Why I hate graduations

Because they ask you to condense your experience (often years of experiences) into an hour and FEEL it: are you feeling it?

Because they are always caught up with flag waving and thanking our military for our peace—go tell the Iraqis about your fuckin peace. And, btw, what the hell does this have to do with a group of sixth graders moving onto junior high?

Because there is forced kitschy consensus

Because they bring the worst out in many people—a hyper uni-focus on their kid/grandkid, dads tripping over each other to get the right photos with video cams recording every precious moment, and that galling look of pride

Because they always seem to highlight the same kinds of kids: either the talented and extroverted who need no attention OR the sympathy cases like the girl with cancer asked last minute to sing in a trio even though she can’t sing

Because they package life into beginnings and endings, the big events where we pat ourselves and others on the back—of course life is actually a long day to day process with few endings and none we really choose

And lastly because they continue to multiply exponentially—kindergarten graduation, 6th grade graduation with pomp and circumstance and diplomas, one week music camp graduation with trophies, first level piano graduation with graduation photos…

Whew, I'm glad I got that off my chest--lots of downright nasty, pessimistic, cynical feelings on my part. Now I will be ready to face the next kid graduation when it comes. Thanks.

With my luck they will institute "Summer graduation" to start off the new year for all those children who successfully made it through the summer without their parents killing them. They can give awards to any child who did anything other than watch TV and play video games: like eat a veggie, make a bed, fold clothes, read a book, write a poem... And, if the budget allows, they can offer pins to any child who made it to Lagoon more than three times. And trophies, yes trophies, for children who made it up before 9am on 10 or more mornings.

The possibilities are limitless; our futures are so bright with glorious graduations on all the horizons.

Whiplash

A strange new set of duties has infiltrated my life. After spending a couple of weeks totally focused on work (grading papers, revising a journal article, writing a conference proposal) I now find myself making french toast for breakfast, running youngest to the dentist, calling the plumber, making up a sauce for barbecue ribs while helping my daughter finish her math.

It's an odd, whiplash kind of shift but it's good. It's good to slow down, fitting my life into the patterns of my children and wife; it's good to speed up, less time to think and analyze.

Well, off to take Hana to school--she put her foot down on attending gym for the last month (it's on Friday mornings) and we just couldn't care enough to fight her. She also won't walk: "Dad, there won't be a crossing guard!" she says in near hysteria.

Crossing guards seem like good idea, of course, but now my almost 12 year old daughter doesn't dare cross the road without one. Always costs and benefits.

A family home evening on sex

I think my last long post either was incomprehensible or was merely too long. Either way, I better move it down the line and post something new.

As a parent I've rarely nailed it but on Monday, during our unconventional Mormon family home evening, I think I did just that.

I'd been stewing (in a good way) about finding a way to open up more honest discussion about sex with our two oldest children, one teen and one soon-to-be teen. While listening to a great new podcast Middlebrow introduced me to (To the best of our knowledge), I heard a short piece on teens from David Bainbridge's A Natural History of Teens. It seemed the perfect little piece to break the ice on the sex discussion.

And it worked. Of course what made the discussion amazing were my two great kids. They were authentic, unembarrassed, forthright. The discussion was great. Our 11-year old daughter, often very quiet, had many specific questions tied to particular experiences with friends. If anyone has ever doubted this, my daughter's questions confirmed that kids are hearing all kinds of things and there is no way parents can hide them from the "evils" of sexuality.

It was one of the moments which represented to me what I always thought parenting could be, what I imagined it might be if I were lucky. Just thinking about it gives me hope in the next generation, in their ability to learn, think, and question.

p.s. my son came home tonight full of vigor since he had questioned his old-school health teacher repeatedly as the teacher tried to present strict gender stereotypes. He said he was shaking but would continue to express his views even if the teacher retaliated--gotta love that kid. He showed me the gender chart--more awful than I could have imagine. One of my favorites which reifies stereotypes I thought were nearly dead:

Males: Has the greater tendency to press the "pedal to the metal"

Females: Has the greater ability to stop the engine before it overheats

Good God almighty! We are still telling women they must be the ones to say no and that men can't control themselves.

And, according to his little chart, men focus on reproductive organs and women focus on the whole person. Please,

Unwanted disgust

Awhile ago I was working with a student who seems to be transitioning from a man into a woman—I’m not certain. Others clearly have the same questions as I since many people kept staring. At one point another student blatantly continued to stare so I stared back even though “Faith” didn’t seem to notice either of us. It made me angry that the student was staring, even though I knew damn well I would have been sneaking peaks (though probably not staring) at Faith had I been seated where the student was.

After working with “Faith” I must admit that I had a strong desire to wash my hands; kind of perplexing since I’m not very germ wary. I tried to fight the feeling, recognizing it as irrational, but I couldn’t shake it. I gave in and washed my hands even as I was disgusted with myself. Biology or….something, at least, runs deep.

The experience reminds me of Ursula Le Guin’s Sci-Fi novel, Left hand of Darkness, where Genly Ai, an early explorer on Gethen, finds himself overwhelmed on many occasions as he tries to negotiate with the Gethenians who do not have gender as we know it. Instead they are, in some ways, sexless except for a couple of days a month which they call kemmer, where they move towards one gender or the other for mating. Not only does Genly struggle to communicate with the Gethenians because he does not know whether to use tactics for a male or female, but he also, even after a year or so, has a level of abhorrence. Twice he has an opportunity to see kemmer up close and personal and, even, to engage in sex with a Gethenian.

First, on a truck where they are prisoners and naked: a young “girl” is in kemmer and desperately needs to mate (as kemmer is similar to being in heat) but he can’t even look at her: “I saw the girl, a filth, pretty, stupid, weary girl looking up into my face as she talked, smiling timidly, looking for solace . . . The one time any one of them asked anything of me, and I couldn’t’ give it. I got up and went to the window slit as if for air and a look out, and did not come back to my place for a long time” (171).

Second, while crossing Dobrin ice with Estraven, the only true Gethenian friend he has made. They’ve been traveling on the ice for weeks when Estraven enters kemmer. Genly reflects: “We were both silent for a little, and then he looked at me with a direct, gentle gaze. His face in the reddish light was as soft, as vulnerable, as remote as the face of a woman who looks at your out of her thoughts and does not speak.

