I highly recommend this new podcast that comes to us from This American Life. Some friendships/relationships cause one to have high blood pressure, say the studies and the premise of this piece.
You know how on reality TV shows contestants say "I'm not here to make friends"? Odd notion, right? Well, there's a new interesting bit/study on this very topic that I'm recommending here.
Also, if you'd like to know more about the social/historical context of the word "frenemy," check this same podcast out. Apparently, the first time the word frenemy appeared was back in the 50's.
If you'd like to pursue all of the above-mentioned topics further, listen to the podcast.
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Notes on Sociality
When out with a friend I was asked, 'So, what's the secret to life?'
Now my friend has a great sense of humor and I reckoned I best respond to it with humor:
'Ah, right. Let's see. Do what you love. Be highly demanding of high quality of company in your life and never, ever, compromise on qualitative relationships. Never skip breakfast. Call your parents often. Don't start up a fight in the evening and don't go to bed angry. You know, the usu.
Dude, your hair looks weird today. Switched shampoos? So, what are you ordering?'
Subsequently, we both laughed as the end of the chunk was as a good a way to finish my bit as any and while I thought I'd just make a joke out of the question, I ended up giving a candid reaction.
I feel strongly about the importance of rooted sociality as, I find, it relates to much else of significance in life. When speaking with a younger family member I waxed philosophical again and apparently observed the following: 'When you make new friends, the first question you need to ask yourself is: Are they going to help me become a better version of myself? If not, that's why language has terms like: neighbor, colleague, riding buddy, acquaintance, someone I run into when I pick up my cleaning, my significant other's friend, my brother's best pal, friends, pals, buds, et al. ' To my surprise, the younger family member did not gift me with a rolling of the eyes. Instead what I got was: 'Yeahl Like so-and-so is fun but I wouldn't say we're like good friends, you know?'
"I know."
My poet grandfather used to say: 'Tell me who you go with and I'll tell you who you are.' And I believe that fully, too. Most certainly not out of familial obligation but out of sensible sincerity. I am of the thought that qualitative living is predicated upon conscienteous screening and careful examination of the quality of company in our dealings.
An examined existence is a qualitative existence and it needs to be preserved unapologetically. Call it a life philosophy, if you will. Tell me who you go with, I'll tell you who you are.
Bamber, an excellent blogger over at Prettier than Napoleon, writes:
"How involved do you get with your friends' lives? Do you support them in their time of trouble with a "there, there"? Take their side against all comers? Become emotionally invested in their struggles with third parties? I have a friend whose partner tired of her discussing the trials and travails of various friends and their drama, and sometimes I wonder if I too am too consumed with the interpersonal struggles of others. Does that consumption show that you're relatively caring and empathetic? Or is it just a waste of mental energy?"
Now, to answer Bamber's questions, I am of the opinion that involvement in friends' lives needs to be in accordance with the kind of intimacy and familiarity you mutually share. I believe in a hierarchy of emotional investment which is congruent with the level of intimacy that's bestowed upon the people in that hierarchy.
Being highly discriminative of one's emotional efforts and where they go is, to me, a sign of human maturity.
At least I hold this to be true.
Tip of the hat to Bamber for the food for thought.
Now my friend has a great sense of humor and I reckoned I best respond to it with humor:
'Ah, right. Let's see. Do what you love. Be highly demanding of high quality of company in your life and never, ever, compromise on qualitative relationships. Never skip breakfast. Call your parents often. Don't start up a fight in the evening and don't go to bed angry. You know, the usu.
Dude, your hair looks weird today. Switched shampoos? So, what are you ordering?'
Subsequently, we both laughed as the end of the chunk was as a good a way to finish my bit as any and while I thought I'd just make a joke out of the question, I ended up giving a candid reaction.
