“I don’t care what anybody says about me as long as it isn’t true.” ~Dorothy Parker
Most people I know are proud of their cynicism and self-deprecation. And that’s all well and good. But sometimes I get the feeling that people believe their outrage is unique and time-specific.
Don’t get me wrong. I like cynicism and self-deprecation. I particularly like it when I read Dorothy Parker (1893-1967), Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), and Mark Twain (1835-1910). Maybe it is time-specific. Possibly the millennium change breeds a particular kind of wit, although I doubt it.
I suppose out of all three of these, Parker is the least known even though some of her one-liners that have become so well worn they now elicit groans:
“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy.”“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”“Men seldom make passes At girls who wear glasses.”
Yep, that’s Parker. She gets better. I mean, who cares about men making passes at the sight-impaired anymore? Some of her better insults include:
“She looks like something that would eat its young.”“If you want to see what God thinks of money, just look at all the people He gave it to.”“If all the girls at Brandeis were laid end-to-end, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Although, Oscar Wilde was probably better at throwing salt. One of my favorites:
“There is so much to be said in favor of modern journalism. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated it keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community.”
Of these three, Mark Twain was the least acerbic:
“The trouble ain‘t that there is too many fools, but that the lightning ain’t distributed right.”
In fact, Twain, when it comes right down to it, was pretty gentle. He had a talent for putting forth truisms that forced people to examine themselves, such as:
“A man’s character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in conversation.”
Cynicism just isn’t complete without self-deprecation. You can’t be a popular cynic without turning the microscope on yourself once in a while. Parker was fond of painting herself both a drunk and a floozie:
“I wish I could drink like a lady / I can take one or two at the most / Three and I’m under the table / Four and I’m under the host.”
Twain was short-sighted:
“I was seldom able to see an opportunity until it had ceased to be one.”
Wilde was the worst at self-deprecation. He explained his own foibles by making them desirable:
“I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.”“The well bred contradict other people. The wise contradict themselves.”
It didn’t work out for him in the end. Wilde died young and penniless:
“What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.”
Parker died at a ripe old age, but she was a bitter alcoholic who had unsuccessfully tried to kill herself several times.
“Razors pain you; rivers are damp; acids stain you; and drugs cause cramp. Guns aren’t lawful; nooses give; gas smells awful; you might as well live.”
Twain made lots of money and blew a good bit of it on crackpot scientific inventions. (He was a good friend of Nikola Tesla.) He had a nice family, a generous benefactor, and loads of friends who mourned his death:
“All generalizations are false, including this one.”
michael said,
October 20, 2007 at 6:19 pm
I’m so smart that I don’t even need to understand what you’re trying to say.
Gary said,
October 20, 2007 at 8:02 pm
There’s goes Michael saying who knows what again.
I’ve always liked H.L. Mencken. He wasn’t self deprecating though. He pretty much just tore everyone else to shreds.
this quote has been going around a lot lately:
” . . . all the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre – the man who can most easily (and) adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. The presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day, the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”
And in that vein…
Americans like to talk about (or be told about) Democracy but, when
put to the test, usually find it to be an ‘inconvenience.’ We have
opted instead for an authoritarian system disguised as a Democracy. We
pay through the nose for an enormous joke-of-a-government, let it push
us around, and then wonder how all those assholes got in there. -
Frank Zappa
Jim said,
October 21, 2007 at 1:54 am
U r all such a big fat fail!!!1!!1
-Anonymous
julieluongo said,
October 21, 2007 at 1:41 pm
Jim, spammy comments are supposed to link to Cialis ads.
Jen said,
October 21, 2007 at 9:48 pm
My favorite Dorothy Parker:
A Dream Lies Dead
A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Before this place, and turn away your eyes,
Nor seek to know the look of that which dies
Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe,
But, for a little, let your step be slow.
And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise
With words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies.
A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know:
Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree-
Though white of bloom as it had been before
And proudly waitful of fecundity-
One little loveliness can be no more;
And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head
Because a dream has joined the wistful dead!