And I saw then again, and for good, what I had always been afraid to see, and had pretended not to see in him: that he was a woman as well as a man. Any need to explain the sources of that fear vanished with the fear; what I was left with was, at last, acceptance of him as he was. Until then I had rejected him, refused him his own reality. He had been quite right to say that he, the only person on Gethen who trusted me, was the only Gethenian I distrusted. For he was the only one who had entirely accepted me as a human being: who had liked me personally and given me entire personal loyalty, and who therefore had demanded of me an equal degree of recognition, of acceptance. I had not been willing to give it. I had been afraid to give it. I had not wanted to give my trust, my friendship to a man who was a woman, a woman who was a man.” Later Estraven warns Genly not to touch him during the kemmer phase.

I’m not suggesting that Genly should have had sex in either situation but maybe…maybe it could have transcended difference, or maybe, as Genly suggest, it would have merely reminded them of their difference, of their alien natures. More importantly Le Guin’s imaginative “What ifs” concerning gender creates situations where we can more fully explore our utter reliance on strict, clean definitions of gender. I guess this isn’t very surprising—gender is a powerful biological and social construct. But it is, even biologically, to a degree a construct. That is biological gender is not nearly as clear cut as we want it to be and doesn’t necessarily have to mean what we assume it must. Somehow we will need to move beyond this biological response of disgust. Without moving beyond, we will continue to have people, like the man in Lebanon I heard interviewed on NPR who said “I hate gay people; they are disgusting and evil. They will tear down the fabric of our society.”

Generally I don’t see any relation between myself and a someone speaking such vitriolic bullshit but somewhere, deep down in my biology, there is revulsion and disgust I can’t quite come to terms with.

"Seth is a sexy beast"

I've been working on a post about breasts, but it may be a rhetorical challenge too risky for even Counterintuitive. Instead, on a lighter note (breasts are a serious issue for me), I'm trying to figure out how it is that my I-Pod is named "Seth is a Sexy Beast." Here's how it went down:

1. My son, Seth, got a Nano I-pod from grandma before we really understood I-Pods

2. Said Nano, early on, got mysteriously bent which caused a few minor malfunctions at times

3. Said bent created a plethora of complaints and deep remorse from son

4. Said complaints drove me to distraction

5. A year or so later I purchased a Nano, the new ones which can play videos

6. Said new Nano made son jealous but I didn't care

7. A year later, trying to get some work done (ok maybe I was blogging) and get him to stop bothering me about how he couldn't play videos on his I-Pod, I finally relented: "Yeah, whatever, I will trad you as long as you put my music on yours and you make me an excercise playlist of rockin songs." (I'd yet to make a playlist because I suck and spend most my I-Pod time downloading podcasts)

8. And now I have an I-Pod which is called "Seth is a Sexy Beast"

9. Unforseen benefits of son taking advantage of me: I can see the screen on this I-Pod with my
cycling sun glasses and I can change songs with gloves (most of my I-Pod use occurs with my rear in a cycling seat), neither of which I could do with the newer, "improved" one.

10. I know I could change the name with a click, but I kind of like it, makes me chuckle everytime I see it and it reminds me of how much I really like my son.

The Last Baptism

A year ago I got so stressed about how to handle my youngest son's baptism that I couldn't get to sleep multiple times.

I worked through it which is good since the baptism is tomorrow. I came to terms with the paradox and contradictions with one key insight: I love my son and know he will be comforted by me baptizing him. It's that simple.

Now if I could only find a priesthood manual to check on the wording of the baptismal prayer. Seems I got rid of all those manuals. Lucky I have the Internet.

Taxes done

By the numbers

1300 amount of federal refund (must decrease amount of money coming out)

267 amount owed to state

16 times I praised TurboTax

17 times I uttered "Fuck" under my breadth

1 stamp used

1 envelop used (I no longer understand how these work)

23 times I had to get up a look for some number or form

3 days to complete (not continuous of course)

10 days between completed taxes and actually printing payment coupon and sending in money to the state

26 times I reminded myself to send in state payment before I actually did it

1 utterance of joy--yipeee!!!!

Reading Life

I heard Andrew Solomon interviewed a couple of weeks ago on NPR. The honesty and accuracy by which he discussed depression took me aback. I got to thinking that strangely I have never read any book directly addressing depression. Strange because I use reading to understand myself and what I think. I've read books about just about everything which makes up me and my life. Yet, I've never read anything on depression even though at times I've suffered from depression. So, I ordered his "definitive" book on depression: "The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression." I could do without the "an atlas" in the title and I would rather not know he attended Jesus college (he also graduated from Yale) but I'm going to give it a go. Here's an early passage which draws an insightful connection between love and depression:

"Depression is the flaw in love. To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair. When it comes, it degrades one's self and ultimately eclipses the capacity to give or receive affection. It is the aloneness within us made manifest, and it destroys not only connection to others but also the ability to be peacefully alone with oneself. Love, though it is no prophylactic against depression, is what cushions the mind and protects it from itself. Medications and psychotherapy can renew that protection, making it easier to love and be loved, and that is why they work. In good spirits, some love themselves and some love others and some love work and some love God: any of these passions can furnish that vital sense of purpose that is the opposite of depression. Love forsakes us from time to time, and we forsake love. In depression, the meaninglessness of every enterprise and every emotion, the meaninglessness of life itself, becomes self-evident. The only feeling left in this loveless state is insignificance."

I want to remember that love "cushions the mind and protects it from itself." I love the mind, the intellect, but the more living I do I'm convinced it needs to be protected against its extremes.

Do you know what girls look like down there?

One post in March? Pathetic! I have reasons but I won't whine here; well, at least not too much.

I meant to blog about this conversation with my youngest (just turned 8) son:

son: Dad, do you know what girls look like down there?

dad: Umm, yeah, umm, why do you ask?

son: (lots of laughing)

dad: umm, what got you thinking about that?

son: her friend (pointing to 11yr old sister) showed me a picture.

dad: oh, really. Umm, what kind of picture?

son: ya know in that one book, that one about girls.

dad: oh (sudden relief) the one about maturation.

(pause)

son: Dad?

dad: yeah?

son: it was my bestest dream in the world to know what girls looked like down there.

dad: well, I can understand that....

An unwinnable argument

On homosexuality:

B: I think they are like sexual addicts. They just need to stop doing acts that are immoral.

A: Don't you think that's unfair to say homosexuals have to give up sex? Could you do that?

B: Absolutely. I mean I could do without all that down there (points to what most would define as an erogenous zone) anyways. I'd be perfectly happy to live celibate. I've already got my kids.

