Supernatural Bureaucracy

Bureaucracy is a subject near and dear to me. For a brief and fascinatingly bizarre piece on bureaucracy, check out Checkpoints by Ji Yun (1724-1805) Translated by Yi Izzy Yu and John Yu Branscum . The straightforward tone and approach to the supernatural consequences of missing paperwork after death is a great instance of the “strange story.”

These strange stories have quite a tradition in China. In “Strange Tales Indeed: A close look at Pu Songling’s short stories,” Carlos Ottery writes,  “It turns out that years of  education, coupled with a harsh spoonful of bitter failure and ample free time, are a recipe for authorial success. Chinese literature is so littered with failed mandarins that it sometimes feels like flunking the imperial exam is a pre-requisite.”

In the case of Ji Yun, such failure was not necessary. He had an impressive career and also produced strange stories.

The way in which life is made impossible by problems with paperwork has troubled me, in ways large and small, forever. With a full legal name too complicated (apparently) to say, file taxes online in the early days of online filing, or print in its entirety on a boarding pass, I have had many problems with paperwork, ranging from brief annoyances to multi-year battles with motor vehicle departments. I have at least one protracted discussion about my name and identity when I go vote. Every. Single. Time. I have been advised by the local board of elections not to attempt to do anything to “fix” this problem but to instead request that instead of attempting to check me in digitally, I should ask to be looked up manually. For the curious, this strategy does not work at neighborhood precincts.  I could go on, but my tales of bureaucratic woe is far less entertaining than Ji Yun’s. 

What he learns is that the way in which paperwork mediates and shapes and comes to constitute reality is so intractable that even death itself is no escape.

• I’m in no way an expert on this subject but have tried to verify the linked items. I’m open to corrections!

Overwhelm Yourself to Jumpstart Creativity

Setting up life to foster synthesis, putting together ideas and materials in a way that leads to new connections and concepts, will help develop creativity. Considering how things fit together is a kind of exploration. One counterintuitive way to explore and find creative ideas is to deliberately overwhelm yourself with input—specifically the creative output of others.

In my field and graduate school program, studying for comprehensive exams meant spending about a year reading hundreds of books and articles, some from lists of books chosen by others years ago that were barely interesting and others that I selected and had to defend me selection of. I read so much in such a short period of time that I obviously could not fully absorb what I was reading, but my job was to synthesize it and remember it all so that at the end of the study period, I could take three full-day open-book essay exams. I had the maximum number of books checked out from two libraries and stacks of books with post-it notes all over my apartment. They were organized by theme, sort of. I had typed notes and handwritten notes. I would listen to audiobooks if I wasn’t reading. 

I regularly calculated my weekly reading pace and it was never fast enough. I frequently timed my reading pace, calculating how long it would take me to finish a book, and realized I had to skip along. At a certain point, it wouldn’t matter if I read the words, because there wasn’t enough room in my brain to hold it all together. 
It was absolutely ridiculous. 
What this absurd process did, though, racing through stacks of books and complex articles day after day, is create an atmosphere of synthesis. I made connections I would not have made under normal conditions. I had intriguing ideas that came from the juxtaposition of listening to The Scarlet Letter during a lunch break after zipping through not an article on shame, because that would make sense, but a dull tomb of literary criticism from the 1980s that was definitely written in response to another not terribly compelling 1980s piece of literary criticism that I would read two weeks later, when it happened to show up via interlibrary loan. The interesting thing about this whole mess is that I had intriguing ideas at all. 

The good news is that grad school is far from the only way to overwhelm yourself into a state of overwhelmed creativity. More feasible opportunities to invite chaos abound. Here are three:Rather than spending all of your time at a museum in one time period, and rather than trying to wander through wing after wing, pick two disparate exhibits: Go from, say, ancient Egypt to contemporary textiles in just an hour or two. Rather than reading one book at a time, or a couple of books, have a poetry collection, two nonfiction books, a graphic novel, and three novels going at once. Rather than spending the week perfecting one soup idea or trying ten variations of vegetable soup this month, browse recipes promiscuously and let that coconut lime idea into your mushroom toast plans. 

Because it is deliberately, overwhelmingly chaotic, exposing yourself to a wide range of creative content in a condensed time-frame allows you to make unexpected connections and to develop surprising concepts. 
To wrap up, here is the final lesson from grad school: I remember my year of studying for exams as a time of eating hastily and wondering if I had time for a shower. I would take a jog and love it even though I hate jogging. 

That’s the most crucial bit of wisdom. Stop the input. Reflect. 

And take notes: I cannot remember what I realized about The Scarlet Letter, and because it was quirky, idiosyncratic, not useful for any possible comprehensive exam, I failed to write it down. All I remember is the surprise of discovery, which is probably more valuable anyway.

