Seinfeld Ethnography—Introduction

[a] Social network

Part of an occasional Round and Square series, "Seinfeld Ethnography (Argonauts of the Seinfeldian Specific)" explores various themes shown on one of the most brilliant (and irritating—sorry) presentations of (urban) American culture in the late-twentieth century. For years, I have said that "a person could teach an entire cultural anthropology course just using Seinfeld episodes." Let's see how that holds up here. 

Each selection will include a clip and various quotations from social and cultural theorists (with an occasional cognitive scientist or philosopher thrown in to round out the picture). In fact, I'll use whatever thinkers help us understand how people figure out this thing called life...and soup.

[b] Disorder

[c] Dyad

[d] Discussing social practice

[e] The salon

Seinfeld takes ordinary situations and examines them from all angles. This is what anthropologists do, although I have never heard Jerry or Elaine utter the word "intersubjectivity" during nine full seasons.  What we see are not mere "portraits" of memorable characters.  We see, rather, characters in social motion as they come to temporary fruition in dyads or triads of action and discussion.  Perhaps the most "theoretically" interesting part of the show is what I like to think of as the "Bourdieu effect." 

It is not enough to experience and bemoan the inability to comprehend the changing rules of

social engagement. No, George and Jerry (and Elaine and Kramer...and others) have to discuss it in that coffee cup salon called "Restaurant." This is one of Pierre Bourdieu's basic points. We don't really grasp much at all about our social and cultural practices until we think them through and talk them out. The beauty and originality of Seinfeld is that the "action" (eating an eclair out of the trash, ordering soup from an autocrat, or wearing a "puffy" shirt) make up only about a third of the total story. 

 I like to think that the Seinfeld writers wanted to turn Henry James on his head. Writing teachers for the last eight or nine decades have prattled like parrots about James and the imperative to "show...not tell." Well, Seinfeld shows a little and then tells and tells and talks and talks. Most of what makes the show entertaining and ethnographically interesting (year after year, even as every scene has been etched into memory) is the way that the characters talk about everything. 

From "purity and danger" (eclairs) and shrinkage and yogurt to shirts and surnames and gendered pairings...the characters "tell" their stories. Showing is only a small part of it. Somewhere, Henry James is rolling. He might also be thinking that it might be worth rewriting that introduction to fiction writing. 

"What," thinks Henry, "if I had my characters do a little stuff—put on a puffy shirt or stand terrified in a soup line—and then spend the next thirty pages having them talk about it while pretending to drink coffee (sometimes wearing funny mustaches)? What if we changed the rules of fiction to resemble what people actually do—stumble through the social and cultural structures all around them (befuddled much of the time)...but then sit down with (mostly) trusted compatriots and figure it out together?

Well, people, that is the genius of Seinfeld, and that is what we will be investigating in our faux Malinowskian tribute to the show—Argonauts of the Seinfeldian Specific. 

Theory Corner—Introduction

[a] Arthur Rackham (just right)

 Click here for the Theory Corner Resource Center

Introducing Theory Corner

Theory Corner is an occasional Round and Square series highlighting various aspects of social, cultural, and historical theory of immediate use to the practicing student of anthropology or history (not to mention other disciplines).  I see these entries as "refined flour" theoretical reflections. Like white bread or polished rice, they burn right through your system with immediate (if short term) insights.  I will soon start an accompanying series (perhaps called "Theory Dungeon") that deals with "whole grain" theory—chewy intellectual pieces, such as "Foucault Loaf" or "Habermas Braid," that take much more time to digest. 

[b] Casual theory

[c] Causal Theory

Theory Corner is based upon the short, fifteen minute presentations that I give in my historical and anthropological research classes. To grasp the scene fully, you must imagine the following. The "theorist" walks into the room; s/he is wearing a cardigan sweater and tennis shoes. Sitting down in a rocking chair, s/he smiles warmly, mumbles something about "neighbors," and begins to take the listener on a trip to a happy kind of theory-land that is not-too-hot and not-too-cold (as Lévi-Strauss might say).  It is "baby-bear" theory...that is just right.