I feel strongly about the importance of rooted sociality as, I find, it relates to much else of significance in life. When speaking with a younger family member I waxed philosophical again and apparently observed the following: 'When you make new friends, the first question you need to ask yourself is: Are they going to help me become a better version of myself? If not, that's why language has terms like: neighbor, colleague, riding buddy, acquaintance, someone I run into when I pick up my cleaning, my significant other's friend, my brother's best pal, friends, pals, buds, et al. ' To my surprise, the younger family member did not gift me with a rolling of the eyes. Instead what I got was: 'Yeahl Like so-and-so is fun but I wouldn't say we're like good friends, you know?'
"I know."
My poet grandfather used to say: 'Tell me who you go with and I'll tell you who you are.' And I believe that fully, too. Most certainly not out of familial obligation but out of sensible sincerity. I am of the thought that qualitative living is predicated upon conscienteous screening and careful examination of the quality of company in our dealings.
An examined existence is a qualitative existence and it needs to be preserved unapologetically. Call it a life philosophy, if you will. Tell me who you go with, I'll tell you who you are.
Bamber, an excellent blogger over at Prettier than Napoleon, writes:
"How involved do you get with your friends' lives? Do you support them in their time of trouble with a "there, there"? Take their side against all comers? Become emotionally invested in their struggles with third parties? I have a friend whose partner tired of her discussing the trials and travails of various friends and their drama, and sometimes I wonder if I too am too consumed with the interpersonal struggles of others. Does that consumption show that you're relatively caring and empathetic? Or is it just a waste of mental energy?"
Now, to answer Bamber's questions, I am of the opinion that involvement in friends' lives needs to be in accordance with the kind of intimacy and familiarity you mutually share. I believe in a hierarchy of emotional investment which is congruent with the level of intimacy that's bestowed upon the people in that hierarchy.
Being highly discriminative of one's emotional efforts and where they go is, to me, a sign of human maturity.
At least I hold this to be true.
Tip of the hat to Bamber for the food for thought.
Subscribe to Gendering the Media Podcast
Friday, February 27, 2009
New Podcast: On Friendship and Plato
In this twelfth podcast of the Gendering the Media with Brikena Ribaj series, I provide a reading of the concept of friendship by way of a tip of the hat to the philosophy of Plato and Derrida. This short piece simply attempts to address a sociality-oriented question and a more detailed discussion of the topic will be attended to at a later time.
To listen to the podcast, click here.
Might I also direct your attention to an analysis of Derrida's book The Politics of Friendship by David Mills?
A bit from the article says:
" . . . and after the telephone call, I will turn my back on you to sleep, as usual, and you will curl up against me, giving me your hand, you will envelop me.
Jacques Derrida, The Post Card
The first version of this essay was written for a conference on Derrida's Politics of Friendship sponsored by SUNY-Stony Brook in New York in November 2002. As fate would have it, that was the last occasion I saw Jacques Derrida before he fell ill, watching him back away down 6th Avenue, slightly bowing as he stretched out his arm to wave in his very personal and personable manner, as if he never wanted to be the first to turn and walk away. I could not have known then what sort of definitive "back" he would have turned towards us by the time my words found their way into print, even though the fact of mortality is readable in everything he wrote, and especially in Politics of Friendship. What I did know, and what enlivens the memory of him in the wake of his death, was the experience of a friendship in practice, upright and supportive from start to finish. This is dedicated to that memory"
That article is here.
To listen to the podcast, click here.
Might I also direct your attention to an analysis of Derrida's book The Politics of Friendship by David Mills?
A bit from the article says:
" . . . and after the telephone call, I will turn my back on you to sleep, as usual, and you will curl up against me, giving me your hand, you will envelop me.
