Moby Dick Quotes

I don't feel like using expounding on these quotes, but I wanted to mention them because they were brilliantly written and/or thought provoking.

“yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will.”

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“see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love once comes to bend them.”

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“But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends! hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt.”

So explicit!

~~

“I will have no man in my boat," said Starbuck, "who is not afraid of a whale." By this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.”

Favorite in the whole book.

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“Oh, Time, Strength, Cash, and Patience!”

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“What I've dared, I've willed; and what I've willed, I'll do! They think me mad—Starbuck does; but I'm demoniac, I am madness maddened! That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself! The prophecy was that I should be dismembered; and—Aye! I lost this leg. I now prophesy that I will dismember my dismemberer. Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. That's more than ye, ye great gods, ever were. I laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket-players, ye pugilists, ye deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes! I will not say as schoolboys do to bullies—Take some one of your own size; don't pommel ME! No, ye've knocked me down, and I am up again; but YE have run and hidden. Come forth from behind your cotton bags! I have no long gun to reach ye. Come, Ahab's compliments to ye; come and see if ye can swerve me. Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents[…]”

~~

“Ha! ha! ha! ha! hem! clear my throat!—I've been thinking over it ever since, and that ha, ha's the final consequence. Why so? Because a laugh's the wisest, easiest answer to all that's queer; and come what will, one comfort's always left—that unfailing comfort is, it's all predestinated.”

~

“TASHTEGO. (QUIETLY SMOKING)

That's a white man; he calls that fun: humph! I save my sweat.”

~~

“But what it was that inscrutable Ahab said to that tiger-yellow crew of his—these were words best omitted here; for you live under the blessed light of the evangelical land. Only the infidel sharks in the audacious seas may give ear to such words, when, with tornado brow, and eyes of red murder, and foam-glued lips, Ahab leaped after his prey.”

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“There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own.”

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“Intolerably striding along the deck, the mate commanded him to get a broom and sweep down the planks, and also a shovel, and remove some offensive matters consequent upon allowing a pig to run at large.”

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“All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life. And if you be a philosopher, though seated in the whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side.”

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“and were it not that the body is now completely separated from it, with a lantern we might descend into the great Kentucky Mammoth Cave of his stomach.”

Shout out to Kentucky!

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“Midwifery should be taught in the same course with fencing and boxing, riding and 

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“I try all things; I achieve what I can."

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“Stick to the boat, Pip, or by the Lord, I won't pick you up if you jump; mind that. We can't afford to lose whales by the likes of you; a whale would sell for thirty times what you would, Pip, in Alabama. Bear that in mind, and don't jump any more." Hereby perhaps Stubb indirectly hinted, that though man loved his fellow, yet man is a money-making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence.”

~~

“They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and indestructible dumplings. I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them about in you after they were swallowed. If you stooped over too far forward, you risked their pitching out of you like billiard-balls.”

~~

“Um, um, um. Stop that thunder! Plenty too much thunder up here. What's the use of thunder? Um, um, um. We don't want thunder; we want rum; give us a glass of rum. Um, um, um!”

I like rum :)

~~

“Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I.”

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“Ah! how they still strove through that infinite blueness to seek out the thing that might destroy them!”

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“Flask towards his flukes; dashed them together like two rolling husks on a surf-beaten beach, and then, diving down into the sea, disappeared in a boiling maelstrom, in which, for a space, the odorous cedar chips of the wrecks danced round and round, like the grated nutmeg in a swiftly stirred bowl of punch.”

~~

“Believe ye, men, in the things called omens? Then laugh aloud, and cry encore! For ere they drown, drowning things will twice rise to the surface; then rise again, to sink for evermore,"

I Survived Reading Moby Dick (my dad made me do it)

So I got a fancy job which means I won't be able to finish Huckleberry Finn before the beginning of the semester. More on the fancy job in a future blog post.

I decided to read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn because I saw the play when I was a young teenager (13ish) in Madisonville, KY. They had great plays and I really would love to see another one soon now that I think about it. As per usual, I have copied some of the lines in the story that made me ponder, reread, and such. 

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Here's the first one:

“Ef you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's a-gwyne to be rich”

Me: Now I've been on a few dates and they have been disheartening and depressing. I'm not sure how people actually do this whole dating thing.  Either I really suck at it or dating really really really sucks as a philosophical entity.  So in order to get better at dating, I ask people for advice so that I don't get stuck with the Pierre's of this world. Ugh.

