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.