Grading to the Beatles

I'm grading papers (well I was) and can hear my 14 year old son playing the Beatles' "Let it be" on the piano and singing along. He's been working on it for a couple of days. Hearing him tears me up, somehow a symbolic representation of the hard work and sacrifice we've made over the years to raise him. And I don't mean some sort of reward for all the music lessons and money on drums sets etc. Instead that hearing him play confirms his individuality and separation from me: he is Seth, a budding adult, someone who will go off and do his thing out in the world. Beautiful.

Living Room Make-Over

The images below tell part of the story but leave out one crucial detail: Alison, home remodler extraordinaire. This was her idea; her vision; her planning; her kick to my butt; her sweat, toil, and many hours painting, caulking, and moving me along.







Are we sure we want to do this??















Shit, I hope we can put this back together again.







How to get down the rest of these cinder blocks...they all came at once and just about crashed into our basement.

















Two truckloads later we are done; if I see another brick, I will puke.









Hey, this looks like something. Thanks to John our contractor: the man with the know-how and the patience to talk through each detail.

















How do you like that?














A Mantel! Sweet relief.












A few early knick knacks

For the love of story

Over the last couple of weeks and especially on weekends, I've renewed my love for story without worrying so much about big ideas and lofty style. Over the last year the youngest son and I have worked through Harry Potter 1-3--now we are on 4 and picking up the pace because the plotting is exquisite. On my own I've been reading Stephen King's The Stand. The plot is good here too but it's the characters I love. If you've read it, you know there are like 1,000 (ok 100) characters rapidly introduced chapter after chapter. I fall for just about each one: Larry Underwood the selfish recent rock star, Fran Goldsmith the pregnant girl who has to bury her father, Nick Andros the deaf-mute boy who becomes the default sheriff... Amazing.

After having worked through many important books, it's nice to get sucked into a book, plot, character and line. In other words, as Stephen King put it while praising JK Rowling in a review of the HP series,"if the field is left to a bunch of intellectual Muggles who believe the traditional novel is dead, they'll kill the damn thing."

Counterintuitive note of the week

I always intended this to be part of my blog, but I've failed miserably. Today I make up for my inattention with a counterintuitive note that will leave males scratching their head and females shaken to the core. Are you ready?

In a recent study on sexual arousal they found that females were sexually aroused by every kind of porn imaginable (heterosexual, men w/ men, women w/ women, and even bonobo monkeys). And I thought women didn't like porn. But wait. The sexual arousal was tested in two ways--physiologically by way of the classic bonermeter and the "vaginal photoplethysmograph probe" (ouch!) AND psychologically by just asking. Interestingly, overall males' physiological and psychological responses agreed with one another, whereas females' did not. Damn, females still don't really like porn. For example, most heterosexual females report that same sex and bonobo action did not turn them on, but the probe said otherwise.

One theory to explain the counterintuitive response of women: women's bodies have adaptated to unwanted penetration (read rape) because sexual arousal lubricates and lessens the damage. That's sobbering. Of course the other not-so-counterituitive idea here is that males indeed think with their penis: what they said turned them on was indeed manifested in their shorts.

Of coure the myriad details of sexual research will matter little to men unless the science leads to some form of female viagra. What more can you expect from a penis?

A Crowning Achievement (I couldn't help myself)

I'm tempted to blog about all the negative economic woes, especially the hatchet job of cuts being handed down from on high at my job. But that would be really depressing and make my already paranoid self worry that somehow somebody might Google my rantings and then fire me. So, instead I will focus on yesterday's victory:

My wife and I successfully installed crown molding. Above isn't our crown molding as it still needs painting and looks kind of amateurish, but you get the idea. Well, maybe you don't.

In my storied career of house remodeling, I've installed a lot of baseboard. This is, if you didn't know, the grunt work of remodeling (i.e. anyone with a tape measure can pull it off). Finally I ventured into the unknown to finish off our living room. After viewing this and this and this, pausing and staring like a porn addict from every angle, I finally made some cuts. It was nerve-wracking knowing that a misstep would mean another trip to Loewes and another 20 bucks.

As I'm sure you know from viewing the previous videos, crown molding must be cut at an angle in the miter box and upside down--very easy to screw up. Amazingly our first corner was perfect; unfortunately we had a hell of a time fitting the last piece in. But all and all a successful evening with the saw and nail gun.

At 40 I rarely pull off something I didn't think I could do. Hopefully the hatchet job at work won't take my summer school money away which will pay for all this amazing home remodeling.

Obama finally got to me

Obama's inauguration speech wasn't streaming too well in my class (I was teaching) so I didn't see it live, but I did hear most of the NPR rebroadcast on the way home. At one point my cynical body did something it rarely does anymore: I got a tingle from my head all the way down through my legs. I'm more trusting of that tingle as I like to think I'm a bit more immune to kitsch and overwrought patriotism (e.g. certainly Ronald Reagan, if he were alive, couldn't cause the kind of emotion he did when I heard him speak at BYU). Also, I was impressed by my friend's, in The Cold Cold North, proclamation of hope. Finally, what brought me to the brink of hope, I listened to a This American Life podcast on the upcoming (at that point) inauguration. Even several conservatives expressed how they had softened and had more hope in Obama than they thought they would. And so....I've turned the corner (Note: I was almost derailed when on the same TAL program they discussed how Bush is STILL freakin more popular with the marines even though the VA representatives say the Bush administration hasn't supported any of their policies to support veterans). Drum role please..... I'm now officially prepared to say that I'm hopefully pessimistic.

Scheduling the minutes

3:07 pick up oldest son a couple of minutes late for an orthodontist appointment

3:07-3:16 listen to son complain about new piano lessons

3:17 arrive at orthodontist

3:40 discuss progress of son's braces with orthodontist

3:50-4:20 get my 18 year old permanent retainer removed (drilling off 18yr old glue hurts like hell)

4:21-4:30 again listen to son complain about piano lessons and how he hasn't talked with his gf for 24hrs

4:30-4:55 arrive home; help frantic wife prepare dinner while explaining multiple times to youngest son why right now is not a good time to read the last chapter in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

5:05 help wife and two boys out the door for music lessons

5:05-5:10 finish eating dinner

5:10-5:30 rush daughter to orthodontist to fix a "pokey wire" (turned out all we needed to do was rotate the little spring thingy on her appliance--love that word, "would you like an appliance in your mouth?" Discuss her science project, realizing that she hasn't followed up on what we talked about two days ago; measure out an uphill mile to walk later for science project.

