Peony Jones’ Neighborhood

In an attempt to purge nonessentials from e's pantry, I've taken aim at a large coffee sampler which was gifted last year. I've never been a fan of coffee; in fact, it's only since this summer's 6AM mornings that I've acquired a taste for the terrifically awful punch in the esophagus once reserved only for cigarettes. My lack of coffee experience, therefore, has left me with a rather reckless approach to the stuff.

Last night I was drawn to the redundancy of an "Almond Amaretto" brew, which turned out, in retrospect, to be quite awful. After draining the pot in an hour, I passed out from not sleeping the previous evening. This morning I awoke feeling like I spent last night binging at some high school party full of girls who refused to drink beer. I've yet to shake the ugly almond taste from my mouth, but at least I don't feel hungover from Boone's and Zima.

Went to bed at 4AM. Woke up at 6AM and spent 3 hours tending to email. Though I despise every aspect of email management, I concede the unique (and considerable) satisfaction associated with slash-and-burning massive amounts of my inbox in one sitting. Of course, the trouble with email is that it never ends -- the boomeranging nightmare of those who compulsively reply to every message is one of the most evil faces born of technology.

My paramount social grievance as of late is when people preface their arguments with self-aggrandizing qualifications in order to elevate their perceived authority. This formulaic approach can be manifested by the logic, "As somebody who [is an expert at X], I [think Y]."

For example (via Google):

• "As somebody who loves language, I am sincerely grateful to him for reintroducing that marvellous [sic] word into common usage."
• "As somebody who loves baseball, I wish we could put this issue to bed once and for all: Pete Rose should never, ever, ever be allowed into the Hall Of Fame."
• "As somebody who enjoys writing, I found Upadhyay's comments illuminating and encouraging."
• "As somebody who enjoys watching politics, I’d rather see a more interesting race."
• "As somebody who hates shaving with a vengeance, I can sort of understand why some people have beards."

I'm not quite sure why this has dominated my awareness recently. And I'm not entirely confident I've never done it, myself. Perhaps it's just a matter of repetition in the content I've been reading that's driving nails through my eyeballs. But the force and immediacy with which it inspires my fists of rage has been rather interesting to experience. It has outweighed my other grammar-nazi pet peeves (e.g. "begs the question," "alot," "your") with a velocity none have enjoyed before.

Phil Zuckerman’s “Invitation to the Sociology of Religion” is an introductory text designed to be built upon with future readings. Because of this, his book is not very challenging in its contents or composition, nor offers much opportunity for provocative thought with its claims and arguments; rather, the book serves as a high-level overview of “the ways in which religion is affected by various aspects of society and, simultaneously, the ways in which various aspects of society are in turn affected by religion” (15). While Zuckerman might have purposefully designed this piece to be inviting in its straightforwardness, I found the efficacy of his simplicity lost in the book’s verbosity.

While Zuckerman’s statements are neither incorrect nor invalid, the author’s writing is both garrulous and distracting. In some ways, I’m almost impressed at Zuckerman’s ability to fill 129 pages full of text that likely could have been communicated effectively in a fraction of that length. Looking at the table of contents, I would be surprised if this entire book could not be compressed to a half-dozen PowerPoint slides. By that, I mean that Zuckerman’s “main points” are often drowned within a vast sea of ambling anecdotes and loquacious tales (much like this post, no?). Example: At the top of page 51, five pages into Chapter 3, Zuckerman writes “All of this can be summed up as follows: we generally acquire and absorb our religion from other people, usually those to whom we are personally close or are significantly attached.” Despite his one-sentance summation, the author continues for an additional 10 pages.  Although I agree with Zuckerman’s perceptions on the social influences on religion, I found his composition to be wearisome.

I imagine composing a historical analysis of perpetual events spanning thousands of years would be challenging simply for the wealth of nonessential qualifying chaff one would have to include to communicate the full story: international politics, realities of the times, natural events, etc. Kurlansky, thankfully, does a nice job budgeting his focus on that which is most important to the tale, while keeping the high-level historical meter running quietly in the background to orient the reader.

My only disappointment in reading "Cod," was Kurlansky's writing style which simply didn't jibe with the manner in which my brain comprehends words. Added to this were my high expectations for the book; I really wanted to love it. After the first chapter, however, I got that awkward feeling in my stomach like when I'd proofread my highly-respected friends' papers in college and learn they were utter dolts at putting words together. Kurlansky's writing isn't technically flawed like my friends' of yore, mind you -- his vocabulary is rich and his concepts are sound. I just wish it read with a little more elegance.