Dancing across Antelope by Moonlight

Last night oldest son, Seth, and I completed the 22 mile Antelope by Moonlight bike ride "creatures by night." And we were indeed creatures by night even though we did not dress up as bugs etc as a few did, though son thought our biking spandex was plenty enough costume. The ride started at the marina and went out to the renovated Garr Ranch (or what I call the only place you can find a bunch of trees on the island). It was a spectacular ride in so many ways--30+mph downhill on the biggest hill; a full and visible moon, which started out a big yet orangey because of haze, but came into its own as the night progressed; an excellent tune-up for son's 50 mile ride in August which will complete his cycling merit badge; good late night conversation; and we missed all of the crowds by getting there early, starting out hard, and finishing early.

Speaking of starting out hard, I told Seth we should kind of push it a bit the first mile or two in order to distance ourselves from the 900 other riders lined up. I didn't want one of our wheels to get caught up in a cape or something. About a mile in, clearly revved up with adrenaline, he said, "so is this supposed to hurt since we are pushing it?" i.e. I can go faster if you want. He was, as they say, "dancing on the pedals" or my favorite "pedaling without a chain."

This summer may indeed go down in the annals of Christiansen family lore as the summer of biking. Sometimes when we think about having kids, we--read "I"--get nervous about all the ways in which we may screw up and then be blamed for said screw ups for years to come. And I'm sure this will happen to me, but it's also interesting how kids can salvage one's mistakes. For example, as recounted here before, I've been an obsessive and stupid athlete at times, injuring body and mind, in the pursuit of victory. All that didn't really work out too well for me and yet now I can share my joy of cycling with my son--kind of makes up for my mistakes. Also, riding with Seth tempers me. I'm less (note less--I'm not a saint) concerned with how fast we are going or who is passing us. Instead of focusing on myself (full disclosure: I did hammer the last hill and then couldn't find Seth but he was waiting for me at the van so all went well), I'm concerned with how he is doing, feeling, etc. Just about to hit 40, that's where I need to be.

A Room of One's Own

Life doesn’t seem to thoroughly surprise me too often anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true. I often get surprised at how absolutely stupid we are at times. Like when watching Sicko the other night, I just couldn’t believe the inanity of our health care system and the amazing lies we continue to tell ourselves about so-called socialized medicine. But I also couldn’t believe that a smart guy like Michael Moore continues to insist on including a few low blows (i.e his Charleton Heston stunt in Bowling for Columbine) like the boat into Cuba—dumb, over-dramatic, not even rhetorically savvy. So that kind of surprise I get plenty of but the positive shake-up, the “wow, I’m feeling so good about how the world has opened up” rarely happens.

It happened today when we set up my new office. It’s not exactly “new” but before it was just a fold up table and a book shelf. Now, thanks to furniture in a box and my wife who pushed and pulled me along, I’ve got a desk, a hutch, two book shelves and a matching filing cabinet (though my wife will probably take over this, sticking all kinds of unimportant crap in there like our birth certificates, warranties, account information, you name it). It’s got that new-all-over kind of feel—new carpet, new baseboards that I cut and my wife painted, a new lamp, and lot of space where I can stack books and papers and crap. But that’s not what led to my epiphany, not exactly.

A room of one’s own, a potentially blasphemous comparison I know being the dominant white male I am, but it’s true. I haven’t had my own permanent space since I was a kid and back then I didn’t know dick about what I liked or what comforted me. I know I have a house, all 3,000 square feet of it, but it’s not only my space and honestly it’s really my wife’s space. I’m not really blaming her—I’ve pretty much relinquished the space as I don’t trust my decorating skills and because I have other important battle fronts. To demonstrate: I’ve had some old beer bottles I’ve wanted to put out; instead they have been wrapped and shaded in a wooden box with a latch (one my dad made in wood shop) for years. I’m not a beer drinker so why in the hell would I want to display these? Because they have a story, a great story. When I was about 12 my grandmother Christy had me and my cousin, Jeff, help clean out her attic. While cleaning it we found cases of old beer bottles. Given my grandmother was a devout Mormon, this came as a bit of shock. Turns out her husband made his own beer. Funny she kept the bottles for so long—he died in the late 1950s.

My grandmother was quite embarrassed and wasn’t going to let us keep any of the bottle until we begged. And even then she only wanted us to have one of each kind. I clearly remember going back to the truck and sneaking about small 12 oz Fisher bottle. On many occasion I’ve tried to find a place for these but my wife has always put the Kaibosh on it. I guess they tie me to my past, to my grandmother Christy who lived next door where I spent evenings watching the Love Boat and eating popcorn popped the old way with oil in a pan and days helping the garden, moving the grass, carrying out her flower boxes (hell they were heavy) each summer that she’d kept alive in the house during the winter. And they speak to the often hidden lives of Mormons—I like that.

And now at 39, I have a space where I can put up whatever I want. It’s kind of liberating, opening up all kinds of possibilities.

I scouted around for the boxes that hold my childhood stuff. I’ve found many a treasure to put in my new found space: marbles that my dad gave me which he had gotten from Uncle Floyd—several are made of clay, dating back 70 plus years; nifty rocks I’ve held onto for years—a petrified piece of wood, a seeming embedded vertebrae of some sorts, a pink crystal type rock; and many more antique bottles. The attic clean up with my grandma Christy also yielded several wine jugs, my favorites are the fancy Ellena Brothers 1 gallon wine jugs from CA. It took cunning to keep a hold of these as my grandma tried to get them back a week later; she had a friend who wanted to plant something in them---of course we refused, thinking this was an abomination to blemish such a fine bottle.

I also put on display several of the antique bottles my grandpa Mackey gave me before he died. He literally had 1,000s of antique purple bottles curing on his roof for years, then stored them in the basement along side his vast collection of arrowheads. He was an impatient man with people, until he got older, but a meticulous, detailed oriented collector. A year or so before he died he began to distribute his bottles to his grandchildren. Among my 15 or so are several flasks, a few Watkin’s medicine flasks, and a purplish thick bottle which my grandpa said was of very good quality. Glass a dying age of containers, which reaches back to those past on.

It’s the oddest feeling sitting here with the familiarity of my stuff: my little sanctuary. I’m not sure why I didn’t do this before—the money, the time, insecurities. Here I am and feels good, calming, in the moment. So many possibilities open up for one not apt to buy much of anything outside of books and bikes: some images of Hayao Miyazaki crouched over his drawings smoking, images from Miyazaki’s films, some Dan Johnston artwork, a Georgia O’Keefe, a landscape painting or two. Maybe having these things around me solidifies what I believe in, what I’ve done, who I am. A room of my own is a very fine thing.

Guess what I saw?

While Rexburg itself is mostly flat, treeless, and unenticing (at least geographically) a mere 25 miles away is Mesa Falls. I got an early start this morning with road bike and gear in tow. I parked next to an alfalfa field just outside of Ashton, unloaded my bike, and started out on my Mesa Falls Scenic Byway adventure.

Yes, I did fell slightly guilty that I drove 50 miles (roundtrip) in order to bike 40 miles. Still, it had much more appeal than a ride through the potatoe fields around Rexburg and the appeal came through better than the promises of our $20 fireworks kit from the night before. First, I stopped to stretch and meditate a bit at Warm River, then I ascended through shady coniferous roads towards Bear Gulch, an appropriate name given I saw..... (I'm not shitting you) a bear cub. It ran across the road about 20 yards from me. I about fell off the bike, not from fear but joy--I just couldn't believe it. And, Yes, I was afraid the sow might be near so I did not dither; of course if she had given chase I would have cranked in a Tour de France type finish line sprint and left her in the dust. At least that's how I pictured it in my mind as I quickly looked back and forth across the road as I passed where the cub had crossed. Inspired by the bear sighting, I looked more closely for animals, spotting two white tail deer just off the road a few minutes later.

