Flash Pointe

Poetry Bomb: Dead Balloons

2011-11-09T15:55:00.001-07:00

I picked up last year's Best American Poetry (2010) because it has Fleda Brown's amazing poem The Dead in it. But in working through the rest of the collection -- some I love, some I dislike, some I just don't get -- I stumbled into an excerpt from "The Jar of Balloons or The Uncooked Rice" by poet/filmmaker Matthew Yeager.

It is here. You should give it a whirl -- you will get sucked in, as I was, for like seven pages, until your heart skips a happy beat at that record store question.

Confused? Stick with it and you won't be.

Enjoy.

Poetry Bomb: Savages

2011-11-02T20:30:00.003-06:00

Savages

Those two shelves, down there.
- Adrienne Rich

For Matthew, Mike, Michael and Carl

They buy poetry like gang members
buy guns--for aperture, caliber,
heft and defense. They sit on the floor
in the stacks, thumbing through Keats
and Plath, Levine and Olds, four boys
in a bookstore, black glasses, brackish hair
rumpled shirts from the bit at St. Vincent de Paul.
One slides a warped hardback
from the bottom shelf, the others
scoot over to check the dates,
the yellowed sheaves ride smooth
under their fingers.
One reads a stanza in a whisper,
another turns the page, and their heads
almost touch, temple to temple--toughs
in a huddle, barbarians before a hunt, kids
hiding in an alley while sirens spiral by.
When they finish reading one closes
the musty cover like the door
on Tutankhamen's tomb. They are savage
for knowledge, for beauty and truth.
They crawl on their knees to find it.

--Dorianne Laux, from Facts about the Moon

Occupy PDX: WTF?

2011-11-02T16:08:00.000-06:00

This is, essentially, the preplexing/round-about discussion my friend Joshua and I had over bagels today: we concurrently like and dislike Occupy Portland. It's a weird tension that tends to strain the edges of our thinking and, after going up and over and through and back again, doesn't really get us anywhere useful.

Which sort of sums up my beef with OPDX: What. Is. The. Point?

I understand and support the act of protest; we, as a society, need people who are willing to get angry, to flood the streets, to do annoying, in-the-way things like set up camp in a public park and hold entirely democratic rallies and march through town to make themselves visible. We've always needed that, and I applaud their commitment.

In the same breath, I'm exasperated: I don't know what OPDX (or OWS) want; I have yet to see any organized manifesto or talking points that explain -- beyond their anger at corporations and bailouts and job loss -- what it is, exactly, they plan to do. As far as Portland is concerned, we have a bunch of people camped out in public parks, talking to each other.

Maybe that's how protest works. Maybe you stay around long enough, gain enough attention and then people finally start noticing and something changes. Maybe it takes two months or six months or a year. I suppose it's possible.

But I just don't see any movement. I don't see a plan I can engage with, agree or disagree with. They are not, as Joshua pointed out, selling themselves very effectively (if at all) to the wider population. Which makes sense: if you're railing against consumerism, then "selling" yourself is the last thing OPDX would want to do.

And yet: convincing the rest of Portland, or the state, or the country to get behind them is going to take more than shouting through bullhorns. If there's a cohesive message, get it out, stat. Otherwise support dwindles, people move on trying to slog through their lives and OPDX just becomes another thing that sort-of happened once for a while.

I will say this: OPDX has infiltrated the city in a big way. You can't not have an opinion; everyone thinks something. In that way, it's a great thing -- galvanizing public opinion and discussion, creating civic discourse across a broader spectrum of society than may otherwise have been engaged. That's a win.

Still: get with it, OPDX. Give me something I can get behind (or not). Help me help you.

Back on the Horse

2011-11-02T15:46:00.003-06:00

A horse.

It's weird, combing back through this blog. It's been a long time since I've taken up residence here -- I think I say that every time I come back after an absence -- and to cull through all the stuff I've laid down is weirdly nostalgic.

Watching myself change, over time, by the words I wrote, the images and links I posted, the things I got fired up about: they are the same things, on some level, but would I find interest or heat in those things again? I'm not sure.

But, that's the thing about a record (even one as dubious as this blog): it records. There you have it.

So I'm back now, futzing with a new layout--things change when you step away for a while--toying with what to throw up here in my little corner of the ever-expanding internets. Maybe more photos. Maybe more writing, less passed-along content.

There's always the chance this will fizzle out and you won't hear from me for six months or something. We'll see.

Yee Gawds: Back From the Dead!

2010-07-04T15:33:00.002-06:00

So. It's been a while.

Five months. Call it a sabbatical or hiatus or whatever. Perhaps you haven't noticed. I sure forgot about it for a while, but here I am, back in the box. At least for the moment.

A lot has happened between then and now, and since it's too much work to try and cull worthy bits of back-fill to toss up here, let's start with what's really most important in the here-and-now: the semi-finals.

