You're Into the Rhyme Slip (and nothing can ever be the same...)

Into the Words: Part II

I take rhyming very seriously. Pop music, on the whole, doesn't. You can say, that's just the style; there's no crime against the slant rhyme. Somewhere along the line, though, our culture got lazier. I don't think rhyming is a microcosm of anything, and I'm not going to intuit here that we are a certain way and wax nostalgic for the good ol' days that are long gone.

Before you raise objections, I will provide evidence to counter what I'm berating: the decline of rhyme (does that slant rhyme make anyone else uncomfortable?). Think about that old adage, "a wrinkle in time saves nine." There's a wrinkle in that line: time does not rhyme with nine. You can't argue for it. In order to find a rhyme, look at the stressed syllable (here, the whole word). The vowel should be the same, true of time and nine. But everything after that stressed vowel--including the consonants--must also match. We aren't in Hawaii, folks; we have 26 letters, and we need to differentiate between them.

So rhymes haven't always been sublime (not as egregious... but from s to no s, as if we didn't notice?). I stand by my point that pop music is a willing, gleeful offender.

Coldplay, "Lost"
Just because I'm losing
Doesn't mean I'm lost
Doesn't mean I'll stop
Doesn't mean I'm across

Chris Martin starts with your basic ABCB. Except B and B are a little off. Then again, he doesn't really pronounce all those consonants... so we can assume the t in lost is silent?

Just because I'm hurting
Doesn't mean I'm hurt
Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved
No better and no worse

Okay, now I'm stuck on the rhyme scheme. I guess hurt and worse should correspond, but deserved also has that ur sound in the middle. ABBB (with different B's)?

You might be a big fish in a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
'Cause along may come
A bigger one

The vowel in pond is slightly different than the rest, but with Chris Martin's diction, anything is possible. Is he going for ABAB, ABCB, or just plain AAAA? (Which sounds like a super-small battery.) Another note: won sounds the same as one. Homophones cannot rhyme; it's called reflection, and it's a good technique when intentional.

I know Coldplay has some understanding of the art of rhyme. Their first album lyric, remember, was "Bones sinking like stones." All requirements for solid (internal) rhyme met.

R.E.M. also employs good rhyme ("You stumble on glass top table / TVs chewing shock gone cable / Pump me up a beanstalk fable") in their song "Hollow Man," from Accelerate. Five points for trying hard in "Living Well is the Best Revenge" and getting close: "All you sad and lost apostles / Hum my name and flare their nostrils." (That might slide completely if you argue it as a double rhyme. Apos = nos; tles = trils.) But then, there are other gems:

Mr. Richards, you're forgiven / For a narrow lack of vision

The public's got opinions / And these consequences border on...

Taking the final syllable (incorrectly) as the only similarity between two phrases does not come close to rhyme. Rhyming is passe, you say, we all say. Fine--don't use it! Write your lyrics in blank or free verse. Inconsistent slant rhymes and assonance do not please my ears. Vampire Weekend doesn't care about the "Oxford Comma"? Good for them--but after they saw a well-rhymed English drama, why move on to climb "Dharamsala"? If you're going all language anarchy on us, then c'mon, commit! Forgive my condescension--but only rhyme if it's your intention.*

*Stressed syllables cen and ten. All sounds after the vowel same; the consonant before different. How it's done, guys.

Franco, my dear, he does give a damn...

Good for James Franco. Yesterday, at my Easter brunch, we were talking about how Franco is studying at NYU (and other universities) for a Masters. His creative writing, the rumor goes, isn't the strongest in the class. Because we're all book snobs, we all rolled our eyes for a second at the thought that novices are getting book deals and, you know, "real" writers aren't. It's so easy for an actor, we said. But then I joked, we should have gone to Hollywood first. You know, 'cause it's smooth sailing to getting a film career. Then we could achieve our publishing dream... the easy way.

Besides, he's James Franco. If he publishes a book, well, good for him. It might not be Hemingway, but he's already proven himself as an artist in one arena. Should we book snobs turn our noses at someone who doesn't need the money and must be pursuing an education for the love of writing, or the challenge of another medium? Actors who write, especially if they aren't ghostwritten, are not playing it safe. Even Joaquin Phoenix, by launching a rap career (or launching media hype about a phony rap career), is being risky. Not in terms of money, but artistically. Yes, it's also about self-promotion, but let's be honest, do people write books (or, worse, short stories and poems!) for the fame and glamour? Bret Easton Ellis, yes. The rest of America, probably not.

Most authors find writing an extra-curricular hobby. It might mean more to them, and make them more famous than office jobs or table-waiting. Your average (non-celebrity) book sells just 5000-7000 copies. If your author gets a fairly generous 10% in royalties, that amounts to about $10,000 for paperbacks and $17,000 for hardcover books. Not bad money, if you write four books a year.

Even if you are an actor, and you're struggling to stay on the B-list, anything to propel your star higher (and gain financial security) is commendable. No matter what I think of the Twilight saga, in print or onscreen, I give character actor Michael Sheen a hand for stepping from small Oscar-prestige projects to a major role in New Moon. (Shout-out to New York magazine's Amos Barshad: As the leader of the vampire coven, "this will be the fourth time Sheen portrays former British Prime Minister Tony Blair onscreen.") He's going to rake in $7 million or so, which helps pay for his kids' education. And maybe a paint job, and nice kitchenware. Shameless selling-out from one view, but a wise plan for life security on the other. Wouldn't be all like to be in his musty ol' vampire shoes? It's something I could sink my teeth into.

I've Got a Golden Snitch!

