Category Archives: semiotics

March 27, 2009 · 10:10 pm

Take a Walk on the Wild Side


Just back from our (almost) daily trek on the high school’s Cross-Country course through the local woods, to teach Lili who’s pack leader. A rough start, as we passed by the fenced-in Girls’ Lacrosse field, and someone’s bored little brother rattled his sabre (well, Lacrosse stick) at Lili, dragging it along the chain-link like a film noir rabble-rouser, and roused her. A 2-second burst of Japanese “redirection” on my part brought her to heel, and we were off into the forest. On the path back out we encountered a couple with two barking Dachshunds and a Lab, so I leashed Lili up and we passed by without any display of aggression (not one raised hackle) on Lili’s part, while the guy shouted to the yapping dog in his arms, “Oh, just shut up, Lily!” (What are the odds?)

During my 6 enchanted years living in Manhattan–one in the Village, 5 on the Upper West Side–similar power negotiations played out several times a day, mostly involving two-legged parties (although a very cool Sociology prof at Columbia sometimes walked his two pet wolves, Romulus & Remus, down Broadway). I loved Lou Reed’s ode to the more colorful performance artists among us. The Sugarplum Fairy was sometimes spotted roller-skating in and out of the deli on 72nd Street (before [s]he made it big at the Apollo). Countless trips on the not-so-velvet-underground from grad school Uptown, to the VA hospital on East 23rd Street, to acting school in Midtown, and back home after midnight, gave me The Knowledge (a cognitive map) of the city, as well as priceless insights into how to avoid (or lessen the odds of) becoming the target of aggressive assault by strangers. My acting school girlfriends & I would swap stories and tips for how to project the most useful power subtext in confrontations with dodgy dudes in tight places: “I am not your enemy, but I am not your victim.”

Common street hassle of the day: “Gimme a cigarette!” [His power subtext: “Are you my victim?”] Savvy response: “You know, I don’t smoke, and neither should you. I can give you the name of a great stop-smoking clinic. Would you be interested in that?” [Your power subtext: “Not your victim, not your enemy. My amygdala is not aroused by your sabre rattling, so my hippocampus can make up as much of this do-gooder spiel as it takes to bore you, until you lose interest in me as a mark, and move on.”] The preparation my friends & I did for such verbal skirmishes included telling each other what “got up our nose(s)” about street hasslers: intrusion and/or fear. After awhile, we reckoned that our power subtext was so “I am not threatened by you,” that even to be auditioned for the victim role was a source of humiliation.

In the playing field, Lili let the little boy “drive her wild.” So I reined her in (verbally) and we did an hour of close-order drill on our walk through the woods. [My subtext: “I am your master. I trump your amygdala. Unless I give you the attack word, stay cool.” The payoff came when we encountered the three canine street hasslers on the path, and Lili, following my lead, just walked on by.

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Filed under gets right up my nose, leading a pack, limbic system, secret code, semiotics

April 20, 2009 · 9:17 pm

"The Wolf Is at the Door"


Although we each have our own, personal associations to this metaphor [possibly involving 3 little pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, a Russian boy named Peter, even Kevin Costner…or Sarah Palin?], the received meaning of the phrase for several centuries has been, that one has fallen on hard financial times. [Everything old is new again.]

Since many of these scenarios end with the scary, intrusive wolf being shot dead, it’s a wonder that more bailiffs and repo men don’t get blown away on the beleaguered householder’s doorstep. One could argue that, by doing the dirty work of the householder’s creditors, these “heartless mercenaries” become de facto Silent Partners, who are prepared to destroy the lives of the debtor and his/her family. In many recent lost-his-job-and-went-on-a-killing-spree-including-himself stories, this Silent Partner dynamic is obvious.