Jacques Derrida, The Post Card
The first version of this essay was written for a conference on Derrida's Politics of Friendship sponsored by SUNY-Stony Brook in New York in November 2002. As fate would have it, that was the last occasion I saw Jacques Derrida before he fell ill, watching him back away down 6th Avenue, slightly bowing as he stretched out his arm to wave in his very personal and personable manner, as if he never wanted to be the first to turn and walk away. I could not have known then what sort of definitive "back" he would have turned towards us by the time my words found their way into print, even though the fact of mortality is readable in everything he wrote, and especially in Politics of Friendship. What I did know, and what enlivens the memory of him in the wake of his death, was the experience of a friendship in practice, upright and supportive from start to finish. This is dedicated to that memory"
That article is here.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Bravo, Artist, For the Most Part, at Least
While reading Carrie Bronstein's blog, I got to thinking about the premise of her most recent post. She writes:
"Last week, I briefly mentioned the particular brand of awkwardness that occurs after watching a friend's less-than-stellar performance, or seeing their sub-par art exhibit, when they ask you, "So, what did you think?" We're all guilty of the little white lie that follows, which usually boils down to a generic compliment. Some of us, and I'll count myself among this crowd, even overcompensate and blurt out, "I LOVED IT." To any of my friends reading this entry, rest assured that I have never done this to you. I am talking about some other friend."
Carrie also includes a video of hers chronicling her own experience.
Here it is:
I also feel very strongly about the importance of supporting the arts and those who produce them for us. Now, having said this, I can honestly say that I can only think of one instance in which I had to tell a friend that her particular form of art didn't quite do it for me. And this is quite impressive as most of my friends are contributing artists.
Now, here's the exception. Years ago a musician friend performed a sax piece I didn't fully enjoy. Incidentally, Carrie's post today made me think of the experience again. I remember enjoying the beginning and middle part of her rendering but the conclusion left something to be desired. At the end she asked us, me in particular, what we/I thought of her performance. I said, 'It was very good, overall. There was a moment, though, towards the end where you paused longer than I thought the piece asked for. Was that an interpretative move?'
The friend got a tad upset by the end of the conversation. And yet I didn't understand why. In my way, I had also paid a compliment to her, I thought, by speaking so highly, as I should have, of the first part of her performance. I did, indeed, enjoy most of her performance just not all of it. For example, I believe Dante's Divina Commedia is one of the biggest contributions to Western literature but, at the same time, I don't care much for the third part of the work, namely, Paradiso. Inferno, on the other hand, i.e., the first part of the work, is simply incomparably superior. My copy of L'Inferno looks raggedy from constant use, whereas Paradiso could sell very well were I to put it on eBay. Anyway, the point is made, I suppose.
To placate the performing friend, I made a big banner, on top of which I wrote Shakespeare's signature line from the comedy, Twelfth Night: "If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it."
My friend was very touched by the gesture. She loved it. We went on to attending many other performances (by other artists) after that and now reminisce about the old college days quite fondly. Now, I could have interpreted this experience two ways:
1) Note to self: Next time you go to see a friend perform, leave the critic 'hat' at home and pick up the friend 'cap' instead. Utter a simple "Good job. That was....good!" and then suggest that you all grab a latte.
2) Honesty is always best. You can always apologize using Shakespearean words later. Or not.
3)What think ye?
What do you tend to say to people you know when you see their respective arts and performances?
"Last week, I briefly mentioned the particular brand of awkwardness that occurs after watching a friend's less-than-stellar performance, or seeing their sub-par art exhibit, when they ask you, "So, what did you think?" We're all guilty of the little white lie that follows, which usually boils down to a generic compliment. Some of us, and I'll count myself among this crowd, even overcompensate and blurt out, "I LOVED IT." To any of my friends reading this entry, rest assured that I have never done this to you. I am talking about some other friend."
Carrie also includes a video of hers chronicling her own experience.
Here it is:
I also feel very strongly about the importance of supporting the arts and those who produce them for us. Now, having said this, I can honestly say that I can only think of one instance in which I had to tell a friend that her particular form of art didn't quite do it for me. And this is quite impressive as most of my friends are contributing artists.