And through it all (at least the 20 miles out early in the morning) I only passed a handful of cars--everyone must have slept in with some hangover, alcohol or firework induced, keeping them flattened to the mattress. I wondered whether Mega was up and about yet--she and the Historian were probably only a handful of miles away from where I turned around (just west--I think--to Island Park). Seems they may have had the firework hangover (see here). And yes, Mega, Idaho does equal Heaven, about the closest any of us will ever get to heaven thinks me.

I did take two quick detours to see both the lower and upper falls (I've seen them several times but still had to stop). On the way back, I set out to improve my paltry 13mph average--several hills and some coasting to look for animals and the views to blame and I'm kind of out of shape. I only increased it to 16mph, but I was ok with that--I'd seen a bear cub, I'd seen a bear, and I'd enjoyed the immensley enjoyable sound of nothing else (for most of the trip) but my wheels spinning down the road in a vast Idaho landscape of tree, rivers, mountains.

Living Live

Tonight I'm taking the kids to see Cold Creek, a bluegrass band from Utah County. I need a motto for the summer or maybe the year. Something like Live Local Live or Live helps you Live. Ok, so maybe I don't need a motto. What I want is to continue seeing live performances, particularly of local stuff and/or in local/small venues. To that end, Cold Creek tonight, then Kansas at our very own local amphitheater in August; and either this summer or the next, I want to do the Shakespeare Festival with the kids. Also, and dang it I meant to order tickets to someone, I want to see something at Red Butte. Finally, for the year, David Sedaris in October (that's without the kids).

There's something about live performance that rejuvenates me; somehow while focusing on getting degrees, family, running, paying the mortgage etc. I let a million live shows pass me by. At least this one ain't getting by tonight.

Blogging World Predictions for 2009 (or revitalizing a silly juvenile genre just for the hell of it)

First blogger world

1. Middlebrow and Dr. Write, after an embarrassment of riches, will shake the dust of this community college for a prestigious joint chairship somewhere in the Northwest. Incredibly MB’s desk will become a shrine for the student group he forms before leaving, "Simplicity Now!," a desk which mysteriously stays clean even when officemate and other doubters mess it up.
2. Mega, already spending most of her time in the NW, will, as she does so well, duplicate herself and manage to maintain her current teaching position while also becoming poet laureate of the NW and Canada AND the radiant music professor in a new movie (see #3).
3. Sig Nothing will finally tire of the noise and congestion as the 4^th production of a College musical (aka high school musicales go to university) goes into preproduction and will take up Monkey Wrenching on the set in the evenings. The production will be delayed, until in an undisclosed deal Sig will become the Zac Efron for, the decidedly more intellectual HM franchise, “Teaching in College Musicale: the Remoteness of Being.”
4. Unip and Building a rock wall will move to a remote cabin in the Canadian frontier where they will telecommute via satellite to their jobs each afternoon; climbing crags and boulders with their five children (this won’t all quite happen in 2009) will take up their mornings.
   

Second blogger world (in chronology not affection):

5. Myself Undone (aka Anarchist) will create a one man play, “Freedom for: A Proustian approach to life.” It will go to Broadway where in an interview Undone will respond to questions about his ultimate purpose, “I have made to unmake; done to be undone; where I am, there is nothing.” To which mobs of New Yorkers will respond by ransacking established government and commerce to create land based, sustainable agriculture on rooftops.
6. Happy Heretic will hit it big in online stock market trading and will change his lifestyle radically by making two instead of one trip a year to Mesquite and by donating one million dollars to a project entitled, “Merging identities: Freedom ‘from’ is for dumbasses” run by Undone, SE, and yours truly.
7. Spontaneous expression’s (recently Disregulated) witty, hard-hitting blog will go mainstream; she will blissfully and unabashedly dance on Ellen while announcing her new blog as book, “Disregulating Yourself: The Kama-Sutra of Identity.”
8. Paradigm Shift will want distance from his friends and family and move to Utah. Even though he will take a job which pays 200K, he humbly and helpfully will buy two homes surprisingly close to my own (one directly north of my own and another one—kind of in disrepair—in my very own cul-de-sac). He and my sis will remodel beautifully the home in the cul-de-sac, increasing the value of my own home, all the while enjoying immensely the proximity to me, and strangely enough ultimately donating the home directly behind to me.

A vision of St. George with the kids: the road less traveled

Last year Alison and I went to St George and, as often happens, I found myself thinking the kids would love this hike or activity. So then and there we decided we'd bring them with next year. And amazingly enough we did--10 years quicker than it took me to get my kids to San Francisco after a similar experience there. I guess St George is a little cheaper.

First up: the rocks 2 minutes, just north of St George where you can sit...

or learn climbing skills from an inexpert...

"There are two ways up boys--the wimpy bridge thing or straight up."

or take shadow pictures...

or, not captured in photos, watch very scared people learning to rappel off the biggest square looking rock or look down on St George.

Next stop: Mt biking for some, hiking and complaining for others, at Gooseberry Mesa,
some of the best little known mt biking in the state. The practice loop is excellent for those learning to mt bike and/or one's first experience with slick rock:

It's hard to explain how amazingly cool it was to get Seth, my oldest, out on the slick rock. I've taken him mt biking several times but mt biking in Davis County is pretty boring and requires a lot of technical skill and strength. Very satisfying to see him enjoy himself. Hopefully an experience which will lead to many more mt biking trips.

Youngest son wasn't quite ready to bike the slick rock, but he ran alongside for a couple of miles.

Hana wasn't nearly excited by this slick rock wonderland.

Of course she didn't have a bike nor the skills to tackle it. I thought I'd do better with the gender-specific activities, but I've hit many rocky and unpredictable ascents--Hana has barely touched the bike we bought for her and tends to want to watch Hannah Montana instead. Keep offering opportunities, right? She did ride Seth's bike down the jeep trail which intersects the mesa. And find other stuff we can do together--we just watched A Room with a View, which I couldn't get my oldest son to even look at.

Youngest son finally got some biking in on the way out on the dirt road.

He was so cute as he would pull up on his handlebars whenever we crossed small patches of slick rock on the road--maybe next year he will be ready for slick rock 101.

BTW Gooseberry is a great little find between St George and Zion's (and it's free) but it's a bit of a bumpy, washboard road. Turns out two brothers laid out the trails and got the National Forest service to sign on; sometimes the little guy does win.

Next stop: the often overshadowed, by Zion's, Arches, and Bryce, Snow Canyon State park just north west of St. George.

Here's Seth climbing the petrified sand dunes:

more petrified sand dune climbing:

Daughter had (mostly) a better time on this hike:

And everyone enjoyed the lava tube caves--a break from the heat, adventurous, and a bit creepy especially since we saw the new Indiana Jones movie the night before:

If you do some hiking in Snow Canyon, I highly recommend the Butterfly trail which will connect you to the lava tube trail (take a left here) and just 20 yards later you will be at the biggest lava tube/cave.

***

Well, as you can tell I'm quite satisfied with myself--it's rare in life, at least mine, to have a vision of something and then actually, pretty much (note earlier post on eating at JB's), pull it off. On the way home, I brainstormed some other visions I'd like to actualize with the kids, preferably before the oldest graduates high school:

Colorado Springs (including Pikes Peak)
the Grand Canyon
Mesa Verde
Shakespeare Festival (the more cerebral is good too)
Mt Timpanogas

It's cliche, but wow there's so much I want to do and so little time to do it. I just can't believe that I've never made it up Mt Timp again since my initial summit in 94--where in the world did those 14 years go???

My meditation image for the day.

