Author Archives: Christene

This Is Nothing New…

Tonight, as I was talking to my professor, completely exuberant about my topic, another classmate asked how I have had time to learn so much about Chaucer in these weeks. I didn’t get it at first. But then it dawned on me. People assume this is a recent development because I have only now started openly speaking about it.
I have had this fascination with Chaucer for almost fifteen years. I have written half a dozen papers, and even long after I finished school the first time, I perused this interest independently. I have only recently opened up about it for several reasons. The first of which was my assumption that no one would ever be interested in it, so it would be best to keep it to myself. I remember a few years ago, as I was driving out to a cafe in Hollywood with Sean and Ashlyn, I was reciting Chaucer to them off the top of my head, and they thought it was quite interesting. But I could not imagine anyone outside of academia ever wanting to hear about this. So I never spoke about it. I most certainly didn’t blog about it. I just buried it, using it as something to fill my time in the middle of the night when I could not sleep.
Then I went back to school. But Chaucer isn’t exactly the most popular topic there either. So I focused on other things. Until a project came up for which I could not think of any other topic. It was perfect! I could finally put all of my research to good use! Yet in doing so it came back to what it originally was. I had a legitimate reason to conduct my research in the light of day, and actually feel as if I was doing something worthwhile with it. So of course I got excited again. I went to my parents’s house and unearthed the many boxes of books I had kept in my old closet. I looked over all of my old papers, and revisited the original sources. I remembered all of the things I had learned which I enfolded in the crevices of my memory, believing it was all too antiquated (600 year old manuscripts are hardly ever a hot topic in any situation).
But now that it has all come back, I have no intention of putting it away again.

The Progression of Coffee

They say that sleep is a symptom of caffeine deprivation. I have obviously not been sufficiently deprived.
They (and by “they” I haven’t the slightest clue who they are) say that a writer is a peculiar organism who has the rare ability to turn caffeine into books. If this was actually the case, then I should have written an entire library by now. Unfortunately I have done no such thing. In fact, most of my writing is incoherent at best. At its worst it is appreciated by people who have no business liking it. It is well received in the sort of way I find most offensive.
But let’s return to this caffeine consumption. Everyone has an addiction of sorts, and even though the term “addiction” has a negative connotation, it is not always as insidious as it may sound. I mean, some people are addicted to quilting. Can you possibly get more harmless than that?
Caffeine, I would like to place in the same category as quilting, in that it is innocuous at best (unlike other addictions, such as heroine). Moreover, it actually serves a purpose, namely to keep me functioning at proper levels. Arguably quilting also serves a purpose, to create items that will keep people warm at night, which is also very important. I suppose in this sense caffeine and quilting are diametrically opposed. The first serves to keep one out of bed, while the other can only function when one is in bed.
This analogy is rather perplexing. It is either very good, quite terrible, or so horrendous it is actually hilarious. Or I have consumed so much coffee today I am actually delirious. Your choice.
But coffee and I have had a special relationship over the years. First, high levels of coffee consumption run in my family. Mainly on my father’s side. I fondly remember being a little girl, about three or four, and sitting with my father and my aunt during their morning coffee. I liked sleeping in, so when I did saunter out of bed in the morning they were already on their second or third cup. They would sit out on the balcony, smoking and having cappuccinos. Both would let me dip my tiny fingers into their cups and taste the froth.
Years later I remember my first real cup of coffee (which was actually far from actual coffee). I was twelve, and Tanya’s mother took us to Starbucks. I was not yet a fan of plain coffee, so we both got the fancy mixed drinks that had a splash of coffee and far too many ounces of syrup, milk, and various other liquids. That was the onset of my addiction, which took years to fully develop into what it is now.
I spent several months saving my money each week for frappuccinos. They were just as expensive back then, except minimum wage was less than five dollars an hour. That phase lasted until the winter months, when I discovered the caramel macchiato, and that remained my favorite drink for years (until they introduced the pumpkin spiced latte). I was at that age able to consume three or four large lattes within a few hours. How I have not yet developed diabetes remains a medical mystery. I am sure there are quite a few doctors out there who would love to run some experiments on me, and should I ever become curious enough, I might just let them.
My love for actual coffee (and I will elaborate on just what that means in a bit) started in college. It was not sudden, and it was most certainly not a matter of taste. It actually happened as a time constraint. The Northern Lights Cafe at UCLA is right next to the English building. Actually, there are several English buildings. It is closest to one of them, and close enough to the rest. As I have always had a penchant for taking far too many classes, I never had quite enough time. The lines were long, and I was in constant state of coming and going. I quickly realized ordering plain coffee was far quicker than waiting for carmel macchiatos, cappuccinos, lattes, or any other caffeinated concoctions. Not to mention the Norther Lights, as wonderful as it was, did not rival Starbucks, and left me slightly disappointed each time I ordered any fancy sounding drinks. So black coffee it was. It was bitter, and frankly made me twitch a bit more than I cared for.
I experimented with the black coffee a bit each time. Added some sugar. Then some milk. Then some more sugar. I even got as adventurous as adding cinnamon once. After much practice (and at the rate of coffee I was drinking, this only took about three days), I perfected the cup of black coffee. One large coffee. Five splendas. A dash of vanilla (should there be any available). And about two inches of half and half. I was at this point drinking six to eight such cups a day. I was consequently getting no sleep, but very high grades. Also, people may have thought I was on crack. For the record, I was not.
Almost a decade has passed (maybe more?), and I have tweaked the perfect cup of coffee. Although most people are still unable to enjoy regular coffee the way I do (read: nobody can actually drink from my cup), I have managed to tone it down a bit. I now only add three splendas.
And I am down to four cups per day.