5:30-5:50 clean up kitchen

5:50-6 consult with contractor remodeling our living room

6-7 work with daughter on science project--How long would it take to walk around the earth on the equator? (at first we figured about 2yrs until we realized we were not allowing the walker anytime to sleep, eat or rest--any ideas on making this look cool would be much appreciated). Try multiple times to help daughter understand that you must divide the smaller number into the larger number to convert minutes to days and days to years.

7 chase away anxiety from being so busy with a mixture of mint ice-cream, broken up symphony bar, and crushed cookies (damn, just remember I forgot the caramel sauce)

7:15 wife and I sequester ourselves in my office (now piled high with crap from living room being remodeled) which requires various threats to children, particularly youngest who wants me read the last chapter of the HP book RIGHT NOW; I get an update on her mother's failing health and we try to decide if she should go up to Rexburg for the weekend

7:40-8:00 try desperately to finish up HP but son has many questions; very enjoyable to see him so excited about reading but by damn I will watch the Office

8:00-8:30 to my son's utter disbelief that we still haven't finished HP, I laugh ass off watching The Office--not sure if it was an amazing episode or if I just needed a release. Listening to Michael's convoluted explanation to the district manager in NY about what he does right, sends me over the edge.

8:07, 8:18, and 8:29: read a bit of HP to son during the commercial

8:30 deal with freaked out son who can't believe we are also going to watch 30 Rock

8:30-9 watch 30 Rock, finish HP during the commercials--we did it! HP out loud in about two months.

9-9:20 get youngest into bed, start....HP and the prisoner of Azkaban

9:20-27 clean up kitch again

9:27-9:40 check email since I left early from work, while scrapping tongue raw newly discovered surface, then fiddle with two teeth that are hella sensitive since retainer removal

9:45-9:55 think about reading French theory book but instead finish Irving Stone's Lust for life for bk club on Friday--godalmighty Van Gogh had it tough

9:55-10:05 blank out for a bit thinking about Van Gogh's depression, his inability to live a mediocre "happy" life, his legacy of great art; wonder about my own ability to stay sane for the next 30 yrs.

10:05 hear Seinfeld re-run from other room--talk to wife while she is painting in living room while realizing I have not seen this very early Seinfeld.

10:15-10:30 sit down and watch rest of Seinfeld with wife; realize I have seen some of the scenes in the last half: Russian cable guys, pregnant bitchy woman who knows the Kennedy's and George's chocolate cake shirt; on the commercials we revisit her mother's health and trip to Rexburg and I help oldest son with spanish homework

10:35 take cats out in the garage and lock up; consider reading for a bit but realize I'm exhausted

10:45 in bed

11 amazingly I actualy fall asleep without getting up to read

Location

I feel like I have been plucked up and dropped into a different job. Instead of driving to work, I will be doing the train thing to our campus in the hood on M and W. I road Frontrunner, then Tracks, and then walked a mile. The walking was particularly strange as I'm just not used to walking much of anywhere, certainly not in the big city. On my return walk I went off the beaten path of State and 13th South--many boarded up stores, a few alleys, a big restaurant fan spewing crap onto the sidewalk, muchas palabras en espanol. A world out of sight but just blocks away from roads I've driven many times.

How easy it is to be absolutely isolated from anyone and anywhere Other. I'm quite confident that I did indeed go to work today, but I'm really not quite sure.

Holiday break's consumption of texts

I started the break with, as usual, high expectations of rigorous study and viewing. Here's my review--not nearly as rigorous as I'd hoped (as usual) but not too bad:

I read MacNeil and Cran's companion book to their amazing PBS series, Do you Speak American. Overall a very reasonable accounting of the English language. I was again hit by the complexity and vibrancy of the English language and by how much people futily attempt to "sure up" the boundaries. The key false assumption which promotes this futility is that language reflects morality as witnessed in the post WWI "Good English Makes Good Americans" campaign which issued this "Pledge for Children":

"I love the United States of America. I love my country's flag. I love my country's language. I promise:

1. That I will not dishonor my country's speech by leaving off the last syllable of words.

2. That I will say a good American 'yes' and 'no' in place of an Indian grunt 'um-hum' and 'nup-um' or a foreign 'ya,' or 'yeh' and 'nope.'"

There are two more points to the pledge but I will stop there--what a delicious irony that the very phrases (ya, nope) which now convey the essence of blue-collardness and casualness, easily spoken by the very people who would raise alarms about the influence of the spanish language, are "foreign" phrases.

***
I read a couple of SF novels: Ursula K. LeGuin's the telling and Mcauley's Child of the River. The telling Hainish cycle, the same setup as her most famous novel, The Left Hand of Darkness. In LHD we follow an early explorer sent to test the waters on a new planet to see if they are ready to become part of the Ekumen (federation of planets); in this newer novel we follow Sutty, an Observer on a planet recently accepted into the Ekumen. Ironically Sutty leaves Earth, a religious fundamentalist state (can't every imagine that happening!), to work with Aka, a world controlled by fundamentalist materialist state which completely rejected any "backwards" religion. A novel which addresses the Chris Hedges debate we had earlier here about the new atheists.

"The telling" is what's left over from the religion which has been pushed out. Instead the god of reason is worshipped above all. The underground religion which Sutty finds defines the sacred simply as beauty and suffering. Le Guin seems to agree with Chris Hedges that a materialist secular funamentalist state is just as bad as a religious fundamentalist one.

Overall an interesting read, especially as a companion to LHD, but it doesn't even approach the rich complexities and gender bending of LHD.

***

Child of the River by Paul Mcauley also brought me back to the new atheist debate: "Most men are no different from beasts of burden, their spirits broken by fear of the phantoms of religion invoked by priests and bureaucrats." Confluence seems to be the left over garbage from a genetic experiment gone wrong. There are hundreds of bloodlines, almost all of them mixes between humans and animals, except for one: an orphaned boy named Yama. We follow Yama as he tries to discover his ancestral roots while at the same time uncover his hidden talents to control the many machines. I like Yama as a hero. He makes mistakes and has sex with Tamora who is from one of the animal bloodlines, a carniverous race his kills prey and eats them raw. Nothing like sex that leaves the hero with scratches on his flanks and nips out of his shoulder AND can't lead to pregnancy. SF at its best boyhood juvenile self.