Crab Spider capturing a bee on yellow flower

p.s. I showed this image to my 7 yr old son, leading him through the image, like a good teacher, with questions (what do you see? what else? are you sure?) Once he could discern the spider and its intentions, he remarked "it's like playing hide-go-seek, except different."

Never, even if....

NEVER, even if the kids or other car occupants are screaming, even if you feel you can't go on, even if your head aches and your gut is growling, even if you've driven down the same street 12 times, even if your spouse threatens divorce, even if the meter's on empty, even if you may inadvertently scream: "where @$*&# do you want to eat then??", even if you have hit the wall, even if you may never go on a vacation again, even if every restaurant is closed because it's Sunday and only Mormons live in that town, NEVER EVER settle for the JB's off Bluff Street in St George.

I've never paid for worse food and service in my life--the beets were a light orchid purple, the lettuce wilted, each dressing and liquidy salad had a 1/4 inch film AND never was a refill on water offered even though we were the only other table.

Lesson learned: do not, as I often do on vacations, get so focused on eating at unique restaurants unattainable at home that one loses sight of the bigger picture--purchasing edible food which leads to sustenance. If you can't find unique and interesting, move onto reliable, rather than settling for whatever happens to be in front of you at the brink of utter frustration.

Consider yourselves warned.

Reading en espanol

I was chastised by someone this past semester, I think by a Latina woman I helped in the writing center, for not keeping up my Spanish through reading. Of course, although I have always intended to read in Spanish, I've read very little since my return from Spain except when getting my Spanish minor: started several novels, completed a few short stories, various newspaper articles. So, once again, I start down the road, hoping I might actually do some serious study--a leer!!

I've chosen through careful examination and contemplation (i.e. I happened to find a copy at Saver's half off sale) Isabel Allende's retrato en sepia. I'm not quite sure why I will be more likely to read this novel rather than any one of the 15 Spanish novels I have down in our basement, but what the hell.

Reading the first few pages reminds me that my early experiences with Spanish literature helped me decide to be an English major (my first college lit class was a Spanish one). And it reminds me of how beautiful the Spanish language is as the main character contemplates the difficulties in discovering the truth of one's past and of truth in general: "He venido a saber los detalles de mi nacimiento bastante tarde en la vida, pero peor seria no haberlos descubierto nunca; podrian haberse extraviado para siempre en los vericuetos del olvido. Hay tantos secretos en me familia, que tal vez no me alcance el tiempo para despejarlos todos: la verdad es fugaz, lavada por torrentes de lluvia."

Isn't that last line wonderful? La verdad (the truth) is fleeting, watered down by torrents of rain--sounds much better in Spanish. If all language is metaphorical then maybe the Spanish sounds better to the novice like me because it's still a fresh metaphor. And of course Spanish is much less gruff and rough than English with all its vowel endings.

Bueno, voy a leer algunas paginas.

Quite a *summer* weekend

Saturday:

• Bike ride to Layton park with my youngest son in the morning: I now know it’s summer.
• Watch oldest son’s last soccer game of the season: they went undefeated for the season; the passing and tenacity is a pleasure to watch; Seth will take on anyone in his midfield position and has of late found a certain composure and awareness.
• Hour and half mt bike ride in 90 degree weather—I was wasted but did get cheered on by some hikers as I made one difficult climb.
• Rush to get to Guitar City before it closed: son needed a cowbell for his drumset—serrendipitously son decided he wanted a cowbell and we happened to watch Christopher Walken’s and Will Farrel’s hilarious SNL skit with the Blue Oyster Club—“We need more cowbell.” See the video here: http://www.funnyhub.com/videos/pages/snl-more-cowbell.html
• End the evening with our favorite little Mongolian Barbecue in Ogden.

Sunday:

Up early with the two boys (daughter informed me she isn’t a hiker) to scout out a new trail I found in Centerville: Parish Creek trail or Centerville Peak. A five and half hour, 8 mile hike (longest one yet for my 7 year old)—beautiful views of Bountiful peak, Davis County, Antelope Island, and the Great Salt Lake. Every ounce of food, water and Gatorade was consumed but we did, as youngest son insisted, reach snow (mentioned by a guy coming down) which he threw at us for miles on the way down. I tried to get my pictures off my phone but the @*&$&#*& thing won’t work. See photo from someone else's hike.

• In the afternoon my daughter and I finish up Out of Africa (side note: I thought I had seen this movie but it turns out I had just listened to the soundtrack so many times I imagined it). Good moments with our daughter are far and few right now (she is solidly and only focused on herself at this point) so I jumped when I saw her getting into this film—several good conversations came out of the film. One about syphilis and another about the causes and planning of world wars.
• Later, an honest and nourishing discussion about religion with my wife (in part brought about since I under-estimated hike time and stubbornness of 7 year old, missing church by 2 hrs).

Friday's goals...

I thought about doing difficult work, stuff I've been putting off (update websites, research for a 1010 retention study, revision of a paper....), until lunch today and then rewarding myself with some sci-fi short stories this afternoon. Instead, I jumped directly to the dessert, reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's amazing "Elbow Room," a pleasurable unraveling of a story (as I noted on the contents page of my book) which starts out with a loner "womaning" a space station where her every psychological and physical need is met AND ends with self-aggrandizement and multiple personalities.

It's going to be tough deciding which of the Norton short stories not to use for my sci-fi diversity class this summer; tougher yet get myself to do the real work I've been putting off since April--maybe Monday will be the day.

We all live...in a different sensory world

Roberta Haas, recent Pulitzer prize winner in poetry, was interviewed today on the News Hour on PBS. In talking about his poem “The problem of describing trees” he ponders if a tree dances, no, capitalizes no… In the interview Haas quotes Wittgenstein’s “the limits of our language are the limits of our world” and E.O. Wilson’s “Every species lives in a different sensory world.” I’m aware that both of these claims, especially the first, might sometimes get overstated; still, I was bowled over by the latter. There are, without proving ETs, different worlds: my cat lives in my house yet in another house; the dolphin lives on this planet but we do not know the same world. Isn’t that an amazing thought? Each species has at its “finger tips” on its very own world.

And that got me thinking about how each of us human animals truly live in a different sensory world too. It's not that we merely perceive reality differently, we live in different realities. We’re probably all more similar to one another than we are to a cat, but still...this difference the ultimate proof of distinct subjectivities. All at once beautiful and terrifyingly depressing.

**I wrote this yesterday and had more to say but my all-day-grading-session has turned my mind to mush. I swear if I grade another paper I will barf up my brain.

La bella luna

Having been rebuked by Mega for my critical comment about poetry (though truth be told it was more about missing the regular non-poetry fare on her blog than a dig at the month long poetry contest), I pulled out some poetry the other night. I'd been feeling quite negative all day--everything seemed the color of brown shit. And that feeling hadn't gone away, a kind of funk I knew would interfere with my sleep. Instead of seeking a sleep I wouldn't fine, I took out Billy Collins Picnic, Lightning.

It's not that I do not like poetry at all. I've actually had some wonderful experiences with poetry: Robert Browning's bickering priests, Shakespeare's sonnets, Tom Andrew's Random Symmetries. But these encounters with poetry have been forced--an undergrad English class, someone else's book club pick. Because it's not my strength--I'm always better when engaging the big stuff where details take a less central role--I don't gravitate towards it and I often feel I should "get it" better than I do. I mean I am an English Major.

So, I read Collin's "Moon"--and I found a glimmer of hope on both accounts, particularly in the last three stanzas:

"And if you wanted to follow the example,
tonight would be the night
to carry some tiny creature outside
and introduce him to the moon.

And if your house has no child,
you can always gather into your arms
the sleeping infant of yourself,
as I have done tonight,
and carry him outdoors,
all limp in his tattered blanket,
making sure to steady his lolling head
with the palm of your hand.