Dorothy Parker
See – even she isn’t all sarcasm and acerbity!
I remember clearly the assignment to choose a favorite poem from any source for 10th grade English. I chose this one and as part of said assignment read it to the class. Met with silence, I tried to fumble through an explaination of why I like it, more silence, I sat down, and never mentioned liking a poem again to anyone in HS.
julieluongo said,
October 21, 2007 at 10:34 pm
She can be quite lovely. You’re the reason I’m into Parker. So, your attempts to enlighten your classmates might not have worked, but the book you inscribed to Sarah eventually landed in my very small collection of things I horde. You get full credit for Parker and Laurie Colwin (“The Retrieve of the Blustery Thing”).
Sarah said,
October 21, 2007 at 10:41 pm
Hey! That’s where that book is.
julieluongo said,
October 22, 2007 at 12:35 am
Uh…
michael said,
October 22, 2007 at 8:25 am
I hate poetry. I mean, I understand why people like it… no I don’t I’m lying. I wish I did like it actually, because lots of people say that hating poetry means you’re dead inside. I don’t wanna be dead inside! I just feel like poetry is always too hard to decipher to make it worth it. Say what you mean.
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 8:30 am
I’m with you on that Michael. I remember reading poetry in college and I always got the meaning wrong. And there was this one brown-nosey girl that just knew what all of the meanings were. I felt really dumb. I was always told that you could interpret poems however you wanted, but I learned in college that I was wrong. Then I dropped out. I blame poetry for my lack of education.
julieluongo said,
October 22, 2007 at 11:38 am
I’ll decipher the poem for you. “A Dream Lies Dead” is about the death of a dream. Glad I could help.
Jenn said,
October 22, 2007 at 1:37 pm
It used to bug the shit out of me in grad school when people would tell you what the meaning of a story was, or what a character’s actions or word choices meant, or what something symbolized, especially if you were the one that wrote the story. Most of the time when it would happen to me, I would nod my head and pretend to write notes, all the while thinking, “I wrote the story. I’m pretty sure I know what it means, and btw, did you even read the damn thing?” I kept quiet, though, because it’s usually impolite to tell people they’re full of shit.
Here’s the thing though – writing, whether it’s poetry or lyrics or novels or short stories or whatever, can mean whatever you want it to mean. You filter what you read through your own experiences, and in most cases, I don’t believe there’s a right or wrong interpretation. The reason why those people in my classes bugged me was because I felt their interpretations were way off base and had nothing to do with what I had actually written, but really they were just working with their own experiences. Although, some of them really were full of shit – there’s no getting around that.
My husband is a scientist, yet he loves the poetry of ee cummings. Loves it. He loves the puzzle of it, and how you have to disconnect your logical mind for a moment to get into the poem. To me, the free form, associative nature of ee cummings’ poetry is about as far removed as you can get from the orderly, logical, step by step world my husband usually lives in and I think that’s why it appeals to him so much.
I like the random, free form nature of some poetry because I don’t always think in straight lines or complete thoughts, and I make a connection to something in the poem that expresses what I am thinking or feeling without having to confine it into a complete, logical sentence. Most of the time, I like things pretty orderly and clear – I’m usually very black and white. But there’s something about poetry that appeals to my shades of grey.
Neener said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:07 pm
“There is so much to be said in favor of modern journalism. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated it keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community.”
My favorite because I am uneducated AND ignorant and I like to write.
Jen said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:09 pm
I HATED the stupid stuck up idiots in college writing and lit classes who “knew” exactly what the story or poem was about – what it symbolized – what the author was thinking/feeling/suffering when s/he wrote the story or poem. The fact that other people might have a different interpretation never entered their thoughts. They were “right” and all others were wrong. They were the reason I didn’t take any writing/lit classes past my sophomore year. Morons, all. Well, mostly.