But, even for those fortunate enough [for now] to remain solvent, the wolf-at-the-door is an archetypal symbol of threat. To understand why, let’s go back to Vienna, to the 300-year-old Spanish Riding School, for another animal story [attributed to Freud]. The Lippizaners are the horses that do “ballet” [high-level Dressage moves] to Mozart, whose shows are a notoriously hard ticket; but whose rehearsals are open to the public. I like to think that it was while watching such a rehearsal [perhaps seeing a groom leading two high-spirited stallions around the arena] that Freud asked a friend, “Which would you choose–to be pulled apart by two horses, or to be charged by two horses?” If you’re like most people, you would choose to be charged. The usual logic behind this is, “If they’re coming at me, I can try to jump out of the way.” Freud used this metaphor to illustrate the defense mechanism of projection. Rather than feel “torn apart” by two powerful, opposing impulses [such as the urge to act out antisocially vs. the desire to “be good”], an individual externalizes [projects] the impulse to behave badly onto a scapegoat [or wolf], and then tries to “jump out of the way” of it [saying, “That is so not who I am!”]. The problem with this temporary fix, is that the wolf can circle around behind you [called in psychoanalytic parlance–like a B movie title–“The Return of the Repressed”], and thus overpower your good intentions, causing you to act out antisocially, willy-nilly.

So, sometimes, the Big Bad Wolf at the door is not a sinister stranger. It’s an unacknowledged part of ourselves.

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Filed under Freud meant..., lesser of two evils, semiotics, silent partner theory

May 19, 2009 · 2:44 pm

Dog Eat Dog


Lili is “on vacation” this week, chillaxing at the Ashram while we visit our “other” daughters in Chicago and SoCal. She’ll be back next week. Meanwhile, meet Napster and Zanzibar, both rescue cats–as different as night & day, in nature and life experience. Napster came to us as a kitten 9 years ago, joining two old biddie female cats, and immediately assumed the omega position in the “pack.” [He’s a ‘fraidy cat.] Six years later, after the passing of one of the old cats, young Zanzibar came out of the West, fresh from a gig in Chino, California–charismatic, affable, and totally alpha.

Our topic today is zero-sum-gaming: the perception that all endeavors in life–not just hockey and beauty pageants–yield one winner [and a bunch of losers]. The amygdala is a big player here, ever on the alert for the Big Four threats to our sense of well-being. Let’s visit the luxurious Fitness Center at the Drake Hotel at dawn, shall we? Spoiled by two decades of in-home exercise equipment, where the dress code is casual [no threat of humiliation] and long-established family schedules assure no waiting [intrusion] for one’s machine of choice, when staying at a hotel I always try to beat the crowd by being the early bird. So, at 0-dark-hundred I am alone, halfway through my usual routine, grooving to an eclectic [some would say eccentric] set of songs on my iPod, eyes shut, when I sense the body heat of another, on the nearest elliptical [there being no less than 7 others he could have chosen]. I have no fear, except for his welfare, given the audible signs of his pain & suffering. [Will I have to administer CPR?] I try to imagine his motives in choosing that particular machine. [“Of all the ginjoints in all the world…”] Need for affiliation? For affection? For affirmation? As I finish, so does he, whistling his way into the elevator, then remarking, “That’s not even half of what I usually do. I had a late night. I’ll come back this afternoon and do a real workout.” Of course! It is a zero-sum game! Although I am probably 20 years his senior–and female–I am the only game in town; and he is playing to win. So, trying for the unilateral disarmament [“Why can’t we all just get along?”] option, I reply, “Hey! At least you showed up and showed willing. We are both to be commended for our efforts, at this early hour, don’t you think?” [No, he does not.] “I’ll do better this afternoon,” says he. [Subtext: I’m guessing he does not mean “better than I did this morning,” he means “better than you.”]

This time, I was amused; but how many times a day do I–do you–engage in equally petty zero-sum-gamesmanship? Everything can become a contest: “I am a nicer person than you.” “Oh, yeah? Well, I am more aware of my inner wolf than you.” What contests of “wonderfulness” do you enter, on a regular basis? [We can’t all be Miss Congeniality.] I’m not saying, don’t enter. Just notice that you’re in, and ask yourself, “What do I win, if I win?”