And while the wind ruffles the pear trees
in the corner of the orchard
and dark roses wave against a stone wall,
you can turn him on your shoulder
and walk in circle on the lawn
drunk with the light.
You can lift him up into the sky,
your eyes nearly as wide as his,
as the moon climbs high into the night."

Of course I wanted to be that "sleeping infant of yourself" carried out to see the moon, to take our own infant selves, these "limp" and wrapped in "tattered blanket" selves. I felt limp and tattered and wanted what the moon could bring: wonder. I winced a tear back and decided to read some more. Just maybe I could develop a connection to such stanzad, syllabic, stuff.

The next night, still trying to resurrect my now not-as-glum spirits, we finished Moonstruck. And for the second time in so many days the moon figured brightly in saving me a trip and 50 bucks. The old grandfather with all his dogs: "La bella luna! The moon brings the woman to the man. Capice?" And Ronny's speech outside his house after the opera:

"Everything seems like nothing to me now, 'cause I want you in my bed. I don't care if I burn in hell. I don't care if you burn in hell. The past and the future is a joke to me now. I see that they're nothing. I see they ain't here. The only thing that's here is you - and me...Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and get in my bed!"

A bit of peace with myself and poetry I gained. Maybe both work on each other.

Towards Belief: Worthy of what humanity has become

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about how one negotiates community and personal identity. A couple of weeks ago my niece was baptized into the Mormon church. My sister asked if I wanted to stand in the circle (a big deal in the Mormon community) for her confirmation since I have the Melquisedec priesthood. I wasn't sure how to respond as I wanted to support her and my niece, but had to admit to her, as she already knows, that I don't believe in God let alone the notion of a priesthood. This didn't really bother her as she is not much of a literalist and has just recently gotten involved in Mormonism for the community stuff. Eventually she had me be a witness at the baptism which also requires the Melquisedec priesthood I believe. In part I think involving me was one way of helping my sister and my mother have someone from the family involved--my sister is divorced and her not-so-beloved ex did the baptizing.

Thinking about this decision connects, I think, to Spontaneous Expression's recent comment on my last post which you can find here if you scroll down. I was struck by the insight she gained when attending a church (not a Mormon church): "It made me reconsider the potential benefits of a formal organization, Mormon or otherwise." And then later in her comment she gives a typical SE zinger: "Let the believers believe in peace." Yes, I too want to let the believers believe in peace. I wish they could let me believe in peace, but I realize I can't let my actions to be contingent upon theirs.

And this is where I have to part ways with the likes of Richard Dawkin's and other new atheists who sometimes seem to want to get in a fight with religious folks. I have no desire to do this--well, only on bad days. In trying to find a new community, I bristle when "atheists" make judgments of religious people as simple-minded and fanatical. To me these kinds of blanket pronouncements only serve to reproduce the very same fanaticism these atheists proclaim to denounce, ultimately narrowing what it means to be human and spiritual. Of course I allow some leniency because this is such a minority voice and it can easily get completely squashed--still it ain't where I'm headed. And as long as there is a gap between our understanding of the world, there will be a place where art and religion seek out meaning. Even if I prefer art, I can see why religion fulfills this same desire, is experienced as art by some, and is preferred by many. To simply say religious people are wrong is simple-minded--clearly a creative and artistic imagination often-times flourishes in a religious environment.

I'm even uncomfortable with the term atheist. It seems to define me by what I am not--not a believer in God. This is similar to terms like "non-member" or "non-white," a type of term which helps create silly questions based on assumptions, "How can you not believe in anything?" As Greg Epstein, a humanist Chaplain (yes, chaplain, educated in a humanist rabbinical school), argues in his recent interview on Speaking of Faith, he is a believer, a believer in humanism, in life, in his family. I'm not ready to give up on belief as an important part of being human.

I turn to a quote from André Comte-Sponville's, a French philosopher, The Little book of Atheist Spirituality. It was part of the Speaking of Faith program I refer to above; again, as I've mentioned before in my blog, check out the program particulars created for each SoF program--they include extended quotations, titles to music, links, and images referred to in the program.

The quote below helps me to begin articulating the positive side of my beliefs, the what I believe in rather than the what I don't believe in. It's still wrapped up with God talk and religion, but it's a start:

***

Where morals are concerned, the loss of faith changes nothing or next to nothing. That you have lost your faith does not mean that you will suddenly decide to betray your friends or indulge in robbery, rape, assassination and torture. "If God does not exist," says Dostoyevsky's Ivan Karamazov, "everything is allowed." Not at all, for the simple reason that I will not allow myself everything! As Kant demonstrated, either morals are autonomous or they do not exist at all. If a person refrains from murdering his neighbor only out of fear of divine retribution, his behavior is dictated not by moral values but by caution, fear of the holy policeman, egoism. And if a person does good only with an eye to salvation, she is not doing good (since her behavior is dictated by self-interest, rather than by duty or by love) and will thus not be saved. This is Kant, the Enlightenment and humanity at their best. A good deed is not good because God commanded me to do it (in which case it would have been good for Abraham to slit his son's throat); on the contrary, it is because an action is good that it is possible to believe God commanded it. Rather than religion being the basis for morals, morals are now the basis for religion. This is the inception of modernity. To have a religion, the Critique of Practical Reason points out, is to "acknowledge all one's duties as sacred commandments." For those who no longer have faith, commandments vanish (or, rather, lose their sacred quality), and all that remains are duties—that is, the commandments we impose upon ourselves.

Alain puts it beautifully in his Letters to Sergio Solmi on the Philosophy of Kant: "Ethics means knowing that we are spirit and thus have certain obligations, for noblesse oblige. Ethics is neither more nor less than a sense of dignity."Should I rob, rape and murder? It would be unworthy of me—unworthy of what humanity has become, unworthy of the education I have been given, unworthy of what I am and wish to be. I therefore refrain from such behavior, and this is what is known as ethics. There is no need to believe in God—one need believe only in one's parents and mentors, one's friends (provided they are well chosen) and one's conscience.

***
It helps, as Epstein argues and we can experience in this last quote, to connect my own beliefs in humanity to many great thinkers of the past. There's a lineage of folks throughout time who felt similar to me--that's community too. And just maybe these connection will help me, when appropriate, allow others to believe in peace, to even participate amongst them with all of our differences and similarities.

From the mouth of a 7 year old

Referring to his friend, "Shane is always so restless."

"He is restless, you say?" (I'm thinking what a vocab!)

"Yeah, he always wants to wrestle me."

***

I made no attempt to explain the conflation of the two similarly sounding words.

(un)belief in humanity

Does someone who believes in God have more faith? More hope? Are they, by in large, better people? More charitable? It seems a lot of those who believe in God think so (e.g. What would you live for without a belief in God or hope for afterlife with your family? Why be moral?) Another possibility, though not inevitable, occurs to me.

To be a good person, continuing to have hope in this life, without a belief in a God or afterlife asserts a genuine faith in the human ability to do good in spite of any retribution or reward. This is in stark contrast to some who believe in God because of their profound distrust in humanity and in their own ability to create meaning. With this in mind, some kinds of belief function to reduce the amazing adventure and wonder around us into a game with a list of rules where we play to win the ultimate prize--eternal life.

I used to justify my own shaky belief in God by citing Pascal's Wager that it's a wise decision to believe in God because as Pascal said: "If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing." The potential costs of belief were mostly lost to me then; now they are ever-abundant--the ease of judging others, justification of environmental degradation, avoidance of ambiguity, a lack of faith in one's self and others to do good for its own sake, the inability to confront one's mortal existence...

There are almost always costs and benefits to any decision we make though I'm not suggesting all those who believe in God necessarily experience these costs, but they are certainly risks. And, of course, there are costs associated with my belief in humanity over a god. To reiterate I do not think all believers experience these costs and, in fact, paradoxically, some use belief to avoid these very costs. But I do assert that there are real risks in an unwavering belief in God and real potential benefits to unbelief or belief in humanity. Amazingly to me these two facts are rarely admitted to.

