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.

Oh where hath my %$@#% Saturday gone

A Saturday spent already; not sure where it went but it's been nice day overall. Dealt with the sick throwing up son (wife did the most as usual) this morning, graded a couple of papers and read some email while listening for heaves, went to the library to pick up some books for a lecture I'm giving in my ch lit class picked, then picked up dancing daughter from her class. Lastly, instead of doing what I should do, I went on a mt bike ride. Now I'm tired, sweaty, stinky, and unmotivated to do the things I really should have done this morning: written a rough draft for a retention study I'm doing with a colleague, grade 30 ch lit book reviews on the symbolism in MC Higgins the Great, prepped for my Tuesday classes, increase our garden size by tilling a few swaths of grass, wrapping our apples in newspaper for storage.... See that's the problem. When I got up this morning I probably could have done one or two of those (I did pick the tomatoes I will have you know), but there were just too many things to choose from so I was like the indecisive deer in the headlights and once I regained my wits, I just figure ah to hell with it I will go on a mt bike ride.

And what a mt bike ride it was, primarily a lesson in humility (note to self: only ride with riders who will inflate imaginary sense of my riding abilities). The humility started in strong doses as my friend, one of the top three expert class riders in Utah, took it out "gently," a nice conversational pace FOR HIM!!, as we rode the pavement from Mueller Park in Bountiful to North Canyon. Once we turned off the pavement, the dirt road ascends steeply for 4 miles. Climbing I was rudely transported back to 100 degree August days, sweating out my jersey immediately and profusely, watching my friend speed out of sight. Back cramped, had to stop and stretch twice; I survived. It does improve at mile 4 with a much more sane switchbacked single track--before I knew it we were on top of Rudy flats and ready for some of the best downhill in the state and a solid 5 miles of it to boot.

Finally I'm used to my "new" bike I got about three years ago--a full suspension Specialized Stumpjumper for anyone that cares. If you want to know more about my bike, look it up--I only know it can go fast and has brakes which stop it. What I do know is that finally I feel comfortable handling the bike. Before I'd ridden a suspensionless Bridgestone MB5, quite a bike in its day, for about a decade. But now, sweet jesus, it's a beautiful ride. It's amazing what one can do on a bike, going over rocks, roots, washouts. I guess I didn't think this kind of fairly dangerous activity would attract me when I was approaching 40--in some ways I enjoy it more than I did as a kid. Anything else I say here will sound corny and cliched but, alas, I can't resist. It feels like the bike is an extension of me and somehow that's so beautiful because I could never run 20+ mph down this trail, could never descend the 5 miles in 30 minutes, could never jump over an obstacle floating for 15 feet....and somehow all that just tickles me silly.

It's approaching 7pm and all that stuff I should have done is safely out of reach, jusifiably undoable as it were. Relieved of duties, I will settle down to some reading, maybe a movie, some time with the kids--there's always tomorrow.

Bonus: video of guy riding Mueller with funny little dog

Things I meant to blog about but didn't

I've had lots (really!) of great blogging ideas but I've had little time and my brain is stuffed. So here's the short version of each; at least this post will move the F word down on my homepage:

1. Our 13 year old son has gone through some sort of evolution. A few weeks ago we realized he had a girlfriend--kind of difficult to keep tabs on this kind of thing when he can email, IM, and call her on the cell phone. This morning before noon he had already chatted with the gf and we fielded four calls from four different friends. What happened to the shy, boyish child of last year? Concerning gf thing I have radically contracting feelings and thoughts. On one hand, I'm think hold up buckaroo, there's all kinds of time left, no need to take the fun out of puppy love stuff (a note, a brush of hands, etc). On the other, I identify strongly with his plight to get with his girl. Several times I've caught myself constructing arguments my son might use with us and the gf's parents. And after seeing him IM for several hrs with the gr, I finally said, "You might as well go see her." Which of course he had already thought out and planned--that evening he headed out on his bike with goofy directions to her house, accepting none of our help. Amazingly he spent an eveing with the gf and her family. I was 17 before I did such a thing--much safer and less grown up to just make-out in the bushes during night games. What is he thinking!

2. My wife and I went to Beethoven's 9th symphony--it really go me going. Of course I'm familiar with the Ode to Joy but had never heard the entire piece. Near the end, during the last movement where the orchestra begins to tempt us with the Ode to Joy melody (after having taken us through some sort of Turkish march music), I nearly lept from my chair and had to blink away a few tears. It was brilliantly explosive.