Of the World Cup, in case you're not as in deep as I am. Because I am. In deep. Very, very deep. My screen saver is David Villa of Espana. I didn't know who David Villa was until a month ago. Now? He keeps my laptop from burning out. Gracias, amigo.

Seriously, it's bad, in an awesome, awesome way. The game. The goals. The controversy. The smooth, liquid play; the fans; the tension and the glory of the win/agony of defeat. The non-stop clock; the drama of "injuries" and the stone-faced refs; the cammraderie of freaking out with a bunch of strangers in a bar over a near or missed or almost-wasn't-but-then-suddenly-was GOAL! Freaking amazing.

I know I'm talking loud game right now. But don't worry: I recognize my place as an amped up convert. I know I don't have the street cred to really talk intelligently about teams or players or strategy. I have to sit with it awhile, follow the game in the non-WC years, really get to know it. Which is fine. I can be that guy. It's easy to join a bandwagon; it's hard to stay on.

Here's to my finding a way to stay on the soccer/football bandwagon.

PS: Semi's are Tuesday/Wednesday, both at 11:30PST. Don't miss it, America.

PPS: My public prediction (based on nothing but hope at this point): ESP/NED final. I'm probably wrong, but that's what I'm saying. Not that there's anyone around here to hold me to it...

PPPS: I'm finding myself struggling with the tension of really digging pro football and the realization that it--just like any other sport--is just that: a sport. It is not life-giving. It is not the thing that sustains. It's a game. A great, great game. But that's all it is. Perhaps more on that later.

Ducks? Everyone Loves Ducks.

2010-02-16T10:52:00.003-07:00

Another gem, this time a song about the Erie Canal. Take a listen.

Who Says You Need Original Content?

2010-02-08T08:38:00.002-07:00

Here is a link that will induce much laughing: live-blogging the Superbowl.

Darkest Before Dawn

2009-12-16T19:41:00.004-07:00

My heart is heavy. From the safe confines of my warm kitchen, I listen to the report on the radio, I hear the story from my in-laws and I am grieved. So much tragedy, so unnecessary. I can't even quite understand my heartache, for people I don't know in all-too common situations that have never garnered my attention before.

The unexpected nature of my feelings leads me to thoughts of trauma. Which sounds arrogant, I know; who am I am to be hurt? What about the victims, their families, the communities who knew and loved them? None of which I can explain or even justify. The only thing I can do here is express my own sorrow and offer prayers and thoughts of healing and grace to those most deeply affected by the events.

The only kernel of hope I can glean out of this is that God is moving. That, in this season of Advent, in the time of utmost darkness before His arrival, he is moving: my heart has been softened to the plight of others, I have been moved outside of myself.

Still: it sounds arrogant. And perhaps it is, but it lifts the weight and clears the clouds, if only slightly. And that's not much. Thoughts and petitions for healing and protection, for understanding and grace to the families; for peace to those angered and hurt so much more profoundly than I; for the courage and fortitude to move forward.

A Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Consider

2009-12-04T12:05:00.002-07:00

"The boy didnt know if he understood or not. The old man went on to say that the hunter was a different thing than men supposed. He said that men believe the blood of the slain to be of no consequence but that the wolf knows better. He said that the wolf is a being of great order and that it knows what men do not: that there is no order in the world save that which death has put there. Finally he said that if men drink the blood of God yet they do not understand the seriousness of what they do. He said that men wish to be serious but they do not understand how to be so. Between their acts and their ceremonies lies the world and in this world the storms blow and the trees twist in the wind and all the animals that God has made go to and fro yet this world men do not see. They see the acts of their own hands or they see that which they name and call out to one another but that world between is invisible to them."

The Crossing (45-46), Cormac McCarthy

Awesomeness

2009-11-04T18:45:00.002-07:00

I really wanted to embed this image, but it won't fit in the margins. Check it out.

Also, take a few minutes and bump on over and check out local Portland band Horse Feathers. Sort of like Bon Iver, but happier, and kind of like Iron and Wine, but less stark, Horse Feathers is very much cloudy-day music: a bit of menace threaded into cautious redemption. Hear them here.

Or, better yet: If you're in Portland and don't have plans tonight in the next few hours or tomorrow at 8PM, go to Mississippi Studios and catch Horse Feathers collaborating with Oregon Ballet Theater dancers in a show called Uprising! It's an amazing way to spend an evening. Tickets are here.

Surprise!

2009-10-09T09:39:00.004-06:00

It was announced this morning--very, very early this morning--that President Obama has won the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize. Details can be found here, here and here; the President's remarks are embedded below.

While I'm still gleaning information and trying to formulate a more coherent response, here are a few immediate thoughts:

1. It's too soon. Not that I think Obama isn't deserving of the Peace Prize, but not yet. There's so much still on his plate--climate change, the economy, health care, potentially escalating a war, nuclear disarmament, etc.--that conferring an award of this size adds unnecessary pressure to deliver.

2. It won't help him back home. I have the feeling that this will only heap criticism on him and give the opposition fuel for the fire. His "rock-star status" will come up again; he will be accused of not concentrating on the US; it will seem frivolous and undeserved.

