Imbecile

A word by any other name is a metaphor.

One of the notions in the early history of science is the claim that language can be turned into a precision tool capable of designating a specific word for every reality, making modifiers obsolete. It was to be patterned after the precision that math was trying to attain. Of course, with the discovery that reality can be viewed from the dimension of substance (atoms) and process (energy field waves), to name two perspectives, rendered that ideal a figment of intention more than an object of feasibility.

Take the science of forecasting the movement of stocks in the financial markets. Computers designed to anticipate the increase or decrease in value often involve up to 300 variables, and the methodology is the old game of acknowledging extremes and weighing in on the middle, with the increments of change that follows influencing choice.

Anyone who ever dabbled in macroeconomics to determine an accurate image of aggregate supply and demand would have to construct an algorithm that involves numerous variables, rendering the old Keynesian IS/LM an arcane game in academe rather than a functional tool in policy making.

An earlier image passed on by colleagues in the Internet is a picture of two front frames of amplifier-looking machines, one with almost 300-some buttons, and another, just one. The caption read, “How many buttons does it take to arouse sexual excitement?” The multi-button one was labeled “female”…you get the point!

A PSS colleague no longer on island had a colorful vocabulary that would leave a red face on an old salt, and he would always say, “Hey, that’s how we talk in Jersey!” Having lived on the Westside of Chicago, I understood; having visited the Southside often enough left with my middle class morality drowning in street-smart lingo, I can relate.

When a lawyer friend calls me an “eff-ing idiot” to characterize the quality of a decision I made, he is at his endearing best. At his worst, it is best to send the children out of the house.

I’ve heard our genial commissioner referred to with the “B” word many times. And I’ve already written about getting an administrative note on my personnel file because I pedagogically used the F-word in class in a year! The use of colorful language is not uncommon; sadly, neither is the hypocritical tsk-tsk-tsk response. In fact, social hypocrisy is a mainstay on the communal menu.

Which brings us to the word used as a title to this reflection. A colleague on the other side of our block decided to highlight it in a news report on MHS principal Craig Garrison being confronted with a question whether he “fired” James Yangetmai. In a verbal exchange, James was told that he was no longer in MHS employ. Craig later clarified that James’ contract at MHS ended mid-June; he never fired anyone.

Craig response, as reported, was: “Why do you ask that moronic question you imbecile?” That the reporter deigned to report it might actually justify Craig’s repartee (a riposte!), and our commenting on it qualifies us to the same charge, as well, or, we just need a break from listening to our Shenyang Aerospace University Oral English students’ final recordings.

My erstwhile SVES Canary pedagogue Ray Palacios might remind himself that adjudicating differences belongs to the judiciary, and the Garrison-Yangetmai tiff, since no administrative charge had been formally leveled, might best be handled by the mediating touch of a John Joyner, or a Lynn Tenorio, before bringing it to the attention of lawyers. And, of course, Garrison should be reminded that using language around soft and tender ears must be made with extreme caution. He was, after all, in the vicinity of the Legislature, not very well known for adult sensibilities!

We are reminded of the faithful housewife who stayed up past midnight on a muggy summer night for her hubby to come home, and the rice earner staggers home way past Friday reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume popular in dance floors, so she bellows: “Would you close that damn door? The draft is killing me.” On a sweaty humid dawn, mind you. Obviously, her comment had nothing to do with the open door!

Bato bato sa langit, ang tamaan, huwag magagalit (cast a stone into the sky, he who gets hit, don’t cry), is a favored Pinoy saying. News reporters are known for casting stones up high. Hint. Hint.

Those who know Craig will not miss the colorful language. We recall that our Micronesian colleagues of the Trust Territory days were taught Robert’s Rules of Order and Emily Post’s Etiquette. The forms are adhered to but not necessarily the spirit the works promote. Garrison is charged with “arrogance, vindictiveness, and other ‘character and attitude’ issues.” Hey, that puts him in Stanley’s corner! Bereft of genuine island entertainment, welcome to the Craig and Stanley show!

BTW, hypocrisy is not about huge animals. Those are “hippos” with an “i” rather than a “y.” Hypocrisy of the bloated type is the tobacco lobby claiming social conscience for donating to the cancer research fund, or, the Legislature feigning interest in “children’s education.” Duh!

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