[d] Theory Corner

[e] Cornered Theory

Images

[a] Arthur Rackham (just right) 

[b] Casual theory

[c] Causal theory

[d] Theory Corner

[e] Cornered Theory

Beginnings (9)—Fargo

Click here for an introduction to the Round and Square series "Beginnings."

[a] Opening scene

[b] Fargo

Fargo has one of the best cinematic openings I have ever seen. The scene begins in an understated (to say the least) manner, and then builds slowly (note the growing tympanic effects) as the scene comes into view. The music explodes, as it were, with a triumphant scene of...a car towing another car.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLZ-C8DJv74&feature=related

[c] Unintended consequences

From there, Jerry is off to meet Carl and Gaear at the King of Clubs in Fargo. The rest is cinematic reverie. It is now worth watching the entire first six minutes of the film (and seeing the triumphant car-pulling again all over again), in order to get the full effect—including the transition from Carter Burwell's opening musical composition to Merle Haggard singing "Big City." This is, by the way, one of the best soundtracks I have ever heard.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XI_4wvBHkrw&NR=1

Watch the scene (pardon the advertising, but this is YouTube, after all), and think about how even the earliest shreds of dialogue already start to show the unraveling ("seemed like a good idea at the time") plan and various laws of unintended consequences.

[d] Parking

[e] Scraper marks the spot

[a] The Beginning

[b] Fargo

[c] Unintended consequences 

[d] Parking

[e] Scraper marks the spot

[f] End of the trail

[f] End of the trail

Katakana Culture—Introduction

[a] (Kata)kana   RF

 So let's begin with the problem that most readers might have with this series of posts.

They're in Japanese.

Well, yes, that is true, and it is a bigger issue (and, at the same time, a smaller one) than you might think. To begin, I teach Chinese and Japanese history and culture, and I believe very strongly that language is absolutely integral to all study of those...histories and cultures. We'll get back to that core point in a moment. On the other hand, katakana is a perfect entry-point for any foreigner to begin to understand aspects of Japanese culture that would otherwise remain entirely obdurate. Just two hours of work, and you (no matter what your background) can understand issues in Japanese culture (one might almost say "psychology") that would otherwise take years to understand by following a "normal" curriculum. I urge you to do so, and will work with you if you want to try.

Stay with me! You can do this. I have stories in every Japanese History and Culture class that I teach of the one (or three) students who are so scared at the beginning that they want to quit BUT learn the forty-six characters and are better than most students of Japanese when they finish. You can be Devon!  Don't give up.

Please be patient, those of you who have never studied Japanese, while I take a few paragraphs to chastise those students of Japanese language who have never worked particularly hard at katakana. I will return with several posts addressed exclusively to those hardy few of you who are determined to learn the small number of sounds that will change your entire way of thinking about the world. It will be fun, so just hang in there while I set up the broader project here.

***  ***

Now let me address those of you who have been studying Japanese for two years or me. If you cannot rattle off the following phrase without pausing even for a microsecond, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Before I give you the phrase, though, let me soften my words slightly: many, many of us must be ashamed of ourselves. Still, read it in one unflinching effort—right now!　　ライト    ナオヲ

                        カギュウケィッテ　バタケシルオポトレー　ゲヂサマギュンゾルン

Well?

O.k., you probably got my point ライトaway. Yes, it is gibberish.

I just hit a bunch of keys. Here's the difference between you (et moi—I am not prideful) and the native speaker/reader of Japanese. The person who grew up reading Japanese is capable of "powering through" the gibberish, and at least pronouncing everything (almost) exactly as the graphs portray. I will admit that I have tried this experiment on several native speakers, and they do get frustrated at just about the ル in the second garble of kana. That is culture, I would argue, and not linguistics. If we want to debate that point, though, it should be in another context, at another time.

Here is the point for this series of katakana posts: your katakana recognition stinks.

If I am speaking to the one person in the class of thirty who studied katakana every night—even though there were no rewards in sight on tests or anywhere in your textbooks—I apologize. If you are that person who became bored with  ボルペン and バイト, then I beg your pardon. You are my hero.

