Relationships

     Every time I read one of Hemingway's stories, I feel like I have a better idea of why he was married and divorced so many times. In none of his stories have I seen a truly healthy male/female relationship, except perhaps the one married couple in "Ten Indians," and we really didn't see enough of them to be able to characterize their relationship as healthy or unhealthy.
     There is a lack of communication, or at least meaningful communication, in every Hemingway story that we've read so far. The characters either don't say what they're really thinking, or they just allude to it, or they say simply nothing at all. I can't help but wonder if this is something that Hemingway thought was normal - and if so, I can understand why he was divorced so many times.
     Men may say less than women, on average, but that doesn't lessen the need for honest communication. They simply need to learn to use their words to best effect. Hemingway may have tried to do that, but from the stories we've read so far, it doesn't seem to have worked. For example, in "The Short Happy Life of France Macomber" Mr. and Mrs. Macomber don't have a single conversation where both of them are trying to communicate. Either he's talking and she's not listening, or she's talking to him about something he doesn't think is very important.
     Hemingway makes a number of other interesting points about the Macombers' relationship in this story, especially when Wilson observes that Mrs. Macomber must have married him because he was the type that she could control. That - and the obvious implication that this wasn't the first time she had been unfaithful and less than discreet about it - made me sad, a little. I'd like to read a story where the characters had a healthy relationship - but something tells me that I may have to go looking somewhere else, because Hemingway doesn't seem like he knew a lot about those.

Talking with Jay

        Jay and I spent our last conversation talking about what we did during Spring Break. He had stuck around the area and spent his break catching up on homework and hanging out with friends. I went skiing in Colorado, so I explained about that - the drive there, trying not to drive my family insane, trying not to let my family drive me insane, having fun on the slopes, the trip to the emergency room (it's a requirement for my family vacations), visiting my cousins, the drive back, etc.
      It was another one of the really warm days we've been having on and off again recently, and we were sitting outside again because I'm totally a sucker for sunshine and Jay is nice enough to humor me. We were just kind of sitting there, hanging out and watching people, especially the sunbathers, which led to talking about hanging out at the beach (one of my absolute favorite summer pastimes) and then discussing the merits of various beaches. Galveston may be the closest to here, at a mere 6 hours away, but it's even closer to where I'm from, so I've been there lots, and it's not impressive at all. So I was explaining the differences between Galveston and the stereotypical beach - the lack of white sand, clear blue water, and general niceness of surroundings first on the list - and telling him where you need to go to find good beaches - namely Florida. He decided that he might want to go to Florida at some point before he heads back to South Korea.
          After about 20 minutes of sitting outside in the sun, I noticed that he was starting to look uncomfortable, so we headed back inside. He wanted to know if it was considered hot outside yet, and I just sort of laughed at him, because it was nice and warm and beautiful outside, and not nearly hot yet. I told him that no, it wasn't hot outside yet, it would probably heat up at least another 10 or 15 degrees before it was considered hot - and it wasn't humid yet either. Poor guy didn't seem to be expecting that answer - it doesn't really get this hot in South Korea that often, I guess. He was a pretty good sport about the whole thing, though.

Cross-Country Snow

          Like Nick and George in the story, I went skiing over spring break. I really enjoyed myself - skiing is wonderful. I'm not sure that I'd call it "too swell to talk about," the way George does in the story, but I suppose that Hemingway's men don't ever really talk about their feelings. They make references to their feelings, but they rarely come right out and talk about them. Everything is implied and understood.
         As I was reading the story, I was remembering how it felt to go rushing down the slopes, picking up as much speed as possible. Skiing really fast downhill is sort of addicting - you never want it to stop. George and Nick never want to stop, either - they never want to grow up. Nick really doesn't want to go back to the United States, because the skiing is no good there - though I have to ask, where was he skiing? Because it sure wasn't Colorado, as the skiing there is awesome. I digress - Nick doesn't want to go back the the United States because his wife is having a baby, and he's not ready for the responsibility yet. He just wants to stay and have fun.
         Also, I have to ask, why did George keep calling Nick Mike? Was it some sort of nickname? Really weird nickname if you ask me. . . Or was there something else going on? Why would Nick lie about his name, though? That whole thing made no sense to me whatsoever.
          I also felt really bad for the poor waitress. The two men had absolutely no sympathy for her, and judged her immediately - "No girls get married around here till they're knocked up." I really hate double standards, and the stigma that goes with being an unwed mother or pregnant woman is one of the worst there is. The fact that there is such a stigma attached to that situation, and little or no stigma attached to an unwed father, strikes me as extremely unfair.

