Blue vs. Red

This morning over breakfast, I mentioned to Lizzy that BYU was playing Utah in football this weekend. "We like both teams this week," she observed.

Gasp! I was stunned. How did my daughter turn five without knowing that we don't like Utah?

I've surely failed in my parental duties. There has to be a scriptural injunction somewhere that places upon the heads of fathers in Zion the responsibility to teach their children—by the time they are old enough to know colors and letters—that BYU and blue equal good and Utah and red are bad.

I set about immediately to rectify the void in my teaching: "Um, actually, we like BYU," I attempted, haltingly. When you're trying to instill in your child things like charity and patience and acceptance, how do you tell them that we hate the Utes? "BYU and Utah play each other a lot," I ventured, "and usually you like one or the other, not both."

Hmm... but we also play New Mexico and Air Force and Wyoming and Colorado State a lot. There's a difference in intensity that has no solid logical—or at least Christian—foundation. I turned to my wife: "This is a difficult concept to explain to a 5 year old."

"You work at BYU, but you live in Utah," Lizzy countered. "So you should like both."

Ah—there's something I can work with. Divorce Utah the state from Utah the school.

I did so, carefully discussing the two different schools and how they are athletic opponents and in our household, it's BYU all the way. You could see the little gears turning as she gradually grasped the concept. After a moment of pondering, she offered, "And you went to BYU, so you like BYU." The confusion vanished from her face and she went about merrily eating her cereal.

Whew. She got it. I have—albeit a bit late—begun to indoctrinate my child. She still doesn't have the appropriate disdain for all things red, but we'll work on that. It might be a bit of a tough job. She is rather clear about her three favorite colors being on the red side of the spectrum: purple, pink, and red. She reiterates that fact almost daily and takes delight in it.

She also, however, knows that Christine and I have each selected blue as our favorite color. Over time, we hope to be able to gradually strengthen the blue is good association. By the time she's in high school, I'm optimistic we'll have banished the red spectrum to its appropriate position of inferiority.

Boy, who knew that brainwashing was such a hard job?

The Virtue of Anonymity

Today I ran across this statement, from The Economist magazine, about why they do not list author bylines with their articles:

The main reason for anonymity, however, is a belief that what is written is more important than who writes it. As Geoffrey Crowther, editor from 1938 to 1956, put it, anonymity keeps the editor "not the master but the servant of something far greater than himself. You can call that ancestor-worship if you wish, but it gives to the paper an astonishing momentum of thought and principle." (About The Economist)

In a day when many magazines pay homage to writers with "contributor" pages (including long-paragraph bios and fancy photos), I find that to be a rather intriguing statement. The publication appears to be saying two things: first, content is king and who cares about your ego; and second, the publication has more weight than an individual author, and, dear writer, you'd better not forget that you exist to serve us, not the other way around.

To a degree, I agree with those sentiments.

When I edit an article, I attempt to respect an author's voice, but I'm sure writers who have worked with me groan in memory when I say that when it comes down to it, an article has to meet the magazine's standards (as interpreted by me, the editor) before it goes into print. I've had writers balk at editing, but as Crowther says, in the reader's mind my magazine's title means a lot more than your name.

For the other point, content is definitely king. When I pick up a magazine, I flip by the contributor's page with a groan and move on to the stuff. Who cares what Joe Author does in his spare time? I didn't get this magazine to read about someone who spends most of his time typing at a computer. That's what I do all day. I want to read about something else. I bought this magazine to get information or to be entertained. I want to learn about the world or explore an idea. I don't want to fawn over some freelance writer.

On the other hand, in today's quest for editorial integrity, author bios provide a look at the person who is spooning out this information. More and more, objectivity is openly regarded as an unattainable objective—every attempt to share information is filtered by some person with some set of ideals—and a bit about the writer can help one gain a glimpse into who is sifting the stuff you are reading and what biases may be influencing the sifting.

In addition, readers want to connect with people. The ambiguous "them" appeals little; a warm smile and a familiar face go a long way toward building relationships. Take Martha Stewart or Oprah, whose magazines—and empires—are built around a relationship with a person, nevermind that Martha and Oprah don't write every article in their magazines.

So, where do I fall with anonymity?

I guess the fact that I have a blog may give a clue. I'm afraid I'm not as ego-less as I would like to believe.

Construction Lingo

Today I called (repeatedly) a construction guy to get information about a building project. I was looking for interesting numbers, and I asked him more questions than I'm sure he wanted to answer. My last question—and his answer—gave new meaning to the term "jargon."

Me: "How tall is that big crane you're using?"

Him: "It's got a 200-foot stick on it."

Some stick.