As I watched these two men chat about a few syllabus weeks, and as the one on the left comes upon one week, he recalls that his teacher says that after they look over the modules, they'll come to class next week to talk about abandonment. I think that abandonment strikes the two as humorous because abandonment is an uncomfortable topic, but in a way that is not offensive to either of the two of them, qualifying as a benign violation. It also reflects on the truth and pain theory, though I do not know the background of these men, so I cannot say how strongly they relate to the sentiment of being abandoned.

A Favorite Book

            My favorite book that I’ve ever read is William Faulkner’s Light in August because of its ability to present a realistic depiction of the world in which Faulkner lived (ie. the Deep South) while also shedding light upon many of the truths and paradoxes of our world and behaviors.

            One passage I remember in particular is the passage when Hightower is looking out from his high tower (pun exponentially much intended) upon the street, seeing the old and fading advertisement he had made to promote art classes he was teaching. At this point in the book (it’s fairly early on), we don’t know too much about Hightower’s character, so the eeriness of this chapter as he watches the sunset on his reminiscences strikes us with yet more distrust and uncertainty since nothing in the book has been guaranteed to be right from one perspective up until this point. We find out that Hightower has been ostracized from the town because of his wife’s formerly adulterous nature—I say formerly because she was found dead in Memphis, the newspaper being the medium through which the people of Jefferson found out about this fiasco. The townsfolk then begin to gossip about Hightower’s sexual life with a black women (heaven forbid; the book was written somewhere between the late 1920’s and early 1930’s).

            While this is mostly mere summary, I wanted to point out the inherent truths presented in just a summary of the pristinely worded work of art that Faulkner created in Light in August. First, from my own experience of living in Memphis for three years, the Mid-South can be operate in the mode of facades, assuming things to be true of people based on outside appearances and quickly judging and spreading rumors about such spot-analysis without so much as a passing thought of guilt. This truth is reflected in the way that the townsfolk quickly get Hightower fired from his job as a minister due to his wife’s actions and ostracize him from group activities. Moreover, the Ku Klux Klan beat him with sticks due to the gossip being spread about his relations with his African-American maid (if only he were Bill Clinton, he would “not have [had] sexual relations with that woman”). Second, this section of the book reflects incredibly clearly the imminent racism of the South in the 1930’s both by noting the relations with his servant as well as in the prominence of the KKK. Faulkner seems to be advocating against such racism in a mild satire of what the South looks like to him (race is one of the major themes of the book).

            Aside from this passage, I will note the eloquence with which Faulkner writes this book. The book is written in a stream-of-consciousness fashion (less so than his As I Lay Dying) and out of chronological order, throwing the reader through a loop in his or her attempts to understand the book. Additionally, the book reads like a poem: for 426 pages, every word is chosen carefully to have numerous meanings that all apply to the situation at hand and provide numerous insights into the characters and plotline on subtle levels. No wonder it took an entire wall in his house to map out the storyline for this book! To be honest, I’m mildly advertising this book as a great read here, but I enjoyed his prose and insights more than I have any other writer I’ve read.

Learning Experience 3

            During the rehearsal process for Giselle, the classical ballet piece in which I was cast this semester, I had a discussion with one of the rehearsal directors about my work as a partner in the piece. I have always prided myself on the amount of care I have for my partner and her safety over mine and on my ability to generally keep my partner on balance and safe. However, I have far less experience in classical partnering than I do in other areas, and this was showing to my professor as she informed me that I was making both her and my partner nervous, a sentiment of which I was most definitely not aware. My teacher began to outline what I needed to fix, which principally involved being firmer in the way in which I held my partner, and I began to reflect upon my work in relation to her corrections.