3. It may be a "decisive moment" kind of thing. In retrospect, the Nobel may end up being something that drastically effects Obama's ability to get things done in the White House; it will take so much attention and change the frame of his Presidency, that it may knock everything off course. It may happen for the better, but I fear it will only have a negative effect.

Thoughts? Reactions?

Review: All the Pretty Horses

2009-10-07T15:33:00.005-06:00

Sometimes you read an author and think, That's why I want to write! You are so moved by the prose, the characters, the pacing, the power of literature that your own commitment to scratching out sentences into paragraphs into pages is bolstered. Damn the insecurity, the writers' block, the fumbling around the blank page looking for the edges. You have new resolve.

Or, like me, you read Cormac McCarthy and figure it's just better to give up altogether. Why try, in the face of such literary power and subtlety? Nothing like that will ever come out of my brain, so I might as well pack it in now and go find something else to do.

I wish I was exaggerating, but on finishing All the Pretty Horses--actually, by the time I'd made my way a quarter of the way through--that's pretty much how I felt. I'd found a new standard, a style and grace to measure myself against and, not surprisingly, found myself severely lacking. It's hard to encompass the depth of McCarthy's talent--his dead-on pitch for dialogue, his minimalism that uncoils into lyric and haunting description at exactly the right moments, his characters that are brushed so sparely and yet are so visible and true (I would quote from the novel to give a hint, but I've already lent my copy out).

Harder still is to vocalize the depth that All the Pretty Horses made in me, how far down and completely it has set. On some level, it is this particular novel, not just McCarthy as an author. I've read The Road, and while it was haunting and effecting, it is an entirely different work. Horses touches me deeply, not just because of the power of the writing, but, I have to believe, because of the location and themes it undertakes: the true, wild West; horses; the values of honesty, comradery, and silence. In our modern world, these are often times lost qualities and here they are found, dug out of the dust, or, seen for the last before they are trampled asunder. It strikes a right and righteous chord.

Which makes me glad that Horses is just the first of a trilogy. Especially when the second instalment, The Crossing, is rumored to be the best of the three. I've found a book that has impacted me deeply, which does not often happen. And while it's shaken my own literary aspirations, I'll take the trade off.

Also: All the Pretty Horses was made into a movie a few years back; has anyone seen it? Thoughts? Good, bad, middling?

I Strongly Dislike Hate. And Love.

2009-10-01T20:45:00.002-06:00

Recently, say the last month or so, I've been on a pretty serious kick to curb my use of the words love and hate. I find that personally--and collectively, for that matter--I overuse these two very strong words for a lot in a multitude of not very strong ways.

I love peanut butter sandwiches. I hate traffic. I love This American Life, Project Runway, that sweater and cheesecake. I hate people talking loudly on cell phones, misbehaving children, head lice and squash. After a while, it just gets asinine and stops meaning anything at all--these words that are meant to denote honest and very serious commitment toward (or away from) someone or something, get trivialized.

If I love my wife, but I also love Moon Pies, does that work? Can I hate talk radio and sin and evil on the same level? Our usage of these words would suggest so, but I just don't think it works. It doesn't hold the same power, and it really rubs me the wrong way when I--or other people--slip into using these words for things they don't really love or hate. In fact, I dislike it to a very intense degree.

So: I'm doing my best to avoid using the words where they don't fit. Which means I have to be very careful when I do deploy love and hate. For my God, my family, my friends (love); for sin, evil, self-centeredness (hate). And even then, I use them sparingly. By not using the words, putting them on hold and only bringing them only when truly accurate, I'm trying to reinvigorate them with the life they used to hold.

Give it a shot. Love it or hate it, it's worth a shot.

MIA

2009-09-30T17:04:00.004-06:00

It's been a good long while since I posted anything around these here parts. I can't really say why, exactly, other than I just haven't felt the urge. Nothing stewing that needed outing. Until today, apparently. So here's a list of things I've been up to while not posting, in no particular order. It may or may not bump me back onto a track of regular postings. We'll see.

:Running: A few weeks back I ran my first race in a while, a 10K out in Bend. A good weekend spent with family, hanging out and playing golf and eating too much and then running 6.2 miles. I thought I was ready, overly confident. And then I got smoked by my svelte wife who burned me up and down the hills. My time was under an hour--which was my goal--but I could have done better. I was somewhat galvanized to improve.

And so we signed up for the Seattle Half Marathon in November. And since then I've been doing a lot more running. A lot more. Where once I was running two or three times a week, now it's up to five. And the distances are growing: 9.5 was my last long run, the longest I've managed yet. And? I felt pretty good--gassed, but good. I think this is something I can actually manage.

:Baking: Work is work, but I've also hitched myself to a second, smaller bakery in the neighborhood. Once a week I roll in and get my hands dirty, weighing and measuring and rolling dough, mixing it all up and getting various pastries and breads ready for the bake. It's a great learning experience and more fun than I was prepared for. It makes for a long day (12 hours for two jobs), but it's a step in the right direction that could lead good places.

