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Grand Parseny, or What We Mean When We Talk About Meaning

CK: "My guess is that most people reading this column are likely thinking, These are OK arguments for generally bad ideas."

PENIS!

It is my general practice to choose words carefully. Not just as a writer but as a Klosterman (more on this later). So why did I start off a column with a sophomoric expletive that invokes the male genitalia? (Good question.) Why, thank you. (Hey, did you lose some weight?) Actually, I did lose a few pounds, thanks for asking. (I thought you were looking a little saucier than usual.) Oh you! (Hey, you just keep up the good work, you wildly potent ladykiller, you.) Thanks bro!

First off, the word “penis” is hilarious for all my readers under 14 (I have a dedicated pre-pubescent/early pubescent male readership, likely owing to my gig at The New York Times and my obscure 70s rock references [if there’s anything kids love, it’s dying media and 40-year-old songs about cars that no longer exist]). Second, it immediately grabs the reader’s attention. This is an old journalism secret passed down through the generations – I first learned about it from Bob Guccione, Sr. while working at Spin. His example was a Penthouse spread that included, in his words, “muff diving” and “rock hard peckers” but it can be applied to more “intellectual” publications as well. Third, this unique introduction is left to the reader’s interpretation. There are many ways in which this exclamatory sentiment could be understood. Is it meant as a simple expletive, as an analog for “crap!” for example? Is it meant to express the typically agreed upon semantic meaning of the word itself – do I have something important to announce about the male sex organ? Is it expressing a latent desire for a man’s company, his firm yet tender embrace somehow making me feel safe and frightened all at once, all the while feeling an aching protuberance in the pants region? Leaving the door open for the reader to raise these questions is exactly the point. Words, and their meanings, are up for endless interpretation, examination and debate. This was never clearer to me as it was back with dear old Grandma.

Grandma Klosterman had her “episode” back in 1986. Early one morning, while shooing away the colony of incredibly sexually-active possums that lived under our porch, she collapsed. She was never the same. All the doctors were baffled. (In retrospect, the patient care in our town may not have been the best modern medicine had to offer, but Shaky Jerry and the rest of the gang at our local hospital/muffler shop/bulk candy dispensary did the very best with what they had.) Grandma spent several nights under observation (she had to share her room with a Shetland pony named Oscar who wouldn’t take his beady eyes off her) before returning home with her new prescription wooden helmet. The transition back to regular life was not easy, especially for the rest of us. Whatever had changed in her cognitive wiring during her “episode,” one thing was explicitly clear – her language center had become a frazzled mess. The first time I was exposed to this change was at breakfast one morning. I asked Grandma to pass the butter. She stared at me quizzically for a while and then replied, slowly, “Do you mean ‘butter’ as in ‘the sound a turkey makes when it rains,’ or ‘butter’ as in ‘them really fancy mittens that Armenians wear’?” I was deeply confused and, to be honest, a little rattled, but I tried to put on a brave face for her sake. After a moment of hesitation I replied, “Uh… mittens?” to which she said, “Carve your own damn turkey, you dirty Lebanese rat!” and stormed off to iron the drapes with a stick she named “Reggie.”

She was basically like that from then on. Eventually no one batted an eye when she asked things like, “Do you mean ‘light bulb’ as in ‘a bunch of abnormally large horse cocks’ or do you mean ‘light bulb’ as in ‘the stuff negroes put in their hair to make them look all uppity.’” (Grandma was set in her ways.) In a way, Grandma’s “episode” caused me to have an episode of my own. While her incessant questioning often led to her being locked in a clothes chest until she fell asleep, it inspired an impressionable young Chuck to search for deeper meaning. As Cinderella so presciently stated, “Talk is cheap.” Words and phrases are often bandied about without any concern for their true meaning or weightier implications. Words are mere avatars for physical objects, emotions, ideas. They stand in like cardboard cutouts for what we truly want to express. And nearly every word in any language can have a different meaning depending on context, idiom, sarcasm, etc. What Grandma instilled in me is a hunger for the true, deeper meanings in the words we use and the sentences we speak. It is this meaning, this intention that is truly important to reveal.

Here’s an example. I’ve had many celebrated appearances on the B.S. Report, the #1 sports podcast among males 13 to 24 and among women 72 to 77. During these appearances, you may hear an exchange like this:

BS: OK, now that we’ve decided which “Melrose Place” character each “Road Rules” cast member would be, let’s get back to sports. So, who do you think is the best NFL quarterback right now? Me: Well, that depends on what you mean by the word “best.” Do you mean “best” as in “the most technically skilled?” Do you mean “best” as in “the best leader on the field?” Do you mean “best” as in “the guy most likely to win football games?” Do you mean “best” as in “who statistically appears to be the most proficient?”

