okieinexile
Well-Known Member
The Coyote and the Sheepdog
By Bobby Neal Winters
I have a confession, and I know I risk decreasing your opinion of me by making it, but there are things more important than being liked. Getting this off my chest is one of them.
I hate Sponge Bob.
That felt good. I also hate Fairly Odd Parents except for the one tiny snippet where the birthday party clown amidst chaos says in a bitter voice, "No, mother, I don't want to go the college. I want to follow my dream and become a clown."
I suppose I am a fossil by insisting the cartoon art form reached its zenith in the days of Warner Brothers. You can't beat Tex Avery and Chuck Jones, as far as I'm concerned, when it comes to making a cartoon.
This sounds silly, but those old cartoons were important. Communication is hard. Most people have trouble coming up with their own words, so they use other people's words. Writers for whom communication is their calling, in fact, do this more than anybody else. All you have to do is listen to people committed to a particular point of view state their beliefs, and you will notice they all use the same words. This is because they are getting their language from the same place.
There is nothing wrong with that. We hear things, they match what we believe, and we put them into our intellectual reservoir.
We learn about the world through experience, and we all have our unique reservoir of stories to draw upon, but it is useful to have a common reservoir because it aids us in understanding each other. When I say, "I was running around like a chicken with my head cutoff." This is just a goofy saying to my children, because they have never seen it. Having seen me do it, they have some idea what I mean, but the image I am referring to is not part of their experience.
One function of literature is to provide a common source of images and language for communication. In former times, the Bible served this function, and if I may say so without being sacrilegious, the old Warner Brothers cartoons did this as well.
I can tell people older than a certain age that a mutual acquaintance pursued his goal like the coyote pursued the roadrunner, and they will have some idea of what I mean.
One particular series of those cartoons I've been thinking about recently were about the Coyote and the Sheepdog. The story always began at the start of a working day. The coyote and the sheep dog arrived at work and greeted each other.
"Good morning, Sam."
"Good morning, Ralph."
They then punched-in to begin work, and for the rest of the day, the coyote would try to steal sheep, and the sheepdog would stop him.
At the end of the day, when the whistle blew, the action would stop in mid-punch and the next shift took over.
They then punched out and went home.
"Goodbye, Sam."
"Goodbye, Ralph."
There was nothing personal about what they did. Stealing sheep was the business of the coyote, and beating up the coyote for even thinking of such a thing was the business of the sheepdog. Each is part of a system, part of a process, and they are just doing their jobs.
This understanding would be enough to justify these cartoons, but there is another level that makes it priceless. While the sheepdog walks home at the end of the day unharmed, the coyote usually goes home pretty beat up. There is something asymmetric about the system.
Regardless of the roles we play because of our jobs, we are still human beings. However much we try to rationalize the process, however much professional armor we put on, though everyone involved knows we are just playing roles, we are still human beings inside, we can still be hurt, and so can the people we work with.
It may be that Sponge Bob and Fairly Odd Parents contain images as rich as these. I kind of like Sandy the squirrel having known any number of people just like her, but the coyote could wipe up the floor with Sponge Bob.
(Editor's note: Bobby Winters is a professor of mathematics, writer, and speaker. You many contact him at bobby@okieinexile.com.)
By Bobby Neal Winters
I have a confession, and I know I risk decreasing your opinion of me by making it, but there are things more important than being liked. Getting this off my chest is one of them.
I hate Sponge Bob.
That felt good. I also hate Fairly Odd Parents except for the one tiny snippet where the birthday party clown amidst chaos says in a bitter voice, "No, mother, I don't want to go the college. I want to follow my dream and become a clown."
I suppose I am a fossil by insisting the cartoon art form reached its zenith in the days of Warner Brothers. You can't beat Tex Avery and Chuck Jones, as far as I'm concerned, when it comes to making a cartoon.
This sounds silly, but those old cartoons were important. Communication is hard. Most people have trouble coming up with their own words, so they use other people's words. Writers for whom communication is their calling, in fact, do this more than anybody else. All you have to do is listen to people committed to a particular point of view state their beliefs, and you will notice they all use the same words. This is because they are getting their language from the same place.
There is nothing wrong with that. We hear things, they match what we believe, and we put them into our intellectual reservoir.
We learn about the world through experience, and we all have our unique reservoir of stories to draw upon, but it is useful to have a common reservoir because it aids us in understanding each other. When I say, "I was running around like a chicken with my head cutoff." This is just a goofy saying to my children, because they have never seen it. Having seen me do it, they have some idea what I mean, but the image I am referring to is not part of their experience.
One function of literature is to provide a common source of images and language for communication. In former times, the Bible served this function, and if I may say so without being sacrilegious, the old Warner Brothers cartoons did this as well.
I can tell people older than a certain age that a mutual acquaintance pursued his goal like the coyote pursued the roadrunner, and they will have some idea of what I mean.
One particular series of those cartoons I've been thinking about recently were about the Coyote and the Sheepdog. The story always began at the start of a working day. The coyote and the sheep dog arrived at work and greeted each other.
"Good morning, Sam."
"Good morning, Ralph."
They then punched-in to begin work, and for the rest of the day, the coyote would try to steal sheep, and the sheepdog would stop him.
At the end of the day, when the whistle blew, the action would stop in mid-punch and the next shift took over.
They then punched out and went home.
"Goodbye, Sam."
"Goodbye, Ralph."
There was nothing personal about what they did. Stealing sheep was the business of the coyote, and beating up the coyote for even thinking of such a thing was the business of the sheepdog. Each is part of a system, part of a process, and they are just doing their jobs.
This understanding would be enough to justify these cartoons, but there is another level that makes it priceless. While the sheepdog walks home at the end of the day unharmed, the coyote usually goes home pretty beat up. There is something asymmetric about the system.
Regardless of the roles we play because of our jobs, we are still human beings. However much we try to rationalize the process, however much professional armor we put on, though everyone involved knows we are just playing roles, we are still human beings inside, we can still be hurt, and so can the people we work with.
It may be that Sponge Bob and Fairly Odd Parents contain images as rich as these. I kind of like Sandy the squirrel having known any number of people just like her, but the coyote could wipe up the floor with Sponge Bob.
(Editor's note: Bobby Winters is a professor of mathematics, writer, and speaker. You many contact him at bobby@okieinexile.com.)