Zanzibar has been a tonic for Napster. They happily play-fight all the time, and sometimes double-team old Ruth, who is pushing 20, and not amused. However, they must be fed in separate rooms, or Zanzibar would leave the other two starving. He is also Lili’s best friend, licking her ears when she is asleep and allowing himself to be herded when she is awake. They seem to have devised a fragile non-aggression pact. If a cat and a dog can do it, folks, can’t we?

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Filed under pro bono publico, semiotics, zero-sum-gaming

May 20, 2009 · 8:24 pm

Through a Glass, Darkly


This Biblical allusion dates from a time when glass was so cloudy that it obscured, rather than clarified, an image seen through it. It is a good metaphor for the value of the Metalingual speech function [as in, “What you talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”]. In the “Dog Eat Dog” post, I presumed to “know” what the guy in the elevator really was talking about [which I called his “subtext,” like the English translation at the bottom of an Ingmar Bergmann film]. It was just my guess, based on his “semiotics” [words, voice inflection, facial expressions and body language]. Figuring out what the other guy is actually trying to say is not rocket science–in fact some rocket scientists can’t do it very well at all. The Austrian whose name is now associated with the “syndrome” of the interpersonally challenged [Asperger], called it “Severe Engineer’s Brain.”

Dogs [also cats, children, and “clairvoyants”] are naturals at discerning the other guy’s subtext. The less fluent you are in the speaker’s language, the more you pick up on other clues about the message. As a born quidnunc [literally, Latin for “What now?”]–known in other cultures as a Busybody, Nosey Parker, or yente–I have always loved to listen in on fellow travelers’ conversations on public transport, as if trying to figure out the backstory of a movie already in progress, with extra points for “foreign language films.” It has helped in my work with Paranoid Schizophrenics, who [dedicated readers will recall] use lots of Poetic speech, in order to make themselves obscure.

The way you “know” you have successfully “cracked the code” of a schizophrenic’s obscure utterance, is to humbly [I try to channel Capt. Columbo, “Jeez, I’m just guessing here, but…”] offer a possible “translation” of their cryptic remark. If you’re wrong, they smile enigmatically; but if you’re right, stand by for mayhem. [I learned the hard way, to be closer to the door than my interlocutor, when “going for the whole phrase, Monty (or was it Vanna?).”] There’s nothing a schizophrenic likes less than a clairvoyant, lemme tell ya. I put “know” in quotation marks, because no earthly soul can know for sure what another one really means–sometimes, not even the speaker.

So, how does it work with less obscure speakers, in everyday life? One option, which I took with the guy in the elevator, was to assume I caught what he was pitching, and respond to his [presumed] subtext, by replying [in my subtext], “Exercise is a non-zero-sum game, pally. Lighten up.” If I didn’t want to guess at his meaning, I could deploy my favorite Michigan response: “What’s yer point?” [Unfortunately, the subtext of that remark is almost always hostile, so it’s not great for elevator conversations.]

Whatever you would have said [including nowt], it is a skill worth practicing, to become a quick subtext reader and “writer.” As we all know by now, I tend to favor the comic retort; but other options work just as well. To be continued in the next post…

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Filed under pragmatics, secret code, semiotics

June 2, 2009 · 7:16 pm

"Das ist nicht FAIR!"


My globe-trotting elder daughter brought me back a German dog journal, which made the transcontinental haul back from SoCal seem to “fly by”–despite a rowdy class of 8th-graders in the cheap seats, two screaming Pre-Ks in front of us, and an in-flight entertainment system on the fritz–as I brushed up my German vocab and translated the HundeTrendMagazin cover-to-cover. My favorite article, with the title as written above [last word in English], summarizes the recent research of Dr. Friederike Range @ the University of Vienna into Inequity Aversion in dogs. [You can read her article, in English, featuring 3 priceless pictures of the “striking” dog, @ http://www.nc.univie.ac.at/cognition-research/animals/dogs/projects. ] Before we get to her findings, she also is co-founder of the Wolf Science Center, whose website is: http://www.wolfscience.at/english/about_us/friederike_range.html. Check out how much “Shima” the Wolf looks like Lili.