I love to read. Rather indiscriminently I have to admit. Because I love the stories that people tell. Stuff I identify with closely, stuff that is so far removed from my experience it might as well be from a different dimension, stuff I wish I could experience – whatever – I love it all because it entertains and/or educates me. Not because the author had recently been jilted by her gay lover and wished that she could make a public spectacle of it. Not because the author wanted to push a certain political view, not because the author needed to make rent and churned out a stupid beach romance – because I LIKE THE STORY. And I bet that authors like for people to like their stories!
When I was in labor with #3, Alex and I sat in the delivery room watching a bunch of very educated scientists, anthropologists and art historians pick apart every tiny detail of “The DaVinci Code” on some special on the Discovery channel. Guess what – they proved that a work of fiction wasn’t true!!! Can you believe the shock!! Dan Brown must be reeling that someone proved that his FICTIONAL work was NOT TRUE!!!
Jen said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:16 pm
Oh, and Julie, I am so glad that you love Laurie Colwin!! She was the first person I didn’t personally know whose death I truly mourned. Just imagine what she might have produced if she hadn’t died so young…..
Jenn said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:16 pm
My husband read the DaVinci code because he figured anything that pissed off the Christians that much couldn’t be all that bad. And he was right – it was a pretty engaging, interesting story.
Like Jen, I read to entertain and/or educate myself. And also like Jen, the fact that people had different interpretations of what other people had written didn’t bother me so much as their absolute REFUSAL to accept other points of view as being valid as well. I did find that people who were most adamant about their interpretations being the correct ones were usually the ones full of the most shit.
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:27 pm
“Here’s the thing though – writing, whether it’s poetry or lyrics or novels or short stories or whatever, can mean whatever you want it to mean.”
Are you sure you went to college? Because I went to a state school and they’re the authority on everything.
Jenn said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:28 pm
It helps if you skip class a lot.
julieluongo said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:57 pm
I was so over my head in lit classes in grad school. Feminist, deconstructionist, new criticism whaa? But I got the hang of it. The feminist approach was easy. I just had to come up with new and creative ways to say that everything was symbolic of the white man trying to enslave and denigrate everyone else.
Jen said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:58 pm
Skipping class a lot is the key to getting a well-rounded college education.
(And in 12 years when my kid starts college I will deny having said that! )
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:58 pm
You could get that from just watching the Lifetime channel.
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:59 pm
Sorry – I was referring to Julie’s post…
Jenn said,
October 22, 2007 at 2:59 pm
How about post-modern, aka po-mo? The day I heard someone use that in class with a straight face was the day that any illusions I had about grad school being educational and possibly good for me completely shattered. Po-mo? Are you kidding me?
julieluongo said,
October 22, 2007 at 3:07 pm
It was so ridiculous because the people who said po-mo were the same people who were so fond of using long strings of nearly indecipherable polysyllabic words.
Jenn said,
October 22, 2007 at 3:12 pm
Well, that, and because you look and sound like a moron when you use the word (phrase?) po-mo in any situation. There’s just no excuse for it.
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 3:13 pm
“so fond of using long strings of nearly indecipherable polysyllabic words.”
reminds me of this essay I read years ago by George Orwell, about wrtting:
http://www.k-1.com/Orwell/index.cgi/work/essays/language.html
Gary said,
October 22, 2007 at 3:14 pm
I would be so embarrassed to actually say po-mo in front of class room. I’d never be able to say that.
Bob said,
December 19, 2008 at 1:49 pm
Isn’t a lot of art destroyed (in the mind) when you intellectualize too much about it? You can come up with a “meaning” for “A Dream Lies Dead,” but I think looking at poetry as simply an “attempt to say something” is sort of like a painting as an “attempt to reproduce something” or at a song as simply an exercise in harmonic theory. Perhaps poets more than anyone else realize the insufficiency of language to truthfully convey a feeling. A good poem can nudge your emotions in that direction in a way that the simple words, “Someone gave up on a dream” can’t. It’s like the difference between a garden and a botany textbook.