This idea of hairy arms being positively correlated to wealth is a new one to me! I remember reading in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet that corns on the women's feet is a dating and romance no-no (as if women want to date a man with corns, but whatever..stupid male dominated society!) I might need to add this to my list of characteristics. Must have hairy arms.

~~

Next line:

“Pap always said, take a chicken when you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot”

I like this way of sharing. Take things that you may not need and pass them on to someone else. Now that I live in a big city and the lines of haves and have nots are rather delineated especially in my neighborhood and surrounding areas, I try to think of others' plights. Now I'm super broke, but s sandwich is pretty cheap to give away even when I'm strapped for cash. 

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I'm gonna start called me everyone a "rapscallion." Thanks Mr. Melville.

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“Well, he was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger.”

Although nobody has called me a nig**r before, I have gotten this sentiment on infinitesimal number of times, and each time I roll my eyes. I get the "you're so smart and articulate for a Black person." Or the "I've never heard a Black person speak like y before." Really -_-

Yes, I'm educated and yes I'm young and yes I'm Black. Yes. Yes. Yes. I'm honored to have lived the journey I've endured and enjoyed (depends on the season). I'm blessed and grateful. However, I don't like it when people think that no other a Black person has endured and enjoyed a similar journey. I am not the only a black scholar and I'm not the only one who can speak English the same way you can. Get over it. And do your research. I pale in comparison to my intellectual idols and strive to be able to speak eloquently and didactically like others.  Don't come up to me and be so shocked that I am who I am and have experienced what I have experienced. Learn something from me because I'm probably taking the time and energy to learn something from you.

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This is what I find most bothersome about this book and society as a whole. I took a break from read Huck Finn to read Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Twain's novel had two dominant dialects. One for the poor white man and one for the Enslaved Black man. Melville's book had New England ship dialect. I'm sure there is an official name for it, but I'm not sure what it is. All three dialects are deplorable and littered with cultural nuances and copious misspeaks when considering a Standard English to be standard by which we all should speak.

What bothers me so deeply is that the New English dialect and the poor White man's dialect are both given pity and considered to be historically representative and culturally significant, whereas the Black man's dialect is considered low, dirty, horribly uneducated, and should be improved. Why is that?

In reading "Talkin' and Testifyin': The Language of Black America," the author Geneva Smitherman made a profound statement when she said that there IS no standard dialect of English. All of us English speakers speak with dalect. This is true of all languages. In my mind, I see this as a bell curve where the most accepted and spoken English is in the middle and the plus send minus standard deviations from it are where the outliers lay. Based on what I see in education, politics, and the world in general (if one can generalize the world) is that the White man's. English is in the middle and the outliers are where we put the people of color.  We put immigrant speakers, Spanglish, Ebonics, and combinations of such to the outskirts and tell people that if they don't speak like "us," then we will take away your privilege, opportunities, and voice. 

Disgusting.

I was taught the "King's English" and can speak it mellifluously upon being called. However, when doing research and developing relationships across the gamut, I realized the importance and necessity of code switching and enjoy it ever so much. Then, when I read Talkin' and Testifyin', I learned of the beauty, color, depth, passion, and power that speaking with dialect--Black dialect--can have. Sometimes a story can't be told "right" unless you drop some syntax and let the point and rhythm of the story rather than the rules of speech be one's guide.  It also gave me a key and a guide into the heart of Black consciousness that I am so grateful to have in my pocket. Words are the lifeblood of culture.

Given my upbringing and schooling, I, being Black, female, earner of fancy degrees, and lover of the spoken word and of people, know and exemplify the importance of code switching. Putting on my Master's in Organizational Communication hat, code switching is when one moves from one "code" or speech pattern with its nuances, preferences, historical ramifications, and patterns to another. Codes are like cultures where groups of people will identify best with one or more. So there's a softball code and culture, hockey code and culture, engineering code and culture, academic code and culture, 8-year-old code and culture, old people code and culture, rich people code and culture, average Joe of Oklahoma code and culture,... Learning to switch from one to another takes time. I observe, listen intently, take mental notes of trends, watch for anomalies, and practice privately before trying publicly. People greatly appreciate when you speak their "code" with genuine intentions. When s person switches, he or she is accepted more freely and is given more intimate knowledge of the culture because one has taken time to learn and appreciate differences. Not always, but mostly. Groups of people generally want y to join them in their journey and gain a new perspective or point of view. What one assumes to be the only way to look at things just because that is how you've been taught may or may not be true of everyone. Getting out of your code and culture and trying someone else's on for size makes you a more compassionate and well rounded person.