The Indian Camp

       Comparing Hemingway's style to an iceberg makes an awful lot of sense. He states only the bare bones of what's happening, which leaves the imagining of the details to the reader. "The Indian Camp" is an excellent example of what I'm talking about.
        I had to read through this story twice. The first time, I looked at the facts that Hemingway had stated, figuring out what had happened and when. The second time I read it, I tried to picture what had happened as it was happening. It made a lot of difference.
        In his typical, understated way, Hemingway describes what was probably a profoundly scarring experience for Nick. I can't imagine a circumstance where watching childbirth would be pleasant for a child, especially not a difficult childbirth. I know that it would horrify me, at pretty much any age - blood and guts are not my strong point. And then his father, the doctor begins to perform a C-section on the woman - an unanaethetized C-section - and I honestly don't know how he was still standing there. The father of the unborn child apparently couldn't take it, because he slit his own throat, and he wasn't even watching, just listening. . . I guess I assume that Nick was watching, because it's never really stated. Brrr.
          When you sit there and think about it, it must have been a horrifying experience. First the childbirth - never a pretty sight, even now with powerful painkillers - and then the operation, done pretty much on the fly, with whatever the doctor had at hand, and then discovering that the new father was dead. I don't blame Nick for thinking he was never going to die, because dying in his experience was linked with pain and blood and screaming.
        Like I said, blood and guts are not my thing - I get sick whenever I watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail during the duel with the Black Knight, when his "flesh wounds" are spouting the most ridiculous fake blood anyone has ever seen. So I'm a little relieved that Hemingway left out the descriptions of the blood and pain. But they are still there - not explicitly stated, but understood, the other 7/8 of the iceberg that the captain of the Titanic forgot about.

1929 TIME

        TIME magazine is one of the magazines that I respect the most. The stories are interesting, the pictures are great, and most importantly it's not one of those gossipy rags that usually don't bother checking the facts or stating their sources before running around and spouting off all sorts of rumors. Do we really need to know that Brad and Angelina are fighting (not to mention that the story actually differs from magazine to magazine - which one is telling the truth?) or that Britney Spears is pregnant and Ryan Reynolds is getting a divorce? So I was slightly dismayed when I opened the copy of the July 22, 1929 - my birthday's on the 19 - edition of TIME magazine, and discovered that a lot of the stories had a distinctly gossipy flair.
             I was slightly assuaged by the fact that even though the magazine has a gossipy tone, the stories are still factual - I base that assumption on the fact that they are willing to name names and quote sources, which they wouldn't if the stories weren't true (no one wants to be sued for libel) - and most of them seem to be relevent. 1929 was in the middle of the Prohibition, so there are stories of powerful people caught with alcohol, and of powerful people caught in drug busts. I was very entertained by the first article, which was just a sort of hodge-podge of a bunch of different random stories about President Hoover. A bill that people want to discuss with him, his hat size, reports on his reactions to the country's reactions to a recent tariff, and the fact that he doesn't like talking pictures because they require one to pay more attention than the silent ones (perhaps I'm just more used to the talking pictures, but I think they require less attention, since you can usually hear and understand what's going on pretty well - you have to actually watch the silent ones to be sure of what's going on).
         The advertisements are a little strange - they tend to be very wordy, but then again the whole magazine (the entire era, this is the Roaring Twenties, after all) seems to live by the maxim "The more, the better!" I can't help but think of F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" as I read this, because honestly Jay Gatsby is exactly the sort of man that would find himself featured in these pages. Our advertisements nowadays tend to be less wordy, but I don't know if I would call them more sophisticated - I might be a cynic, but the focus on sex appeal EVERYWHERE and the implied or not so implied instant gratification that accompanies every ad (has anyone seen the most recent Verizon ads? I rest my case) frightens me a little. It was nice not to have to worry about that, for once.