BS: Uh…

[end scene]

While others would just assume what is intended by a word like “best,” or choose to define it on their own terms and answer the question through their own subjective definition, I REALLY want to know what Bill means by “best.” I want to exorcise all the extraneous connotations, inferences and baggage that accompany the words we use and drill down to the very core of significance. Some would argue that the defining qualities of our culture’s post-modern output focus on the existence of ambiguity, duality and relativity. Well, Billy Burroughs never met Grandma Klosterman. If he did, he’d probably say something that didn’t make any sense like, “Language is a virus from outer space,” and Grandma would probably respond with something like, “You play hopscotch like a dago.” Point: Grandma. And so, without further ado, in memory of dear Grandma, it’s time for a good old-fashioned Klosterman Parse-Off!

Let’s use the quote that started this column, taken from my recent Grantland piece about the NFL, as our parse source. I will isolate chosen words and illustrate, by the power vested in me as a true blooded Klosterman, their bona fide significance.

Guess

So what do I/we mean by “guess”? Is it an assumption? A cloaked belief? Does someone’s guess actually affect reality in any substantive way? Is it just an arbitrary, random act? Does a person’s guess say more about what they rationally think is true, what they believe is true, or what they wish to be true? (Those are some heady questions, Chuck. Great job.) Thanks again! By definition, a “guess” is an estimation one makes based upon the evidence available at the time. It is a projection of reality that is occasionally educated but more often subjective. Writers hazard guesses all the time in order to further their point, and I, shamefully, am no exception. While I philosophically object to guessing, it is a necessary evil when dealing with speculative topics such as sports or music or how many times Michael Anthony played “Girl Gone Bad” on his super-sweet Jack Daniel’s bass.

Speaking of sports, let’s take a look at the biggest news story of the last few weeks, the NFL replacement refs controversy. When we boil it down, these replacement refs were essentially guessing. It became clear that they were not familiar with the complexities of the NFL rulebook and were overmatched by the situation in which they found themselves. So, did their guesswork affect reality? NO! This is what I don’t understand about the public outcry. Football is exactly the same as it always was. The refs may have gotten some calls “wrong,” but that doesn’t mean they changed what happened on the field, just the interpretation of it. Did Packers defensive player Sam Shields commit pass interference on that fourth quarter drive by the Seahawks? No, obviously he didn’t. Did the replacement refs say that he did? Yes, they did. Did the Seahawks wide receiver Golden Taint (that can’t be right…) actually catch the game-winning touchdown pass? No, he didn’t. Did the replacement refs say that he did? Yes. Did the refs, by virtue of making this call, physically change the events on the field and somehow alter history so that Golden Taint (Editor’s Note: can we have an intern fact-check this name?) actually, veritably caught the ball? NO! The reality remains intact regardless of the interpretation. This is why I don’t understand what the big deal is. So, the replacement refs saw things a bit differently than the vast majority of fans, players, real refs and all other creatures possessing both consciousness and eyeballs. Let them! It’s their right as Americans to state their beliefs, guesses and panicked decisions into a stadium microphone. Because, ultimately, their guesses don’t matter. What matters is the TRUTH, and if the truth is laid bare (in this case, via endless instant replays), then we all have won. (Except the Packers.)

Most People

So what do I/we mean by “most people”? Is it a mental construct made up of all the people I’ve/we’ve met in our lives? Is that really “most people”? Or is it some theoretical projection of how we imagine the thoughts and feelings of the entire world’s populace? Since there are billions of people on the planet to whom I haven’t spoken, is it responsible to use the phrase “most people”? If so, what do I really MEAN? Well, in this instance, “most people” is intended to represent what I project to be the readers of Grantland. If I had to actually crystallize these assumptions, I suppose I would describe the average reader as a white, middle-class male between 22 and 42; enjoys sports; enjoys fantasy sports; partakes in an ironic appreciation of 80s movies, reality television and internet memes; likes music made with guitars; lives in an urban or suburban environment; has a sophomoric, man-boy sense of humor; likes when Soul Coughing comes on the jukebox; and puzzlingly believes that Dave Jacoby possesses some semblance of talent. (Hey Chuck, wait a second here. Are you suggesting that you purposely target a certain demographic in your writing? There are some potentially racist, sexist and classist inferences to be drawn by your portrait of a composite reader... Come to think of it, this actually makes sense. Aside from a few blatant attempts to court a female audience [e.g. your Lloyd Dobler essay; your “pretending not to like porn” essay] you do have a rather white, male, 30- or 40-something, middle-class, faux-populist bent to your writing. How do you respond?) Hey, what the fuck!? I thought you were on my side. (Sorry, I thought it was an important point to bring up.) Well, you were wrong! This is slanderous and not germane to the conversation at all. I think most people would agree that you’re way out of line on this one.

Ideas

An idea is any concept or notion, and can run the gamut from the brilliant, e.g. a breakthrough in medical nanotechnology, to the confounding, e.g. having another pair of boobs surgically attached to a woman’s back so her husband can honk them while she does the dishes. (Whoa, that’s pretty sexist. Kinda awesome, but still, pretty sexist.) Goddamn it, would you shut the fuck up!? (Sigh… I’m hungry.) That’s it, I’m done. (Want to go pants shopping? I could use a new pair of Dockers...)