To me, the thing that’s striking about these national security briefings isn’t the hokey combo of Bible verses and combat pics, it’s the amateurish design. Something tells me whoever creates Obama’s briefing papers has to consult a 133-page stylebook.

James Fallows, “On eloquence vs. prettiness”:

[Obama’s] eloquence is different from what I think of as rhetorical prettiness — words and phrases that catch your notice as you hear them, and that often can be quoted, remembered, and referred to long afterwards. “Ask not…” from John F. Kennedy. “Blood, toil, tears, and sweat” from Winston Churchill. “Only thing we have to fear is fear itself” from FDR. “I have a dream,” from Martin Luther King. Or, to show that memorable language does not necessarily mean elevated thought, “segregation today, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever!” from the early George C. Wallace.

At rare moments in history, language that goes beyond prettiness to beauty is matched with original, serious, difficult thought to produce the political oratory equivalent of Shakespeare. By acclamation Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address is the paramount American achievement of this sort: “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right…”

The reason to distinguish eloquence of thought from prettiness of expression is that the former tells you something important about the speaker, while the latter may or may not do so. Hired assistants can add a fancy phrase, much as gag writers can supply a joke. Not even his greatest admirers considered George W. Bush naturally expressive, but in his most impressive moment, soon after the 9/11 attacks, he delivered a speech full of artful writerly phrases, eg: “Whether we bring our enemies to justice or bring justice to our enemies, justice will be done.” Good for him, and good for his staff.

Rhetorical polish, that is, can be a staff-enhanced virtue. The eloquence that comes from original thought is much harder to hire, or to fake. This is the sort of eloquence we’ve seen from Obama often enough to begin to expect.

(Sorry for the long quote, but I wanted to include all of Fallows’s examples.)

Also —

Inventio is the system or method used for the discovery of arguments in Western rhetoric and comes from the Latin word, meaning “invention” or “discovery”. Inventio is the central, indispensable canon of rhetoric, and traditionally means a systematic search for arguments (Glenn and Goldthwaite 151).

Inventio comes from the Latin invenire, meaning “to find” or “to come upon”. The same Latin root later gave us the English word inventor. Invenire is derived from the Greek heuriskein, also meaning “to find out” or “discover” (cf. eureka, “I have found it”).

Reading through this month’s Communication Arts, I encountered an article on the High Line, an abandoned elevated rail platform in NYC. After the line went fallow in 1980, Nature reclaimed it. Trees, grasses and wildflowers overgrew the tracks, turning it into an urban wonder — a wild garden in the sky. Due to years of legal wrangling, the line somehow never got demolished. So a group of dreamers calling themselves Friends of the High Line assembled a coalition of influential hipster sympathizers to turn it into a park. Back in 2007, New York Magazine chronicled the rail line’s evolution from urban ruin to civic treasure. Kottke’s been blogging it since 2004, so I may be the last nerd-hipster to hear about it. If I’m not, photos of the thing abound, so do spend some time enjoying them.

Photo from Flickr user cdstar, licensed under Creative Commons. Feel free to make derivative works off this post, if you’d like.

Axiom: You can’t teach anyone anything without intentionally or accidentally modeling humanity for them. It isn’t enough to adequately convey information to students or take care of the mechanics of teaching – this is just feeding and changing diapers. You have to choose or (more properly) cultivate the form of humanity you want to perform/become/become through performing/perform through becoming.

Corollary 1: The most important and humbling thing that any teacher must learn is respect for humanity that fundamentally differs from yours. If you are studious and a hard worker, you have to avoid the temptation to identify with and reward your students who are studious hard workers. If you are a charismatic and eloquent speaker, you have to resist the urge to cut your charismatic students more slack. This is above all true when this identification with your students flatters your own (perhaps aspiring) identity in some way.

Corollary 2: The first corollary to this axiom does not follow logically from it, but rather contradicts it. This is just and proper.

Corollary 3: The Latin word for both this axiom and its first corollary is caritas. It means both charity and love.

A German adaptation of Mel Brooks’s The Producers opens in Berlin.

Andrew Hungerford — aka the smartest, funniest dramatist * astrophysicist = lighting director you should know — has written the best post on the physical holes in the new Star Trek movie that I think can be written.

Basically, almost nothing in the movie makes sense, either according to the laws established in our physical universe or the facts established in the earlier TV shows and movies.

Wherever possible, Andy provides a valiant and charitable interpretation of what he sees, based (I think) on the theory that “what actually happened” is consistent with the laws of physics, but that these events are poorly explained, characters misspeak, or the editing of the film is misleading. (I love that we sometimes treat Star Trek, Star Wars, etc., like the “historical documents” in Galaxy Quest — accounts of things that REALLY happened, but that are redramatized or recorded and edited for our benefit, as opposed to existing ONLY within a thinly fictional frame.)

If you haven’t seen the movie yet, you probably shouldn’t read the post. It will just bother you when you’re watching it, like Andy was bothered. If you have, and you feel like being justifiably bothered (but at the same time profoundly enlightened), check it out right now. I mean, now.

This is a post about the new Star Trek movie that contains no spoilers.

