Author: Elizabeth Gaucher

How D’Ya Like Them Apples? IQ and Education

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / 3 Comments

Someone asked me last week if I think the bell curve of intelligence quotient scores is even across political parties and political positions.  Without hesitation I said yes.  I don’t see any reasonable explanation for why IQ scores would necessary correlate to a person’s political opinions.  I do think, though, that the likelihood that our nation can even out with some moderate positioning on a range of issues is hampered by our struggles with educational attainment rates and public education dynamics in general.

How can we ever expect to communicate with each other to achieve more balanced and reasoned understanding when test scores and drop out rates indicate we are failing to establish even basic language skills?  And if we never leave the communities where we grew up to learn in an environment with a diverse representation of people from around the country and even the world, how can we develop appreciation for diversity and what people different from ourselves have to teach us?

In the midst of my pondering, I turned to Will.  Will always helps me figure things out.

Good Will Hunting is a favorite film in our house.  We ping back to it often, from personal reasons to conceptual storytelling to a love of Robin Williams in dramatic roles.  A quote that gets a lot of play on a regular basis is, “How d’ya like them apples?”

Photo credit: E. Gaucher

If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll recall Will (Matt Damon) is trying to get the attention and admiration of Sklyar (Minnie Driver) in a bar frequented by Harvard University students.  An arrogant pretty-boy tries to embarrass him by asking him questions about books he’s sure Will has never heard of, let alone read.  Much to his dismay, Will knows the books.  Very well.  Well enough to end up humiliating the other guy, and well enough to get Sklyar’s phone number on a cocktail napkin before she leaves.  Outside the bar, Will knocks on the glass to get stuck-up’s attention.  “Do you like apples?” Will asks.  “What?”  the guy insides replies.  “I said, do you like apples?”  The guy shrugs and nods, confused.  Will slams the napkin with the newly inked phone number up on the glass and into his face.  “Well, I got her number.  How d’ya like them apples?”

The scene is a classic illustration of the disconnect between education and intelligence.  The entire movie pivots around questions of what it means to know anything.  In the apples scene, Will comes out on top.  He has exposed himself to great works of art, and he has a photographic memory that allows him to regurgitate on cue lengthy analyses of everything from sculpture to political theory.  What’s brewing underneath his cocky persona, however, is anything but educated.  We find out later in the story that he has, for good reasons, completely isolated himself from real life experience.  He lives in his head with the thoughts and lives of others running roughshod over his courage to engage life on his own terms, and to have a true education.

Sean (Robin Williams) nails him on it with this memorable monologue:

So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny… on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations. Him and the pope. Sexual orientation. The whole works, right? I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seeing that. If I ask you about women, you’ll probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites…… But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman… and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right? “Once more into the breach, dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap… and watched him gasp his last breath lookin’ to you for help. You don’t know about real loss, ’cause that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you. I don’t see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared sh*tless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that.

Will is a smart kid.  Smarter than smart.  But he is lashing out with information as a weapon rather than being willing to let other people teach him anything, and rather than allowing himself to be vulnerable to the many possibilities that he doesn’t know nearly as much as he thinks he does about what life is really about.

Intelligence can be a wonderful thing, and fortunately we know now that there is more than one way to measure it.  Intelligence of any kind, however, requires the humility and depth that only participating in a shared environment of respect for real learning can deliver.  It starts in school, but it hardly ends there.

Actually, if you do it right, it never ends. And that mindset is the one that has the unique power to moderate the sound and fury of today’s political climate, regardless of what else a person believes.

That Room Where They Wait

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / Leave a comment

I have a very good friend (K. Thayer) who just published her work in The Great Richmond Zombie Book. She says, “I think it may be my best short story zombie western.”  She has range.  Following that process was tremendous fun, and it led me to the following wonderful public expression by the founder of Sink/Swim Press, James Moffitt.

I’ve played around with shortening his speech to make it more likely that a busy person visiting Esse Diem will read it; but I have read it myself many times and been enriched each time, and I can’t bring myself to cut a single word.  Read, share, and be inspired!

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Sink/Swim started a year ago after Ryan Brosmer self-published his first book, ‘I will name them such as enemies.’ I thought what he was doing was admirable, and decided to try it with my own twist, not only self-publishing my first book, but also putting a label behind it.

Hemingway

When I started Sink/Swim, I had just finished my Bachelor’s and was scared shitless. I knew I didn’t fit in or belong to the professional world, but at the same time, I was very weary of working in Kitchens. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and it seemed to me that at a time in my life where every door was supposed to be open, I was finding that most of them were not only shut, but had boards nailed in behind them.

I started writing a lot more. It was something that had always been present in my life, but had never really been given the time or effort it truly deserved. With Sink/Swim, I decided to take everything I love, like low-art, pop-culture, hardcore, and D.I.Y. Works, and present them as something that could be discussed, recorded, and taken seriously. I deemed myself ethnographer, author, and C.E.O, and decided to see where it all would take me.

It became the mission of Sink/Swim to create a discoursive community for everyone, not just those with advanced degrees, or research grants to create, share, and critique with one another. I wanted to create a haven for artists of all walks to produce their works as a legitimate product. What I love the most about Sink/Swim though, is the fact that none of you have to be here. You’re here because you believe in this, even if only the tiniest bit.

In my experience, the things that matter most in life are the things that we earn and own for ourselves. All of the artists here, all of the writers that contributed to The Great Richmond Zombie Book, have something in common. We’re all playing for higher stakes than most. We’re definitely not doing this for money, or fame, not for rewards or recognition. We’re doing this and will continue to do it for the sustenance of seeing our works come to fruition.

We’re doing this to join the canon of creators we grew up loving with every ounce of our hearts. We do this because of feelings like those here, in lyrics from a song called “Place in the Sun” In between the tornadoes and stomped on untrue love letters/There will be those shining gentle moments /Like the last page in your favorite book. These shining moments are what we all grew up so in love with. Michael Chabon, in his novel “Maps and Legends” speaks about the first piece he wrote, saying:

Judy Blume

“It was as if I had opened a door and stepped into the room in which all my favorite writers were sitting around waiting for me to show up. They were a disparate bunch, from Judy Blume to Edgar Allen Poe, spread of different eras, continents, and genres. Some were close kin to each other – Lord Dunsany, H.P. Lovercraft – while others seemed to have nothing in common beyond their connection to me. And somehow, I sensed, their intersection defined me. They were, in other words, my family. I derived from them, they explained me. And more than anything else I wanted – I knew it now – to be accounted one of them. This was the wish – to be a credit to that far-flung family of literary heroes – that I have sought to embody, to express in the infinitely malleable clay of language ever since.”

Personally, every time I even say Sink/Swim, let alone, sit at my laptop for hours on end, I sit with the likes of Bradbury, Camus, Eggers, Steinbeck, and Hemingway to name a few. I love that room, and for the first time in my life, I have found a door that I know will always be open. To all the artists here, I implore you to treasure that room, and I ask you humbly to open a window so I may glance in. To everyone else, I beg you, never tear that room down. It is with your support that rooms become houses, and together, we create our own family. Welcome to Sink/Swim Press.