Pascal's Wager turns on its head for me--a cost/benefit analysis of "belief" puts me squarely in the black with (un)belief in humanity.

Better than sex frivolity

I've been home all day, not getting much of anything done because I'm sick--the first time in at least two years. Not painful sick but sick and tired enough not to work. Thank goodness for March Madness. I'm sittin pretty with the Stanford (love those 7 ft Lopez twins) and Texas on the tv and Davidson (Curry is absolutely amazing) and Wisconsin on the laptop. To top it off I blog or read a couple of pages of Kindred by Octavia Butler when both games are on timeout. Sometimes I love all things frivolous--sports, recliners, technology, and sport star worship. And then being just sick enough to beg off of any work and engage it all.

What I learned while my wife was gone for four days

1. I don’t mind if the bed stays unmade for days on end
2. Seven year old son’s fingers get gross if not clipped
3. Someone signs buttloads of forms for school each day
4. Getting three kids ready for school by myself on time three days in a row is an amazingly difficult task
5. I sleep like crap without my wife
6. After getting kids off to school, dealing with homework, and making/serving dinner, I too am ready for the kids to be in bed at 8:30pm
7. Single parenthood must be exhausting
8. My wife and I spend a lot of time talking about the kids, our day, etc.
9. I can get a lot more reading done when wife is not here (see #8)
10. Even if I was getting more reading done, I’m very glad my wife is back—I missed her

Note on #1: I "straightened" the bed on the day my wife returned; even though the unmade bed still wasn't bothering me, I'm not stupid.

Rubber Rooms for Teachers and Retirement Homes for Chimps

Did anyone hear the Human Resources episode of This American Life? If not here are a couple of curious items from this recent episode.

Rubber Room

The rubber room in NYC public school district is where they send teachers who get in trouble, but not enough to fire them. Some teachers spend *years* showing up to a room where they sit all day and collect their full pay while waiting a hearing. There are actually several rooms where teachers can go; it seems each room has its own unofficial territory and leadership. And, amazingly, fights often break out concerning the only things—lights, where you sit, level of sound—they have control over. Listening to the absolutely ludicrous nature of this situation had me laughing uncontrollably; at the same time I felt a stinging sense of absolute futility.

The trailer of an upcoming (still seeking distribution) documentary on the rubber room:

See the NY times story about this http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/10/education/10education.html

Almost Human Resources

A retirement home for chimps which have been used in experiments and as actors. Most include forested lands but some also include human-like environments with televisions and rooms. Many of the chimps have become accustomed to doing human things so they do not want to cut them off from these activities. Charles Siebert, who is writing a book called Humanzee, discusses these strange yet amazing places.

Link to the TAL episode with both of these stories: http://www.thislife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=350

Printer Demons

Why do printers refuse to delete unintentional print jobs (like a 55 pages pdf file which you meant to print one page from)?

Why do printers not listen to me when I scream loudly to stop-stop-stop the fuck printing? no more, no mas!!

Why have I had like 102 bad experiences with printers which date back to the early 90s?

Why when I click on delete print job and cancel print jobs does it keep printing?

Why haven't I figured out how to put our home printer on a network so I wouldn't have to plug into said printer every time I need to print something?

Why do I always forget, when taking my laptop to the printer, to disconnect my I-pod which goes a flyin and causes me to cuss loudly?

Why do printers seem to have some sort of vendetta against you when you decide to cancel a print job? "NO, I will print every god damn page of this 83 page document! And I don't care if you turn me off or unplug me or jiggle me or open me up or or scream at me--come hell or high water I'm printing this. You said you wanted it and by damn you are getting it!"

Well, looks like it's done printing. There's no ink left and, well, no paper left but at least I got that one page I needed. Kind of an expensive page when you think about it but thank goodness we have the technological capability to print, to engage in the means and production of written texts. It really makes me feel like breaking something.

The multiple fronts of teaching

I’m really struggling to understand my teaching self.

I started my college teaching career trusting that students would read the text, think about the ideas, and be prepared for class. After having many experiences which eroded my trust, I’ve tended to become frustrated and even angry. There’s nothing I hate more than discussing an essay or chapter and it becomes apparent that no one has read it. It kills what I love about teaching—the give and take, the clash of ideas, the on-the-spot melding of differing views. To avoid being angry at students, I’ve tended to create more and more little assignments (busy work?) to “ensure” that students are prepared for class, that they have something to add to the discussions. I mean I don’t want to sit up there are lecture—many studies show this is not effective. Yet…

The unintended consequences are huge—one, students feel and report that they are too rushed, confused, etc. And I know this kind of feeling does not contribute to learning or thinking carefully—it just can’t. Also, I’m overwhelmed with the number of assignments coming in—I have three huge piles of the stuff next to me right now. Should I check them off in class? Give feedback? If they are important enough to assign shouldn’t I evaluate them? When I start looking at a batch of assignments it’s often clear that some students totally missed the point or merely wrote down some BS to get the points. So what am I really accomplishing with these little assignments?

It seems clear, then, that I should allow students to choose—agency!--to engage in the course; if they don’t then that’s their own problem and it will show up, generally, in the big papers. And I think I could get ok with this idea. I’m really not a control freak. But then what do we do in class? My pedagogy centers around having students share their responses to readings and the textbook in small groups and pairs. I like this because it pushes students to articulate the concepts to their peers, rather than just listening and writing notes. If they haven’t been given a specific assignment which forces (or at least invites) them to really consider the issues, then what will they talk about?

Also, while I always get dinged on my evaluations for expecting too much work, 99% of my students indicate that they were intellectually challenged by my course and many specifically mention this in their comments on evaluations. In a recent evaluation a student said, “He didn’t expect us to write papers in which we can b.s. our way through them. He expected us to actually delve into an issue and prove it! I love it! Way to go! About time!” Can I maintain this kind of rigorous atmosphere without these small, checking in, forcing to engage kind of assignments?

And that last comment introduces a whole other layer of complication. Even if I can decide for myself what the correct approach is with all this, some teachers clearly are asking for something else (“About time!”). Should what other teachers do and expect impact how I run my courses? Maybe what it means is that I must choose my battles. I know the battle I can’t give up on (pushing students to think, the intellectual challenge, the difficult texts) so then it seems simple—the battle I might need to give up on is workload. Sometimes, they say, less is more. And, for me personally, something has to give because I no longer have the energy to fight this battle on multiple fronts.

BTW I use the war metaphor knowingly (I just reread two articles by Lakoff) albeit uncomfortably. Maybe my whole construction of teaching needs revamped; maybe I need a new metaphor.

Juno does the trick

My wife and I went out to a movie in the THEATRE without our kids, a rare thing indeed. I have a hard time finding a movie that we will both enjoy and feel worthy of the 15 bucks. Juno was right on. What a wonderful film, some laughing a bit of crying near the end, and all of it quirkily packaged.

And Ellen Page—wow! I’m looking forward to many more films from this youngster. I knew I had seen her in a film the minute I saw her face but couldn’t remember the film till I IMDB’d it—Hard Candy, a hard hitting film about a young girl who turns the tables on pedophile. Page has all kinds of range and what things to come, given that she did something like Hard Candy so early in her career, from her will keep her on my radar.

Juno was as close to perfect as they come. It did just what it set out to do I think and I enjoyed every minute. How refreshing to see a film address teenage pregnancy without feeling like it needs to punish the “perpetrators” and bring them into the cold hard world of adulthood. Darkness is hinted at, but the hope of Page and innocence of her boyfriend, Paulie Bleeker—what a great name!, played by Michael Cera, carries the day.