"Everyone follows Quidditch," according to the Harry Potter Lexicon. In the world of Hogwarts, this statement is certain. With its legions of World Cup attendees, its rough physicality (thanks to Beaters who bludgeon opponents with Bludgers), and its hooped goals, the sport combines soccer, rugby, dodgeball, and basketball into a maddened free-for-all flight of fancy.

There's a greater truth now behind what the Lexicon writes. Everyone indeed follows Quidditch, including the Muggles. We non-magic folk cannot fly on our broomsticks like the Wicked Witch of the West, pelting around Quaffles and seeking out Snitches. Ever since we put down Sorcerer's Stone--that's what we call it in America--we have wondered just what it would be like to soar through the air in this fantastical sport.

In the Northeast, a phenomenon has grown over the past four years: turning Quidditch earthbound. There's a strong likelihood that even Princeton students major in highly advanced sciences but don't master the art of broomstick riding during their formative college years. But if this seems like an obstacle, just think of how desperate students must be, living up North. The almost daily wind gusts simulate the illusion of flight. To complete the facade of wizardry, American Quidditch enthusiasts solved the rest of the problem: there's no need to fly on the broomsticks. If players squeeze them between their legs as they run around the field, J.K. Rowling's magical sport will retain its integrity.

And so, what was once vicarious has now formed into the possible, if improbable. Do we expect any less of Emerson undergrads? They hosted four teams at the 2008 Quidditch World Cup--though, in all fairness to England, it consisted of American teams only. These teams are organized under an official name: the Intercollegiate Quidditch Association. From a grassroots intermural effort, the tournaments grew into a full-fledged club sport, joined by many other quirky liberal arts-based colleges like Amherst and Vassar. Princeton, one of the "top three" Ivys, even hosts a team. After all, the boarding-school tradition of Rowling's Hogwarts remains in America in these private Northeast colleges, especially those that separate Oxford-style into internal schools. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff live on in New England.

CBS, the Wall Street Journal, and USA Today all have covered the tournaments.

In November, we can log onto collegequidditch.com to watch a live stream of the bloodshed. It's a tough sport in some ways, but other aspects feel like Capture the Flag. Rules, by necessity, have changed:

1. The Bludgers, which devastate your chances of staying in the game (and often result in sharp falls and concussions) in the novels, become Nerf balls. If you are hit, you relinquish the Quaffle for possible interception, but you are not out.

2. The Quaffle, usually a volleyball, is thrown through a hoop like a basketball. Competitive teams use discs that add Ultimate Frisbee to the amalgamation of sports.

3. The best part of all this translation is the Snitch. A small yellow ball that careens on its own accord in Rowling's game, the Snitch needs to have a mind of its own. So students dress up a cross-country runner in all yellow and ask him to be an inanimate object that moves around rapidly. He is "released" at half-time to roam past the field if he wishes--and keep in mind, he's bright yellow and not hard to spot. Some schools use the entire campus for Snitch hide-and-seek. To "capture" him, players grab a sock dangling from his pants (thereby adding flag-football to the mix). Do the Snitches have to text their capture to the refs, I wonder.

There's beauty in how this fanfic-level shrine to nerdiness has taken off. Within the next five years, American just might tune into ESPN for Arena Quidditch. Commercialization is crucial to expansion. While the Emerson team began by riding around on found wooden objects like tree branches, now they have purchased official Quidditch brooms from an official company that manufactures them.

Sadly, England seems behind in this development, and why should we expect otherwise? They aren't as awestruck by their standard schooling system: house allegiances, medieval architecture, ages-old secret societies. Here in America, we see Rowling's highly British world as something exotic and, therefore, magical. As strange and wondrous as this Muggle Quidditch has become, it speaks to the power of fantasy, how we want so vociferously to join characters of fiction in their adventures, as if we need these dalliances to keep from being mundane. I assure you: walk through the Boston Common in October, watch two cloaked 20-year-olds sashay around with broomsticks in pursuit of a yellow man at lightspeed, and experience the magic of real life.

Happy March 32nd!

I'm blogging at my internship because they have nothing for me right now. There's a fancy new coffee machine, and I set it on Mochaccino to enjoy a French vanilla coffee-meets-hot chocolate experience. Not an April Fool's joke; I'm drinking coffee at work (because it's free, so I can be adventurous).

I want to point out something that is an April Fool's joke and is awesome. Gmail really makes my day: they always try these ridiculous announcements of new services that don't make sense (next year: time travel!). Tomorrow, they'll report how many inept e-mailers got suckered in. I worry a little with today's prank; they've developed an "Autopilot" service that creates reply messages much better than you ever could. You're feeling it, right? Autopilot can, for instance, help you keep up relationships, like with your therapist:

"I'm working on it and I understand that lying is wrong. I've just returned from Bali, where I won the lottery. Also, I ate an entire shark while it was still alive. I'm doing very well."

But here's the problem. They show a fake spam message—"Dear Sir: I am Prince Joe Eboh..."—and then offer an actual answer to it! They are teaching us, even as a joke, that we should reply to ersatz opportunities in Nigeria. Autopilot says:

"Your Majesty,

It is an honor to receive your attentions. I will do everything in my power to aid you and accept the $25 million. Please find my bank account numbers, as well as my SSN and mother's maiden name."

Yes, you say, obviously a joke—but think of all the people who didn't get last year's joke. G-mail rules at April Fool's, but methinks they are putting dangerous ideas into people's heads, especially on a day of maximum crazy viruses on the World Wide Web. (Just had an epiphany: that's where "www" comes from. I don't know if I'd thought about that before.) And—re: yesterday's post—these people have already been duped into 3-D movie mania. As Marlon Brando said, "The horror, the horror."