Now, here's the exception. Years ago a musician friend performed a sax piece I didn't fully enjoy. Incidentally, Carrie's post today made me think of the experience again. I remember enjoying the beginning and middle part of her rendering but the conclusion left something to be desired. At the end she asked us, me in particular, what we/I thought of her performance. I said, 'It was very good, overall. There was a moment, though, towards the end where you paused longer than I thought the piece asked for. Was that an interpretative move?'
The friend got a tad upset by the end of the conversation. And yet I didn't understand why. In my way, I had also paid a compliment to her, I thought, by speaking so highly, as I should have, of the first part of her performance. I did, indeed, enjoy most of her performance just not all of it. For example, I believe Dante's Divina Commedia is one of the biggest contributions to Western literature but, at the same time, I don't care much for the third part of the work, namely, Paradiso. Inferno, on the other hand, i.e., the first part of the work, is simply incomparably superior. My copy of L'Inferno looks raggedy from constant use, whereas Paradiso could sell very well were I to put it on eBay. Anyway, the point is made, I suppose.
To placate the performing friend, I made a big banner, on top of which I wrote Shakespeare's signature line from the comedy, Twelfth Night: "If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it."
My friend was very touched by the gesture. She loved it. We went on to attending many other performances (by other artists) after that and now reminisce about the old college days quite fondly. Now, I could have interpreted this experience two ways:
1) Note to self: Next time you go to see a friend perform, leave the critic 'hat' at home and pick up the friend 'cap' instead. Utter a simple "Good job. That was....good!" and then suggest that you all grab a latte.
2) Honesty is always best. You can always apologize using Shakespearean words later. Or not.
3)What think ye?
What do you tend to say to people you know when you see their respective arts and performances?
Saturday, February 9, 2008
We're Friends Though, Right?
Ah, life was good back in the good ol' days of 2001.
The sun was shining, the game was strong, and Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte had a ball paling around and hitting balls in practice.
This is how life was for these ballplayers back in 2001.
Fast forward to 2008 and these athletes are finding themselves dancing unwillingly before Congress.
The sun is not shining so much anymore and in a few days the two pals will be forced to discuss the now-ubiquitous topic of drugs and professional sports.
Today's NY Times article on the recent Roger Clemens performance-enhancing drugs talk, was one of the best I have read on the subject. It's penned by Mireya Navarro who asks the following question, "When do you take one for your buddy?"
This sports drama revolves around Roger Clemens, who was accused by his trainer Brian McNamee, of getting injected with performance-enhancing drugs from 1998 to 2001. The plot thickens when Clemens' pal, Yankees pitcher Andy Pettitte, gets involved. Pettitte has already admitted that McNamee injected him with human growth hormone. Now all three men have dates to testify on the matter before Congress.
The question most everyone is asking is: 'Just what will Andy Pettitte say?'
As the article observes:
'The pressure to be “one of the guys” is powerful, said Jackson Katz, an author on issues of masculinity. He said before acting men often weigh the risk of ostracism and loss of status. “Guys make calculations all the time that it’s not worth it,” he said. Men “have this notion that you try to prove yourself as a man.”
Women do seem to have a different notion of friendship. In the research literature, their bonds are described as “face to face,” meaning they share feelings more intensely. Male relationships are “side by side,” less touchy-feely and built around activities like sports or work.
But some experts noted that when it comes to loyalty, men and women are not as sharply divided as they once were. In institutions like the police and military, the same code of behavior rules over both sexes, as the torture scandal in Abu Ghraib prison showed.
And, of course, women are capable of betraying confidences, and men are capable of extremely generous and selfless acts. The former Dallas Cowboys star Everson Walls, for instance, donated a kidney last year to a former teammate, Ron Springs.
Peter M. Nardi, a professor of sociology at Pitzer College in Claremont, Calif., who has written about heterosexual and gay male friendships, said the nature of bonds could also vary depending on ethnicity, sexual orientation and social class. Gay men, for example, share issues of identity and disclose more to each other than heterosexual men do.'