We Living Clumps of Ash

Some of my skeptical blogging friends might be interested in Krista Tippet's recent interview with theoretical physicist Janna Levin on Speaking of Faith. Listening to it in the dark at 5:30 a.m. on my way into work really got to me. They tackle several ever-present questions for me: what do we really know about our world? are we really free agents? how far should we go in our pursuit of truth and how do we balance this out with the everyday "constructed" realities of life? And it offers stunning passages from her new novel (when do you get a chance to read a novel by a theoretical physicist?) A mad man dreams of Turing machines.

Here's one of the passages from her book that connected for me:

"I approach a man and a woman on a park bench. His glasses, her handbag, her umbrella. They're as still as stone. They're in front of me and then, within a few strides, I pass the green-painted bench with its concrete feet. I turn to watch them but they are swept along by time, unable to stop, dragged away along with the street and the wind.

I see them everywhere, my two mad treasures. An elegant man in a hat with an able, stocky woman at his side. A solitary black-haired boy with a peculiar stride. I am looking on benches and streets, in logic and code. I am looking in the form of truth stripped to the bone. Truth that lives independently of us, that exists out there in the world. Hard and unsentimental. I am ready to accept truth no matter how alarming it turns out to be. Even if it proves incompleteness and the limits of human reason. Even if it proves we are not free. [I love this bit though even in the loving I recognize that part of my love is not about the mere dedication to truth but also the romantic image of a brave soul pursuing truth.]

They are here in our minds, Turing's luminescent gems, Gödel's Platonic forms. There are no social hierarchies to scale. No racial barriers. Given to us along with our brains. Built into the structure of our thoughts — no bullying into blind faith, no threats of eternal damnation — just honesty, truth, and reason. [Again I'm motivated, motivated to know and focus on this truth: all these hierarchies are constructs which hold no reality to the being-me who is connected to the cosmos.]

I am here in the middle of an unfinished story. I used to believe that one day I would come to some kind of conclusion, some calming resolution, and the restlessness would end. But that will never happen. Even now, I am moving toward a train. My heart is thumping. My lungs are working. There is a man, a woman, a bench, the glasses, the smooth hair, an umbrella. We are all caught in the stream of a complicated legacy — a proof of the limits of human reason, a proof of our boundlessness. A declaration that we were down here on this crowded, lonely planet, a declaration that we mattered, we living clumps of ash, that each of us was once somebody, that we strove for what we could never have, that we could admit as much. That was us — funny and lousy and great all at once." [I'm reminded of a passage from a Dillard's unofficially entitled "Either this world, my mother, is a monster, or I myself am a freak" from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "We little blobs of soft tissue crawling around on this one planet's skin are right, and the whole universe is wrong." Later she dismisses this view, instead deciding that we are indeed freaks. Both authors confirm that I too will always be restless, always peering out there, often aware of the planet's skin, compelled to consider the biggest possible questions I can fit into my puny head.]

If you haven't had a enough yet, check out the "Program Details" for this episode. It's a multimedia retelling of the interview with links to the music used, YouTube videos explaining dark matter, the text of the passages read, and more details about the two scientists from the novel, Godel and Turing. Sometimes, I really love the Internet.

Searching for pens, but finding...

Have you ever noticed that pens seem to migrate to various drawers and baskets, but never to the places where you need them? For instance, I needed a pen to go through the roll on the first day of class this week—incredibly I couldn’t’ find one in my entire office except of course if I’d stolen one from Middlebrow’s desk.

This morning I decided to remedy the lack of pens in my work-a-day world; I went a searching and found pens aplenty. While checking a top drawer in our bedroom, I found a whole set of little things from that have been transferred from top drawer to top drawer in my bedroom for years. It’s stuff that has no real purpose, but I can’t quite throw away.

My MTC teacher badge. I taught missionaries for two years while attending BYU. What should I do with this now I’m not a believing Mormon? Do I want my own kids to stumble on it later on in life? “Dad use to teach missionaries, can you imagine?” If one of my kids gets married in the LDS temple, I will see if it can get me in.

Several knives. I have several knives, many my dad has given me in hopes of supporting hunting and camping and man-stuff. They haven’t gotten much use. Of course if I remember the knives in the throes of some house invasion, I can quickly sneak it out and stab the life out of the invader. There’s even a butterfly knife, a knife I found rummaging around at my grandma in the top drawer of my dad’s old room.

Birthday card from my wife: “I hope this year will be the year for fulfilling your Wasatch dream.” (Wasatch 100 mile race) Well, that didn’t go so well. I can’t even run a 5k now.

Two cases for glasses and one pair of old very round and big glasses which I’ve kept as a backup pair. Not sure these would be much help as things are quite blurry.

Organ donor card from 2000—I think this is marked on my Driver’s license or something. Hope they don’t need to find the card in order to donate my liver or eyes.

Many receipts: one for 6 used VHS movies from Movie Trading co. which is now out of business—that was a real smart purchase; another for $100 dollar Ascent Trekking poles I bought to use in the Wasatch race to cushion the downhill because of my patelar tendonitis—didn’t make it and looked silly as Unhip noted after pacing me, “You might need to work a bit on that downhill.” BUT I did just use the poles last week on a snow hike.

Several floppy disks: Why do I keep these? Well, because there might be something important on them, maybe a college paper I wrote that I’d like to read. Yeah, right. Hell, I don’t even have a floppy disk drive in either of our computers.

A interview tape of a student from 1996: Man, this stuff is depressing me. This was yet another failure—a Master’s thesis which never happened.

A 4x6 card with notes and pages numbers from one of the rare books I read but did not buy. I have no idea which book as I failed to indicate that but at least I know that on p. 35 it discusses “father in tree—death, bees.” WTF???

A connector TV thingy (EAGLE Model TM-1): You know it’s to hook up a TV antennae with. I’m proud that we had rabbit ears until just a few years ago when we had to do cable in order to get high speed Internet. And who knows—see what happened in I AM Legend—I might need it some day.

A Philmont Scout Ranch badge: This is a keeper as it reminds me that under no circumstances should I ever go on a horse trip of any kind, nor attempt to work with alternative youth (or any youth for that matter) in some outdoor adventure.

One Dry Erase Marker which I can actually use

Another Birthday letter (2004) from my wife with yet another “I hope you are able to do Wasatch.” What a fine woman.

Two foreign pieces of paper money I found in a used book. One is dated 1991 so I must have found them while working in the used book store in Provo. The owner was nuts; the job, sifting through a condemned warehouse of books with pigeon shit on them, was absolutely bizarre. The language on the money seems like Russian but I’m not sure; I’m sure though that someday they will make me rich.

Two “My daddy is my favorite pal!” cards from primary. There are several prompts inside that the children complete: I love when my dad… etc. On this one my daughter wrote “Kiss me.” That’s cute. On another prompt, My dad’s favorite thing to do is… my son wrote, “Teach his classes? Tells me to put things away every day.” Ok, that’s disturbing.

***

Oh yeah, and I did find two pens.

Entertainment over the break

Biggest disappointment: The Golden Compass

As my son said to me about half way through, "it feels like the movie is on fast-forward"--exactly! My critique is NOT that it wasn't as good as the book, a comparison I rarely find useful, but rather that the pacing and characterization were terrible. And it's not that the movie cut or changed too many things from the book (there were changes and deletions as there always are) but that they needed more deletions in order to slow things up a bit OR, and maybe this was out of the director's control (I heard he quit the film once), it needed to be a 3 hour film. A wonderful opportunity to broaden the audience of this brilliant trilogy forever lost.

Best find by oldest son: The Red Green show: Stuffed and Mounted 1 on DVD

The whole family, especially the oldest son, have really enjoyed this. A Canadian show that clearly demonstrates that money and Hollywood are overrated. I get such a kick out of the handyman skits where Red often starts with hardcore tools but ends up slapping on duct tap.