So @ the Clever Dog Lab, two dogs who were buddies were seated side-by-side and each asked, “Gib Pfote!” [“Give me a paw!”] Sometimes the reward was a piece of sausage, and other times, a piece of bread. No difference in compliance was noted. Then the black & tan dog was given the bread, but the black & white was not. So, he went on strike: “Nicht mit mir” [“Not with me”] they captioned his averted-gaze body language. Earlier studies with primates had shown that even a distinction in the value of the treat–a cucumber chunk (meh) vs a grape (yum)–was enough to send the slighted monkey into a fury. Not only did he refuse to exchange a pebble for the treat, he threw both the cuke and the pebbles back at the trainer! The dog didn’t appear to get miffed until no treat of any kind was offered to him, while his buddy did get something.

This is a variation on the theme of the Zero-Sum-Game, where the trainer suddenly changes the rules in the middle of proceedings. We go from a day’s pay for a day’s work, to We’re-having-a-party-and-you’re-not-invited. Well, how would you feel? Correction–how have you felt? Who hasn’t been there, done that? They schmize you into believing your school or your job [or Britain’s Got Talent] is a meritocracy, and then they play favorites! All of a sudden, black & white is uncool, and black & tan is all that. In vain, you gave your paw with the same enthusiasm and reliability as your pal. He turns out to be the teacher’s pet! What’s up [your nose] with that?

At the very least, humiliation, innit? Probably also intrusion. The powers-that-be have taken away your rightful piece of bread and given it to old used-to-be-your-pal, Black & Tan, who looks set to scoff the whole loaf…which, if true, could lead to hunger [pain & suffering], or worse [fear]–starvation! So what do you do? If you’re a dog, you avert your gaze and keep all paws planted firmly on the ground. How tame! [Especially compared to the miffed monkey.] This is the canine version of a sit-down strike–a form of passive resistance [when Gandhi did it] or passive aggression [when a disgruntled employee does it].

The very phrase “disgruntled employee” conjures up images of humans who have decided to “Go Postal” and take revenge–not only on the invidious “(bread)-winner”–but on everyone within their line of sight. Dogs, it seems, are more Stoic than that. They simply refuse to perform tricks anymore for The Man.

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Filed under aggression happens, ethology, gets right up my nose, semiotics, zero-sum-gaming

June 7, 2009 · 7:57 pm

The Lame Gazelle


Back in Manhattan, back in the day, when my acting friends and I were working on our “Not your victim, not your enemy” subtext schtick, there was an iconic TV documentary, with gory but memorable footage of cooperative hunting by African big cats at a (real) watering hole. How did those cats choose which animal from a herd to attack? No doubt to conserve Therbligs, they went after the lame gazelle. This image became our metaphor for how NOT to present oneself, whether in a Midtown watering hole or an Uptown subway train.

At the most concrete level, it meant not hobbling ourselves by wearing oh-so-high heels, if we were taking the Shoeleather Express any further than a waiting taxi. [Millenial women, I’m talking to you. Pack a pair of flats in your handbag, for a quick getaway.] This was a no-brainer for me, since I had gotten over the glamour of stilettos as a young teenager in London, when my heel wedged itself into the wooden tread of a Bakerloo escalator (8 years before my “Skaaf” escapade in Boston, yet).