The sex was in celebration of their victory over the merchant rogue star-sailor, a species which inhabits and then discards others' bodies. When I met this rogue, I immediately thought of Jabba the hut from The Empire Strikes Back:

Yama halted a few paces from him and bowed from the waist, but the merchant did not acknowledge him. . . the musicians played through the variations of their raga and the merchant ate a dozen pastries one after the other and stroked the gleaming pillows of the woman's large breasts with swollen , ring-encrusted fingers. Like her master, the woman was quite without hair. The petals of her labia were pierced with rings; from one of these rings a fine gold chain ran to a bracelet on the merchant's wrist.

Ouch! Can you say mysogynistic? As you might guess there's quite a battle to wrench power from the x-rated Jabba and finally kill him.

Hmm, I didn't mean to focus so much on sex; even though the book has a raw feel, there's not nearly as much sex as one might suspect from my discussion here.

***

Movies:

The Savages: loved every minute of Laura Linney's and Phillip Seymour Hoffman's performances.

Father Ted: Season 2 As always, hilarious.

Man on wire: Phillipe Petit's walk across the two towers was audacious, nerve-racking, and crazy yet beautiful. Absolutely astounded by the years of preparation it took.

The Squid and the Whale: While I love both Laura Linney and Jeff Daniels, I didn't believe in their characters for one second. If a rampaging terrorist burst on the scence and shot the entire family, I would have barely flinched. I have no idea why many critics liked this film.

Happy Valley: We made it through 30 minutes and I'm quite confident no one did any editing of that 30 minutes--too bad.

Factotum: Matt Dillon still has it.

Transiberian: A pleasant find I'd never heard of--kind of a return to the old Woody Harrelson from Cheers but better.

Mississippi Masala: Early Denzel I'd missed; not your normal, cliched cross-cultural affair.

Heroes (the last 3 episodes of season #1) excellent modern SF but I'm thinking I will pass on season 2, 3, 4... Still, what a brilliant move to cast the funny Masi Oka as Hiro Nakamura.

If you made it this far, thanks. Writing it down, remembering what I liked and didn't, helps me feel like maybe I did actually do something over the last month.

Brief

Will be brief as contents of post will explain: must stop blog-fucking around as the beginning of all things forgotten, put-on-hold, and procrastinated start Friday. Now must stop editing previous sentence. Stop . . . now! like right now! Ok, now! Shit almighty.

Reflections on 40

Wow, I'm officially 40. The actual day is anti-climatic (or would that be anti-important as I didn't expect a climax of any type). When I turned 39 I was nervous about 40. Seems silly now. It's just a number, a half-way point between 0 and 80 (80 the number I can't imagine living past). But I have been thinking more about how many years I have to work--probably 30 if I'm lucky which is sobering. Too bad there aren't graceful ways of slowly retiring. And I worry about the aches and pains in my back, hip and stomach. Naive idealism is mostly gone, worn away by the realities of my limitations and the constraints of social structures.

I have a good friend who also just turned 40; he's starting his second semester of law school. I'm impressed. At 40 I can't quite imagine starting much of anything. Long gone are my desires to pursue something completely new, to take a big risk. Of course, in part, this is because I'm relatively happy with my job teaching gig. But also it's because I feel a deep down tiredness and sensible desire to not overextend myself.

For example, while I like my job, I'm not that keen on living in Utah--not really a great place for someone like me, a retired Mormon. I'd like for my kids to grow up in a community where they could actually choose whether they wanted to attend LDS seminary or not; not doing so as a Mormon kid could be the kiss of death to friends and future dating. But I just can't imagine applying for jobs, putting myself out there, selling all my many important qualities and skills. I'm much more satisfied with surviving than I was at 20 or even 30.

In reflection maybe 40 does mean something. It gives me a definitive half-way number, the literal representation of a life which is now heading down toward its end. I'm now officially coasting, not striving or scraping for legitimacy or happiness. I have what I have: a tenure track position at a college in Mormonville, a 3,000 ft square house built in the 70s with three floors and low ceilings, a community which contains few if any of my ilk, a family with three children and a wife, a geography where it's sometimes 5 degrees and at other times a blistering 100 with only a swamp cooler for cooling.

Sounds depressing I guess, particularly in the context of heroic stories in movies and in the news which "inspire" us to believe we can do it all, we can become whatever we want at any age in this great nation. Ultimately, I'm relieved and excited to hunker down, to appreciate more what I have, to stop worrying about what might be... THIS IS THE PLACE so I might as well sit back and read a book or write a post in the winter OR dig around in my garden or go for mt bike ride in the summer. Finally I can fully begin to listen to what my genes have been telling me for years: while survival has costs, at least you are around to enjoy what's left over.

40 ain't too bad, maybe a much more important event than I realized.

Christmas Stats

5 favorite Chinese dishes eaten: crab wontons, tangerine beef, pork and green beans in brown sauce, ham fried rice, vegetable lo mien with yummy noodles

1 useful gift I never would have purchased: Belkin laptop rest (currently in use)

5:56--the ungodly hour by which we were awoken

6 Present Stations: hidden locations throughout the house where gifts were placed and then found by deciphering clues

1 stupid idea: hiding most expensive electronic gifts in the washer (I-pod for daughter, MarioKart for youngest son, digital camera for oldest son); luckily only one of the boxes got a bit wet

1 more gift given to wife than she gave me: I won but had to rely on two last minute cheapo presents from Kings--"I didn't know I was in need of gloves"

5 chocolate oranges given in stockings as always

1 fire started in stove (THE fire of the year)

1 cat in the bag of wrapping paper

$3,000 which wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, spent on our Christmas but was by a woman in Clearfield for her three children whose gifts were all stolen last week

1 pair of Mountain Dew pajama bottoms given to oldest son which brought more joy than any other gift

6 books given and then ignored while kids setup/used/played electronic gifts

1 French Canadian children's book given: Little zizi by Stephane Poulin about how little boys worry about the size of their.... (hopefully perfect for youngest son who has always been quite focused on his "gorilla"--a mishearing of "groin")

Christmas Eve, demolition projects and chinese food

Being Christmas (or should I say xmas) eve, I must move on to other "new" issues. I do love this time of year. I always struggle a bit at the beginning of break wondering where I should focus my energy, worrying if I don't feel like I'm accomplishing something. By now, the 24th, I frankly don't give a damn. Ironically, though, we started a demolition project this morning.