Untitled

       Allow me to begin by saying that I am not the biggest fan of modern art. I don't like having to stare at something for long minutes, wondering what it's supposed to be or what it's supposed to mean. I like to be able to look at something and grasp immediately at least what it's supposed to be.
       That said, I did find the Museum of Modern Art interesting. Modern art, I have discovered, is much more fun when viewed with a friend. You can both stand there and stare at it, and share your theories on what it's supposed to mean. The more ridiculous, the better.
        There were several things that I noticed on my trip to the museum. One of them was the number of works titled "Untitled." I'm not sure whether or not that is supposed to have some sort of deeper meaning, and really influence my understanding of the piece (or it would if I understood modern art at all), or if the artist was simply too lazy, too busy, or simply uninclined to give the piece a name. It strikes me as very odd, though. Why go to all the trouble to create something, and then not give it a name?
        The only possible answer I can think of to my question is that the artist wanted to allow the painting to mean different things to different people, and didn't want a title influencing their perceptions. This would be great, if the paintings meant anything to me at all. Instead, those of us who don't understand modern art are left fumbling around in the dark, staring at what really looks like a bunch of squiggles on canvas and wondering, "What was going through the artist's head when he painted this?"
       There were several paintings at the Modern that I really enjoyed, and understood pretty much as soon as I saw them. "Camouflaged Botticelli" was probably my favorite. I also really liked "The Ark." The only thing that these two paintings have in common, as far as I can tell, is that they're both fairly obvious. They may have a number of deeper, hidden meanings, but based on the title and the picture, you can easily grasp at least the basics of what was going on in the author's head when he painted them. I really appreciated that about both of them.

Conversation Two

Jay and I met again for the second time on Wednesday afternoon. We met in the BLUU, which was interesting. I don't think Jay had ever been to Market Square, because we had a little miscommunicatin about where exactly we were going to be meeting. Once we had everything sorted out, we talked for a while in there. He had just come from his IEP class, and he said that it was a little boring. They'd been doing writing that day, and writing is always harder when you don't speak the language. I can totally sympathize with that - I'm a really good writer in English, but whenever I would try to write papers for Spanish class, I always bump up against my lack of a large vocabulary in Spanish. I can communicate basic concepts, but not being able to be as eloquent as I'd like frustrates me.
We spent some time in Market Square, talking about how it works, and then we decided to go and sit outside. It was absolutely beautiful outside, perfect weather. Both of us commented on it, and we got to talking about the different weather patterns in Texas versus South Korea. Apparently they actually have all four seasons over there. I was a little jealous, since where I'm from (Houston) we only have two seasons - wet and dry. It never really gets cold enough to be truly classified as "winter," or so I'm told. I maintain that Fort Worth actually experiences four seasons - spring and fall are just compressed into the space of about two weeks, as opposed to three months or so.
This conversation was much less awkward than the last one - it felt much more natural, more like an actual conversation, and less contrived. It's always really interesting hearing about different cultures, and we spent a while comparing living conditions. I had to explain the concept of a suburb to Jay - I'm sure that they have something like them in South Korea, but he wasn't sure what they were when I used the word. The population where he's from is very dense, lots of people trying to live in not a lot of space. So they mostly live in apartments, where we mostly live in houses. They have houses in South Korea, of course, but they're insanely expensive - he said that a little 4 room house could cost up to about 3 million dollars. Needless to say, I was impressed. That's a lot of money for a little house.
Another cultural difference that we discussed was walking on the grass. As we were sitting outside on one of the benches in the Commons, we saw several groups of people sitting out on the grass with homework and books spread around them. He seemed very shocked by this - apparently sitting outside on the ground isn't done in Korea. I explained that he's very likely to see more of this, especially if the weather stays nice. After being cooped up inside for a week over the snow days, we like to go outside and sit in the sun. I also explained that if he came up on the weekends, he was likely to see large groups of girls just laying out in the sun, tanning. He seemed a little surprised by this, but ended up writing it off as just one of those weird things Americans do.