It’s been my experience that explaining your profession to friends and family (especially if you’re in the humanities) is often accompanied with a justification. You can usually expect to make some quip about loving to read, try to explain why business school doesn’t interest you, or get defensive about whether or not English is a “real major.” One such recent encounter illustrated to me how definitions can incite disagreements—particularly when the definition involves your field of work.
Having been an adjunct lecturer in a First Year Writing program this past year, I worked alongside other instructors with varying academic backgrounds in English other than Rhetoric. One friend, and colleague, Nick (who said I could use his real name), holds an MA in Creative Writing, and one day in our shared office space offered to read over a personal statement I was writing for grad school. I willingly accepted his offer, and within two minutes he nodded, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. I asked what he thought, and he said, “I mean, it’s kind of bullshit, but it’s probably what they want, so yeah.” Feeling shell-shocked, I asked him what he meant and he coolly explained, “Well, Rhetoric is bullshit.”
Ta-Nehisi Coates’ June 2014 Atlantic Monthly article has rekindled and old heated debate about reparations. The print issue with its black background and provocative title written in white and red letters, “250 years of slavery. 90 years of Jim Crow. 60 years of separate but equal. 35 years of state-sanctioned redlining. Until we reckon with the compounding moral debts of our ancestors, America will never be whole. The Case for Reparations,” has set several copies-sold milestones for the publication. Despite Coates’ concern with an old conversation, this article has resonated with many writers and journalists through articles, blogs, and talk show conversations defending or decrying his argument. The essay is massive in terms of length compared to most articles. Coates’ essay takes up over 16 pages in the magazine and uses over 16,000 words.
In a recent discussion of the health of the earth on his show, Last Week Tonight, John Oliver attempts, within five minutes, to tackle the entirety of the “scientific controversy” on climate change. In doing so, he runs headlong into an issue which rhetoricians and scientists have been puzzling over for years: exigence.
Oliver opens by quoting a recent interview with President Obama, who states, “This isn’t something in the distant future. Climate change is already effecting us now.”
“Now,” says Oliver, “that is a pretty smart move Obama. Because we’ve all shown we can’t be trusted with the future tense.”
Oliver is a pretty savvy political commentator, and he uses the full leeway granted by HBO to push the show, both in terms of topical choices and the language used to discuss these topics. But, in this instance, Oliver has chosen to focus on the problem of “now,” or what rhetoricians might refer to as exigence.
There are moments in life where you can anticipate a question that will be asked of you: “How is your dissertation going?” and “Are you ready for the holidays?” among others. In these cases, it is best to have a sound bite prepared in advance.
Upon moving to the San Francisco Bay Area, one must be prepared to answer the question, “What do you think about it here?”
Perhaps at this moment the Californian expects to hear impressions of the abundance of sunshine, organic foods, and bicycles in the area. But this is not the answer they will receive, for a true rhetorician will instead comment on the abundance of pedantic signage in the San Francisco Bay Area.
The degree to which this will disappoint the person asking the question is the subject of another post; what is interesting to note here is (a) the conspicuous role that signage plays in regulating public life in the Bay Area and (b) how it appears at all levels of authority – from being legislatively encoded to originating locally. It is especially prevalent in public restrooms (but does not quite qualify as latrinalia as referenced in this post, since it comes from property owners rather than users). The signage takes on the mantle of an ark bearing the diverse rhetorical preferences of the owners, while the underlying message remains essentially the same: know and obey the rules.Read more…
This weekend at the Grammy Awards, Seattle hip-hop duo Macklemore and Ryan Lewis won pretty big. They won four awards, including Best Rap Album, Best Rap Song, Best Rap Performance (which is different than a “song,” apparently, but it’s the Grammys and you probably should’ve learned in like middle school that almost nothing about them makes any sense, so whatever), and Best New Artist. These trophies gave the duo an even bigger bully pulpit for their performance of their song “Same Love” later in the night, during which 33 couples, gay and straight, were married by Queen Latifah, by the power vested in her by the state of being Queen Latifah.
If that sounds kind of surreal and bizarre, it’s because it was. And it got even more bizarre when Madonna joined them on stage, dressed like Colonel Sanders, carrying a cane, and quite possibly wearing a grill (I can’t tell from the video, but she certainly was earlier in the evening). But bizarre or not, the performance made a statement, and though I’ve long been rolling my eyes at “Same Love,” I found myself pleased with the showboat-y-ness of it all.
Have you ever taken a “selfie”? It’s the new craze right now. The camera lens is flipped and instead of taking a picture of what’s in front of you, you snap a picture of you. When in November 2013, the Oxford English Dictionary welcomed “selfie” into the “you’re-an-official-international-word-club”, people had plenty to say.