This new situation in which Roger Clemens finds himself is yet another example of people learning how to navigate the uncertain waters of intimacy and professionalism. We'll see what kind of tune these chums will be dancing to this coming Wednesday. I am intrigued.
Read full article here.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
"On Friendship and Philosphy" to the Muse
On Friendship and some Philosophy
“Ok, define ‘friendship’ for me, will you?”
This is a question I received from my muse, the person whose presence has inspired me as much as Apple’s best invention in the 21st century.
And I gave the muse the answer that is somewhere to be found in this entry marked by non-sequiturs and early morning cravings of miscellaneous oddities.
This post is sort of Derrida- and Plato-informed and I will get to this analogy in the conclusion. Or somewhere near there. Why be linear when I could pull a good serpentine at 4 AM ET?
We had a decent dinner tonight but I have an ironic habit of working really late, i.e., after socializing, especially on the weekend. Ideas are born then. Or something. Or perhaps writing offers a good escape. Isn’t that the beauty of web logging, after all? Couldn't we think of a better word for blog? A bilabial and a liquid together: It's not not that beautiful to the ear, no? But I digress.
My people have always had a hard time with the post-midnight switch, i.e., why I choose to write instead of socialize. However, writing, bad, mediocre, or good {notice the hierarchy!} needs to happen at some point and 4AM ET is as good a time as any.
But I digress. Again.
Fortuitously, I spoke to one of my closest friends today. A person I have known since 2002 and whose discourse always manages to inspire me. Always. We went to graduate school together, experienced many a new things together, traveled together, felt time literally come to a stop while at the Olympic Rain Forest in Washington State, shared many linguistic, mental, and emotional intimacies together, helped each other out a number of times, and if someone was not fair to the one, Oy Weh, may G-d protect them from the other. ☺ My friend, this little 105-pound structure from Schleswig-Holstein has the actual presence of a giant. You know when she is around. I sure did and do.
I mention this for a reason and a good one at that.
My good friend is now residing in Germany and she belongs to that niche in my Palm Pilot I have appropriately given the designation of ‘friends.’ Fastforward to a few hours later. Someone I met a year or so ago enters the context.
She is no German friend, that’s for sure, but she is someone I know. Derrida has a name for people like that. They are valid people, of course, they perform important functions, but I have difficulty applying the term ‘friend’ to them. Why? I simply feel like such a semantically loaded lexical choice brings much with it and applying it carelessly would be like calling one of my grandma’s orange trees a tangerine. And had you met my grandma, you’d know that her Mediterranean-touched skin was not one to play such fruity jokes with.
Yet another non-sequitur, but one I enjoy. Thanks, Joyce. James, that is.
To answer my muse’s question, I reserve the designation ‘friend’ for people with whom I share substantial history, people who know more about me than the inconsequential marginal stuff, people who know what I enjoy doing every Saturday at 10:45 AM PT and every Wednesday at 9:00 PM ET, people who know I don’t do yolk or Old Navy, but I opt for egg whites and Ben Sherman lines instead. And most importantly, they are people about whom I know similar esoteric and idiosyncratic things.
And that, O Muse, is what I mean by friendship. Along with a myriad others. I think. Perhaps I’m misreading the newly departed Derrida, or the long departed Plato, but the attempt is there. At least I’m not pulling a Dante, the inferno kind. First I’d have to do the third rhyme. So, scratch this bad analogy but try and appreciate the joke. Those who don’t do the third rhyme, critique?
So, o muse, who has been shedding light on me since that lovely spring of 2004, what is friendship to me? Well, as I derive from Plato in the Symposium, it is having a bunch of unlikely people over to break bread and discuss such strange things as love, culinary habits, seating charts, and hiking shoeless around Athens city walls. And lip gloss. Oh, and also never revealing personal information when asked a direct question [how blanche is that?] but rather over metaphors that are rendered lucid with time and earned familiarity.