Nothing New Under the Sun (1)

First, let’s pretend all the numbers I have in parentheses are footnotes, including the one in the title, because my blog does not allow for actual footnotes.
With that said, I would like to talk about plagiarism (2). As Tanya M.  likes to say, plagiarism is not only rampant, but inexcusable (3). However, I would like to argue that it is not so since sometimes in plagiarism the original work can actually, through careful editing, become improved (4). Think about it – with a few punctuation marks, rhyme, and line break changes, you can turn Marlowe into Shakespeare (5). Then again, no one plagiarized like Shakespeare, if you are going to really get picky about it (6).
To simply say something was plagiarized, is to reduce it to its most basic form, and in my opinion an insult to both the plagiarizer, and plagiarized. Those most notorious offenders never had reason for it to begin with, as they were excellent writers on their own (7). In fact, not terribly long ago imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, and plagiarism, in this regard is the highest form of imitation, and therefore, by some implicit, perhaps even logical connection, also flattery (8). No?
Returning to the idea that those who plagiarize most have the least need to do so (and here I refer solely to those with great ideas, building upon previous genius, and not to petty plagiarism that is sloppy and reckless in form), it can also be argued that plagiarism on their part is inadvertent. If I am to argue that these writers do not need to because their own ability is enough to produce that which they plagiarize, then I must also state that this ability is not born of nothing (9). If plagiarism is theft, then it most closely resembles kleptomania. After reading and rereading others, the ideas become fused into the mind, and reiterated. It cannot be helped (10).
While there may be a psychology of plagiarism (11), il est plus aise de connoitre l’homme en general que de connoitre un homme en particulier (12), which makes it impossible to fully understand motive. Was the plagiarism inadvertent? Produced as a source of flattery? By some means malicious or insidious? Plagiarism cannot be generalized thus to account for every instance, as intention differs between men. Even if plagiarism becomes defined, packaged in some neat, coherent explanation, it escapes its own confines by virtue of motive, human nature (13), and even laws governing ownership (14). The last point refers to who owns the original words, as in, after they are plagiarized, do they not still belong to the original author (15)? Published words are not like physical items, permanently removed from the owner and in the possession of someone else (16). They float around, and in my opinion (although no one has thus far asked), they serve to point towards the original, drawing further attention to it, as opposed to detracting or obfuscating the primary author. Once you write something, and it is made public, I don’t think anyone can ever take that away from you (17). Of course I am mostly thinking of creative sources, and not more academic ones. I could totally see why someone would raise Hell for having their research or journal article plagiarized. But as for the creative territories, like stories, or drama, then there is where I see it as referencing rather than plagiarism. And I am pretty sure others view it the same. Otherwise we wouldn’t have many of our current sources of entertainment (18).
So what is plagiarism? Although definitions abound (19), it seems to center around recycling of various natures (20), and only recently became a horrifying practice (21). As for me? I personally have mixed feelings on the whole business, and shall leave it at that (see footnote number 15 below for a full definition of what this means).
Footnotes:
  1. Ecclesiastes 1:9: “The thing that has been, it is that which shall be.. and there is no new thing under the sun.” Jean de La Buyere, Les Caracteres: “We come too late to say anything which has not been said already.” Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy: “We can say nothing but hath been said.” Terence, Eunuchus: “Nothing is said that has not been said before.”
  2. And in speaking about plagiarism, I am going to totally plagiarize Anne Fadiman’s Ex Libris in this post. Although the idea originated in one of my classes, my actual idea for creating this post comes from her book, and her thoughts on it.
  3. Tanya never said any such thing. In fact, I don’t believe we even ever had this conversation. She may or may not believe it, but I have no idea. However, since plagiarism extends beyond simply copying ideas, to also falsifying information, then I am here plagiarizing by stating this as Tanya’s opinion. I also don’t think she cares.
  4. Only half of these sentiments are mine, the other half come from Neal Bowers’ “A Loss for Words.”
  5. Ibid. Except for the analogy, which was totally mine. However, you may feel free to plagiarize it. I guess if I give you permission, then it doesn’t count, so on second thought, don’t.
  6. Alexander Lindey, in Plagiarism and Originality actually spent a great deal of time analyzing the extent to which Shakespeare plagiarized, right down to line counts.
  7. Peter Shaw made this argument already, and by reiterating it, I am technically plagiarizing him.
  8. This idea is far from original. I have read it many times over the years, and frankly cannot remember where I first encountered it. I shall here attribute it to Charles Caleb Colton in Lacon. I can only hope to receive a posthumous thank you note.
  9. In a round-about-way I am here referring to Johannes Scotus Eriugena. Not only am I stealing his theory, but reworking it to fit my needs. Plagiarism at its finest. I would add a footnote to this footnote, except that would be entirely too complicated, so I will simply state that Eriugena obtained the majority of his ideas from several before him (as could only be expected), picking up the argument where Boethius left it while also translating other works.
  10. K. R. St. Onge, The Melancholy Anatomy of Plagiarism. Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy (see a pattern here?).
  11. William Dean Howell, “the Psychology of Plagiarism.”
  12. Francois de la Rochefoucauld, Maximes.
  13. Wallace Stevens “The Motive for Metaphor.”
  1. Neal Bowers, again.
  2. Ibid. He says no, or at least not in the same way. I personally have mixed feelings. And by mixed I don’t necessarily mean oscillating both ways, but rather that I am confused. “Mixed” just sounds better, so I will stick with that.
  3. Anne Fadiman, again.
  4. Ira Gershwin, “They Can’t Take That Away From Me,” Shall We Dance.
  5. John Gardner, The Art of Fiction.
  6. Troy Voelker, “Plagiarism: What Don’t They Know?”
  7. Alexander Pope, “Couplets on Wit.”
  8. Harold Ogden, Plagiarism and Imitation During the English Renaissance.