Most fun at the theatre: I am legend

Will Smith does an amazing job balancing sheer terror and loneliness with humor. Many great scenes: hunting deer in the city, chasing his dog into the warehouse--gawdam that scared me! and reeling in a "vampire."

Best movie preparation for book club: Branah's Henry V

Branah is simply amazing in this film and has a long list of interesting projects. And thank God for his Shakespeare adaptations which helped me understand how to read Shakespeare as an ungrad.

Best way to experience x-mas eve: It's a wonderful life

I know, no big surprise here but something is special about a movie which presents a view on life I disagree with (that if we were not here people would be vastly different because of it), has much silliness like Zuzu's petals and "every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings," and yet causes me to cry each time, no matter I've seen it 20 times, when the town rallies to save the fallen Jimmy Stewart.

Best old TV series on DVD: Northern Exposure (we are in season 5)

Humorous quirky characters yet serious, philosophical, and intertextual--I couldn't ask for much more.

Best adaptation of a book: Atonement

This experience helped me recover from my exasperation with the GC--for me easily one of the best adaptations of a book. The pacing was right on and the performances from Keira Knightley and James McAvoy were brilliant. I was nervous they would flub up the sexual tension (the fountain, letter, and library scene) but they didn't. I was totally sold by Knightley's confident demeanor as she strips down and plunges into the fountain for the broken porcelain and the letter scene is perfect, the "word" never uttered only seen, the typewriter keys haunting us throughout the rest of the film. And, I knew I'd seen and liked McAvoy but didn't remember the film till I IMBD'd him: Dr. Kerrigan in The last king of Scotland. Two very interesting roles for him; I'm excited to see what he does next.

Tales of first grader

Wisdom

So I've been living for almost seven years?

Yes.

That's a really really long time, right?

Patterns

UNO marathon when son stayed home from school sick: son 16 games won, dad 21 games won. Dad imagines son will tire of UNO at some point but dad is very mistaken:

Are you tired of UNO yet?

No dad. I'm doing a pattern like my teacher said. I watch tv, then play Leapster, then play UNO with you. And do it all over again.

Personification

My guy is hurting.

Your what is hurting?

My guy! See (pointing to crotch). He's having a bad day.

A Re-creation

Yesterday I finished the third, and final, book in the His Dark Materials trilogy. With 20 pages left to go I began to sniffle, with 10 a tear of two, with a page full on weeping. I cried for the loss Lyra and Will accepted. Lyra, the brave little 12 year old girl who left her world to save the universe, the Eve figure, the center of the retelling of the creation story; Will the uncared for boy who takes up the tool which can sever worlds. Of course the broad strokes are familiar: a grand journey filled with truth devices like the Althiometer and knives that cut into worlds, where children matter and understand something adults do not. But the details were breathtaking at times: Will's battle for the “subtle knife,” “god’s” thrown in heaven, animals who travel on wheels, brave male angels in love, and the grand reconstruction of the fall.

What got me the most, brought on the weeping, was the ending: “The Kingdom of Heaven, it was all finished. We shouldn’t live as if it mattered more than this life in this world, because where we are is always the most important place.” While a poignant idea, the tears were tears of reader response. My own life journey has just come around to this very conclusion. Finishing I saw clearly the simplicity of what I’m working for in life--the brevity, the moment, the words spoken about me by others’ lips. These are the only Celestial Kingdom I hope for.

Having enough of weeping, I pet the cat and then got ready for bed. Snuggling up close to my already sleeping wife, I thought about the very short time I would have to spend with her and each of my children, children who, as a good friend once said, will never love me as much as I love them.

The Ass Woman

I'm having stomach/ gastro tract issues again even though I've cut alcohol, all caffeine, and now chocolate. So I sought out a different doc and was referred to Dr. Holly _____. Yeah, Holly. I know I know I'm not supposed to care about this (it's just a social construction of gender based on power), but look I've never had a female doc (my lived experience!) and as you might guess a female gastro doc is worse--I mean it's the ass MAN not ass woman! But that's ok she came highly recommended and I really feel I need a second opinion. I Google her name to find out the phone number, hoping she is bland looking, maternal, even mean (I know, further social constructions of beauty, etc). But No luck!

I am man, hear me whimper!

387148 KB of Email

In the past I would get a warning about my email size a couple times a semester which would then force me to check out and delete emails from one of my listservs and/or go through my sent file. But over the last year or so it seemed the size limit was unexceedable. Well, I've found out there is indeed a limit--I got a warning at 387178 KB.

Of course I have no idea how much that really is. I do know that I have 1500 emails in my sent box, about a 1000 in my Inbox, close to 4,000 (I am just relishing Middlebrow's, the deleter of all deleters, outrage at all this) in my WPA listserv folder, and almost 2,000 in my children's lit listserv. And of course, several 100 emails that I've saved in all manner of categories (cycling, E-Portfolios--there's even one from MB, Faigley pilot, Friends, Multimodal literacies, OED--I'm unsure what's in there, personal, Trips etc.)

Technology is certainly not simplifying my life but it is allowing for redundancy which for me, a person who could forget his coat in a snow storm, is a pretty good thing. Unfortunately redundancy systems unchecked can than create a whole other level of forgetfulness and chaos. Ultimately, I believe technology makes me a better worker and person as it allows me to remember all kinds of details I wouldn't be able to get my fingers on (like responding to an adjunct a semester after visiting their class by rereading our email exchange) but as the numbers show the total build up of stuff threatens to tip over the entire project.

Golden Compass to 1 Nephi 13 in 5.6 seconds

I meant to write long post about the censorship of the new movie, The Golden Compass, based on Phillip Pullman's spectacular trilogy, His Dark Materials, but I never got around to it. In fact I meant to throw out a post and then revise it and send it in as a letter to the editor. Turns out "my" Mormon stake president found it his duty to have each ward call a special meeting in order to denounce the upcoming movie. I did not attend but heard about it from neighbors who readily admitted that only one person in the group, and it wasn't the stake president, had actually read the books.

It infuriated me because I realized with one fell swoop this myopic stake pres. could wipe out hours and hours of work we had just done in my children's lit class where we read the first book and several articles about the censorship debate--all that thinking, for some young mormon women, would be erased in a flash at such a pronouncement. Anyway, I never wrote that rebuttal, nor put the imagined huge Golden Compass poster in my yard, nor asked for a meeting with said stake president.

But I did get thinking, as I've read several articles about the movie, that mormons really should embrace this film as it takes up an old mormon practice that I participated in while serving a mission in Spain: bashing on Catholics. I mean come on, the mormons have a long-standing tradition of equating the Catholic church with the great and abominable church in 1 Nephi 13. And earlier mormon prophets kicked up the criticism a notch or two:

"Both Catholics and Protestants are nothing less than the "whore of Babylon" whom the Lord denounces..."
- The Seer, Vol.2, No.4, p.255

"The Roman Catholic, Greek, and Protestant church is the great corrupt ecclesiastic power, represented by great Babylon which has made all nations drunk with her wickedness, and she must fall, after she has been warned with the sound of the everlasting gospel.
- Apostle Orson Pratt, Divine Authenticity of the Book of Mormon, p.84 - p.85

So, I'm thinking mormons should be all over this film: "We told you the Catholic church was evil." And what better face of evil for Catholics than the diabolically cunning face of Nicole Kidman?? If I were a believing mormon, I'd be sending checks into Pullman, buying up movie tickets, and getting the B of M language out there:

"Yes, this movie may be a bit hard on believers but it is spot on when referring to the abominations of all religions."
"Did you say abominations? Does it say that in the film?"
"Yes, I did. Not in so many words but basically that's the message. If you want a more clear criticism let me show you an ancient book of revelations from the Americas. The Book of Mormon."

