I'll take that with a dash of punctuation, please.
So, tomorrow's my Harvard interview and one of the questions looming upon the horizons of my mind (circular, and inspirational in the way the actual, physical horizon inspired the pagans of Britain. Oh, History Channel, you amuse me so...) is "Why do you want to go to Harvard?"
"Uh, I don't, Mr. Interviewer. In fact, I've asked a few people with choice skills in various weaponries to dispense of me should I ever decide to go to Hah-vah-d."
But, I'll end up saying something to the effect of, "The courses and the fields that are offered are of immense interest to me. I'm really looking forward to--should I be able to--taking the music history courses and the one about Euler and his principles." The sad thing is, I'll probably mean it.
So, dear Chantal, what does this have to do with punctuation?
It doesn't, not yet. But let's move on.
I'll set the scene in my living room, where The Sister is beating her violin with her bow in the hopes of achieving Symphony Orchestra status amongst her peers. Now, this Harvard interview is one thing I don't want to do. Reading The Atlantic after a 24 hour viral marathon is another thing I don't want to do. So when I have to do the two in such close proximity, one weekend, it ain't a happy time in my household. Normally, I'm a fan of the linguistic stylings of the various contributors, editors, and staff writers that serve this bastion of word pornography (because, really, the only reason anyone would ever write for The Atlantic is to show off their assets; in this case, their massive and euridite vocabularies. Kind of like what I'm doing right now.) and I've learned many a word from their works. Like the one starting with a 'd' and ending with an 's' that means 'narration' but is shorter than 'narration' so you can use it when you're too lazy to spell out n-a-r-r-a-t-i-o-n. But I digress. Again. One of the articles that really caught my interest (and held it for longer than 2 paragraphs) was a tirade on people who either find every tiny grammatical problem mammoth and epic and the people who find every problem petty compared to everything else. Truly, as the writer whose name escapes me at the moment says, there must be some achievable balance in there. Some mix of heav'n-an'-earth forev'r 'n' ev'r that lends perspective on the world. Surely, this is a herculean task set for man, a decidedly unherculean creature, but for all our pomp and circumstance, I think it's very little to ask for. A little perspective with that punctuation and some cream in that coffee.
Anyway, the idea of grammar (and Amalia's post of yore that I failed to properly respond to earlier) led me to the ideas of '60s "literature," when mavericks like Ginsberg and Kerouac were allowed out of their mental facilities and had free reign over the impressionable, angry little minds of the yuppies. I've read "Howl." I've hated it. I still do. I don't see the point. Or perhaps the lack of points, as there really is no punctuation in most of the "classics" of the sixties.
Good gosh golly oh my, Chantal, look at all your own grammatical errors! I'm sure there are a few split conjugations and some misplaced dative pro-future adnoun breakups with some homewreckers on the side. Bit o' pot calling the kettle black, no?
Thanks, Chantal. I really appreciate your forthcoming criticisms. But my errors come from my own inexperience in the English language. Ginsberg and Kerouac's errors come from their own bombastic, pretentious, and holier-than-thou attitudes that generated generations of generally degenerated genomes incapable of putting a period at the end of a sentence. How clever you must feel, Mister Ginsberg, for having written such a long and pointless piece of crap. And you, Mister Kerouac. On the Road certainly showed me the type of loser hobo I don't want to be when I grow up. But you, you took that story and brought it to a whole other trippy level, what with your awesome lack of commas or respect for periods. Man, pass that pot. Let me take a drag. God, I see the way you don't think. Totally goes against The Man. Yeah. He's feeling real slighted now. Doesn't know what to do with that completely unscathed ego of his. Let's brush it up, yeah? Come on. Come on. If we can get on our feet. What's that? Ginsberg's had too much to drink? Man. That guy right there. Yeah. Totally has it in for himself with all that red wine.
Here's a thought. Maybe he saw his own lack of talent and had to drink to make the pain go away. How's that, AA? Room enough for another member and his big, drunken ego?
Damn. I don't even remember where I was going with this.
Oh, yeah. I hate "literature" of the sixties.
And Harvard.
Also, my glasses are repaired, complete with glare-proof coating and bubble-free lenses. It's the small things in life, after all.
Like commas.