            For me, this was a turning point in the way I partnered. Up until this point, my philosophy of ballet partnering was to be delicate with the woman so that I wouldn’t bruise her with my hands or harm her in any way—my guess is that this premise simply stems from gentlemanly conduct and thought process that is valued in our society. Unfortunately, this way of thinking and working simply does not work in the classical partnering environment in which the woman needs to feel fully secure that you will keep her on her box (the fancy paper maché portion of the pointe shoe on which the woman stands in ballet). Thus, it becomes especially important to handle the woman (since the male is essentially in charge of how her weight is being shifted in partnering) with a firmness that both functions to keep her on her leg as well as to keep her confidence in you high.

            Unfortunately, this learned technique does not translate directly to my everyday life outside the classroom, but it does directly feed into the work I do on a daily basis. After this point in time, my partnering in class and in rehearsal improved immensely, and I feel more confident in my ability to work with an array of different partners of differing levels of ability because of this epiphany. I also have found that I am able to focus on how I look more in partnering now that I can securely hold my partner in a position with greater consistency, which essentially means I get to work more artistically within the partnering regime than I could before, the exact opposite of what one would expect when told to approach material with greater firmness (and thus, an increase in bodily tension that naturally accompanies giving more strength to a movement).

Learning Experience 2

            After covering Carroll’s perception of the basic theories of humor, we moved into The Comic Toolbox: How to be Funny Even if You’re Not, in which we became familiar with the theory of truth and pain as a way of explaining what humans find funny. I found this theory fascinating because it explained many of the situations the superiority theory explained through a more all-encompassing light. Like all theories on humor, it could not define the subject alone, but it does open a window through which to view the subject.

            It seems natural that relatable instances of the truth and pain that comprise our human existence might be perceived as comical, but like any good theory, it makes sense when its told to a person, but that person most likely would not have come up with the theory on his or her own. Upon reading his theory, I reflected back to some of the America’s Funniest Home Videos episodes I laughed at as a child. Many of these clips are merely children falling over accompanied by a cheesy comment made by Bob Saggot (or whoever the new announcer for the show might be). However, according to the theory, I would find this funny because I, too, have fallen over, and it reveals the truth that humans are not quite as sophisticated and coordinated as we might think we are. While I may have thought that these things were funny because they weren’t happening to me (based on principles outlined in the superiority theory of humor) before reading Vorhaus, I think that at a certain point, physical pain incurred by others is no longer funny, especially when it looks like it could cause significant bodily harm. I believe that Vorhaus’ theory provides a solution to this obstruction of the logic presented by the superiority theory by saying that it needs to be a relatable pain that reveals some truth about humanity. Watching a skateboarder’s shin bone protrude through his skin is not relatable nor does it relate anything about humanity aside from its fragility.

            In life, I have noted this theory present itself frequently since my first reading of it, particularly in relation to the internet memes I look at in the mornings before going to class. The majority of these short snip-its of entertainment possess the qualities outlined in Vorhaus’ text. One that I read recently related the struggles of finals week with an image of Boromir from Lord of the Rings and a text that read, “Brace yourself. The grades are coming.” Obviously, the relation of finals week to the gruesome battle that was about to ensue in the LOTR films and books is an exaggeration, but that pain and struggle is felt by all students during this time of the year, and it reveals the truth that we as students inherently panic over grades and final exams because of the societal value assigned to them.

A First Kiss

            After a long day of dancing at Adrenaline Dance Convention, I had finally built up the courage to kiss Marleigh Anderson, the girl I had been dating for 2 years at this point. It was November 23, 2008—her fourteenth birthday. I had gotten her a sterling silver necklace from Walmart with the money left over from my birthday; it cost $75, and it had a small stone as the pendant. This was the largest purchase I had made for another human being by this point in my life, and this day was for sure to be a big deal.

            I brought her to the side, next to the new exit to the men’s room at the Collinsville Convention Center (no one would see us there for sure!). I told her to close her eyes because that was important to me. I didn’t want her to see me trying to figure out how I supposed to go in for the kiss—she might realize how awkward I was. I stared at the burnt orange wall behind her, asking it to give me some sort of knowledge on how to proceed. I had no idea what to do with my hands as they began to sweat, the moisture making me even more nervous. Sensing that my deliberation process was taking too long, I began to move in without my hands. I leaned toward her, bending slightly at the waist. I could barely reach her lips since I had just caught up with her height in the beginnings of the school year.