At a more controversial level–in that Age of (alleged) Equality of the Sexes–it meant not trying to keep up with the lads, drink for drink, at the watering hole. The slightest unsteadiness on one’s feet, and the “prey” subtext is hard to override, whatever one’s actual state of inebriation. [Another good reason to leave the stilettos to fictional New Yorkers.] A glib remark–such as the British cliche, “Oopsie-daisy! Worse things happen at sea!”–helps, though, since it implies that one is not humiliated by one’s gait. It also is quaint and eccentric, implying that one might be a bit “Doo-lally” (crazy), which no self-respecting predator will pursue, if there is other fair game in sight. [Ethologists have speculated that this avoidance of erratically-behaving prey may have evolved as a protective mechanism against sinking one’s teeth into a rabid animal.] So, it is a fine line we walked–act crazy, not drunk–but we got the hang of it. As we had learned in acting school, actual drunks try very hard to appear sober and do everything more slowly than normal, whereas meshuggahs tend to do everything like a Marx brothers vaudeville routine.

One night, while co-starring in an Off Off Broadway production of Picnic in a theatre so bijou that it had no hot water, I decided to wait until I got home to take off my stage make-up. I was on the Uptown IRT local, getting [puzzling] predatory looks, when we went through a tunnel, which turned the train window into a mirror; and I saw my reflection. [Remember in the Disney cartoon, Aladdin, where the Robin Williams genie channels a Bravo-channel designer and asks our hero of his get-up, “Now, what are we saying?” A line much used in raising my two girls, I must say.] My subtext said either “female with low self-esteem” or “female impersonator.” To override these two subtexts, I addressed my fellow travelers in a loud, theatrical voice, “Hey, everybody! Did any of you catch our production of Picnic down in the Village tonight? We’re there all week!” The hunters averted their gaze. “She’s in a play,” they muttered to one another. “Yeah, yeah. Good for you, there, sweetheart. Break a leg.” No longer their potential victim…nor their enemy, unless I started spouting lines from the play.

So, here is Ruth, giving you her impression of decrepitude. For going-on 20, she is quite spry, and still a good hunter. She allows herself to be included in the male cats’ horsing around, but just let Lili try to herd her, and you’ll see who’s whose victim. Although she is a purebred Maine Coon, she is all fur and bones, no weight at all! Still, her self-possession and longevity are a reminder to us all, “Don’t be the lame gazelle!”

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Filed under ethology, power subtext, semiotics, therbligs

June 10, 2009 · 3:05 pm

Don’t Look Now


“Good eye contact” is entirely overrated. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!” Why? What if I’m one of the 50% of people who process information auditorially, rather than visually, and looking at you just distracts me from what you’re saying? What if I grew up in another culture, where staring directly at my interlocutor [particularly one higher in the pecking order] is the height of bad manners? Even in our own military, when standing to Attention, one is taught to stare “into middle distance,” not into the eyes of the Big Wig addressing one, even when answering questions. In the Navy, it is called “keeping one’s eyes in the boat.” [One is also taught to speak in the third–not second–person: “Would the Admiral care for…?”]

And don’t get me started on prey animals–such as horses–one is handling. Direct eye contact is an amygdalar trigger, provoking “highly inconvenient” reactions, ranging from bolting away to charging the handler. [Remember the Spanish Riding School scenario? Probably started with a stare.] Seasoned stable lads [a unisex term], equine vets, and farriers know to avert their gaze when approaching a horse, as if it were a Roman Senator. [Trivia question: Which emperor was deposed for appointing his horse, Incitatus, a Consul?]

Predators know the fierce power of a direct stare, and use it strategically. Dog spies rabbit; fixes it with a stare; and rabbit [most likely] freezes, at least momentarily. Think back to the dog fights in Top Gun, where the prey jet is “painted” with the laser of the predator, indicating “I’ve got you in my sights now. You’re toast.” Back in the 1920s, before eye contact was considered an Altogether Good Thing, there was a New Yorker cartoon, with two women walking past a man in the street: “He gave me such a look!” The joke is that she is feigning indignation, while secretly enjoying being “in his sights.”