However:

Here’s my rule about movie and television spoilers. If you’re giving information that’s already given in a preview, then you’re spoiling nothing that hasn’t been spoiled already. Likewise, if you’re giving information that can be reasonably inferred, no spoiling has occurred.

If you’re not willing to entertain either of these possibilities, if you scrupulously avoid movie trailers or cast lists, and you still haven’t seen this movie, then not only are you a weirdo, you also stopped reading this post long ago.

So, you will be shocked, shocked to learn that at one point in the new Star Trek movie, just as you’ve seen in the trailer, James T. Kirk sits in the captain’s chair, and that by the end of the movie, most of the characters that we associate with the Enterprise’s crew are working together on the Enterprise.

Okay? Good.

So here’s Henry Jenkins’s thoughtful post, “Five Ways to Start a Conversation About the New Star Trek Film,” which DOES contain more detailed spoilers. My excerpt, however, does not:

In the past, we were allowed to admire Kirk for being the youngest Star Fleet captain in Federation history because there was some belief that he had managed to actually earn that rank… It’s hard to imagine any military system on our planet which would promote someone to a command rank in the way depicted in the film. In doing so, it detracts from Kirk’s accomplishments rather than making him seem more heroic. This is further compromised by the fact that we are also promoting all of his friends and letting them go around the universe on a ship together.

We could have imagined a series of several films which showed Kirk and his classmates moving up through the ranks, much as the story might be told by Patrick O’Brien or in the Hornblower series. We could see him learn through mentors, we could seem the partnerships form over time, we could watch the characters grow into themselves, make rookie mistakes, learn how to do the things we see in the older series, and so forth. In comics, we’d call this a Year One story and it’s well trod space in the superhero genre at this point.

But there’s an impatience here to give these characters everything we want for them without delays, without having to work for it. It’s this sense of entitlement which makes this new Kirk as obnoxious as the William Shatner version. What it does do, however, is create a much flatter model for the command of the ship. If there is no age and experience difference between the various crew members, if Kirk is captain because Spock had a really bad day, then the characters are much closer to being equals than on the old version of the series.

This may be closer to our contemporary understanding of how good organizations work — let’s think of it as the Enterprise as a start-up company where a bunch of old college buddies decide they can pool their skills and work together to achieve their mutual dreams. This is not the model of how command worked in other Star Trek series, of course, and it certainly isn’t the way military organizations work, but it is very much what I see as some of my students graduate and start to figure out their point of entry into the creative industries.

The Enterprise as a start-up! It reminds me of that story about the guys who started Silicon Valley’s Fairchild Semiconductor.

Let me add that I think Jenkins is wrong about the way promotion is presented in the film — Star Fleet actually appears to be remarkably meritocratic, much more deferential to performance and aptitude tests than years served. Captain Pike tells Kirk that he could command his own starship (the second highest rank) in four years after leaving the academy. Chekhov is a starship navigator (and not, like Kirk or Uhura, a cadet) at only seventeen years old; Spock is a commander and academy instructor without there being a sense of a considerable age/experience gap between he and Kirk or Uhura. (He’s introduced as “one of our most distinguished graduates,” like he’s a really good TA.)

But it’s not academia; it’s the NBA. You give these kids the ball.

The important point is that within this highly meritocratic structure, the crew members of the Enterprise are PARTICULARLY and precociously talented. Kirk is the fastest to rise to captain where fast rises are not uncommon. As I said to my friends after seeing the movie, it gets bonus points for emphasizing just how SMART these people are; Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Scotty, and Chekhov (among others) are explicitly presented as geniuses.

Okay, now I’ve probably actually included spoilers in this thing. So. What. Go see the movie already. Then read the rest of Jenkins’s post. You’ll enjoy them both.

(H/t: the awesome Amanda Phillips.)

Charlie Jane Anders, “Why Dollhouse Really Is Joss Whedon’s Greatest Work“:

The evil in Dollhouse is harder to deal with than the evil in Buffy because it’s our evil. It’s our willingness to strip other people of their humanity in order to get what we need from them. It’s our eagerness to give up our humanity and conform to other people’s expectations, in exchange for some vaguely promised reward. And it’s our tendency to put any new piece of technology to whatever uses we can think of, whether they’re positive or utterly destructive.

And that last bit, about technology, is the other main reason why Dollhouse is Whedon’s most accomplished work, especially if you love science fiction like we do. Unlike Joss’ other works, Dollhouse really is about the impact of new technology on society. It asks the most profound question any SF can ask: how would we (as people) change if a new technology came along that allowed us to…? In this case, it’s a technology that allows us to turn brains into storage media: We can erase, we can record, we can copy. It’s been sneaking up on us, but Dollhouse has slowly been showing how this radically changes the whole conception of what it means to be human. You can put my brain into someone else’s body, you can keep my personality alive after I die, and you can keep my body around but dispose of everything that I would consider “me.”

The Chronicle of Higher Education on the Kindle DX and the market for electronic textbooks:

Most college students

Shhh — don’t ask, don’t tell’s days are numbered:

H/t to Howard Weaver.