I am talking to the rest of us. We know who we are. We did what our teachers and textbooks told us, and we ignored those little bits of information we occasionally heard that "the katakana will hit you like Atlanta humidity the minute you touch down at Narita Airport; you won't be prepared for it, because it is everywhere."

[b] Marigolds    RF

Well, "they" tried to warn us. All I can say, having studied Japanese (as a non-specialist; I study China for a living) and lived there during several stints totaling a few years:

"They" were right, and we will pay the price in misery when we move to Japan.

So, what to do?

How about getting really good at katakana? That's what this series of posts is about. When I teach Japanese History and Culture, I stress katakana, because it is an excellent way of observing how words and foreign concepts "translate" into Japanese language and life. There is superb material here for cultural analysis, and it will be the foundation for a series of posts rich in imagery and practicalities.

I will take a two-tiered approach. On the one hand, I will try to address the beginner. It is possible to learn katakana without studying the rest of the language. Most people give up (or go on to study the language as a whole), but it is possible.  I would like to make it even more possible. Those of you studying Japanese, please don't disdain this "beginning" side of things in these posts. For 天's sake, can't you see that I (and others) have been doing this for years, and we are not tired of learning ways of explaining it to others? Instead of thinking "I know that" (a sign of scholarly shallowness, if I may be so bold) instead say "how would I convey this to another?" It will change your life; trust me. The sure sign of having no ideas left is the statement "I already know that."

Click/buzz.   Game over.

For those of you just starting out, look for the "beginner" posts. For those of you who are perfecting your skills, there will be plenty of material for you here at all levels.

Remember the lesson of the Zen archer (look them up—there are hundreds). In every case, it is all about preparation, focus, and resilience. Arrogance (how many of you really ought to be arrogant about your katakana ability?) has nothing to do with it. And brush your teeth, while you're at it (in any language).

[c] Language...culture?   RF

Katakana—Let's begin!

Beginnings (8)—Beginnings Said

Click here for an introduction to the Round and Square series "Beginnings."

Edward Said, Beginnings

He wrote the (a) book on beginnings. I also like the word-play possibilities (“Said Beginnings”).—华

[a] First Lines

I

[b] Said reading (Said)

The problem of beginnings is one of those problems that, if allowed to, will confront one with equal intensity on a practical and on a theoretical level. Every writer knows that the choice of a beginning for what he will write is crucial not only because it determines much of what follows but also because a work’s beginning is, practically speaking, the main entrance to what it offers. Moreover, in retrospect we can regard a beginning as the point at which, in a given work, the writer departs from all other works; a beginning immediately establishes relationships with works already existing, relationships of either continuity or antagonism or some mixture of both. But the moment we start to detail the features of a beginning—a moment likely to occur in examining many sorts of writers—we necessarily make certain special distinctions. Is a beginning the same as an origin? Is the beginning of a given work its real beginning, or is there some other, secret point that more authentically starts the work off? To what extent is a beginning ultimately a physical exigency and nothing more than that? Of what value, for critical or methodological or even historical analysis, is “the beginning”? By what sort of approach, with what kind of language, with what sort of instruments does a beginning offer itself up as a subject for

study?[1]

---

[1] Edward W. Said, Beginnings: Intention & Method (New York: Columbia University Press, 1975), 3.

Various

http://www.lehigh.edu/~amsp/2007/10/two-paragraphs-from-edward-saids.html

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v25/n20/michael-wood/on-edward-said

[c] Edward Said Memorial Lecture, 2011

Images

[a] First Lines (courtesy of Ann Davies, 1999)
[b] Reading

[d] Last Lines

[c] Edward Said Memorial Lecture
[d] Last Lines (courtesy of Ann Davies, 1999)

Beginnings (7)—Rosebud

Click here for an introduction to the Round and Square series "Beginnings."

Beginnings—Rosebud (Citizen Kane, 1945)

[a] A rosebud

 This may be the most famous beginning in film history. I have never understood why the film is always ranked first ("beginning") in every poll of film critics. Don't get me wrong, it is an excellent movie--inspiring and first with a bevy of wonderful innovations. But first? Of all time? All of the time?