3. Harvest time again. This past Sunday the whole family got invovled, picking peaches, pears, apples, grapes, tomatoes, peppers, and squash. I've designated myself the peach cutter upper for this fall-50 or so peaches later, I'm still loving it (the eating and cutting). I've made a couple of superb batches of fresh salsa with a variety of hot peppers--the classic jalapeno, the less well-known serrano, a long skinny red pepper, and the exotic tiny thai dragon (hot as a mother). Eating all this fresh food has given me an opportunity to detox from the modern vagaries of grocery store shopping. If only I could eat this way all year.

A case study: Student expression and the employment of "fuck"

Strangely I've read about five student drafts exploring personal memories and three have dropped the F-bomb. I usually don't get this kind of openness till later in the semester and even then at a much lower percentage; seems students often hold onto the rules of high school. I've often had students bashfully approach me with concerns about the language they have in an essay: "Professor, I'm writing about an experience in the military and you know the language in that setting is kind rough..." At this point I usually interrupt, assuring them they can use any language they'd like. And still I get: sh*t and b*%$# etc.

And it's not just the F-bombs in these papers: much of the writing is quite daring for a first assignment. I have no idea what's in the air. Certainly I haven't done anything that different from all the other 1010 sections I've taught. This proliferation of fucks has really brightened my day, giving me hope in the next generation. By fuck, I'm going to read three more papers before I do lunch.

Dancing across Morgan by cool clouded skies

Seth did it! After a couple of years discussing and then several months planning and preparing this summer, Seth completed his 50 mile bike ride which was the last requirement for his cycling merit badge. And along the way he somehow fits into my old cycling jersey and can ride my old bike.

It all started off with Seth, yes my teenage son, waking ME up at 5:15 this morning. We ate some peanut butter toast y and drove up Weber Canyon to Mt. Green and headed out, the back pockets of our cycling jersey's stuffed with Clif shot blocks, GU, peanut butter crackers, and granola bars. From Mt Green we circled around the southeast side of Morgan valley passing through several small towns. At our first stop at a gas station, Seth knew we were in another world: "Hey, did you hear those people? Both people that pulled up knew the woman already here getting gas. And all three of them shewed that dog home by name. That doesn't happen in Layton."

In order to get in the full 50 miles we headed up East Canyon road for about 7 miles or so--quite a climb to East Canyon reservoir. Then we flew down, finally arriving at Morgan where we sat in the grass a bit eating crackers and stretching.

Our only conflict was that Seth got a bit irritated that I kept looking back to make sure he was close and to encourage him to ride my wheel closer--the draft really makes for an easier ride. Eventually he started making fun of me. I guess after looking back about 1,000 times, it really doesn't help much. By mile 40 every time I looked back, Seth would quote lines from that great British comedy, Father Ted: "I don't know Father Ted, what would you like to do?" or call me strange names like Shaniqua.

All in all a great ride: 50 miles, about 3 and half hrs of ride time, max speed 35mph, average almost 14mph, several dead animals and bad smells, and hopefully some good memories we will both carry with us.

Who needs a car anyways? Day 2

Again I left at about 8:20 and for the second day didn’t have time to tell my wife good-bye—the train waits for no one. For this trip I selected my full suspension mt bike because, well, I wanted to go for a mt bike ride with my friend Jason in SLC after work. So instead of biking the 8 miles on my knobby wheels, I jumped on to Trax for my first Trax with bike experience. There didn’t seem to be a place for bikes like on FR so I just tried to lean it against me while trying to read an article out of TETYC. This did not work as Trax stops and jerks a lot more than FR. On one of the stops a seasoned Trax rider got on, stuff his front wheel down the stairs on the opposite side of where the doors open—will do that next time.

Then I rode the three miles to campus; unfortunately I chose the 45^th south stop and rode down 45^th. Very dangerous. Next time I will take the 39^th stop. And after a short 3 mile ride, I arrived safe and sound.

I have to say that I really enjoy being on public transport. It gives me a feeling of connection or something. I know that I have a romantic view of all this as I don’t absolutely have to use public transport—certainly it could be a pain in the ass to always depend on it—but still I can’t yet let go of that romanticism.

After teaching, I headed out thinking I would catch Trax at 39^th about three miles away but the 4:03 train didn’t show and I figured I’d make better time on the bike than sitting around. After almost an hour of riding, and a 5 minute stop for Gatorade at a gas station, I arrived at Jason’s house who lives just off 9^th south on the east hill above 13^th east. We threw the bikes in his Subaru and headed up Millcreek meaning to ride up to Dog Lake but we forgot about the even/odd day thing—personally I think mt bikers should be on odd days. Instead we tried for about .94 miles to ride the steep trail towards Lamb’s canyon. What an unforgiving trail. Wasted we skidded down and went on the much more accommodating Pipeline. I’d been on the lower 2/3s but never the upper part—some of the best, hard packed, fast single track I’ve ever done.

After the ride Jason dropped me off at the central Frontrunner station; again I felt oh so cosmopolitan, loving my look: the dirty, sweat crusted guy reading some sort of academic journal.