But if thou, Muse, are unhappy with this answer from your most loyal servant, I will continue to brood and attempt again. For ever, thy slave.
“Ok, define ‘friendship’ for me, will you?”
This is a question I received from my muse, the person whose presence has inspired me as much as Apple’s best invention in the 21st century.
And I gave the muse the answer that is somewhere to be found in this entry marked by non-sequiturs and early morning cravings of miscellaneous oddities.
This post is sort of Derrida- and Plato-informed and I will get to this analogy in the conclusion. Or somewhere near there. Why be linear when I could pull a good serpentine at 4 AM ET?
We had a decent dinner tonight but I have an ironic habit of working really late, i.e., after socializing, especially on the weekend. Ideas are born then. Or something. Or perhaps writing offers a good escape. Isn’t that the beauty of web logging, after all? Couldn't we think of a better word for blog? A bilabial and a liquid together: It's not not that beautiful to the ear, no? But I digress.
My people have always had a hard time with the post-midnight switch, i.e., why I choose to write instead of socialize. However, writing, bad, mediocre, or good {notice the hierarchy!} needs to happen at some point and 4AM ET is as good a time as any.
But I digress. Again.
Fortuitously, I spoke to one of my closest friends today. A person I have known since 2002 and whose discourse always manages to inspire me. Always. We went to graduate school together, experienced many a new things together, traveled together, felt time literally come to a stop while at the Olympic Rain Forest in Washington State, shared many linguistic, mental, and emotional intimacies together, helped each other out a number of times, and if someone was not fair to the one, Oy Weh, may G-d protect them from the other. ☺ My friend, this little 105-pound structure from Schleswig-Holstein has the actual presence of a giant. You know when she is around. I sure did and do.
I mention this for a reason and a good one at that.
My good friend is now residing in Germany and she belongs to that niche in my Palm Pilot I have appropriately given the designation of ‘friends.’ Fastforward to a few hours later. Someone I met a year or so ago enters the context.
She is no German friend, that’s for sure, but she is someone I know. Derrida has a name for people like that. They are valid people, of course, they perform important functions, but I have difficulty applying the term ‘friend’ to them. Why? I simply feel like such a semantically loaded lexical choice brings much with it and applying it carelessly would be like calling one of my grandma’s orange trees a tangerine. And had you met my grandma, you’d know that her Mediterranean-touched skin was not one to play such fruity jokes with.
Yet another non-sequitur, but one I enjoy. Thanks, Joyce. James, that is.
To answer my muse’s question, I reserve the designation ‘friend’ for people with whom I share substantial history, people who know more about me than the inconsequential marginal stuff, people who know what I enjoy doing every Saturday at 10:45 AM PT and every Wednesday at 9:00 PM ET, people who know I don’t do yolk or Old Navy, but I opt for egg whites and Ben Sherman lines instead. And most importantly, they are people about whom I know similar esoteric and idiosyncratic things.
And that, O Muse, is what I mean by friendship. Along with a myriad others. I think. Perhaps I’m misreading the newly departed Derrida, or the long departed Plato, but the attempt is there. At least I’m not pulling a Dante, the inferno kind. First I’d have to do the third rhyme. So, scratch this bad analogy but try and appreciate the joke. Those who don’t do the third rhyme, critique?
So, o muse, who has been shedding light on me since that lovely spring of 2004, what is friendship to me? Well, as I derive from Plato in the Symposium, it is having a bunch of unlikely people over to break bread and discuss such strange things as love, culinary habits, seating charts, and hiking shoeless around Athens city walls. And lip gloss. Oh, and also never revealing personal information when asked a direct question [how blanche is that?] but rather over metaphors that are rendered lucid with time and earned familiarity.
But if thou, Muse, are unhappy with this answer from your most loyal servant, I will continue to brood and attempt again. For ever, thy slave.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
www.brikenaribaj.com
Posts
All Comments