[b] "Rosebud"

First, fifth, tenth, thirtieth (it couldn't be lower)—all of that is irrelevant here. There is no better (or more famous) movie beginning—ever.  If you have never seen it, and you still think that "rosebud" refers to, well, a rosebud...then you really have to watch an American classic (the whole thing, once-a-week for fifty-two weeks). But that is another story for another time.  Just watch the opening clip. I have included a few links below, for context.

The Beginning
 The key (short) clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jipboWI9uiE&feature=related

The full sequence (with annoying advertising):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZOzk7T93wE&NR=1

Classic Scenes (Ignore the poster's distractions—they total twenty seconds):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAHaRDlUrLw&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAHaRDlUrLw&feature=related

[c] Rosebud

Context
http://ddk19.wordpress.com/2011/01/10/citizen-kane-1941/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8Uh0fkrwIE&NR=1&feature=fvwp

Beginnings (6)—World Chess Championship, 1972

Click here for an introduction to the Round and Square series "Beginnings."

[a] Spassky-Fischer  Reykjavík, 1972

[b] Match of the Century

World Chess Championship, 1972, Game 6—
Reykjavík Bobby Fischer-Boris Spassky

For a brief period during my youth, everyone seemed to play chess. I thought it was a natural part of making one’s way through school, whether one particularly liked the game or not. Chess sets were common holiday gifts in the early 1970s, and I got my first board with plastic pieces then. It turns out that I took for normalcy what was really a short-lived historical anomaly. Most Americans seem not to have liked chess much before 1972, and don’t seem to be very interested today, either.

For one shining period, though, almost everyone paid attention. When Robert (Bobby) Fischer played Boris Spassky, everyone was a chess fan. I remember a conversation overheard at the Quality Bakery in Northfield, Minnesota that summer. A table of middle-aged men in overalls and wearing bright seed company caps debated Fischer’s “weak play with white” in game four, as well as his impressive victory with black to even the series in game five. The only time that I ever hear such conversations today is during Olympic years, when Americans suddenly become discerning experts on figure skating and gymnastics.

[c] Popular culture c. 1972

Back in the summer of 1972, however, even those not much interested in chess were drawn to the “American versus the Soviet” angle. It is hard today to imagine how powerfully the months of July, August, and September would sear themselves into our memories. The Munich Olympics began in late-August, Fischer was crowned champion on September 1, and any certainties we held about the world would pause on September 5, with the Munich hostage crisis. Somehow, through this whole time, there was a little break-in at the Watergate complex. No one who ever lived through it will forget that summer.

[d] World Chess Championship, 1972

The World Chess Championship began on July 1, with Fischer nowhere in sight for the opening ceremonies. He was demanding more money for the prize purse. The American was volatile and annoying, and I found him to be a spoiled brat (an opinion that many children express with the confidence of youth). Spassky was more dignified, and I struggled to look at the match through a lens not as crudely shaped by the Cold War as most press coverage was.

Back in Reykjavik in July, Bobby Fischer got off to a flawed start, to say the least, and his behavior matched his play. By the fifth game, though, he had leveled the match, and the next game would prove pivotal. Although I say that in retrospect, most of us “knew” it even before the opening move.

[e]     1 c4 (pawn moves two squares forward)

And what an opening move it was. Fischer had never played it before in competition. Ever. There were gasps in the audience, and even Spassky was said to have betrayed surprise. I tried to imagine the conversation the next day at the bakery. No one saw it coming. It was truly a beginning to remember.

Fischer, playing white, moved his Queen’s bishop’s pawn two squares forward.

[f] Beginning to end(game).

Fischer's standard opening (with a few small exceptions depending on the situation) was the “Ruy Lopez” opening of e4—the king’s pawn moves two squares forward. One of the criticisms of Fischer had been that his openings were just too predictable. It was as though he had been waiting for just the right moment to unleash something new.

What a beginning. 

Even if you don’t play chess, click “play” when you reach the link below, and watch the game unfold (Queen's gambit declined). It is one of the greatest games ever played, and Boris Spassky publicly applauded his opponent for masterful play—an act that even Fischer regarded as classy. Both Fischer and Spassky regarded it as the best game of the match.

http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1044366

[g] World Champion (and Watergate news)

Images

[a] Spassky-Fischer Reykjavík, 1972

[b] Match of the Century.

