result of the condition with which he was born.

The preceding paragraph was too difficult to write. Not because of the emotional topic (I don’t feel pity when I think of my friend, and I don’t think he wants any, from me or anyone else)--it was difficult to write because society has developed a very sensitive set of rules about what we can call people who are...

What I wanted to say in the difficult second paragraph was this: my friend had a birth defect that left him crippled. But we don’t call people “crippled” anymore. And “birth defect” doesn’t seem particularly sensitive either, though it is accurate enough. Something in his development before birth was defective. Perhaps I shouldn’t be using this kind of language.

At some point, we stopped referring to people as having “birth defects” and as being “cripples.” It was demeaning. It defined them according to a physical condition. My friend isn’t a cripple; he is a person who happens to have a serious physical condition. “Cripple” is not the sum of his existence. I know that. So I understand why some people don’t like the word. Unfortunately for them, reality hasn’t allowed for very effective or acceptable alternatives.

What came after we discarded “crippled”? “Handicapped” was popular for a long time. Webster’s defines a “handicap” as “a race or other competition in which difficulties are imposed on the superior contestants ... to make their chances of winning equal.” A handicapped horse, for example, must wear weights to compensate for its greater speed. This ironic word-choice is evidence of the guilty motives that fuel political correctness. Healthy people felt bad, because they could walk and crippled people could not; they also felt bad because we have an awful word like “crippled.” Their solution was to choose a word, “handicapped,” that implies that there is something innately superior about these people. What’s the big deal? If it makes the healthy and the crippled both feel better, why not use “handicapped,” you might ask.

I don’t object. Let people be called whatever they wish. But reality objects, and soon after, so did the very people who had ordained “handicapped.” Eventually, “handicapped” was no longer an appropriate term to describe people with these physical conditions. How could that be? How could a word that more than implied the innate superiority of the people it was describing be insensitive or have negative connotations? Yet, it did have negative connotations, and had to be discarded.

A popular misconception is that “handicapped” was originally a reference to veterans crippled in World War I who had to hold their caps in their hands as they begged for money. Those who believe this think that “handicapped” was justifiably discarded because it implied that these people could not provide for themselves. However, the euphemism was applied to people well before the war and definitely originated in betting and horse racing. Though some people believe the myth, it is false; perhaps their belief is the result of a rationalization to avoid facing why “handicapped” couldn’t have lasted.

Its replacement, “physically disabled,” was doomed from the beginning. “Disabled” is not very friendly. How could we have chosen a word that sends the message that people are not able to do certain things? We tried “persons with disabilities”--physical condition wasn’t the fundamental fact of a person, just an accessory. This one is still favored by many, and seems a reasonable, inoffensive, and accurate choice.

But some couldn’t get past the stigma of “disability,” so they replaced it with “physically challenged.” This one is ridiculous on its face. Mountain climbers are physically challenged, too. “Physically challenged” might have some lasting power because it tells us precisely nothing about the people it purports to describe. Still, some have recognized that “physically challenged” is not informative enough or is too silly, and have discarded it in favor of “differently-abled.” I don’t know what to say about that one.

There is a simple reason none of these terms have sufficed. The clues were there way back with “handicapped.” If a word with only positive connotations was eventually thought to be insensitive, what word or term had a chance? None of them did, not because the English language doesn’t have enough words, but because reality is not always as easily manipulated by words as some would like.

The reality is that being crippled, or disabled, is negative. It isn’t negative because we use the word “crippled.” It does not become less negative when we use “physically challenged” or “differently-abled.” Every one of us with all of our parts in more or less full working order are happy to be in this condition, and none of us would gladly switch positions with a crippled person, even if we call that person a “person with disability.” Reality is more powerful than word-choice. Being disabled is not a desirable state, and any word or term used to describe that state will take on that undesirability. If tomorrow we begin referring to people in wheelchairs as “sexy” or “rich” or “wonderful,” it will not be long before these words take on negative connotations and are subsequently rejected as being insensitive.

Likewise, we have been unable to sufficiently name those with mental deficiencies. (I am reluctant to include them in the same essay as those with physical disabilities--I can recall my friend describing his frustration when strangers would talk to him as if he were not in full possession of his mental faculties, assuming that because he looked different he could not think well. But the language issues are too similar to be ignored.)

“Retarded” and “slow” have been rejected. “Slow” is an accurate, euphemistic description of somebody whose brain does not work as efficiently as it should, but the reality that it describes is unpleasant, so “slow” was eventually deemed inappropriate. (Saying that a brain “should” work at a certain efficiency is risky, just as we must now put “normal” in quotes to avoid being seen as insensitive.)

Even benign terms like “special education” are losing favor, though there is nothing negative about the word “special.” Parents do not want their children to be in special education classes, so we now have “learning support” teachers and classrooms. Of course, changing what we call things doesn’t make the children better able to learn, but the focus here is on abating our own unearned pangs of guilt and making people feel good, not on learning. How long until “learning support” is looked down upon with disdain? It is undesirable to be mentally retarded or even a little slow, just as it is undesirable to be physically disabled, and whatever words we use to describe these realities will come to embody that same negative undesirability.

This is not to say that people with disabilities or the mentally retarded are themselves negative or undesirable, or that we should ostracize them, or any such thing. There is nothing negative about my friend. All people should be encouraged to live to their potentials, whatever that might be. Perhaps that is why silly and inaccurate euphemisms were sought in the first place, but hiding reality with words is wrong, in the long run helps no one, and does not work.