~~

Well that's it for Moby Dick. I liked it. It was entirely too long. If you're only wanting to learn the lessons from the novel, I'd read the short story "The Pearl" by John Steinbeck. However, you can't replicate the beautiful prose albeit insanely verbose.

WAIT!! One more thing, I was talking to my dad and he told me that Melville died a pauper and never saw the impact and fame of his novel. That made me think about the work that I do. Do I do stuff so that I will get recognition? if I never saw the impact, would I work just as hard? I've thought about this time and again and my answer is not one I'm too proud of. Our lives are rocks thrown into lakes and vast bodies of water. Sometimes, yes, we feel like we are drowning in our responsibilities, expectations, and personal goals and dreams. We have to remember the BIG PICTURE. Our "impact ripples" last a really long time--debatably forever. So every time I feel like I've failed at life, I have the assurance that my impact supersedes my effort. How encouraging. And scary.

Now I'm done.

JLP 

DON'T SCRATCH IN PUBLIC! Ugh.

Before I get started on this blog entry, I have to tell you what I just witnessed.  I saw a kinda chunky/flubby guy spread his legs whilst walking, scratch and adjust his balls, and acted like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.  And to make it worse, his balls were squishy!!! 

I the Single Saint, Cant. Deal.

Now, moving on to more important memories. Actually I can't. Scratchy balls made me lose my literary/writing appetite.

Morocco

Morocco Day 1

My grandmother planned this trip with her travel agency and they have done a wonderful job.  Today, we flew into Casablanca which is the only international airport of the country and I really felt a huge cultural jump from Spain to Morocco.  It was a two-hour flight and we went from traffic rules to traffic suggestions, Spanish to Arabic, White people to gorgeously tanned people, orange juice to bottled water, and dry to humid.  This is my FIFTH continent and I’m so excited to be here!

On my first day to Africa, I found that the people are incredible and bright-eyed and calm.  Time slows and relationships build.  We had a local tourguide for the day who at the end of our 10 hour stay, invited me and my grandmother back to her country and into her home if we are ever in the area again.  I liked her a lot.  Her name is Noura and she just married about 6 months ago.  She took us around the city to some interesting places. 

(Noura and my Grandma Frankie)

Our first stop was a Jewish Moroccan museum as their cultures collided and they have grown together over the past century or so.  She spat off many facts like a history audiobook and I was humbled again because I don’t know if I could reciprocate with American history with such ease, clarity, and solidarity.  I got super close to checking off another bucketlist item—to touch an old Torah—but it was behind glass and I couldn’t.  Next time maybe.

After the museum, we stopped to eat.  One of top 3 favorite cuisines in all the world is Moroccan.  I don’t know how they spice their food, but it is so rich and multi-leveled.  I had stewed beef that almost made me cry and then they served about 10 different small cooked, but cold vegetable dishes.  I also ate 2 olives as this is olive country.  I still hate olives.

After this, we stopped by the third largest mosque in the entire world that was finished in 1999 after 6 years of hard labor day and night by thousands.  All tiles were hand-carved and the majestic openness and simplicity was beautiful.  This was my first time in a large mosque.  I was invited to one in Nashville by a dear friend of mine and I appreciated she taking the time to explain her religious beliefs and structure of worship before visiting this one.

Part of it was built over the Atlantic Ocean and it made for a spectacular view and picturesque panoramic both from the mosque property and from far away (Pictures).

I have such a respect now for the Islamic faith, but still desire and pray that they will know the love of Jesus  as He is the only Way, Truth, and Life (John 14:6).  I believe that God will stir my heart now to pray for them more often than I have now that I have met such beautiful people. 

After the mosque, we somehow survived the streets with 3 lanes that the Moroccans made into 5.  Bikers felt like the white lines to divide the roads were for them and weaved effortlessly and without second thought from line to line thus making me double check my life insurance policy.

We stopped by a pigeon park to look at the official buildings and got swindled by some pigeon feeders who would take our pictures, disappear to print them, and then charge us 2 Euro for them.  Thank goodness I had my iPhone! I saved 2 Euro.

Did I mention I hate pigeons?  I used to be able to be around them, but some neuron no longer is connected to my pigeon-liking brain and now I can’t handle being around the dirty birds.  But I faced my disdain and loved feeding them with seed.  There were so many! If I spent more time with them, I would have named them and wished them good luck in their future reproduction habits.