            But finally, I achieved success as my lips, puckered tightly as people did in the cartoons, came into contact with her plump lips. She began to kiss me back with an open mouth, a confusing occurrence I had not expected, and my lips ground lightly upon the metal of her braces. This was the best moment of my life! I had finally done it; I’d finally followed Sebastian’s suggestion and “kissed da girl.” Certainly, we’d get married now.

            Far from it, actually. A month or two later, we broke up due to the strain of trying to maintain a relationship in which we only got to see each other on the weekends. Stressful times, let me tell ya...

A Least Favorite Teacher

For my mom, whom I love very much.

            The worst teacher I ever had was my own mother. Not in the life sense, but in her actually being my teacher. I was in third grade when my mom began to substitute teach at my school, and I thought myself lucky the day she told me she was to substitute for my teacher, Ms. Griffin.

            Sitting in my silver-gray desk and facing the white board, I awaited her arrival patiently, looking forward to what would be a glorious day of fun. When she walked in, I was certain that my friends would think me the coolest guy in the room after today. Snack-time came, and my mom in some way said something that embarrassed me (what she said was unimportant in comparison to the feelings I experienced, and I seemed to have forgotten her words as my emotions boiled). I attempted to get back at her by telling the class of how she was always late to school because she had to pick her toenails everyday before school, messing around and taking her sweet-old time. Grandparents truly are a wealth of knowledge, in case you were wondering.

            She nodded along, “Uh-huh. Alden, flip a card.” She could do that? I looked at her appalled at the fact that she would make me, her own son, flip a card. This was the epitome of degradation, and I would most definitely not stand for it.

            “No,” I said, folding my arms over my chest and shaking my head. How could she refute that? The class was on my side. They had, after all, laughed at my story.

            In a classic The Breakfast Club style conversation, she asked me if I wanted to flip 2 cards to which my response, of course, was yes. When she asked if I wanted a red card, though, I immediately shut down. Going to the principle’s office was the absolute most embarrassing thing that could happen to a child. I aptly refused and flipped my two cards.

            I sobbed into my arms folded over my desk, yet another action I’d most likely be mocked for. How could my own mother do this to me? Why would she discipline me in front of my friends? There was obviously a code to this sort of thing, and it had been broken on this day.

Uncontrallable Laughter 2

           Often times, my girlfriend, Kirsten, and I mess with each other because we clearly have nothing better to do with our time and energy (obviously). One of the ways in which I mess with her is by preventing her from leaving whatever seating position we’re in. Her response? She finds all my most ticklish spots and terrorizes me until I concede, crippled with the uncontrollable laughter that accompanies tickling.

            Laughter due to being tickled is often theorized to arise from the anticipation of being tickled without the knowledge of when it will happen, and when it does finally happen, the victim is released from his or her anticipatory anxiety, satisfying the basic requirements of the release theory. Moreover, the reason I could not stop laughing after the tickling had subsided most likely results from the fear that the Kirsten might strike again.

            In terms of the benign violation theory, the violation is the timing, providing an element of anticipated surprise that is not necessarily violent or creepy in this context since I happen to know my girlfriend rather well and am thus not afraid of her tickling me as I might be if she were a stranger. In another way, she violates my sense of my own personal space by touching places in my body that are sensitive to tickling, but, again, she does this in a non-threatening way in order to remain within the confines of the benign violation theory.

            Lastly, it is often thought that tickling causes us to laugh because our body is endeavoring to protect itself from harm (the places being touched seemingly places that need protection by some other mechanism, like the ribs). If this is the case, then the tickling would cause laughter on a third premise, and obviously, triads make all things seem much more legitimate, so my laughter satisfied a number of theories that ensures that it was a sensibly uncontrollable fit of laughter rather than one that was purely illogical.