Let’s consider the hard-done-by black & white dog in Dr. Range’s experiment on Inequity Aversion. We know he is angry at the injustice of his pal [Black & Tan] continuing to receive a reward for giving a paw, while he gets bupkes, nowt, Nichts! He demonstrates his displeasure by going on strike [no longer giving his paw], and by averting his gaze–not just from Black & Tan, but also from the experimenter. What’s up with that? Here’s my theory. Like Conrad in the Santa Rita jail, he knows he is “just a number here,” and Black & Tan is “just a number here.” It is not really Black & Tan’s fault that The Man [a unisex term] is being arbitrary and unfair. His beef is actually with The Man, who is the established Pack Leader. [Remember, this is the Clever Dog Lab–ain’t no slow learners here.] Back in the world [as GIs used to say in ‘Nam], he would be able express his anger in a number of ways: attacking The Man [fight], high-tailing it out of there [flight], or going into the “suspended animation” state which Object Relations Theorists call Somnolent Detachment. Here, his options are limited. Attacking The Man is not a clever move, since the Pack Leader is the source of basic rations, not just treats. So, to lessen his temptation to do so, he avoids “fixing The Man in his sights.” If his amygdala is really ramped up, he may actually go into Somnolent Detachment. When human infants do this, they “stare right past” their caregiver, as if she weren’t even there.

This is Crazy-Like-a-Fox behavior: the lesser of two evils. “If you slight me, I’ll ignore you. You have more power than me, but you don’t own my spirit [soul, what have you].” It is a gutsy move, whether you are a clever dog at the University of Vienna, or a PoW near the River Kwai. One has to do it with enough dignity and Stoicism, NOT to be mistaken for a Lame Gazelle. This little dog’s sit-down strike and averted gaze carries the subtext message: “I am not your victim, but I am not your enemy.”

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Filed under Epictetus said..., ethology, lesser of two evils, limbic system, semiotics

June 24, 2009 · 9:19 pm

"A Highly Trained Individual"


Ever since the Regrettable Incident(s) at the Playing Fields, Lili is on-leash in that area, except for a brief “Ally-Oop” session, where she responds either to that command or to my 3-note whistle, to jump back & forth over an athletic bench or a blue barrel a few times. Now that school is out, a no-nonsense, gruff-looking man has been preparing part of the field we traverse, for a football training camp for Fall Freshmen. Of course, we skirt their playing field; but the boys are always intrigued by the “wolf-dog” as we pass by, offering her catcalls and wolf whistles, trying to get her attention.

I got the vibe that the coach was not amused, so Lili & I just “keep our eyes in the boat” and quick-march by, on our way to and from the woods. Yesterday, as the boys were doing an exercise involving jumping in and out of tractor tires laid on the ground, some of them were again distracted by Lili. So, here’s what the coach told them: “Just let that big dog alone. ‘He’s’ working. That is a highly trained individual.”

How cool is that?

Stand by for the metaphor. Doing daily “wolf-work” [trying to gain mastery over one’s amygdalar arousal, by asking, “Now, what just got up my nose?” then pausing, and redirecting that angry energy into more useful actions] pays off, in the long run. When I first encountered this guy painting stripes on the field, I thought, “Oh, man! Just when school’s out and the fields become “community property” [like on weekends], this grumpy dude [body language, facial expression & failure to respond to my greeting] is making me feel like the trespasser (humiliation, intrusion, and the ever-present fear of consequences for Lili). I considered avoiding the fields altogether, by taking the back path to the woods; but since the last storm, a too-big-to-move-without-a-Bobcat tree [with bayonet-like broken branches] completely blocks the way. [Actually, I was just able to clamber over it, but Lili nearly impaled herself on it; and I got poison ivy on my arm for my efforts, anyway–pain & suffering all around.] So, through the fields we strode on our appointed rounds, shoulders back, eyes front, no Lame Gazelle subtext here: we were neither the “grumpy” dude’s enemy, nor his victim.

