Dear Title

In my line of work, I get a lot of generic info-seeking emails from people around the globe. Most of them start off with the type of comical greeting that is likely perpetuated due to its not being worth the effort of correcting:

• Hello Dear
• Dear Sir
• Respected Doctor
• Most revered Professor

Salutations like these arise from the disconnect between different cultures, and carry about as much sincerity as your average "how are you." Given the choice, I forego titles altogether, though "Miss" will do in a pinch. But the one rampant appellation that bothers me is "Ms." I even hate the very sound of it, Mizz, like some lazy-tongued utterance that inevitably devours the following syllable like a frankenmoniker.

When I was growing up, "Ms" was reserved for matronly women like widows and divorcées. It was an almost pitiable label that spawned gossipy glances and hushed speculations. Although times have changed, it still seems to me to define a woman in terms of one specific prior relationship, and I would be happy to see the title diminish into the past along with the assumptions and values it represents. These days, it seems to be applied indiscriminately to any woman whose marital status is uncertain.

Sure, courtesy is admirable, and objective titles like "Dr" are another matter entirely. But in today's world where gender no longer defines worth, it seems to me that titles like Mr, Mrs, Miss, and Ms have no place. I would argue that there's much more value in stripping language of this kind of superfluity that has nothing productive to offer, in removing the rigid constructs that create division.

Titles tied to gender and relationships serve only to call attention to non-issues, and bring those non-issues into areas of life—like workplaces—where they have no place. They promote particular treatment of a person, affect interactions, and (intentionally or otherwise) establish hierarchies.

Book vs. Movie: The Eternal Struggle

This is something I've touched on before, but I wanted to devote a bit more time to rounding out my thoughts on media elitism. It also lets me foray into non-issues unrelated to relationship status, which is something I had intended for this blog right from the start.

The other day I met a book-loving friend for coffee, and conversation turned to what we were currently reading. I spent many years following my graduate degree in an anti-reading stupor, largely fueled by my graduate work on the multimedia experiences that I strongly feel constitute a modern sense of "reading." It's all about the way we consume stories and culture, after all, and the frustrating focus on beating dead books served only to alienate me from the medium. But I've recently rekindled (heh heh) my reading through the acquisition of an eReader, and happened to have cracked open The Road the morning of our coffee meeting.

"I saw the movie... I'm not so sure about the book yet," I began.

"Oh, the book is way better. The movie was pretty bad."

"Huh," I replied. "I consider movies and books to be separate textual experiences, separate textual artifacts. I really liked the movie." It was my polite way of saying that I discounted his opinion.

"Oh, well put,"—trying to recover his credibility here—"I think I just don't get film."

But the conversation continued to other "failed" movie adaptations of books. I listened as he expounded on how specific adaptations were not well done, all related in a tone of complete objectivity. I didn't bother to argue; in fact, I didn't bother to say anything, just let him ramble on while I tried to keep most of the smirk out of my smile. Yes. You do not "get" film. Your mistake is in trying to do so.

On the one hand, this is the type of unattractive attitude that reinforces my single lifestyle—but that's not what this is about. This is about that frustratingly nonsensical spectrum of enjoyability that people place things upon. The need to compare, to create a hierarchy, to weigh apples and oranges against each other and determine which is better. It is all pure illogic; that is the only objectivity that can be determined.

I love film as a medium because it plays on many senses to tell a story. A good soundtrack can manipulate my emotions like nothing else, to name just one aspect. And it does all this in a convenient allotment of time. Seeing a movie in the theatre adds the fantastic dimension of being part of a collective readership, a shared experience. What's not to love?

Let's take an example that my book-loving friend might understand. Say there's a book written in another language, and translated to English. A literal translation is not going to be enjoyable; the story has to be retold using different language conventions. In this example, we're only translating from words to other words. What can you possibly expect for a translation from written page to silver screen?

I'm not saying that movies are better, or that books are less multidimensional. I'm saying it's not a matter for comparison, and each should be considered on its own merit.