After that, we stopped by to check out some artisan crafts.  These are hand made carpets.  I don’t know all the terms and what they were made of, but the dyes are natural, and some are even two sided.  When you turn them around and walk on them, the dirt falls out the other side! They’re self-cleaning and you don’t need a vacuum! Ingenious. 

Then, there was a magical sunset from the car.

And THEN I found amazing graffiti.  I think this is my new favorite thing to find in new cities I visit.  Somehow oversized, hyper-colored art on walls is fascinating—partly because I can’t even draw a stick figure.

We also checked out a herb store which is like an alternative health store.  They had dried flowers, seeds, ground stuff in random jars and ointments, oils, and creams.  You could walk in there and tell them how you were feeling or what medicines a doctor recommended and could try the natural remedy for it. It was HA-larious. The doctor says, “What do you want? I can fix it for you!” I was like, “Uuuhhhhhh….I don’t know.”  I have a hard time choosing things when there is more than 1 option.  Then he looks at me and says, “Here are some flower to make some tea for weight loss!” I was like, “Whaattt?? I know I’m fat, but dang!” Hilarity.  After thinking about it, I decided, “What the heck.” So I bought some. I also got some lavender oil so that when my uterus have spasms and tremors like the California earthquake of 1988, I can put 3 drops of the oil in some milk or juice and maybe not die that month. I MIGHT maybe be skinny one day.  He said something about losing water weight and drinking 6-8 ounces a day and losing 3-5 kilograms in 6 weeks.  The herbs don’t do anything bad—if they don’t work, they pass through your system without harm. I got intrigued and burned through $100 within a blink of an eye.  I was tempted to get some Argan oil as all the hipsters use it and it is totally the rage in America.  I also thought about getting some saffron as it is about 2-3 times the price in America, but stopped at weight loss flower tea and menstrual relief oils.

Welp, I’m done catching up my invisible readers on my trip.  I just finished in time to pee and get ready to fly out to another city that I’ve been trying for 6 hours to say—Ourzazate. 

Toledo, Spain

Toledo

The next day after Segovia, my family and I took another train to Toledo which was about 30 minutes away from Madrid in another direction.  This town was much larger and was an impossible labyrinth of curving streets with the longest being MAYBE 150 yards.  I don’t know how anybody could find anything.  I was just grateful that each alley and each street were unique and beautiful and resulted in some pretty great pictures.  I was with my family this time so I could only take 150 pictures instead of my normal 200. Oh well. 

This town had a ginormous cathedral that was about 500 years old and was gold plated in lots of areas and had the same gorgeous ceilings.  My neck had a migraine from craning so much.  The pillars that hoisted the ceiling resembled tree trunks and the wood and stone carvings were humbling.  And to know they reached such precision with no technology on which we so rely.  This cathedral wasn’t my favorite only because by this time I had already seen 3 or 4, and also the time period was new to me and I didn’t really understand it—and was really unfamiliar with it. 

At the cathedral, this guy said he had something to show us and snuck away like a rodent into the cavernous belly of the New York gutters and underground world—perhaps more romantic and chivalrous sounding than that dismal word picture, but you get the idea.  He told us that under this monastery was this unique artwork called domascene which is when you hammer tiny gold and silver leaf pieces into a smoothed surface of rock  and fire it to make it glossy.  It’s an artform that is passed down from generation to generation and I got a couple pictures of three generations working on it—grandfather, father, and son.  It was a precious and intimate moment.  We met some of the artisans and they instantly became my superheroes as I complained of working on my dissertation at Times New Roman 12 point font for several months—which doesn’t compare to doing this art work with no magnification for 30+ years. 

The city was surrounded by water and was built on a hill.  I would have liked to stay longer to take pictures, but I was also tired of walking around and getting lost—more unplanned exercising.  I kept walking around and around wondering why this felt as though I had already visited.  At the artisan workshop, I asked the guy if he had heard of the book Don Quixote.  And he says, “Don Quixote? Of course! It is called “Don Quoxite de la Plancha. This place—it is ‘de la Plancha!’” Score! I wasn’t crazy after all.  The sections I had read in my humanities class actually stuck.  I’ll be putting this book on my to-read-list for 2014 now that I’ve been to the land from which it was inspired.

Spain!

Well, Madrid has come and gone with many happy memories.  I spent two days in the actual city touring and exploring on the mass tourismo bus that identifies you as non-Spaniard as soon as you board.  As much as I don’t like making my tourist-status obvious, I do appreciate the views from aboard the autobus.  A few highlights.

A Super MASSIVE museum. 