I felt not only proud, that the dude had affirmed Lili’s progress, but also sheepish, that I had mistaken his aloof manner for disapproval. What a rookie cognitive distortion on my part, especially given all my years in and around military settings!

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Filed under gets right up my nose, limbic system, power subtext, semiotics

July 4, 2009 · 8:12 pm

Costume Dramas & Playing Against Type


Cheer up, hippophobes (or others simply missing Lili). She’ll be back in the next posting. Meanwhile, meet my late Uncle Dick’s Arab gelding, “Burrack.” In 1976, just as I was being measured for my Naval Officer’s uniforms by a skeptical little tailor at the Ft. Hamilton induction center in NYC [“They’re letting you in? With a back like that?”], Burrack and Uncle Dick were suiting up to re-enact battles from the 17th Century English Civil Wars between the Cavaliers and the Roundheads. Alas, although Uncle Dick’s “type” [as in “know it and love it”] was completely Cavalier, The Sealed Knot re-enactors only had an opening for a Roundhead. Not to worry. Before he joined the RAF during WW II, Uncle Dick had attended the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, whose philosophy of acting is anything but Method. “Get your costume and make-up right, and the character will follow,” could be their motto. So, instead of the long, curly locks and frilly collars worn by the followers of King Charles I, Dick donned an early-Beatles-puddingbowl-style wig and the austere, Puritan gear of a Roundhead, and played (very convincingly) against type.

But what about poor little Burrack? Like most Arabs, he is only 15hh high (4″ shorter than Dusk), and Uncle Dick (like my elder daughter) was over 6′ tall. [Just look at my feet dangling below his belly, and imagine how absurdly incongruous Dick might have looked on his trusty steed.] Well, he didn’t. Years before joining “Oliver’s Army,” Dick & Burrack were regular winners at Dressage events all over England, beating out the statuesque Warmbloods and their riders. I was never lucky enough to attend one of their horse shows (although I did see them do a battle re-enactment); but my guess is that once Dick-the-actor put on his Dressage “costume,” he assumed the persona of a Lippizaner rider and “sold it” to the judges and on-lookers, who forgot to notice Burrack’s “sportsmodel” size.

Well, that’s what I did for my 6 years on active duty in the Navy–put on a “costume” and “sold” the Clydesdale persona to my masters. [Incidentally, despite my bespoke tailor’s dismay at my scoliotic back, he made me the most flattering, perfectly-fitting jackets, skirts and slacks that I’ve ever worn. Hence the Cockney joke: “I’ve got a hunch…” “Not to worry. I know a good tailor.”] Fortunately, as a shore-bound member of the Staff Corps, unless I was the Officer of the Watch (about every two weeks), I was allowed to go home at night, take off my uniform, and resume Kangaroo status. In 1970s Annapolis, military personnel were widely despised by the townsfolk; and I had insults [and objects] hurled at me, while wearing my “Blues.” If I returned 15 minutes later in my civvies, with my long curly locks down [no longer up in the regulation bun], the same snide people would greet me cordially, apparently not making the connection between my two personae.

My biggest challenge was to try to maintain my Clydesdale-ness when directing Midshipman plays in the evenings, since often I and they had changed out of uniform for rehearsals. I didn’t always succeed; and my inner ‘Roo would usually emerge in tandem with my Wolf, when I was angry about how the show was coming along. Of course, the Mids were delighted, since many of them were crypto-‘Roos, too, just trying to “maintain” until graduation. My ignoble excuse, when one of my ‘Roo/Wolf outbursts was overheard by a higher-ranking Clydesdale skulking in the back of the auditorium, was “I’m from New York.” [My beloved Masqueraders were quick studies, and soon would say it on my behalf, if they spotted the Clydesdale before me: “She’s from New York, sir.”]

