Say What You Mean (& Mean What You Say)

 Denotation v Connotation

What's the difference between the denotation of a word, versus the connotation of a word? Well, the denotation refers to the dictionary definition of a word. It's pretty much the same, no matter where you look up the meaning-- a dictionary, an encyclopedia, Wiki. Doesn't change with the origin.

Connotation, on the other hand, refers to a word's secondary meanings, undertones, and implications. This can change from region to region, culture to culture, even town to town.

It's this latter meaning that makes English a very challenging language to learn for second-language speakers trying to gain a foothold in English perhaps for the first time. What do you mean that "cool" doesn't refer to the temperature, as in, "The temperature of the room was "cool" today;" versus, "He's acting really "cool" tonight." Or perhaps that "salty" isn't a way to describe a taste, as in, "That soup is too "salty;" versus, "She's mad-- she's acting all "salty." Or maybe that the term "woke" can refer to a social status, and not a condition of awake or asleep, as in, "The left tend to be very "woke;" versus, "She "woke" up at 8:15 this morning."

Let's look at a simple example: if you were to ask a woman how she'd like to be described from the following three words, what do you think her answer would be?

Slender.............Thin.............Scrawny

The answer would most likely be the word slender. While all of the words carry roughly the same denotation in that they all mean lean, as opposed to fat, the word slender carries more positive undertones, or connotations.

A slender woman is graceful, elegant, and perhaps even sexy. Most women would prefer the word "slender," as it carries the more positive connotation. The middle word, "thin," is a fairly neutral word, and can be used when in doubt as to the reception of the word. Finally, the word “scrawny” brings an unhealthy, overly thin, or bony person to mind, and most women generally do not want to be described in this manner.

Remember though that over time words can shift in their connotative implications, and people trying to use connotation should try be up-to-date on the current implications of a word before risking the use of the wrong word. When in doubt, go neutral, as with the word "thin" in the above example.

Here’s another example of connotation and how it can affect the strength of a sentiment:

• He is a crack addict.
• She is a welfare mother.
• He is homeless.

The words crack addict, welfare mother, and homeless carry strong connotations. It makes the above statements more powerful. Here are the same thoughts, only with weaker connotations, changing the tone significantly:

• He is a person who abuses substances.
• She is a parent needing gov’t assistance.
• He is itinerant.

So, say what you mean, but make sure you’re meaning what you say— know what a connotation is before you use it— wars have been started for (far) less!

© Ray Cattie

Legacy

One question has tormented me for most of my adult life and, in fact, has influenced a lot of my decisions: What will be my legacy after I’m gone? Who will remember me, and how will I be remembered. It’s a sad perspective, I know, but a realistic way of thinking none-the-less.

Family isn’t enough— they remember for maybe two generations, and then you’re forgotten. How many remember their great grandparents? I’d venture a guess and say almost no one.

So I became a teacher. And yes, it’s certainly true that teachers are in it for the outcome, not the income. And an asset of that outcome is that a lot of people will remember you. The conundrum is that again, like family, they will only remember you for their lives, best case scenario.

So I became a writer. I think maybe that’s the “write” (groan) track. My writing will live on long after I’m gone; long after my family is gone, and their families after that. I mean, we still read and study Shakespeare, and that was from 400+ years ago.

Although there's no sittable shade here...

Writing is like planting a tree. Sometimes it grows, and you get to enjoy its shade. Sometimes it grows more slowly, and that’s shade will be enjoyed by future shade-sitters. Sometimes, the tree is like Methuselah, the bristlecone pine, and people 5,000 years later will enjoy its shade.

For a writer, the point is that popularity is not necessarily achieved in your own time most of the time, and that is O.K.A.Y. as far as your legacy goes. By it's very definition, a legacy is, "something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor from the past" (Merriam-Webster).

Me at book signing in Philly.

The fact that you ultimately receive no significant recognition for your efforts in your own lifetime is almost the goal, or rather, becomes the goal, although recognition of that kind wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing of course. Writers write because they have to; there's something inside of them that they need to get out, in that specific fashion. But they also don't write in a vacuum, and to receive accolades directly is nice, be it in the form of an audience, or even better: a paying audience.

The bottom line, however, is that someone after my grandchildren will know who I am, or was. My ideas have been committed to permanent media, and somewhere, someway, somehow, they will continue to exist, long after any direct memory of me evaporates in the dustbin of history.