And the bake is on at home, for sure. Of recent note: Birdseed Bread, which was good but a bit thick and dense. A very satisfying fall-ish bread, if I can get the leavening right and make it a bit lighter. Also, my first Banana Cream Pie--amazing, except for a slightly underdone crust--and Chocolcate Bundt cake--also amazing, except for a rookie mixing mistake. Instead of mixing the flour and leavening into the chocolate base, I did the reverse. This resulted in bitter pockets of baking soda that never got fully mixed together. Still: freaking awesome.

Also: Blondie Brownies that The Wife made. I can't take credit, but I can attest that they were probably the best brownies I've ever tasted. Dag.

:Reading/Listening: I've been spending a good chunk of my "weekend" reading, which has been nice. I should probably spend it writing (which I'm also doing more of, though not nearly enough). I will say, though, that coming back from a long run with nothing to do for the rest of the day, hanging out on the couch with a cup of coffee, the cat and a New Yorker or a book is pretty appetizing. And if there's bread rising or in the oven? Booyah. A few of the notable things on my shelf of late Tolkien's The Silmarillion, L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time, Capote's In Cold Blood*, Birds of America by Lorrie Moore, the schlocky memoir Julie and Julia, as well as Julia Child's My Life in France (which, admittedly, I didn't finish).

Right now, I'm coursing through Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses, which I am in deep smit with; this book is fantastic. It changes the way I read, how I perceive writing and how I think about how I want my own writing to be. Great, great stuff.

As for listening, I've jumped on the Andrew Bird bandwagon, which his most recent release Noble Beast. Great stuff, if you've not heard it. Also, and I heartily suggest this, is David Bazan's new solo release, Curse Your Branches. Bazan is the former creator of Pedro the Lion and Headphones; here's he's still himself, just without a fancy name. A great album, full of the intense lyrical content he's known for. Check it out.

Also, and last but not least, is Elvis Perkins in Dearland. I've not actually bought the album yet--funds were tight and it was down to Andrew Bird or EPID--but what I've heard has been very convincing. It'll be on my download list as soon as I can swing it. Check it out here.

:Wondering/Praying: I've doing a lot of this recently, about all sorts of things. God. Marriage. Science. Truth. Whatever; my brain has begun wandering in ways I hadn't let it before and I find it's good for it, keeps it in shape. This is a direct tie in to praying, which is something I'm not good at but find myself needing and wanting. Direct, unfettered access. Which is damned scary. I find it akin to jumping into a mountain river; on the rocks, on the shore, I waver. But I really do want to, and once I make the plunge, even if I feel I can't breathe for a minute--the force and temperature are so cold, constricting my chest--eventually I acclimate. And then it's golden and the best decision I could have made. It's like that. Every time.

*If you end up reading In Cold Blood, make a point to watch the film Capote afterwards. Comparing the two accounts is fascinating and a much fuller experience.

Reading the Gamut

2009-09-03T10:17:00.006-06:00

It seems reading as we knew it is coming to an end. Dead-tree publishing is going teats up, with the Kindle swooping in to take measurements for the coffin and now, within the last week, two new developments are getting us closer to graveside.

Reading Rainbow, the classic kids show on PBS about why you should stop watching TV and pick up a book, is finally over. After 26 years, according to this article, the show is ending because the focus has switched from encouraging a love of reading (which was RR's goal) to the more nuts-and-bolts approach of how to teach kids to read.

RR started from the assumption that kids knew how to read and wanted to get them excited about finding new books, of trying new things, of expanding their world. No longer. What is on the minds of educators and parents (and, I hope, students) is the best way to teach reading. Recently much of that attention has focused on Accelerated Reader.

AR is a software program that assigns a point value to a book based on its length and difficulty; it attempts to quantify novels down to an easy to understand number. This is supposed to encourage kids to read and make the tracking of reading improvement easier. It's supposed to be a good thing.

But isn't there danger in boiling down fiction to a number? How do you determine the number? Who gets to choose? How do you quantify something so complicated as the interaction between a reader and a book? These and other criticisms facing AR are well articulated in this article from the NYT.

Another part of this argument over how to teach reading is about reading lists. The argument is that by forcing kids to read a predetermined set of books, books they may have never chosen or have zero interest in, you goad them into disliking reading. By eliminating their agency in the process, the thought goes, you jade them. Give them some freedom to choose the books of their liking and they will flourish.

This is the very problem AR was designed to deal with. By assigning values to books and then setting a minimum number of "points" of extracurricular reading during a school year, you can encourage students continue to read and retrain the ability to choose their own books.

I can see the appeal of allowing kids to choose their own books; it makes it seem less like homework and more like something they have control over. However, if books like The Great Gatsby are falling by the wayside in favor for the new Gossip Girls installment, I'm not sure it's worth it. Maybe I'm just trying to hang on to the way things were, but enduring novels endure for good reason: they bring something human and universal that exists outside time and place.

