During my middle year of college, I took a class on gender and literature where we had to write a series (10? 12?) of “journal” entries. The assignment was to write 250-300 (hard boundaries) words due by midnight on Friday during most of the weeks of the semester. And there were other rules regarding the speed or frequency you could turn them in that I don’t remember, but there were notably few restrictions on what they could be about.

A few interesting things happened. One is, that though we could write all of them in a weekend, we never did. My roommate(s) and I would write them while everyone was drinking on Friday night. We got pretty heroic about how close we’d cut these to the deadline. There was even a night when I was driving a friend to the airport (3-4 hours in the car) and I argued for an extension through an intermediary whilst driving quite assertively on I-90. Another is that we all got very good at editing our writing to a limited number of words, and it’s a good skill to have. But the most important thing is that all my classmates wrote about the texts we were reading. I wrote about, g-d knows what. Not the things we were reading, except in loose tangential ways.

A roommate asked about if this was, an acceptable thing to do, and I wrote the professor somewhat worried that maybe my journal entries had strayed too far afield. In fairness, the professor’s lectures had a similar tendency to stray, as near as I could tell, but it seemed like the thing to do.

The response was something along the lines of “Don’t worry [tycho,] I quite enjoy your widely synthetic entries. You’ve received credit for all that you’ve submitted.”

Needless to say “widely synthetic,” became my new slogan.1

I think my blagging style developed in that class, such as it is, which is all sorts of scary.

I started writing this post with the intention of discussing the Sapir-Worf and programing languages. Which I think certainly qualifies as being “widely synthetic,” hence the story, but I think I’ll have to save that for next time.

Take care of yourselves, dearest readers.

  1. That same semester I took another feminist/queer literature class from the college’s resident poet, who wrote in the margin of a paper I wrote that my phrasing was “awkward, but endearingly colloquial,” which was the slogan of this blog for quite a long time. That was one of those semesters that just stays with you, I guess. ↩︎