Food for thought. What will your legacy be? Will it be genetic, in which case no one in the future will know of you except by the genes you pass down through your family? And that's okay-- the vast majority of people will go this route. Or will it be something more substantial-- will you build something? Say something? Do something? Anything that will be around centuries from now? What say you?

© Ray Cattie

Fritter & Waste the Hours

 

Why does time seem to pass at different speeds at different points in our lives? I read a fascinating theory a number of years ago that resonates as true, at least to me:

Remember when we were kids, and the summers would last seemingly for months and months and months? You'd get out of school in June, and that time between then and the week after Labor Day seemed to be endless. It was roughly three months, but those three months yawned open in front of us like years filled with endless possibilities.

 

As adults, not so much. For adults, years slip by like they are months. What? But why? And more-- how is that even fair?

 

Three months is, however, three months; when we were kids, and now as adults. The objectivity of measurable time didn't change-- three months is roughly ninety days-- so why does our perception of it change? Let's take the objectivity of time out of the equation, and look at it as relative/subjective.

From a kid's perspective, time seems to pass slowly, because (ie) a year to a four year-old is a lot smaller of a ratio than a year to a forty year-old. To the four year-old, a year is literally a quarter of their lives; a significant percentage of time, from the four year-old's perspective.

 

For the adult, however, one year is a much less significant block of time— only 1/40th of their lives to a forty year-old; a much smaller ratio of time. And we feel it, as well. You know as well as I do that time seems to speed by, the older you get... so it is a real phenomenon. But why? Again, isn't time objective, no matter what you think of it?

 

And then there's The Zone. Athletes experience it, as do artists of all types. Anything that requires intense concentration, in fact, experiences The Zone. This is when time very specifically and deliberately seems to slow down, and the subject becomes "hyper mindful," enabling them to do almost superhuman feats.

 

Take a batter in baseball, for instance. When the batter is in the batter's box, and concentrating on the pitcher and the ball, they will tell you that time seems to stops for them, all-but allowing them to count the seams on the ball as it comes towards them at the plate.

It takes a major league fastball that's thrown at 95mph roughly 0.425 seconds to get from the mound to the plate, crossing 60 feet, six inches of space in the interim. Here is the specific mechanics of it: A 95 mph fastball travels at approximately 139 feet per second, reaching home plate in about 0.425 seconds. The human brain takes around 100 milliseconds to process the image of the ball coming towards them. Once the brain registers the pitch, the hitter has a very short window (around 125-225 milliseconds) to decide if and where to swing. The actual swing itself takes around 150 milliseconds.

 

As my Dad used to say, the hardest thing in professional sports is hitting a round ball with a round bat. Looking at those numbers, it's easy to believe that thought. It would in fact be near impossible, were it not for The Zone of hyper-concentration.

If you've ever stepped into a batter's cage and took some swings at balls thrown by the pitching machine, you know exactly how hard it is to hit a 95mph fastball. The average person might hit just as many with their eyes closed and swinging wildly.

 

The professional ballplayer, however, isn't the average person. The pro can get into The Zone, and with that hyper concentration/focus, hit the ball consistently and on purpose three or four times out of ten. Doesn't sound like a lot, but it actually is-- if you average anywhere from .300-.400 in the majors you're probably an all-star.

 

Same method goes to the artist as well. When the artist is deeply concentrating on

what they are creating, the Zone takes control and does funny things with time.

It becomes very, very subjective.

 

I know that when I am writing, for example, I could close my office door at 6:00am, work on my project for what feels to me like an hour of subjective time, and then find that five hours have passed in the objective sense. It's a very strange phenomenon, hyper focus. It allows our brains to bend time, if you will, taking what is normally an objective measure of the passing time and making it a subjective experience that can last more or less, depending on the situation, than the time that is flowing "outside" of our hyper focused bubble.

 

Could this be a key regarding the aforementioned speed of the passing of time difference

between when we are younger and when we are older? Undoubtedly it plays a role, the

idea of hyper focus, or as new agers like to call it, "mindfulness."

 

So what is this thing called "mindfulness?" Yes, it's when we are intentionally mindful of

what's going on around us, but what does it actually mean to be mindful?

 

We define time as the past, the present, and the future. As humans, we very rarely actually live in the present time. But what do you mean? Of course I live in the present time—what choice in the matter do I have? Not so fast. Let’s think about

your thoughts for a moment. What are you thinking about? Usually, you’re worried about something that has already happened (the past), such as with regret, fondness, euphoria. Or, maybe you're not thinking about the past; maybe you're worried about a meeting you have later in the week at work, or how you're going to pay a specific bill this month, or what you are going to make for dinner later (the future).

