452 Chapter 12 Prose for Further Reading

Fun, Oh Boy* Fun. You Could Die from It.

Suzanne Britt Jordan

Most of us never really consider exactly what it means to have a good time. Suzanne Britt Jordan, a writer who claims she “tries to have fun, but often fails,” offers an extended definition of the word “fun” by pointing out what it is not.

PREREADING: THINKING ABOUT THE ESSAY IN ADVANCE

What expectations do you bring to an article entitled “Fun, Oh Boy. Fun. You Could Die from It”? Can “fun” actually harm or kill you? In what ways? Do you think that we are too much of a “fun” culture? Why or why not?

Words to Watch

puritan (par. 3) one who practices or preaches a stricter moral code than that which most people now follow selfless (par. 4) unselfish; having no concern for oneself fetish (par. 5) something regarded with extravagant trust or respect licentiousness (par. 9) a lack of moral restraints

consumption (par. 9) act of taking in or using up a substance; eating or drinking

epitome (par. 11) an ideal; a typical representation capacity (par. 12) the ability to hold something damper (par. 13) something that regulates or that stops something from flowing reverently (par. 13) respectfully; worshipfully blaspheme (par. 13) to speak of without reverence weary (par. 14) tired; worn-out

horizon (par. 14) the apparent line where the earth meets the sky scan (par. 14) to examine something carefully

Fun is hard to have.

Fun is a rare jewel.

Somewhere along the line people got the modem idea that fun was there for the asking, that people deserved fun, that if we didn’t have a little fun every day we would turn into (sakes alive!) puritans.

“Was it fun?” became the question that overshadowed all other questions: good questions like: Was it moral? Was it kind? Was it honest? Was it beneficial? Was it generous? Was it neces­sary? And (my favorite) was it selfless?

When the pleasure got to be the main thing, the fun fetish was sure to follow. Everything was supposed to be fun. If it wasn’t fun, then by Jove, we were going to make it fun, or else.

Think of all the things that got the reputation of being fun. Family outings were supposed to be fun. Sex was supposed to be fun. Education was supposed to be fun. Work was supposed to be fun. Walt Disney was supposed to be fun. Church was supposed to be fun. Staying fit was supposed to be fun.

Just to make sure that everybody knew how much fun we were having, we put happy faces on flunking test papers, dirty bumpers, sticky refrigerator doors, bathroom mirrors.

If a kid, looking at his very happy parents traipsing through that very happy Disney World, said, “This ain’t fun, ma,” his ma’s heart sank. She wondered where she had gone wrong. Everybody told her what fun family outings to Disney World would be. Golly gee, what was the matter?

Fun got to be such a big thing that everybody started to look for more and more thrilling ways to supply it. One way was to step up the level of danger or licentiousness or alcohol or drug consumption so that you could be sure that, no matter what, you would manage to have a little fun.

Television commercials brought a lot of fun and fun-loving folks into the picture. Everything that people in those commer­cials did looked like fun: taking Polaroid snapshots, swilling beer, buying insurance, mopping the floor, bowling, taking aspirin. We all wished, I’m sure, that we could have half as much fun as those rough-and-ready guys around the locker room, flick­ing each other with towels and pouring champagne. The more commercials people watched, the more they wondered when the fun would start in their own lives. It was pretty depressing.

Big occasions were supposed to be fun. Christmas, Thanks- n giving and Easter were obviously supposed to be fun. Your wed­ding day was supposed to be fun. Your wedding night was sup­posed to be a whole lot of fun. Your honeymoon was supposed to be the epitome of fundom. And so we ended up going through every Big Event we ever celebrated, waiting for the fun to start.

It occurred to me, while I was sitting around waiting for the 12 fun to start, that not much is, and that I should tell you just in case you’re worried about your fun capacity.

I don’t mean to put a damper on things. I just mean we 13 ought to treat fun reverently. It is a mystery. It cannot be caught like a virus. It cannot be trapped like an animal. The god of mirth is paying us back for all those years of thinking fun was every­where by refusing to come to our party. I don’t want to blas­pheme fun anymore. When fun comes in on little dancing feet, you probably won’t be expecting it. In fact, I bet it comes when you’re doing your duty, your job, or your work. It may even come on a Tuesday.