After our personal carpenter, John, sized up the last room in our house needing renovation, we couldn't resist getting started. Crowbar and sledge hammer quickly made slush of the 30+ year old brick wall/ mantle in our living room. Well, it's about 5% done and I only hit my hand once with the hammer.

Just as I chipped away at the brick, my wife has been working on me for a couple of years to get going on this project. Of course we don't have any saved up money but what the hell--we never will. Somehow it seems if we remodel this last room, the room we ironically spend the most time in, our lives will be made whole, we will have arrived. So, I've got a little work ahead of me during the break then I will hand off to our main man carpenter to do the finishing touches (that is everything but the demolition--design, cabinets, bookshelves, crown molding etc).

In about 45 minutes we will take off to Eastern Winds in Ogden, a slightly above mediocre Chinese restaurant where we eat every Christmas Eve--it's kind of homage to The Christmas Story movie. I wish I'd chosen a better restaurant to start this tradition but now we started the kids won't let us go anywhere different (like Dave's Kitchen on 33rd South in SLC. Actually we initially meant to go to the Mandarin in Bountiful but those slackers would rather be home with their families on xmas eve.

Now as long as none of our children barf up the Chinese food (this has happened twice) then we are set for tomorrow. Happy Christmas to all!

It mattereth not whether we believe or not for tomorrow we will all receive gifts we would have never gotten for ourselves and eat WAY too much food.

Religious indoctrination as abuse

I'm almost off my "new" atheist kick but I did reread some of the God Delusion and finally fished the last two chapters. I knew the "childhood, abuse and religion" would be a tough chapter for me as I have ambivalent feelings about my own childrens' religious training. I can't go all the way with Dawkins and still believe there is a developmental element to religion, something one grows out of and/or into a deeper, less institutional faith. Dawkins would clearly disagree. Still, I am struck, as Dawkins points out, by how easily society allows and even encourages adults to indoctrinate children into a religion. Even knowing that this indoctrination will, for many, necessarily lead to a lot of pain and anger as the child questions the inconsistencies, guilt, hatred, fear etc. later in life. This problem is unintentionally highlighted by Nick Seaton, spokesman for a conservative religious group: "To present all faiths as equally valid is wrong. Everybody is entitled to think their faith is superior to others, be they Hindus, Jews, Muslims or Christians--otherwise what's the point in having faith?" (340 qtd in Dawkins). Yes, what an entitlement it is!!

But Dawkins goes much further than I can. He asserts several times in this chapter that religious indoctrination of children is as bad or even worse than sexual abuse of a child. That just doesn't make sense. For one, you can't untwine religious belief from culture, identity, and parental love--they are interrelated and religious faith is not all while sexual abuse is one thing. Two, even if parents do not bring up a child in a religion they will necessarily inculcate many values which are contradictory, ineffective, and certainly some immoral. We can't escape human weakness by crushing religion. Of course many of these familiar secular beliefs or practices won't be tied up with the institutional power of a church but certainly *some* mothers and fathers can encourage as much or more guilt concerning secular concerns as the worst of religions.

Again I agree with Hedges that these human tendencies (to control for example) are in the human heart and would exist without religious institutions. Not that institutions can't and do not often justify and give place for these tendencies to work; they most certainly do. Of course, this assertion by no means indicates that I'm completely at ease about my complicitness with my own children's religious upbringing. I continually wonder how far to push. But I am confident that expressing confidence in their ability to think for themselves is more important than jamming down their throats my version of how things work. No sense exchanging one indoctrination for another--parenting has to be rhetorical, right?

Ok, so I'm not quite off this topic; promise to discuss my current sci-fi readings next time.

The Gap

I started this as a response to the comments on my last post but it go long and I have a goal of posting something each day during the holidays. Much more to say and think about. I have listened to 14 minutes of Harris here and find I agree with everything he says. Still need to listen to his debate with Hedges and need to find some of the more vitriolic stuff I've heard he has said. Must go to family xmas party, hence I'm sending out myy half-boiled ideas into the blogosphere.

***

Personally, Dr. W., your description of faith and doubt certainly reflects my life. I think I finally gave in to doubt because I was going crazy trying to hold both faith and doubt in my mind. Of course I still existed as a somewhat faithful Mormon for many years with much doubt. And I would consider many of my friends as "doubting" mormons though, certainly faith has the upperhand if you will.

But here, I think, we move away from Hedges' criticisms of the new atheists. Hedges' key point is that, as Lisa quotes, morality can both spring from faith or non-faith/doubt/science. Understanding/believing/using the scientific method doesn't guarantee moral outcomes. Partially this is true, must be true, because of the gap in what we actually know and understand. .

For me it's important to recognize that we as humans will employ different "ways of being" in order to work through/deal with this gap--the gap between what we know (can verify with the scientific method) and what we don't know OR what we don't know that we don't know. Humans will always need to humbly accept this gap.

But some of these new atheists give little credence to this gap. While I understand on a theoretical level that science can/could/maybe will slowly but surely fill in this gap in knowledge, there will always be a gap. Therefore we need a way of engaging this gap, speculating on this gap, comforting us because of this gap. For many this is religion which I can empathize with from this perspective even though it doesn't work for me. For many story and art help “fill” this gap, or at least contend with it.

To me postmodern theory does a lot of work with this gap but new atheists like Dawkins totally reject postmodernism as a critical vein of study--just a bunch of bullshit to Dawkins (see Postmodernism disrobed). That smacks me as pompous and dogmatic, a position that doesn’t respect the gap. Dawkins ends The God Delusion (I quite enjoyed the first half of this book) with “I am thrilled to be alive at a time when humanity is pushing against the limits of understanding. Even better, we may eventually discover that there are no limits.” Here I agree with Hedges that Dawkins ultimately tries to externalize what’s wrong with the world as religion. Once we get past that there are no limits. And my understanding is that Harris and Hitchens go way beyond Dawkins in this front—e.g. Harris’ support of torture and possible preemptive strike on the Muslim world.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) we will always be humans, we will always have gaps in our knowledge, we will always live in socially constructed narrative which will continue to impose limits.

Criticism of the "new" atheists

Lisa B. asked for it so: My cousin turned me on to this podcast. It comes from a program called "Unwelcome Guests"--gotta to love that name. The first one is Christopher Hedges (guy who wrote War a force that gives us meaning), but I haven't listened to the second one.