The Stress and Pleasure of Not Knowing Where You Are

Not knowing where you are and how to get to where you want to be can be stressful. 

Even in a well-mapped city in the era of smartphones with readily available maps, it’s sometimes hard to know the best way to get from one place to the next. I was once a passenger in a car in which the driver was following audio directions from an online map on a cell phone. The phone was supposed to be tracking the driver’s location, and provided comments like “In 100 feet, turn left.” As we approached the end of a small road along the river, the phone confidently told us to turn left. It was trying to get us to turn directly into the river. 

Unable to tell that we were not on the bridge system overhead but had somehow gotten ourselves onto a little-used access road alongside a river, our up-to-date app-driven big-brother spying phone wanted us dead, or at least embarrassed. 

This is what happens when you explore.

It’s different when taking a walk. You find yourself in a subway system trying to figure out which red line train to get on when they’re both going the same direction and half the stations are closed for construction. You find yourself trying to figure out whether you want to be on the southwest or the northwest corner of an intersection as you struggle against the knowledgeable crowds towards the real world above. 

But the stress of not knowing comes with the pleasure of not knowing. In a new place, the everyday mundane annoyances of a commute, or the predictable walk from A to B, become explorations, and you have to not know to get the full benefits.  

These characters were fun to stumble upon.

Taking a walk in a new neighborhood or city is an experience to savor. Turning a corner and seeing two larger than life mural characters crossing a bright orange background— that’s fun. Turning a corner after walking between tall buildings for blocks and suddenly seeing everything open before you because you’ve reached a bay—that’s a view anyone can enjoy, but it’s a true delight when you have no expectation of the expanse. 

That is a pleasure reserved for those who don’t know quite where they are.

Robot Clothes

Robot in a window, Soho NYC

I have a great new business idea. Robot clothes. Here is the problem: All of the clothes are designed for humans—and they don’t even tend to fit very well. Imagine being a robot and needing a new outfit. Where would you go?

Walking along a crowded sidewalk in the cold, I suddenly realized that I had just walked past a robot in a store window. I backtracked and took a photo for my kids. When I showed them, they were excited. “Did you get one!?” they asked. This robot was larger than human sized and decorative, I said. They waited fairly patiently for more. They clearly wanted me to explain why I had not gotten it anyway.

“It wasn’t a robot store,” I tried again. “It was a clothing store.”

“Did it have robot clothes!?!” They asked. Now they were excited. The logic was definitely there.

It never occurred to me to open a store for robot attire. I am a boring adult, but I’m trying to do better.

Signs

It’s not just the signs, at The American Sign Museum. It’s the way they make you think. One thing they make you think about is neon.

Satellite shop sign

They also make you think about fonts.

Flour sign. Wait, is this a sign?

I’ve passed many signs for Rock City on road trips. Maybe one day…This is a fake barn non-sign sign.

Not at the sign museum, but is this a sign too?

After spending some time enjoying signs and thinking about things as signs, I started seeing signs everywhere. That’s a worthwhile exploration.

Habits and Small Adventures

One of my goals for the year is to actually do new things, to take the small adventures, to say yes. In January, I accepted a karaoke invitation. I had a great time. I didn’t sing. 

No need to set the bar too high.  

This weekend, I went to a small, quirky local museum that I’ve heard about many times but have never checked out for myself. It was hard to figure out where to park and what entrance to use. Were we supposed to sign up for the guided tour? Questions abounded, but it was fun and engaging, and it was different.

All too often, I find myself doing the same things. Going somewhere familiar so much easier: no wrong turns, no questions about where things are to be found or about what the experience will be will be like. 

Think of how much time is wasted at an unfamiliar grocery store trying to find a familiar product. Sure, there’s an app for that, but I don't need an app if I’m at my usual store. Following a habit saves time and energy. That can be very, very good. It can even be essential.

What I tend to do, though, is find myself falling into habits when I don’t need to, when I should be exploring. This year, I’m trying to trick myself. I’m trying to harness the power of habits, the time and energy-saving potential, in the service of a paradoxical new habit of breaking out of habits and just doing the new things that come up as possibilities but that I would typically not actually do. 

This weekend’s particular adventure won’t become a regular event, but I’m hopeful that doing new things will.

Books and Beverages: My Favorite Absurd and Impossible Book Review Concept (1/???)

This is one of my current top three favorite blog ideas: Books and Beverages

This (nonexistent) blog features beverage-centric book reviews. Each review characterizes each book as a drink and gives a pairing recommendation. 

Example 1:

Pride and Prejudice = Prosecco

Jane Austin did the work for me on this one, writing of Pride and Prejudice: “The work is rather too light, and bright, and sparkling.” 