[c] Popular culture, c. 1972.

[d] World Chess Championship, 1972

[e] 1 c4 (pawn moves two squares forward)

[f] Beginning to end(game)
[g] World Champion (and Watergate news)

Breaking the Vessel (5)

Click here to go to section one of "Breaking the Vessel."
Click below for the other "Breaking the Vessel" posts.
1         2         3         4         5         6         7         8         9         10          11          12

V
Up the Down Staircase

[a] Examination tumult

Time flew by swiftly, as Chinese literary (para)phrasing has it—like a piebald colt galloping in a flash while glimpsed through a crack in the fence. Sima Guang had easily soared over the increasingly challenging hurdles of local, provincial, and national examinations, culminating with his success in the palace examination, the top of the scholarly mountain that many people worked toward all their lives. This gave him a secure position in Song dynasty administration from the age of twenty onward. The speed with which Sima achieved the very highest of degrees—the jinshi, or “presented scholar”—speaks to both his native ability and the focus he brought to his studies during his entire life. Still, the forces of bureaucracy were strong, even in the eleventh century, and Sima inevitably “advanced” from the highest honors in education one day to the middle ranks of the imperial bureaucracy on the next. From Yale Law Review to junior associate (you get the idea).

[b] "Cheating Shirt"

[c] Nineteenth-century examination cells

No matter how talented, a scholar-official would begin his career by managing middle-level matters—with options ranging from being “in charge” of small localities far from the capital to serving as a lower level functionary in bureaus close to the center of power. The former had the advantage of putting the young official “in charge,” with the concomitant disadvantage of being in the boondocks, where he often could not even understand the local dialect. The latter put him within earshot of power discussions, yet he was so low in the capital hierarchy that his physical proximity was wasted. Inside, but out; outside, but in—either way, even the young superstars (for that is how the jinshi were regarded) had to start over. It is a little like the NFL draft that way. 

For even the most talented scholars of their generation, a complex twenty-year process would begin to unfold from the moment they passed the palace examination. If things went well, they would have a chance for real influence in their mid-forties. And they had to be careful—their families were counting on them, and opportunities to move up the ladder of influence were regularly marred by factors they could never anticipate, such as being demoted because of an alliance with the “wrong” faction or annoying a superior. It happened to just about everyone at some point during the long climb.

[d] Song Imperial Garden

In the calm and refined waters of early Song dynasty government, these setbacks were usually relatively minor (it would not always be so, especially in the centuries to follow, when political misjudgments could mean death—sometimes for whole clans). In the more refined eleventh century, a misstep or two was often expected, and talented young officials would take two or three steps forward for every small step backward. Still, great influence at the court was beyond the reach of almost all officials, no matter how formidable their backgrounds.  Talent, an excellent record of service over several decades, and a smattering of well-timed good fortune was required. And there was still one more intangible that affected every career in one way or another—the requirement that every son, and hence every government official—retire from service to observe the “three years mourning” when his parents died. 

Throughout Chinese history, stories abound of officials on the very cusp of power, only to leave for their childhood homes to wear coarse cloth and mourn a parent, even as their rivals moved in swiftly to replace them. A few historical accounts note that it was unusual but not unheard of for an official to try to hold onto the influence he had leveraged over many years, and to skirt the requirements of the mourning period. This kind of unfilial conduct usually backfired, hurting a career  even more—not the least by labeling one a crass and disrespectful opportunist—than leaving office and starting back up the ladder in three years (several rungs down, but having maintained the respect of those who might be inclined toward rapid promotion).

[e] Northern Song China (960-1127)

A few very fortunate scholars in Chinese history had parents who, after relatively long and productive lives, passed on at times that were not especially burdensome for their sons' careers. Sima Guang was one of them. Crass though it may sound (and no proper scholar would ever admit to thinking along these lines, even though the historical sources are filled with allusions to this very matter), Sima benefited from almost perfect timing throughout his official career. By achieving “presented scholar” status before the age of twenty, he was already at least a decade ahead of most of his peers. 