Hedges nails what I find uncomfortable about the new atheists (Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens, and, though to a lesser degree, Dawkins). And he helps explain why I can't completely write off religion even though I do not believe in it and it tends to drive me crazy. To summarize my favorite criticisms of the new atheists:

*both the new atheists and right wing christians believe in collective salvation/ moral progress which is dangerous
*both believe in a utopia (which literally means "no place"; hence there ain't one)
*both condemn vigorously those that do not agree with them
*christians misuse the bible while these new atheists misuse Darwinism
*both want to make education about indoctrination
*both have a fundamentalist mindset

*new atheists forget some lessons worth keeping from religion. For example, "the wisdom of sin" as Hedges' explains we forget that we are always self-motivated and always imperfect.

I do, however, wonder about equating these two groups when one, the far right, is so much more mainstream and thereby has so much more power. Hedges addresses this but not adequately enough. One could argue that atheists or humanists are less accepted than any religion, race, or sexual orientation. Maybe I'm wrong but I know of more openly gay politicians than atheists.

I'd really be interested to hear what others think--SigNo? Lisa? Middlebrow? HappyHeretic? (even though I already know through email that HappyHeretic wasn't too happy about Hedges' criticisms)

Playing the intellectual

Today I finally feel like I got down to some studyin.

First, I continued to reread Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse. Amazingly as it may seem *I* chose this book for our couples book club. It's a much more philosophical read than I'd thought and it's a bit confusing since it has three distinct sections, one a small print 20 page, almost unreadable, "Treatise on the Steppenwolf." What the hell was I thinking? I won't go into details. Suffice it to say that my criteria were the following: book in my house I hadn't read but had always meant to, book under 300 or so pages, one that caught my attention the first few pages (I think I was on something when I checked Steppen for this). Probably should have picked a Bend in the River by Naipaul.

So, anyways, since I gave Steppenwolf a very quick read over Thanksgiving, trying to assuage my nervousness about my pick (which was not accomplished), I decided to re-read the first half or so before book club on Friday. And I have to say I've enjoyed it much more than the first time (I actually like the middle section after the "guy" who finds Steppenwolf's manuscript, introduces said manuscript and before the pre-magical realism/ magical theatre stuff). As you may or may not know the main character, Harry Haller, can't stand the bougeious mentality but at the same time can't live without them. He's unhappy and contemplates suicide; kind of an older, more philosophical, Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye.

Here are some of my favorite sections, some stuff already "published" through email to my book club, emails which probably will only add insult to injury:

A central scene is the dinner scene with the professor and his wife (on pp. 84-89 in my book). Haller accepts the dinner invitation only to quickly realize his mistake upon seeing the Goethe portrait in their home: "Here fine Old Masters and the Nation's Great Ones were at home, not Steppenwolves." During dinner the professor criticizes and unpatriotic article that was, unbeknownst to them, actually written by Haller. Haller racks his brain for something "harmless to say" but like the rock in the road he finally lets loose on the Goethe portrait. Things go downhill from here. Haller leaves and then reflects: "I could not bear this tame, lying, well-mannered life any longer. And since it appeared that I could not bear my loneliness any longer either, since my own company had become so unspeakably hateful and nauseous, since I struggled for breath in a vacuum and suffocated in hell, what way out was left me? There was none" (89).

Even though this will surely to bring more scorn and ridicule on me, I can't help but connect in a deep way to his inability to leave with or without others.

***
One more then I will leave you alone:

Just found this passage I'd overlooked on the first read: "there was no power in the world that could prevail with me to go through the mortal terror of another encounter with myself, to face another reorganization, a new incarnation, when at the end of the road there was no peace or quiet--but forever destroying the self, in order to renew the self" (72).

Don't we all feel this at times? (maybe not this extreme). We get a new brilliant insight into our lives--how to be happier, more motivated, kinder--only to realize a week or a month or a year later that our insight was only skin deep. It crumbles in our hands, forcing us yet again to try and figure out what makes us tick.

***

I know that many of the passages are laughable--so very earnest--but I can't help but bring my own earnestness to them, couldn't help giving the book a second chance, couldn't help feeling a connection with another malcontent created almost 100 years ago.

I also studied up on Hesse's influences: Either/Or by Soren Kierkegaard which I take it argues against Hegel's dialectic by asserting that our choices still matter, that we choose between the ascete or ethical path; Goethe, who did a bit of everything--should actually read something by him; thought about reading up on the musical stuff but not that ambitious.

Second, I listened to Chris Hedges' criticism of the New atheists (Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens etc.) but I will have to flesh that out in another post.

Dog Days of Winter

Saturday: High 9* Low -1*


This is a joke, right? Gotta be. Some Internet prank or something.

Happy Holidays

As per usual, I've felt sick twice since I finished my grades. Somehow my good-for-nothing-body knows the day my grades are done. There's both good and bad in that.

Bad that I wasted an hour trying to fall asleep last night while my stomach boiled and gurgled. On the other hand I did read a section from Do you speak an American? waiting for my stomach to stop its convulsions. And this morning instead of doing one of the many difficult things I probably ought to do, I read again from Do you Speak... and I'm now watching Factotum. Maybe you've seen it; if not it's about a writer/bum/womanizer/socialist (Matt Dillon). Kind of a Leaving Las Vegas, with some philosophical voiceover, but not as dark.

In one of the early scenes he has an interview for a job at a pickle factory. Henry tells him he's a writer:

"What's your novel about?" the manager asks.

"Everything," Henry answers.

"So it's about cancer?"

"Yes."

"What about…my wife?"

"She's in there, too."

Dillon's dry delivery is hilarious. Many funny understated moments like early on, but as it meanders along the pain, alcohol, and depressing "fucks" suck the humor away.

Naming the most important jobs

What do you call a person (usually the mother) who deals with the initial and most profuse barfing incidence of a child? Having played this role last night, my wife nailed the term this morning: barfmaid. Although this title may sound like a mere barf cleaner, I can only aspire to such high titles as last night I waited safely in bed till the herculean scraping and washing was done. But I did go on duty after that to take care of three bile throw-ups (really spit-ups) which allowed my wife go back to sleep. Still, a pale comparison to the duties of a true barfmaid, who faces one of the greatest challenges of parenthood.

Let us praise all barfmaids young and old: mothers who rushed to us as children, hand on our back while we wrenched up our guts, and women who hit the floor running before their mates gain consciousness.

Ricky Jervais on creationism

I heard Jervais interviewed by Terry Gross the other day. Loved him in the British office (grittier than the American office) but then kind of forgot about him. Of course without him we'd have no Office viewing on Thursdays. What a brilliant character he has created.