 

Surprisingly, the present isn't something that's generally on our minds. Oh, I guess

you could blame biology for much of that— specifically, our autonomic nervous system—

the physiological system that handle things for us-- our "autopilot," if you will. The ANS evolved to control involuntary bodily

functions like heart rate, digestion, breathing, sweating. You don't, for example, have

to worry about breathing, or keeping your heart beating, or regulating your body

temperature, or a million other things our body handles automatically. Those would literally be "present moment" things.

 

We can “induce” mindfulness, with several mind tricks. One that I like to use, where you can actually feel your perspective change, is counting your breaths. You inhale, and think, “one inhale.” Then you exhale, and you think, “one exhale.” And you do this for about ten breaths—usually by ten breaths you will feel the perspective shift. What’s really going on is that you are forcing your mind to focus on the present moment.

 

There’s a book called “Present Moment, Wonderful Moment,” by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, that presents 79 meditative verses, or “gathas,” designed to help you practice mindfulness throughout the day. Basically, they help our minds to slow down, and consider everyday tasks as opportunities to be mindful. For example, upon waking, think:

 

“Waking up this morning, I smile.
“Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.
“I vow to live fully in each moment
“and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.”

 

Mindfulness can quite literally expand your life, or at least your perception of life. An hour will still be an hour, just as a year was still a year whether you were four or forty. When you practice mindfulness, you are purposely and purposefully putting yourself in the zone of hyperfocus, and the resulting perspective shift can really pull you out of the past and stop you from wandering into the future, and root you mind firmly in the present moment.

 

  

© Ray Cattie

 

 

 

DeathDay

What exactly is the significance of a “death date?” When a person becomes dead longer than they were alive. For example, John Lennon was forty years-old when he was murderer in 1980; his “death date” was in 2020, when he passed forty years dead.

Is it significant because once that death date passes, the decedent then has stronger ties to the afterlife than they do to life?

Is it that it’s like a birthday of sorts, only a deathday— to be absolutely specific— and we naturally feel the pull to notice?

Or maybe this one of those concepts that is so simple and obvious that I am overlooking an easy answer?

Not sure, on any counts.

To conclude: if you live to the ripe old age of 80, let’s say, and you pass later this year, at 10:54:03pm on December 3 (‘24), your deathday would come at 10:54:04pm (or whatever the microseconds worked out to be) on December 3, 2104, the moment you are dead longer than you were alive.

But why is this significant? It feels significant at the instinctual level, like its significance is “hard-wired” into the brain.

Maybe it’s because once our deathday comes, people start forgetting us, our “things,” our faces? Shudder.

It’s like an itch that you just can’t quite reach…

                                They say it's your deathly

                                Well, it's my deathly too, yeah

                                They say it's your deathday

                                We're gonna have a good time

                                I'm glad it's your deathday

                                Happy deathday to you.

                                                        "(Bastardized) Birthday," The Beatles

© Ray Cattie

John Lennon: Solo Artist or No?

 John Lennon was not a solo artist. Let me say that again: John Lennon was not a solo artist. Almost every song he wrote during his tenure as a Beatle was a hit, whereas in his solo career the hits were relatively less, to all-but non-existent, when compared to his group efforts with the Beatles.

For instance, the Beatles charted an astounding sixty-four ("When I'm Sixty-Four") songs on Billboard's Hot 100 in their heyday between 1964-1970, of which twenty were number one hits-- a record that stands to this day.

In their solo careers, Paul charted twenty-one number one hits, Ringo had six, George had five, and John had five.

When one sees the “Lennon and McCartney” moniker or a record, one can perhaps get a better perspective on who wrote what, hits-wise, for the Beatles. By those numbers, 76% to Paul, 24% to John. And I think that’s ratio is pretty close to being spot-on. If you compare their solo numbers, Paul had almost sixty percent of those number one hits when compared to the rest of the band's solo efforts.

But let's get a grip for a second. Because we're talking about the Beatles, it's easy to get  used to those high numbers. Would Ringo Starr have had six number one hits had he not been an ex-Beatle? Hard to say, but most would guess no. Not to take anything away from him or any of his other bandmates, but when you start off as a Beatle, you're starting off with an incredible head start to your music career.