It is time to start treating people with disabling conditions like people, time to throw away our hypersensitivity and wordplay that imply that they are incapable of facing reality and the challenges it brings. We often refer to people with these conditions as “brave” for just living their lives the best they can; I understand that--we admire those who fight against odds and overcome difficulties. Sometimes I do think that how my friend lives his life is brave, but I know that’s as patronizing as devising silly euphemisms--it is his only life. What choice does he have? ]]> The Language I Speak http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1156611672.shtml I found this via Books, Inq. I'm from Queens, New York, and for a pretentious while was a bit self-conscious about having an "uneducated-sounding accent" (though mine was never that... Scott Stein 2006-08-26T17:08+00:00 Books, Inq. I'm from Queens, New York, and for a pretentious while was a bit self-conscious about having an "uneducated-sounding accent" (though mine was never that strong). I also spent a few (six, not in a row) years in Miami, have lived in Manhattan, and now live near Philadelphia. So, really, it's a wonder I can speak at all. Here are my results (which curiously totals 95%. It seems that I'm an enigma):



Your Linguistic Profile:
50% General American English
30% Yankee
15% Dixie
0% Midwestern
0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?
]]> Kangaroo Court http://scottstein.powerblogs.com/posts/1154990553.shtml “Don’t give us that cock-and-bull story,” the prosecutor said. “We can wait till the cows come home. Let’s talk turkey.”... Scott Stein 2006-08-07T22:08+00:00
“You’re trying to throw me to the lions,” the accused said.

“You’re in the doghouse all right, but I’m giving you a chance to keep the wolf from your door.”

“It’s a fine kettle of fish I’m in.”

The prosecutor was impatient. “Just grab the bull by the horns.”

The accused had to tell the truth. “That night it was raining cats and dogs, so I stopped in for some Wild Turkey—”

“You were at that bar at 6:15 p.m.,” the prosecutor interrupted, “but I guess the early bird catches the worm.”

The accused continued. “I ruled the roost … I was the cat’s meow, and there were plenty of fish in the sea. Besides, though my wife watched me like a hawk, when the cat’s away, the mice will play.

“But I guess birds of a feather flock together, because my wife was there too, with him. And that was a horse of a different color. Though he was strong as an ox, I didn’t play possum. He was a bee in my bonnet, and she had really gotten my goat. Maybe it was like closing the barn door after the horse had run away, but I’d have been a monkey’s uncle if I had let sleeping dogs lie. So, like a bat out of hell and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail I was next to them.

“‘Every dog has his day,’ I said to him. I waited for her to eat crow.

“But she said, ‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’ And then, adding insult, ‘Monkey see, monkey do.’

“He waved his hand at my breath and offered, ‘Hair of the dog that bit you?’

“‘It’s for the birds!’ I told him. Right then I’d quit cold turkey.

“‘Get off your high horse,’ my wife said.

“But he assured her, ‘His bark is worse than his bite. Besides, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,’ and he hugged her.

“He had been my best friend, but I guess only a dog is man’s best friend. I saw that he was really a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So was she. He’d been to my home countless times, like a fox in a henhouse.

“I wanted another chance, but my wife said, ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and a leopard can’t change its spots.’

“So I flipped them the bird and left the bar.”

The prosecutor was silent as a mouse, but then he asked, “Like water off a duck’s back, is that what you’re saying?”

The accused nodded. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m giving you a chance to feather your own nest.”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink … but I miss my wife and wish she were alive. Him too.”

“Spare me the crocodile tears. You know what I think? I think you felt like a black sheep, that this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And I also think your wife was a white elephant, that you wanted the lion’s share of what you’d squirreled away for yourself. It’s sad, because she was a real warhorse, the goose that laid the golden egg. But to you she was just a fly in the ointment, wasn’t she?”

The accused cleared the frog from his throat, and asked, “You really think that I would kill her?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“But my marriage was a sacred cow.”

“What kind of snake oil are you trying to sell? You knew that there was more than one way to skin a cat, didn’t you? You decided to kill two birds with one stone, didn’t you? Didn’t you? We want to know.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” the accused answered.

“That might be, but the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse—I don’t see any witnesses. They’re both food for worms, sleeping with the fishes, gone the way of the Dodo.”

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. The chickens sure have come home to roost. And an elephant never forgets.”

The accused shifted uneasily. “I thought I smelled a rat. What stool pigeon turned me in? Where’s the snake in the grass?”

“You’re a sitting duck,” the prosecutor said.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. I believe you like I trust the boy who cried wolf. Your threats are a paper tiger.”

“This is more fun than a barrel of monkeys,” the prosecutor said, laughing like a hyena. “Let me introduce to you a canary that can sing, a woman with more lives than a cat—your wife.”

She walked into the courtroom and sat in the back row.

The accused said nothing.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” the prosecutor asked.

The accused was a deer caught in the headlights, and decided to cooperate. “You’ve been a busy beaver, and I see that my goose is cooked. I guess there’s no choice but to fish or cut bait.”

But the judge had heard enough, and said to the prosecutor, “It looks like you have all your ducks in a row.”

And the accused howled in horror and was taken away in chains, to spend the dog days of every summer after in a cage not fit for an animal.

-----


"Kangaroo Court" was first published in When Falls the Coliseum: a journal of American culture (or lack thereof). Scott Stein is the author of the novels Mean Martin Manning and Lost.]]>