He negotiated the byzantine pathways of state service with a deft touch, only being lightly scarred by a profound factional battle in 1043-1044, when he was still only beginning to find his stride in the bureaucracy. Even the requirement that he spend the better part of five different years (the requirement was actually twenty-seven months for each parent) in respectful sabbatical generally worked to his advantage. While it removed him from office, it gave him an opportunity (despite the mournful circumstances) to recharge himself intellectually, spending months reading, writing, and thinking that otherwise would have been devoted to the requirements of governmental management. I would go so far as to say that these self-imposed periods of relaxation from duty made it possible for the adult Sima to contemplate compiling a historical work that no one in a thousand years had been able to produce.

[f] Scholarship and Panopticon

Sima had traveled up and down the stairways of hierarchy and bureaucracy, and it was that experience every bit as much as the occasional “forced leisure” in his career that created the possibility of writing a truly great work of history…and management. He understood the work of government in ways that few historians ever have; all he lacked was time. Were he an accomplished scholar who never passed the highest examinations, it is possible that he could have devoted his life to historical study. Over the centuries, several fine thinkers from wealthy families did just that, and Sima was nothing if not talented and wealthy. The burdens and the opportunities presented by an official career were always at odds—those like Sima had the scholastic ability and drive to achieve great interpretive heights, yet there was almost no time to devote to monumental tasks that would take many years to complete. 

Instead, they worked for an hour here and an afternoon there. They had servants who would save their brief written reflections for them, tossing them into bags so that they could be compiled in "collected writings" when the scholars died. Short and to the literary point—essays, poems, paintings, and elegant “jottings” were the creative output of the best scholar-officials in imperial China. Magisterial histories covering almost 1,500 years, mining over three hundred original sources, and totaling many thousands of pages—less so. Imagine being bureau chief, senior vice-president, or academic dean. Now imagine spending at least a decade in continuous scholarly work. Nope. Nada. Ain’t gonna happen. This is one of the many reasons why before the Song dynasaty there were no historical works in China that linked dynasty after dynasty in a continuous chronological narrative. Not even committees succeeded.

[g] Song (Dynasty)

The chance opportunities of enforced “free time” were one reason that Sima Guang, in his mid-forties, was able to compile several brief historical works that gave a sense of his ambitions. In 1064, the Liniantu (Chronological Chart of Historical Years) gave an outline of the broad sweep of Chinese history, while two years later the Tongzhi (Comprehensive Records) stunned court readers by showing how deep and compelling a narrative Sima Guang was capable of accomplishing. It was a thorough account of an early period of Chinese history (403-207 BCE) in eight chapters. It was what sophisticated readers had been waiting for—for centuries. How would it ever be possible for one of the most successful and busy politicians in the empire to find the time to finish it? Eight chapters showed the depth and beauty of Sima’s skills (let us not forget that these same lines would be admired nine hundred years later by readers such as Liang Qichao and Mao Zedong). Eight chapters were also a very small drop in an immense bucket of Chinese history. Sima had been able to work on them in bits and pieces for well over a decade, including during his time in mourning, when he had no official responsibilities at all. He had written eight; how would it be possible for him to finish almost three hundred chapters while serving at the center of imperial power? He was forty-seven years old and nearing the height of power. How would he ever find the time?

Monday (3/28)—Outside Looking In (and Back)

Sima Guang had shown that he could write the great work that had eluded everyone else…in all of Chinese history. He was approaching the age of fifty, and had completed about one-thirtieth of what would be required to finish his history. Do the math, and examine the eleventh century actuarial charts. Consider the further news that he was almost surely going to be appointed the next chief minister (the highest civilian office in the empire). Something was going to have to change (for better or worse), or he would never finish the book. Something.

Breaking the Vessel 1         Breaking the Vessel 2         Breaking the Vessel 3         Breaking the Vessel 4

Breaking the Vessel 5         Breaking the Vessel 6         Breaking the Vessel 7         Breaking the Vessel 8

Breaking the Vessel 9         Breaking the Vessel 10       Breaking the Vessel 11       Breaking the Vessel 12