When our younger daughter was called out for ‘Roo-related shenanigans at school [about which we were then called up], we would threaten her [idly]: “If you don’t buckle down, we’re going to send you to a plaid-skirt school!” In Detroit, private schools were too expensive, and parochial schools were too crowded. Ironically, when we moved to Annapolis, she chose to spend most of her high school years “in uniform,” and graduated from a plaid-skirt school. For most of us ‘Roos, putting on the “costume” of a Clydesdale is like strapping on a (safety) harness that we have chosen to wear, which is just restrictive enough to remind us to “keep on the straight & narrow” while it’s on, though we look forward to that moment of liberty, when we can “throw over the traces,” let our hair down, and zig [or zag] again. The better an actor you are, the more convincingly you can play against type; but it’s easier to get into [and maintain] character, when you’re performing in a costume drama.

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Filed under non-linear thinking, semiotics, sharks and jets, understanding shenanigans

July 11, 2009 · 9:52 pm

Meaner Than a Junkyard Dog


Not Lili (she said, Metalingually). Idiots (mostly guys, but not always) who buy what is currently called a “Status Weapon” (a Pitbull or similar breed of dog), and then realize that it is high maintenance, needs lots of training & exercise, needs a pack leader to follow or it will freelance…and so–emotionally or physically–they abandon the dog. In a 12-hour interval, I heard 2 news stories about this, and had one personal experience of the phenomenon. On the way to work, I heard an NPR report [so it must be true] on the citizens of Fresno, CA–fruit & veg growing capital of the country–who are the most prone of any city in the USA to obesity & Type II Diabetes. How come? The report boiled it down to two reasons. The fruit & veg are all shipped out of Fresno, because of a city ordinance against Farmers’ Markets (hence a less healthy diet); AND no one dares to walk outside in Fresno anymore, because it’s overrun with packs of (gang-acquired, then abandoned) Pitbulls.

Then–like a made-for-television movie–as I pulled into the parking lot at work, a loose Pitbull came over to greet me as I got out of my car. He had a collar on, but no apparent owner supervising him. I reflexively gave him some Japanese commands, got the Robert de Niro quizzical head-tilt, and switched to hand signals and English. I could get him to “heel” for a few steps, but then he would leave me and head back towards the road. What was I planning to do with him, even if he had followed me all the way to the building? Put Lili’s leash on him and bring him inside? Tether him outside the building and hope his owner would retrieve him? Tell you what I was not planning to do–call Animal Control. I had done this about a month ago, for a loose dog holding up traffic in both directions on the hilly, twisting road near my home; and I was so humiliated by the cynical tone of the questions they asked me [“And why, exactly, are you reporting this?”] that I made a Note to Self : “Let canine ‘Kitty Genoveses’ fend for themselves in this county.” Hours later when I left work, the parking lot Pitbull had escalated to holding up traffic on a main thoroughfare, during rush hour. I rationalized that shortly one of the many cop cars that patrol that road would encounter him, and handle the situation. On my drive home, BBC news did a long piece on the growing problem of dogs acquired as “Status Weapons” in the UK, with an audio vignette of policemen approaching such a dog, armed with fire extinguishers, and a dog handler wearing the afore-mentioned “bite-me” padded suit.

This is the first post where I consider the power of vicarious pain & suffering to provoke anger. If I really wanted to connect all the dots, I could probably make it be all about Lili & me: humiliation that strangers will perceive her as my ill-advised “Status Weapon”; fear that just her breed will provoke others to treat her and me like criminals. But–apart from that one lady & her dog in the school yard some months ago–Lili and I have received nothing but positive feedback on our sorties. She was even addressed as “Sweetie-pie,” by the guy who maintains the cross-country trail and coaches the high school team, this week.

So, there you have it: a possible distinction between a human’s amygdalar arousal, and a dog’s. As Bill Clinton might put it, we “feel their pain,” and it makes us angry, and we wonder what to do for the best; whereas when a dog senses a human’s pain, it has only to decide, “Hmm. Should I go over and lick him, or bite him, or should I just keep walking?”

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Filed under leading a pack, semiotics, vicarious trauma