So maybe it's unfair to have started this essay by labeling John Lennon as "not a solo artist." His musical achievements were nothing to sneeze about, and certainly nothing to be blasé about. In fact, at the time of his death he was actually experiencing a resurgence with his album "Double Fantasy," which came out in November of 1980, a scant three weeks before Lennon was murdered in New York City. The album actually started off slowly, and was kicked to the stratosphere after Lennon's death. It went on to win the grammy award for "Album of the Year" in 1981.

© Ray Cattie

Vitamin K

Let’s talk about Kratom. Never heard of it? Well, you’re not alone— most people— including doctors— have never heard of it either. Kratom (K), like marijuana, comes from a plant. It’s cultivated in Southeast Asia, from a species of tree known as

Mitragyna Speciosa

Mitragyna Speciosa, essentially a tropical evergreen.

Marijuana Weed

It’s very similar in reputation to marijuana as well, in that people who aren’t really familiar with either plant like to paint them both in a bad light. As time has shown with marijuana, it is essentially a harmless weed. So too with K, but as it is still relatively unknown, most of the press it gets is bad press. People who know and use K, however, know it to be very different than its reputation would have you believe.

Like marijuana, K has medicinal properties that allow it to act, among other things, like an analgesic, working to alleviate minor aches and pains. But K also has sedative properties, as well as stimulant properties, depending on strain and dose.

Because it works on opioid receptors in the brain, people have successfully used K to wean them selves from opioid addiction. In America, a country that is trying to break the grip of opioid addiction/dependency, it is surprising that the medical community doesn't embrace an alternative recovery treatment.

Then again, marijuana has been federally illegal in the US since the 1930s. Even now, while the majority of states have made it legal for everything from medicinal reasons to recreational reasons, it is still illegal federally. At any time, the Fed could step in with any state that legalized it and enforce the illegality. Don't believe it? Ask California, a state that is now on its third attempt to legalize marijuana.

Is it fear? Maybe. People tend to fear what they don't understand. It's also bad publicity. What chances did marijuana have when every one of its spokespersons through the years has been viewed as a stoner?

Cheech & Chong

Snoop Dogg

  

Believe what you will, but Conservatives still "rule the roost" when it comes to societal mores. If the marijuana culture wants marijuana to be more socially acceptable, like say, alcohol, it needs to be more “mainstream” in its approach, with its advertising and with its "mascots."

K needs to take a page from that playbook. Put out as much good press as possible. Testimonials. Test results. All solid evidence.

Here’s another chestnut that the naysayers like to throw out, only taking half of the equation into consideration: no one has died exclusively from K. Why exclusively?

Well, people who use K have reportedly died, but in all of those fatalities, K was not the only substance ingested. In other words, mix to your own potential peril; much like any substance.

This writer successfully uses K, twice a day. In the mornings I take it to alleviate any residual pains from the night (hips, shoulders, legs, etc). Early evening I take it and it effectively helps me to relax.

I mentioned strains and doses earlier. A strain can usually be broken out by “color” and speed. So generally you have red, green, yellow, and white colored leaves (the veins, to be specific). A green-veined leaf is, “Great for promoting an overall positive well-being. The balanced effects help gently encourage optimism, energy, and

moderate discomfort relief (happyhippo.com).” It is associated with a “fast” speed, meaning it has stimulant properties. I will generally use green vein in the mornings, to wake up and to throw off the residual nighttime aches and pains.

Red-veined K is, “Associated with relaxing and calming effects; superior for aiding physical discomfort (happyhippo.com).” It is associated with a “slow” speed, meaning it has relaxing/sedative properties I generally take red-veined K in the evenings.

I use what’s called a modified “toss and wash:” I have a small cocktail shaker that I use to mix K and orange juice. OJ is a good mixer for two reasons: it’s strong taste somewhat masks the bitter taste of K; and OJ is a potentiator for K (it gives it a judge of strength).

You can read more about the specifics of K at my favorite K retailer, Happy Hippo

Kratom (happyhippo.com— click the Hippo for more info). If you haven’t tried it, maybe you should. Aches? K. Sleepiness? K. Over-stimulated? K. Trying to smoothly come off of pain meds (opioids)? K.

© Ray Cattie

The Beatles

One of the things in my (not-so) humble opinion that makes the Beatles so special— and that a lot of younger folk don’t quite understand— is that everything the Beatles did they did “without a net.” No one— repeat— NO ONE— had done what they did on the scale that they did it, before them.

What I mean is that most bands are derivative— you hear them, and you say, “Oh, they sound like the Allman Brothers,” or “They sound like “Aerosmith,” or even “They sound like the Beatles.” But with the Beatles— they actually didn’t sound like anyone before them, because no one had done what they did up to that point.