This bit starts with him saying "I used to believe in evolution but then I found this dusty old book in the library..." About 6 minutes in there is great bit about ch 3 in Genesis and the talking snake, "perfect diction as well, not a mumbling snake." Hilarious.

The girlfriend

My 13 year old son is downstairs with his girlfriend. It's kind surreal, just doesn't seem possible. I think she is a ghost.

The wife and younger kids went to the ward x-mas bash. The wife instructed me to head downstairs every once in awhile and say, "gotta get something from from the fruitroom" (actually my wife calls it a pantry but in cache valley we say fruitroom). So should I go down? It is kind of quiet right now. But what would I get out of the fruitroom? Some flour? Maybe some chips?

Again (see my earlier post on this subject) one half of me wants to maintain some boundaries while the other is kind of rooting for him. I mean who wouldn't want his son to experience the thrill of holding hands or the mountain-like accomplishment of a first kiss?

Whatever my own ambiguity, must be able to tell the wife I went down when she gets back. Guess I will go check out the canned goods.

When cleaning becomes a titillating temptation

Funny how the things I never have time for (listening to music, blogging, writing emails to colleagues, cleaning) I immediately start doing as soon as wheelbarrow of papers comes in at the end of the semester.

Hell, I got time for anything right now--call me! I'll pick you up. I'd drive you to Vegas and I hate Vegas. I'd shovel snow if there were snow. I'd even do one of my wife's projects. Shucks, I'd help you clean out your attic. Even cleaning my office is a titillating temptation.

Ok...temptation indulged: must read three papers and then I will allow myself to caressingly filter through the piles crap on my office floor.

Heroes: Pleasurable manipulation

My son and I have been watching season one of Heroes. We've knocked out 8 or so episodes during this last week. A romp of a show with almost as many cliffhangers as 24. Of course I feel manipulated but will allow such manipulations for pleasure and some time with my son for at least one season--not sure I can do more than that. The voice-over philosophical statements on agency, evolution, and ontology seem too serious considering the plot, but maybe I need to watch more episodes to find the meat underneath the action-packed veneer . . . not holding my breath.

More episodes will be watched as my son is begging me to watch two a day. Yesterday he watched one without me--how could he? He was reprimanded and made to watch the episode again while guiding me through it so we could ff through the slow parts (i.e. about 3 and half minutes).

With a fair amount of violence, gore, and tension (several squeamish demures while wondering, "can they show that on tv?") Tim Kring, the creator, made a brilliant move incorporating the Japanese odd couple who travel to America to help save the world. Hiro Nakamura, played by Masi Oka, is astoundingly funny which brings much needed breaks from the cranium lobotomies and regenerating, flayed body in the morgue.

Note to self: must figure out a way to discuss and watch Heroes episodes when I teach Middlebrow's scifi course next year. Certain to boost my evaluation scores.

Out of the mouth of babes: youngest son on Obama

Before election:

"Will Obama make us go to school on Saturday if he becomes the president?"

After election:

"Obama made the gas prices go down" as we pull into a gas station.

***

NOTE: the forcing kids to attend school on Saturday was heard by all of my children and by my wife who works at an elementary school--one third grade teacher got the question so much the day after the election she had to assure the entire class that surely it wasn't true because the government would never spend that much more money on education.

Compelled by The Road

Wow, I can't believe a month has gone by--been very busy. Somehow I'm doing less in more hrs. Go figure.

I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy this weekend. It's about a father trying to find some semblance of humanity amongst burned out towns and cannibalistic tribes for his son. I meant to nurse it over the next few weeks, like only eating two pieces of Halloween candy a day, but there was no way. Few books have compelled me to read them immediately and even fewer that didn't accomplish it through mere plot manipulation. I knew what would happen in this book; what I wanted were the emotional details.

It was beautiful in its own post-apocalyptic way. After I finished it late last night, I shed a few tears and then went into my youngest son's room and hugged him while he slept. It seemed an appropriate, albeit cliched, way to finish up my torrential relationship with the book. But the hug didn't ward off danger--early this morning his awoke throwing up.

Updating the Queue Mega style

Scanning through my Netflix queue, I realized that out of the 70 or so movies listed I wasn't too interested in any of them. That's not exactly true. There are movies I want to see but some are movies I "should" see (El Bola, Deliver us from Evil, Factotum, Helvetica, Born into Brothels), many are movies I want to see with my kids so can only line up so often, several are movies I want to see but would be a disaster with the wife, some are movies I put on my list and can't remember a damn thing about, and hardly any are from 08. Contemplating the sad state of my queue, especially the lack of 08s, I realized that I hadn't looked at one of my favorite movie reviewers, Hightoughmegastore, for some time--somehow this bi-annual event had slipped through the cracks.

Now, I don't add just anything from her list she's, to put it lightly, easy: she can find something good in about every movie she sees (btw I just used Mega as an example in my ch lit class to demonstrate that one can be smart, critical, and use criticism and still love all sorts of art). Which is one thing I like about her little reviews but which also causes me to only pick movies she really liked. Here's what made it into my queue: Smart People, Married life, Baby mama (I didn't really need Mega to get this one on my list), The Band's Visit, The Savages, Flawless, Honeydripper. More would have surely made my list, but Mega is sorely behind at least 20 movies. How dare she only list them without a review! Come on Mega, get choppin!

I was hoping one or more of these movies would be on the Watch Instantly Netflix feature so we could watch one tonight and sure enough two were (Flawless and Honeydripper) but neither seemed quite right for the wife--she's not much of a capper lover and Honeydripper looked too slow. Instead I found Outsourced (2007) on the watch now list (btw the online Netflix movies are getting better and better). So here in a few I'm off to hook up the laptop to the tv to watch a film with the wife, alone. Amazingly, the kids have all disappeared with friends. Well, two of them at least.

Before I end on a somber note, I'd love to hear about everyone's top three moview of 2008...ok onto serious, stewing over stuff I'm known for.

The third, my eldest son, was with a friend and was to come home when said friend went to the LDS priesthood session but then the friend invited him along to the all-male-afair with an offer of Garcia's mexican cuisine after. I picked him up from the friend, helped him get a snack, and then took him back. It was harder than I expected, a twinge of sadness that his father wouldn't be the one to induct him into this Mormon father-son ritual and a pang of fear about the future. Oh, well at least I found a movie I can watch with my wife--one can't be a miracle worker on every front.