Elizabeth Bennet’s wit reflects Austin’s and shapes the book: “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well“ (chapter 24). And yet this is a marriage plot novel, and Elizabeth manages to find and marry someone she both loves and thinks well of, unlikely as that may be. 

Read it with a cup of Earl Grey in a fine China teacup, preferably with a floral pattern including pink and yellow. 

Example 2:

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl = green smoothie with kale, wheat grass, and turmeric 

This autobiography written by Linda Brent with editor Lydia Marie Child is good for you, edifying, and will as would be expected leave a bitter taste in your mouth:  “Surely, if you credited one half the truths that are told you concerning the helpless millions suffering in this cruel bondage, you at the north would not help to tighten the yoke” (chapter 5).

Read it with a glass of dry tannic red wine, with an edge, not too sweet, to drown your sorrows.

2/100 I’m not a blogger and this is my blog (part II)

Whenever I order a vegan meal at a restaurant or buy a huge cart of only vegan things at Trader Joe’s, someone asks if I’m vegan or just vegetarian. The answer is actually neither. I’m an omnivore who likes vegetables. And tofu. But that is neither here nor there. 

If people often see what I eat and think I must be at least a vegetarian, they discover what I’m interested in, and think I must be at least an occasional blogger. I’m not. Or at least I haven’t been. 

I could blog about far too many interests—I’ve considered everything from gin, curly hair, and mysteries to the English language, higher education, motherhood, and intercultural family life. What that wide range of disparate interests means, in practical terms with regard to a blog, is that I can’t actually blog about any one thing. 

My plan for this 100 post challenge is to explore some of the blog ideas I have entertained in the past. I’ll start with some meta posts and shift into actual experiments. One day I might write about a gin cocktail or a curly hair problem, another I’ll consider a word or idea from some area of my life. To potentially prevent sheer chaos and confusion, I’ll use the framework of exploration, making, and reflection. Along the way, I’ll reflect, and I’ll make changes. Maybe I’ll take up meme-production. It’s more likely than Twitter.

1/100 I’m not a blogger and this is my blog (part I)

I have surprised people many times by admitting that I do not have a blog. Over the years, as blogging has emerged, thrived, and developed, I have been asked: “Why don’t you have a blog!?” This is not a serious question, as I have learned by attempting to answer it. I do, as it happens, have a few lists of reasons why not to blog. 

The top of one of the lists is that I don’t have a personal brand. I have some lists about that too, but that’s for another day. What I do have is some self-knowledge. I know that I consistently come back to three things: I like to explore, I like to make, and I like to reflect.

1. Explore

I like to explore— to read widely, go to new places and bring new perspectives to favorite places, immerse myself in rabbit holes of research, and go on adventures medium and small. What of the larger adventures—wandering with no cellphone along a street thousands of miles from anyone I know thinking “I could get lost and disappear forever and no one would figure out what happened”? At this point in my life, with my best efforts, I can’t disappear for five minutes. My work email and my kids are always onto me. But I can develop my curiosity.

2. Make

I like to make—to bake, cook, doodle, arrange, build, art, and craft—sometimes in a straightforward way and others in a way particular to me and my life. I bake bread, for example, and cookies, and I build unrecognizable conceptual playgrounds out of my kids' toys. I doodle for three minutes while my students write.

3. Reflect

I like to reflect—through conversation, writing, and reading, as I look at a tree, a sunset, a painting. And as I consider the number of dishes produced by a simple meal and ask myself if it was worth it, given that no one wanted to actually eat the product of my efforts. In fact, on the back of my mind much of the time, I am asking whether it, whatever “it” is, is worth it. Somehow, even though the answer is often a resounding “probably not,” I am trapped into “it.” What does always feel worthwhile to me is to reflect, even when the result is disheartening. 

I realize this is all very not-suitable-for-branding, but as my grandmother often declared, giving the advice Polonius gives his son Laertes in Hamlet the weight of the scripture that many mistake it for, “To thine own self be true / And it must follow as the night the day / Thou canst not then be false to any man” (Act 1, scene 3).

So I’m not going to try to be brand-ready. Instead, I’m going to try out a range of ideas as I’m taking up the challenge of posting to this blog daily for 100 days. (Sort of. More on that later). This challenge came to me from my brother, Lucas McLaughlin, at http://lucasmclaughlin.com where he is in the midst of Artworking, a 100 day challenge of his own.

I asked for advice, as he’s several days ahead of me in the challenge, and with a far more developed personal brand. “Find your niche,” he said. 

I believe this advice to be excellent. The problem I’ve consistently run into is that I can’t find a niche.

Maybe I secretly don’t want one.

And maybe this blog can do some of the work of developing my space, a niche for myself that feels right.