Sure, there were big acts before them, and we know that they inspired John Lennon and Paul McCartney: Elvis, Jerry Lee Louis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, Bill Haley— just to name a few. But they were not like the Beatles, with what they started as, and what they became. You could say that technically they “derived” from the music that came before them, but you would be hard-pressed to point to a specific act.

So next time you hear a “Boomer” talking

about the Beatles, add the above thought process into your mix, and you will come out of the discussion having shown respect to the most original band in rock-n-roll history.

© Ray Cattie

Those Voices in Our Heads

What exactly is an inner monologue (IM)? Let's break the title down: inner, meaning inside; and monologue, meaning solo discussion. So, it's a solo discussion that happens inside— the voice(s) in our heads.

Being internal, it often silently “guides” us, enabling us not only to opt between right and wrong, but also to work through scenarios in our head before we actually give voice to them. The IM is often referred to as a “conscience,” but it is much more than our classical image of a little “Jiminy Cricket” sitting on our shoulders whispering rights and wrongs into our ears. It is a preview filter, of sorts.

Statistics tell us that a startling 30-50% of the population do not have an IM. It's only startling, by the way, from the perspective of people who do have an IM. I can unofficially confirm that range, as I regularly (and very unscientifically) ask each of my classes this question in the beginning of the semester, and generally arrive at the same percentages. But remember— not all IMs are words and/or voices; some IMs are in pictures and movies as well. Just as not everyone thinks the same— differentiated learning— not everyone's IM is expressed the same.

Usually the people who do have it aren’t even aware that there are actually people who do not have it, and typically the people who do not have it aren’t aware that there are
people who do have it. It’s almost comical to see their faces when they realize this for the first time!

Little kids who have an IM often have "imaginary friends" that they speak to and interact with as if there was actually another person in the room. They're not yet aware of the concept of the IM, and therefore cannot distinguish their own inner voice from an external one. Eventually they "grow out" of their imaginary friends, which is usually at the time they become aware— at least informally— of their own IM.

And then there are the adults who never lose their invisible friend, and also have never realized that they even have an IM.  The chemicals in our heads— literally the “wet-ware” of the human CPU, aka the brain— are squirrelly things. Scientists have identified over sixty at present moment; a lot of interaction to potentially hit a snag at some point or another. It's why the old chestnut "Mental Health is Health" holds sacrosanct— if you live your life and have never had a mental health issue of one sort or another, you died too young.

I digress. Out of control chemicals that lead adults to hear voices in their heads, and to not make the connections to their IM, are often labeled as schizophrenic, or as they like to say now, "Psychosis Susceptibility Syndrome," which includes schizophrenia, but also incudes other types of psychoses as well. Fortunately, PSS has become diagnosable and treatable roughly since the 1950s and the development of antipsychotic medications.

The "classic" view of the homeless person walking down the street arguing with themselves— this is the IM gone wild, literally. Back in the 1960s "State Hospitals" (public inpatient mental health hospitals) began a program called "deinstitutionalization," which effectively put a lot of people with psychoses out on the street. Prior to antipsychotic medications, a lot of those adults who were in effect
psychotic were thought to be "possessed" by a spirit or a demon. A whole cottage industry sprung up around that concept, in the medical profession, in religion, and even in Hollywood.

The pre-antipsychotic medication era was a dark time for the psychotic who could not help but to interact with the "voices in their head." It has been said that artistic people— the true creatives— have been self-medicating against this for centuries. A quick spin in history shows us countless examples or writers, musicians, artists, and the like who drank, did drugs, were adrenaline junkies, and/or combinations, up to and including taking their own lives to escape the "voices in their heads."

From alcohol to cocaine to wine to mead to heroin to marijuana to LSD to pills— creative types have been trying it all to silence the voices, literally for years. Or at the very least to control those voices while they pursued various secular jobs and other career paths that did not require the creative spark to flourish. At least, when they could. Some were so possessed by their muses that they couldn't silence then even long enough to work a few hours. Once again history is littered with creative people who were all-but penniless in their lifetimes. Debt was also a recurring theme, and Back in the Day debt meant debtor's prison, which took a bad situation and made it geometrically worse.

In sum, the IM and the role it has had in human history is been an inexorable part and function of the human brain for the past 100,000 years or so, when we were first able to look symbolically at the mundane and see— art.

Do you have an inner monologue? Had any good conversations with it lately?

© Ray Cattie