This movie could help missionaries all over the world. A new cutting edge, modern version of the Golden Question, "Have you seen the Golden Compass?" That's much more in vogue than, "Do you want to read the book of mormon?" or "What do you know about the mormon church?" And then they could follow up with, "Do you know which church Nicole Kidman represented in the movie?...would you like to know another name for this church?....great abomination." And boom there are you are sittin pretty and cool talking about 1Nephi 13--modern fantasy epic to the Nephites and Lamanites in the Americas in 5.6 seconds!

What a waste of time thinking about a letter to the editor or my stake president--silly notions of interrogating assumptions and disrupting power and hegemony. What I need to do is take a meeting with someone at the MTC. I can package all this in a small pamphlet and make thousands.

Letting go of God with "Pat"

Last night I went to Julia Sweeney's (better known as Pat on SNL) amazing "Letting Go of God" with the other heretic in my book club, Spontaneous Expression. As you might imagine given my current journey into hell, the performance held me alternately between deep heartfelt laughs and poignant tears. It was particularly hilarious for all of us ex-mormons as Sweeney's spiritual journey toward atheism ironically began with the Mormon missionaries:

Preserving the Commons

I was a bit miffed that I would miss the BYU/ Utah game today as the cable offer we did in the summer in order to watch the Tour de France expired. Even though it wasn't that big of deal since I've barely watched any football this year, but eh this is the 34-31 rivalry. So I Googled around a bit and found it for free here

Small glimmer of hope in this commercialized world--just maybe the Internet can help maintain a free public commons...just maybe.

And yes I'm rooting for BYU because they have the highest rating and a slim chance at the BCS. I went to both schools so I have this privilege. (A Seinfeldian Kramer "ehhh!") I don't want to hear it.

The youngest child

It took several incidents of rustling and crumpling for me to realize that a fairly large mouse had setup shop under the bed in my office. It seems this was the best place to hide his halloween stash from his older siblings.

Yesterday was
a spectacular late fall day for roasting hot dogs and smores and it kicked ass over any church meeting I've ever been to. We probably won't be short-sleeved and out in the woods until the spring thaw.

AND, check out them roasting skills!






Hard to accept that our six year old will grow up some day. I wonder if he will always seem younger--more innocent, cuter, softer--no matter how old he gets.

A new blog, Miyazaki's Nausicaa

My brother-in-law, just to the right and left of me politically, has been commenting here (remember my atheist post with all-star contentious responses?) for quite some time and now has created his own blog: http://accountingforidiocy.blogspot.com/ First official post questions Gore et al on global warming. I'm finally getting a critical mass of far flung blogging family members: a cousin, a cousin-in-law, a brother-in-law and sister. Kind of fun.

***

Next week in children's lit I'm going to have students read the first volume in Nausicaa: of the valley of the wind by Miyazaki. Last year we read the first volume of Spirited Away; since then I've realized that Spirited was adapted from the film but Nausicaa was first manga and then made into a film. So, it seemed more authentic to read Nausicaa. Unfortunately that's about where my expertise ends in all things manga. Still, it seems worth it to learn together about an amazing artist. Seeing my first Miyazaki film, Princess Mononoke, blew me away and I hope this will happen for a few students.

The book's inside cover announces,

"IN A FEW SHORT CENTURIES CIVILIZATION HAD SPREAD FROM THE WESTERN FRINGES OF EURASIA TO SPRAWL ACROSS THE FACE OF THE PLANET. PLUNDERING TEH SOIL OF ITS RICHES, FOULING THE AIR, AND REMOLDING LIFE FROM AT WILL, THIS GARGANTUAN INDUSTRIAL SOCIETY HAD ALREADY PEAKED A THOUSAND YEARS AFTER ITS FOUNDATION: AHEAD LAY ABRUPT AND VIOLENT DECLINE . . . ALMOST ALL OF THE SURFACE OF THE EARTH WAS TRANSFORMED INTO A STERILE WASTELAND..."

Clearly my mostly young, soon-to-be-elementary ed teachers, are going to love this story!!

This environment gone wrong is a theme Miyazaki often invokes, like in Princess Mononoke. But often it's a rich, complicated rendering like in Princess Mononoke where Irontown, run by Lady Eboshi, is clearly contributing to environmental degradation, but she is also using her money to free prostitutes who then work for her--there's never any clear sense of who is the good or bad guy.

Nausicaa is a princess of the wind based off the princess who helps Odysseus get home and the Japanese folk hero known as the "princess who loved insects." I think our world could use more princesses who love insects.

I'm quite excited to read it. Unfortunately I will be reading it right along with my students as I never got to it till now. My only claim to any authority is that I've seen all of his films several times and read a few articles about Miyazaki. And on that note, I'm off to wikipedia my way into authority.

Must blog, must blog, gust mlog: a meandering on TIME, life, and Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman

I've said this before and I will say it again...I don't ever remember being this busy EVER. I mean is it possible that I'm busier now than when I was working full-time as a high school teacher, plus two nights of night school, and getting a Master's degree? (and we were having our 2nd child and I did many more projects around the house since I was cheap). It sure as hell feels like it.

How does one add up life? Of course it never makes any fuckin sense. To wit (always wanted to write that in a post), I've currently cut out of my life all kinds of things trying to find more time for the essentials: no exercise (which has ballooned at times to 10-15 hrs a week, so this is not a rinky-dink savings); no Jazz or football (ok, I turn on the 4th quarter of some games and watch/read/talk to son if it's a close score); I read nothing other than what I'm prepping for a class or what we are reading in book club; I take extreme evasive action whenever potential house/yard projects are bandied about by wife (ok, I did get sucked into putting stairs into our attic, well, to be honest, I only assissited our 70 year old repair guy--how pathetic); and, for the most part, I forbid myself from blogging unless I'm all caught up, which is never so... Maybe if I weren't blogging right now, I'd have more time and could be caught up--yeah, right.

AND................GAWD ALMIGHTY I hate this "AND".....And I have so much more stuff I should do, could do, want to do, feel guilty about not doing. For example, I have about 10 students I should meet with weekly--if I were a man, I would require it. I'm confident a high percentage of these 10 students will not get the passing "C" they need in my course and some--3 or 4??--would pass if I were meeting with them weekly. Also, I should take time to experience wonder, like in my ice photos/posts of last year. Also, I should read stuff, like, you know, magazines and online articles--I mean I do teach English for godsake!!! And, hey how about a non-required book once in awhile. And how about taking time now to think of thoughtful x-mas gifts for each of my children, sisters, and, especially, wife? (I did decide to get my son a subscription to MAD magazine but it's a bit of a Homer gift as I get all dizzy with nostalgia thinking back to the many hrs I spent cozied up in my bed with MAD, putting the nifty covers togther to create the new cool picture, flipping desperately through the pages to find any bare breasts, getting my kicks off the satire of the Love Boat).

Ok, enough of this--I must focus on our book club pick, "Surely, You're joking, Mr. Feynman!" by Richard P. Feynman, a theoretical physicists who worked on the Los Alamos bomb project and then later won the Nobel Prize in science. If you ever read this book, skim the first part (it is badly written and a bit silly) until he gets to Los Alamos which is interesting for its history and then, amazingly, the writing gets better sylistically and the story is engaging: how to pick up women in bars, cracking safes...good stuff. And speaking of time, how the hell did this guy get smart enough to be chosen to work at Los Alamos and win the Nobel all while spending hours cracking safes, hitting on babes in bars, and writing a freakin' memoir?

If I don't finish this book by Friday, I'm blaming it all on YOU! Yes, YOU. I mean why do you sonsofbitches keep insisting on stealing my time!!!! It's really quite UNFAIR.