They said that this museum had one of the top art collections in all of Europe, but I didn’t exactly know what that meant.  Apparently it meant walking hundreds of miles, room after room, painter after painter for at least 3 hours.  The first 90 or so minutes, I stared at each painting trying to interpret it, but the last 90 I was completely overwhelmed with brushstrokes and could no longer analyze.  They were all fantastic in their own ways.  Some were flowery, others of scenes from history, and others people, and then you had the random boob.  I was absolutely horrified when I saw one boob in particular squirting a giant stream of milk into the night sky completely missing the mouth of the sweet babe.  Apparently, that is how the Milky Way was made according to Greek mythology. I sat there staring at the milk, and then the boob, and then the milk, and then the stars…and then the boob again. My mind was completely blown and I shall never look at the stars the same again.

One other amazing piece that I saw was of the Christ babe in the manger with Three Kings—and one of them was an African king! He was Black! I was thrilled. Yay for the Black people. Many people who are Afrocentric and think that the Bible was made for and by Whites to dominate the Colored people of the world oft don’t realize that Jesus was a Savior to all of mankind and that the story was early introduced to the Motherland as depicted in this painting and also in the writings of Paul.  I wish I could discuss this more, but that’s all I know.

6 billion more paintings later, my legs were completely exhausted and we went to go eat and I got more orange juice. 

The next day was super awesome.  I decided to be a big girl and travel a bit on my own.  I went to a city called Segovia which was a 30 minute train ride from Madrid.  I don’t know how I didn’t miss my stop because as soon as the train started moving, I drifted into a deep coma.  The trains here feel like what I’d imagine Star Trek Enterprise to feel like as you can barely tell when they are stopped and when they are moving.  The train and transportation infrastructure here puts the United States to absolute shame.  

America needs trains for the simple fact that trains are cool.

(Segovia street)

Looking in the guide book for Segovia, they recommended seeing the Roman Aqueducts, the town’s cathedral, and a castle.  I got off of the train thinking that I would be in the middle of town, but this is actually what I found:

I was filled with trembling and fear.  I arrived there during their siesta (daily napping and resting time) which is between 12ish-2ish and there wasn’t a soul in sight except for other likewise tourists who were lost and befuddled by the lack of—city.  All of a sudden, four taxi cars (I’m sure they knew the train schedule by heart) just appeared out of nowhere and I shared a cab to the main city with an Italian family.  I looked on the map and wasn’t sure if I’d be able to see the aquaducts because I thought they’d be tucked away somewhere, but then I saw this:

And I said, “Oooohhh!! Well, those must be the aquaducts!” They were GINORMOUS! No mortar and no place to even squeeze a piece of chewed gum (several had tried).  Even after 2,000 years, they were beautiful pieces of work and had just been put out of commission lesson than 40 years ago.  

Amazing. 

I walked up into the city. That’s ANOTHER thing that has pissed me off about Spain.  All this exercise with no warning! The city had 2 relatively large hills which I crossed hither and thither.  My next stop after the aquaducts was the castle which was at the very back of the city.  On my bucketlist was to walk through a not-so-famous castle.  This was one was nice and not-so-famous. Check!

I even found my knight in shining armour!  Check! Not really.

Speaking of unplanned exercise, they said that I could pay 2 Euro to go into the spire of the castle because of the beautiful view of the city.  Well I said, “Of course!” That was before I knew that there were 154 stairs separating me from the ground floor and the top.  Pissed. Again.  I won’t mention what I sounded like climbing those stairs as it is rather inappropriate for this blog, but you can use your imagination and deductive reasoning skills.  Kinda awkward.

This was my reward after PAYING for exercise—again not excited.

Next stop was the cathedral in the middle of the city which was an exquisite and quaint cathedral.  Still massive, but not as massive as some of the others.  I liked this one just as much as I liked Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, but for different reasons. 

Last. Food. Let’s talk about this crepe I SMASHED.  I walked into this restaurant and asked if they could serve me in 30 minutes as I had a train to catch.  Before I blinked, it seemed, my food was in front of my face.  Inside of this wonder was rotisserie chicken, some kind of cheese like Swiss, caramelized onions, and (drum roll please)—DIJON MUSTARD!!! Heaven.  AND THEN I had fresh squeezed orange juice. 

With a crepe-filled belly, I took the taxi back to the train, napped, and then found my way to this English club that is sponsored by the church I went to on Sunday.  It was super awesome and I met some great people.  One was a super handsome, bearded Italian who looked maybe 5 years older than me and had a PhD and spoke 4 languages.  I may have to expand my boundaries to include Italians now.

Great day once again.