Phil's Thinking

Sup? I guess “Wassup?” took too long to say.

Now I consider myself au courant and hep to the jive. I know Eminem isn’t a candy snack that comes in plain or peanut, and I know he makes a whole lot of bling bling. But I have to draw a line somewhere in the grammatical Gulf of Sidra. I’m a writer, dammit!

I love words. Always have. When I was eight years old, I read that assassin comes to us from the word hashish, and that those who smoked it are hashishans. I thought that was neat. I had no idea what hashish was. Ten years later, I did find out what it is on my first trip to Europe. And I still find the word fascinating.

Words are the writer’s currency. Sup, diss, and other non-words of this post-literate era devalue my stock. I’m not impressed by five-dollar words, but I am depressed by the 100-lira note of “rap-isms.” They cheapen us as a culture. And worse, they cheapen the speaker.

Now before I’m accused of blatant anti-ebonics behavior, please understand that this has nothing to do with the ethnic cleansing of my mother tongue. I’m a bleeding-aorta liberal. I pull for the underdog and the underprivileged.

My lament is not race-based. But if we are truly serious about perpetuating the myth of “leaving no child behind,” a disingenuous fairy tale told by a President who was fearful of Saddam’s “noocular” capabilities, then let’s give our kids the tools to almost succeed. And language is a great start.

Language is thought. Try to think about something without attaching words to it. It’s hard to do. Even when having great sex. The quality of thought depends on the quality of language.

To illustrate my point, I’d like to compare the works of two well-regarded contemporary poets: Maya Angelou and Notorious B.I.G.

First, Angelou:

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Now, B.I.G.:

First things first, I poppa, freaks all the honeys
Dummies - playboy bunnies, those wantin' money
Those the ones I like 'cause they don't get nathan'
But penetration, unless it smells like sanitation

Okay, call me a snob, a stick-in the-mud, but I gotta go with Grand Masta Maya here. I understand all her words. I know what trill and hill mean. I have no idea what ‘nathan’ is. Nathan’s Famous hot dogs? Nathan Lane?

The degradation of American culture may be bemoaned by the literati (5-dollars, please!), but it is celebrated and encouraged by all our Estates. When I took a news-writing course at Syracuse University, I was taught to “write down to the level of a twelve-year old.” Watch any network news broadcast. The well-placed polysyllabic word is rarely uttered. What an insult to our collective intelligence. We’re all being dissed.

The anti-intellectual bent of this country is downright scary. Turn on the TV. Springer. Elimidate. WWE Smackdown! The The Comeback. Mass media, the greatest conveyor of thoughts and ideas, is leading us down the path of unfettered mediocrity. And if we’re honest with ourselves, the way back to civility and high-mindedness is almost impossible.

In national politics, this fear, nay loathing, of smarts is rampant. If John Kerry had been a bit dumber, had had a looser grasp on concepts and policies, he might be calling the shots right now. The re-election of “Dubya” was no surprise. He spoke to the average American in a language all his own, a kind of Tex-rap whose rhythms come not from street experience, but from a cheerful, goofy disdain of the King’s English. His down-home folksiness and malapropisms appealed to a broad base of Americans who are suspicious of Harvard, sushi, and Queer Eye.

But bemoaning our collective fate will not solve anything. Until we as a nation begin to celebrate and reward achievement, until we commit the resources necessary to educate our children, we are in for a grim, albeit hip-hoppity, future. Sup?

Mr. President, as you continue to spend tens of billions of our tax dollars on your war in Iraq, you’re leaving our future PHD’s in the dust. Ignorance is as evil as anthrax. And this time the hashishans of complacency and lip-service will win.

And as for you kids who put the “duh” back in Reading is Fun-da-mental, here’s my advice:

Perspire to B.I.G. Aspire to Angelou.