I agree with the stance taken here: create supervised reading lists and then allow students to choose from the list. Eliminate point systems and instead shoot for what really matters in reading: engaging with the text, talking about it with others as the book is read and digested, choosing books that peak an interest instead of how many points it has. This sort of shepherded reading ensures that kids don't miss out on great books just because they're difficult or long or boring but also reserves their place in the process, giving them the sense of ownership of the experience.

Everyone seems to have an opinion on this? Any thoughts?

Self-Cleaning Family Members

2009-08-28T10:17:00.004-06:00

I have a song stuck in my head. Right now, typing this. It's just looping over and over. And it's been like that for the past couple days, this snippet of a song rolling back and forth around my head. You know that Lonely Island song On A Boat*? Yeah, it's one very short bit that song, only with different lyrics, which are these:

I got a cat, mother-effer, don't you ever forget**

And then sometimes, it rolls into:

I got a cat and
It's got a tail and

If you know the song, you can hear it, can't you? If you don't know what I'm talking about, go educate yourself (but pay attention to that asterisk).

Anyway, the point of this whole thing is that we finally got a cat. A skinny little pooper (literally: she shat herself twice--TWICE--on the way home from the Humane Society) named Gilda***. She's roughly eight years old, is already litter-box trained (bonus!) and totally loves to nuzzle and cuddle with you.

Especially, as the Wife and I found out recently, at night. When you are trying to sleep. She likes to pick out a comfy spot on the end of the bed, which is fine. But then, when you move or roll over, she attacks you or checks up to see if, you know, you might be up for some midnight petting, just in case.

I know I slept. I must have. But last night--the first in which G-Kitty--was allowed to hang in the bedroom with us felt like one of those endless nights. Like you're on an overnight bus through South America and the seats are too small or you have some sort of huge presentation or test the next day. One of those nights that. Just. Won't. End. I had visions--brief and totally hallucinatory!--of flinging said kitty out the door and worse.

In the end I scooped her up, deposited her outside in the hall and shut the door. But she was like a ghost or something, because she ended up right back where she started. It was baffling and angrifying. I sort of felt like God might be laughing at us a bit, chuckling as this skinny little puffball gamely thwarted our attempts at REM. Finally, I got her outside and the door closed quickly enough--clipping my own head in the process--that sleep was had by all.

Though, and here's the nugget of this little ramble, this whole episode made me consider children. Our neighbor's have a few-month old (Yeah, yeah: I don't know how old she is. Oh well.) and she was testing out those pipes last night. Hanging out on our back deck I was glad I didn't have to deal with that. And then Gilda showed me what was up.

And so the realization of what having kids someday will be like: of being drag-ass tired from work and having a totally helpless human who needs everything done for it right now. Of having sleepless nights and not being able to lock the kid in the bathroom. Of all the other innumerable sleep-related challenges that come with being a parent--not to mention, like, everything else that comes when you sign up for Children.

Essentially, what you're getting from this is my self-centeredness. I'm not ready for a Mini-Murtaugh to be running around this joint. Having a silent self-cleaning addition to the family is enough right now. I can't imagine one who doesn't know how to poop in a litter box--though, as I've been told by a number of parents, the love that comes with your own progeny is unreal and totally unexpected. So there's always that.

Anyway, those are Things To Come. For now, I'll take the four-legged addition we've got and work on getting a new, less offensive song stuck in my head.

*Viewers be warned: not suitable for the young 'uns
**I actually sing the real word, 'cause I'm bad like that?
***As in Gilda Radner, not, as many people have thought, The Good Witch of the South. Her name was Glenda.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Punchline

2009-08-21T08:14:00.007-06:00

I know, I know: this is a total cop out.

But I haven't had the gumption to post anything original or meaningful of late and, in the instant world of the Internets, an empty blog is a dead blog. So, to keep the three of you happy and this here ship afloat, check out this for-real headline [i.e., not from The Onion] from my news feed this morning:

American Nuns Question Vatican Probes

When I got to the actual website, it'd been changed to "American Nuns Question Vatican Scrutiny", for obvious reasons. (By the way? Yes, I'm aware I'm like twelve years old.) And I would've been content to stop there, giggle, throw up a humorous headline and go about by my day. But then, you know, I read the article.

And of course, it's more complicated than clever (?) word play.

Here's the gist of the piece: the Vatican, headed by Pope Benedict XVI, is "investigating the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, an umbrella group that represents about 90 percent of women's orders. In February, the Vatican wrote the leadership conference, asking the group to clarify its stand on three doctrinal issues: that only men can be priests; that homosexual practice should not be sanctioned; and that the Catholic Church provides the way to salvation."

Essentially, the Church is checking up on the women in its fold to make sure they're "on track", staying "faithful" to the teachings and mission of the Church. Which comes as an affront to the faithful--"We wouldn't believe that we've done anything to create the need for this," says one sister. The crux of the issue is the reason behind: why, exactly, are American nuns being brought under scrutiny?