So I had a lot of fun but this will never work daily in non-summer mode when I’m actually really busy and need to get places quickly. Never. But twice a week I think I can do.

Who needs a car anyways???

I decided to chronicle my family’s journey—literal and metaphorical—of trying to survive with one car. But after one day of mass transit and bike, I’m not sure there will be much of a journey before I cave and buy a new car. Maybe it can be my journey to be less car dependent or something like that, something much less grandiose or important. I can imagine if I wrote one of those books about how I did something for a month or a year (do these kinds of books/documentaries make up a particular genre?), mine would be entitled “How a family of five kinda sort of went without two cars for awhile.” I’ll never quite reach the status of my one-car heroes with one kid, Dr. Write and Middlebrow, and my no-car hero, Signifying Nothing.

After my Kia Rio engine was internally destroyed and the red carcass was sold for junk, I immediately started to resent having to buy a new car. Certainly not something in our budget or plans. My mind tried to find a way out (read I started to obsess). Kids adjusted ok: youngest son thought it an adventure to ride his bike to his friends house a mile away; daughter was less convinced, as she called after a party,
"Are you coming to get me?" (long pause)
"No, that's why we had you ride your bike"
"Oh, ok."

And oldest son has been biking to drum lessons already. Still, not sure how we'd negotiate soccer/dance Saturday with multiple games and dance practices at a variety of locals, sometimes at the same time. But first things first: how the hell do I get to work?

Yesterday I left home at 8:15 am on my road bike and rode two miles to the new Frontrunner station—a mere 6 minute ride at 20mph. I boarded where there was a bike symbol, but a bike was already in the designated spot so I just leaned it against my seat which worked out fine. Looking the seasoned pro, I put on some classical music to block out the talk from the couple across from me and started to read the Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle—how often do I get to put 30 minutes into a book for fun during the morning of a work day? Never.

Frontrunner ride was smooth, fast, and air-conditioned. Next, transition central station at 6^th west and 250 south. From here I biked down 6^th west and then turned at 8^th south, which has a great bike lane, the plan being to head west to Redwood road. But I was tempted by the Jordan Parkway, so I traveled its circuitous route from 8^th south to 33^rd south—a nice detour even if it add a couple of miles and a few hills. At Redwood campus by 9:50 am, bike computer read 11.5 miles and about 35 minutes.

Only major unexpected, as I took off my son’s back pack, a completely and utterly sopping wet back. Luckily I’d brought my cycling shirt (thinking I might cycle all the way home in the evening which I ultimately decided against) which I changed into so I could dry out my shirt. Shirt never completely dried, but hey it didn’t stink.

After a day of teaching in my casual wear, including cycling socks with skulls on them, I left Redwood at 6:55 in order to catch the 7:25pm train. I knew this would be cutting it a bit close but I also knew Redwood slanted somewhat downhill to the north; unfortunately, I had moderate headwind most of the way. Not wanting to wait for the 8:25 train, I put the foot to the pedal, rarely letting my speed dip below 20mph and cranking up to 27mph on several occasions. All was going well until I hit the last train crossing on a 8^th south, just blocks away from the station: I should have made a run for it as the UP train was going slow as molasses but I decided to be safe and wait. I made Frontrunner with a minute or so to spare.

Exerting such effort was quite invigorating but also made me sweat: after having situated myself, I peered to my left and scanned behind me, then made a mad rush to take off my damp cycling shirt and put on my now finally dry regular shirt. Maybe there’s a bathroom where I could have changed; certainly the woman to my left, exposed to my brilliant white hairless concave chest, was wishing I’d scouted one out.

Journey #1 done. Tomorrow, Journey #2 with a couple of twists: I will take my mountain bike, which is much slower on the roads so I will make a transfer to Trax even though it will take me almost as long to get from the Frontrunner station to the Trax Fireclay station at 47^th South as it will take me to get from Layton to SLC. But then it’s only a 3, instead of 8, mile ride to Redwood campus—must save the legs as I’m going to mountain bike the Bobsled trail with a friend that evening. Now if I can figure out how to fit everything I need into my small mountain bike pack so that I can pop out just before City Creek at the end of our ride and, without returning to my friend’s house, descend to the Frontrunner station for my ride home. Good thing it’s the last day of classes so no need for silly fat books I make students buy and since student turn in work electronically no big bag of papers.

I’m never going to make it without a car; maybe, though, I can learn something and do the train 2-3 times a week while the weather is good. I even considered buying a junker car and parking it at the SLC Frontrunner station so I could drive it from there to Redwood each day and then drive it home on Friday. But I assume it would get ticketed or maybe even stolen.

Soooooooo desperately not wanting to buy a car.

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.