I remember one day, long ago, on which I had an especially 14 good time. Pam Davis and I walked to the College Village drug store one Saturday morning to buy some candy. We were about

12. years old (fun ages). She got her Bit-O-Honey. I got my malted milk balls, chocolate stars, Chunkys, and a small bag of M & M’s. We started back to her house. I was going to spend the night. We had the whole day to look forward to. We had plenty of candy. It was a long way to Pam’s house but every time we got weary Pam would put her hand over her eyes, scan the horizon like a sailor and say, “Oughta reach home by nightfall,” at which point the two of us would laugh until we thought we couldn’t stand it another minute. Then after we got calm, she’d say it again. You should have been there. It was the kind of day and friendship and occasion that made me deeply regretful that I had to grow up.

It was fun. 15

To the Victor Belongs the Language

Rita Mae Brown

Language is the road map of culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going. A study of the English lan­guage reveals a dramatic history and astonishing versatility. It is the language of survivors, of conquerors, of laughter.

A word is more like a pendulum than a fixed entity. It can sweep by your ear and through its very sound suggest hidden meanings, preconscious associations. Listen to these words: “blood,” “tranquil,” “democracy.” Besides their literal meanings, they carry associations that are cultural as well as personal.

One word can illustrate this idea of meaning in flux: “revo­lution.” The word enters English in the 14th century from the Latin via French. (At least that’s when it was first written; it may have been spoken earlier.) “Revolution” means a turning around; that was how it was used. Most often “revolution” was applied to astronomy to describe a planet revolving in space. The word car­ried no political meaning.

“Rebellion” was the loaded political word. It too comes from Latin (as does about 60 percent of our word pool), and it means a renewal of war. In the 14th century “rebellion” was used to indicate a resistance to lawful authority. This can yield amus­ing results. Whichever side won called the losers rebels—they, the winners, being the repositories of virtue and more gunpow­der. This meaning lingers today. The Confederate fighters are called rebels. Since the North won that war, it can be dismissed as a rebellion and not called a revolution. Whoever wins the war redefines the language.

“Revolution” did not acquire a political meaning in English until at least the 16th century. Its meaning—a circular move­ment—was still tied to its origin but had spilled over into politics. It could now mean a turnaround in power. This is more compli­cated than you might think.

The 16th century, vibrant, cruel, progressive, held as a per­sistent popular image the wheel of fortune—an image familiar to anyone who has played with a tarot deck. Human beings dangle on a giant wheel. Some are on the bottom turning upward, some are on the top, and some are hurtling toward the ground. It’s as

To the Victor Belongs the Language Rita Mae Brown

453

good an image as any for the sudden twists and turns of Fate, Life or the Human Condition. This idea was so dominant at the time that the word “revolution” absorbed its meaning. Instead of a card or a complicated explanation of the wheel of fortune, that one word captured the concept. It’s a concept we would do well to remember.

Politically, “rebellion” was still the more potent word. Cromwell’s seizure of state power in the mid-17th century came to be called the Great Rebellion, because Charles II followed Cromwell in the restoration of monarchy. Cromwell didn’t call his own actions rebellious. In 1689 when William and Mary took over the throne of England, the event was tagged the Glorious Revolution. “Revolution” is benign here and politically inferior in intensity to “rebellion.”

By 1796 a shift occurred and “revolution” had come to mean the subversion or overthrow of tyrants. Rebellion, specifi­cally, was a subversion of the laws. Revolution was personal. So we had the American Revolution, which dumped George III out of the colonies, and the French Revolution, which gave us the murder of Louis XVI and the spectacle of a nation devouring itself. If you’re a Marxist you can recast that to mean one class destroying another. At any rate, the French Revolution was a bloodbath and “revolution” began to get a bad name as far as monarchists were concerned. By that time, “revolution” was developing into the word we know today—not just the overthrow of a tyrant but action based on the belief in a new principle. Rev­olution became a political idea, not just a political act.

The Russian Revolution, the Chinese Revolution, the Cuban Revolution—by now “revolution” is the powerful word, not “rebellion.” In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s young Amer­icans used the word “revolution” indiscriminately. True, they wanted political power, they were opposed to tyrants and believed in a new political principle (or an old one, depending on your outlook) called participatory democracy. However, that period of unrest, with its attendant creativity, did not produce a revolution. The word quickly became corrupted until by the 80’s “revolution” was a word used to sell running shoes.

Whither goest thou, Revolution?