The answer is unclear, but the article suggests the Vatican may be nervous about the liberalizing effect of Vatican II and sisters who engage in activities the Church does not align itself with--like the caring for of homosexual people or speaking out against injustice within the Church, for example.

This, of course, is conjecture. The Vatican hasn't said why it's investigating it's American sisteren (?), and so all anyone can do is theorize. There may be other reasons for the spiritual audit, but on the face of it, it causes hackles to rise. And I'm not even Catholic.

The insinuation is that the Vatican needs to keep an eye on the women of the Church, and more so, needs to step in when it thinks things are getting out of hand. This is something, noted in the article, the Church did not do when the priest-abuse scandals came to light in the last few years. And yet it's "warranted" here?

While the politics (in the Church? Gasp!) of the whole situation are more nuanced than I can unravel, I have to side with the nuns. To join the Church is join a faith greater than the Church itself and, while the Church may be the guiding institutional organization, the true head of the Church is Christ. If these sisters are following Jesus and are honestly living out their faith, then the Vatican is irrelevant.

Besides, there's no point in trying to shut these sisters down and get them back on message. "I tell you," Jesus says in Mark 19:40, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." The fear of change and of evolution (!) of the Church may be strong, but the love of Christ--and those who follow him--is greater still. Hallelujah.

(Online) Death and Resurrection

2009-08-12T10:06:00.006-06:00

I recently got the news from my online book groups moderator that our little collective will be folding. I guess nothing in this economy is safe (zing!). It seems that keeping 50 randomly assorted people on track for reading and discussing a book via the Internet just isn't working very well. People don't read the book or, if they do, they don't comment. And even then, that physical connection--animated discussion, food and wine, the presence of others--is lost.

Another ding against the Internet and "bringing people together." Oh well.

About bringing people together: the last book on our agenda--Resurrection--before imminent shut down was certainly one to create division. I know it's left me in an awkward spot.

The book, by Tucker Malarkey (which I think is pretty awesome, in context), is sort of like a chick-lit version of The Da Vinci Code; similar thematic material, but without all the crazy puzzles and albino monks and more gentle caresses and smoldering looks. Still, at the center, is conspiracy and Christianity and, most importantly, Gnosticism.

In brief, and without recounting the fictionalized account of the real source documents, Malarkey's argument is the Early Church suppressed "inconvenient" gospel accounts of Jesus' life and teachings, teachings that emphasized knowledge over faith, an emphasis on the role of women, on the importance of knowing the self, that avoided things like physical resurrection and salvation, etc. Malarkey weaves this information into a retelling of the discovery of these texts at Nag Hammadi, creating historical fiction with a bone to pick.

This is, obviously, contentious stuff. It brings up important questions, for the religiously inclined or otherwise: are there pieces missing from the canonized Bible? What's been left out? Does that change the nature of God? What do I believe now, if this is called into question? Is it heresy? Or not?

These are the kinds of questions I've been dealing with of late. It's not exactly a crisis of faith, but it does present doubt, or at least uncertainty. It makes my footing uncertain and definitely rocks the boat. It would be easy to ignore it, but that seems disingenuous. I would rather struggle with it, read the actual documents and come to some kind of conclusion on my own. My hope is that my faith would be strengthened through testing and evaluation, not weakened. Though there is always that nubbin of fear.

So, it's a process. We'll see where it goes.

As for Resurrection? I'll admit the character development was more nuanced than I would have expected, but even still, a lot of the secondary plot (who loves whom?) was pretty easy to jump ahead on. It was a quick read and I found myself enjoying it, but it's not a book that makes me want to read the reset of Malarkey's work. But if you're up for historical fiction with a conspiracy theory and a little romance at the center, take it to the beach with you this summer.

All Mixed Up

2009-08-08T09:17:00.003-06:00

I've begun noticing a new trend, or if not new, at least new to me: corporate blogging. Not blogs run by corporations, because those have certainly been around for a while, but something more like a testimonial blog.

I have friends who are hardcore DIYers and so, when they started blogs a few years back, talked a lot about projects they were into or stuff they were making and posted photos to prove it. Dandy. Fast-forward a bit and their well-written and interesting blogs have picked up decent readership, some of whom happen to be PR people.

The PR folks email and ask if the respective blogger wouldn't be interested in trying out their product and blogging about it. Free goods in exchange for free press and reviews from credible sources to an ever-wider audience.

I can see why it makes sense and I'm not railing on my friends who've undertaken this--they are fair and balanced, pointing out benefits and flaws of certain products--but it does make me wonder about how the nature of blogging. On the one hand, I want to say it's an individual thing and so should not be "held hostage" to corporate interests; on the other, blogging is so new and still fairly amorphous that I'm not sure it's fair to put restrictions on what it can and can't be. This isn't the unbiased press, after all, it's personal opinion.

Perhaps I'm just uneasy of the lines blurring, from the freedom blogging and the Internet allows to a more controlled form of media and publishing. Then again, who the hell am I? If KitchenAid wanted to send me a new mixer to test and blog about, would I say no? Probably not. And is that really so bad, anyway? Do I suddenly become beholden?

I don't think so. But it niggles at the back of my mind, not sitting totally right for some reason. Maybe KitchenAid should send me that mixer and then I'll let you know how I feel about it...

Hot, Hot Heat

2009-07-30T09:39:00.005-06:00

A scene: for the last few days it has been over a hundred degrees here in Portland. Sweltering, furnace-style heat. And humid to boot. Eighty degrees by eight in the morning. Sweating checking email or doing dishes, literally hemorrhaging water. Exercise is out of the question, walking to the store is a task thought about long and hard.

Around noon the city shuts down. People hurry around in the relative cool of the morning hours, doing their shopping, stocking up for the rest of the day, and then retreat. By noon we're a ghost town. From behind the counter of my "air conditioned" employment, we wipe down coolers and restock our shelves. The occasional brave soul shows up, always for something cool to drink. Our lights are off, our fans kicked on high. It's still eighty-five inside.

Our interactions center on our bafflement. How long will it last? How hot can it really get? Simmering fears of global warming and fears of the new regime bubble over. We push water on one another: drink up! We compare tips for staying cool, lament and complain, rally around our mutual miserableness. It gives us a shimmering center.

After work the are hours of sunlight left. Even after the sun goes down, the heat remains, trapped in pavement and soil and our poorly insulated homes. We are quite nearly baked alive. The night may be the worst of all: waiting for a breeze, a bit of relief while trying to sleep. It takes forever, turning over and over in sodden sheets. Shortened tempers flare, fights are started and carry on, nerves already burned down to the nub short-out.

But: respite does come. Early morning, before dawn. A mattress slung onto the back deck, in a hammock, sacked out on the grass. Cool breezes abound and the stars have not quite faded. The sky begins to lighten and if you are awake it all seems worth it: the heat has driven us, briefly, outside and given a view of something we may otherwise miss.

The return of the sun, the slow unveiling of trees and clouds and the endless sky. A passel of geese winging low over the roof toward the river and cool shelter. Jays and sparrows in the apple tree. Shadows still wreath the house, the yard, the trees under which we are half-asleep. A kind of dream, a kind of reverie. Perhaps the cooling breath of God.

Soon the heat will dissipate, the fever will break and we will spend our evenings inside again. We will again wake to brocade ceilings and alarms instead of bird song and an open sky. The heat will quickly become something we talk about in terms of survival, the small scraps of silver lining burned off.

So be it. But may there be loose threads to remind us there are morning stars and geese and breezes. That there is always more than simple, oppressive heat.

I Don't Know Much

2009-07-21T18:17:00.005-06:00

Four days. That's the running tally of how long I've been a married man. Recently, every time I've talked to someone, it's the first thing they bring up. I thought I'd beat you all to the punch this time.

Four days. It doesn't seem all that long, but the whole thing seems light years away already. So much build up for a ludicrous-speed, what?, four hours? It went something like this: rehearse!; run around and get ready; chill out in the pool; dress; sweat out in the sun taking pictures and walking around aimlessly; talk to friends and family not seen for a long time in brief spurts; push heart out of throat, back into appropriate cavity; stand in front of 150 people until the love of your life shows up; lose functional memory.

There was a homily, some songs, we repeated some (very important) words and prayed. We made out (church tongue, no worries) and people clapped. We took more pictures, tried to meet everyone who had showed up, ate some, danced (a very little) bit, were joyously toasted and then pelted mercilessly with birdseed. Somehow we got away into our new, conjoined life.

In the lengthy debrief over midnight champagne in a private hot tub (heck yes!), after our gratefulness to our friends and family, the speed of the whole thing and how damned hungry we both were, the thing that came up most noticeably was how incomplete I still felt. So much planning, so much worrying and schlepping and brain space devoted to this thing, and it just didn't quite resolve the way I wanted.

I wanted closure, some semblance of understanding. I wanted to say "I do" and have it all click: this is what marriage means. But it doesn't work like that.

And it shouldn't. As a sacrament, something created by God, it shouldn't be readily understood. Mystery is integral. Marriage is a journey, a thing to be undertaken by two people together, toward an end neither of them can imagine. A wedding solidifies that commitment, starts the marriage off and gets it going. But it is just the beginning.

So: after fours days, that's all I've figured out. That's a pretty good start, I'd say.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, the only three photos of the wedding I've been able to scrounge up yet (thanks to Andy). Enjoy:

The Happy Couple, pre-wedding

The Hitchin' Tree

Ringing me took some work...I have fat phingers, wut?

Walking the Line

2009-07-07T12:49:00.004-06:00

A few weeks back I put up a long and rambling post about my garden, specifically, and the natural world, in general. I was trying to wrap my head around what it means to care for creation--plants and rocks and water and bugs and four-legged, two-legged, all-legged animals--in a way that balances out with the reality of humanity.

I'm still struggling. The answer, I think, is stewardship (not Wise Use), but I have yet to understand the pragmatic approach to that kind of thinking. Humans need to eat and live and survive, and that necessarily means some kind of impact on the world we live in--and not a positive one. Simply be existing, we change the world. So how do we find balance? What are the steps we take and where are the lines drawn?

I'm not sure. Neither is David Quammen, but since he's way more intelligent and eloquent than I am, I'll let him explain what I'm talking about:

"It's complicated, I admit. We all carry our shares of responsibility, large or small, obvious or indirect, for the loss of the planet's wild places. We burn fuel, we eat food, we consume extravagant quantities of other resources whose production and delivery take a fateful toll, and most consequentially, we bear children whose needs and demands will vastly multiply our own impacts through time. Who's to say what is or isn't a "reasonable" amount of personal self-interest or an "acceptable" amount of further attrition, justified on the grounds that, say, jobs are at stake? Who's to say that this or that forest shouldn't be cleared for a solid, pragmatic purpose suiting one group of people or another? That this or that river shouldn't be dammed or dewatered or channelized? That this or that species of butterfly or lizard shouldn't be consigned to extinction? That this or that compromise shouldn't be made? We all need to be willing and able to bed. Don't we? "

--Wild Thoughts from Wild Places (p. 108), D. Quammen

Quammen answers in the middle: yes, but there is a point at which I will bend no further. That we must all cease to bend, because we have crossed a line. He doesn't say where that line is, only that it exists.

This is the heart of the struggle: finding the place to stiffen and take responsibility for standing strong, protecting those things under my stewardship. And then, once the line is drawn, figuring out how to stay on the right side of it.

Geek Love

2009-07-02T00:13:00.007-06:00

I have a big, fat crush on the Movie Store Guy. It's true. His sly auteur smirk, his witty trashing of bad movies, his total ignorance of my existence. Ah, bromance.

When I walk into his video-packed lair--hence the name, Video Lair--I start thinking of something funny or pithy or at least slightly relevant to say. Something that will distinguish me from the everyday hacks looking for Beverly Hills Chihuahua or whatever the new Renee Zellweger thing is. I want to spark a gleam in those heavily-lidded brown eyes, something more than passive annoyance. A chuckle would be like striking gold.

The Fiancee gives me a hard time about this. I try to shrug her off, but she's right: I really want this guy to like me. At least to remember me. There's something about his cool, removed demeanor, his male pattern baldness, his witheringly brief denouncement of the Oscars that I want to connect with. His intelligence? His knowledge of film? Maybe I just want to up my cred in some weird corner of nerd-dom*.

Sigh.

Am I the only one out there to have this awkward (and sort of freaky) affinity for someone who, otherwise, is a total stranger? Or does this happen to other people, too--with the guy who runs the falafel cart, your dental hygienist, the GreenPeace guy who's always on the same corner, whomever? Anybody?

Man, I sure hope so. Or this is gonna leave me out on one very long limb...

*"Nerd-dom" is meant like Christendom or a general kingdom, as in an area including a group of people, in this case, nerds. Not like in, you know, domination of nerds. See what I'm saying? Right. Just clarifying.

2009-06-26T20:18:00.001-06:00

"We must live each day like it is our last" -- Michael Jackson

I Speak for the Tomatoes!

2009-06-25T08:12:00.004-06:00

Hosing down my tiny garden yesterday I realized I hadn't spent much time with the local residents of my back deck. I hadn't gotten down and groomed or pruned them, I didn't really know what was up in their little veggie lives. I decided to get down on my hands and knees and see what was what.

What I saw? Frightening. Spiders living in my lettuce! My tomato plant effectively killing all the carrots trying to grow beneath its massive bulk! Radishes with no roots! Egads, veggies, what's going on? Why did no one tell me!?

I sprang--okay, I quickly kneeled--into action. Gloved and clippered, I yanked out the offending lettuce and had to put the sad little radishes out of their misery. Then I went to work on the tomatoes. In the two plus months they've been in residence on my back deck, I haven't done anything to them, other than water. I had a very laissez-faire thing going on. No longer.

A mature tomato plant is a tangly jungle, let me tell you. Everything is green--including the nascent tomatoes--and so each clip matters. Follow the branch to the root, and then cleanly *snip* and move on. I was into it, I was rocking: I was out to gut the sucker. And then I did.

In a pruning frenzy, I accidentally clipped the main branch of the plant. The eight green tomatoes hanging, peacefully photosynthesizing away? Suddenly in my hand. I had gone too far. Nothing was left except the main stalk and a few sucker branches. This unfortunate mishap got me thinking--or looped me back to--the idea of stewardship.

Back in the day, a steward was appointed by a king to watch over their kingdom when the king went off to war; the steward was expected to manage the kingdom while remembering they did not "own" the kingdom. It was a position of great power and responsibility, but also of great service.

This term stewardship has picked up currency in environmental circles--stewardship of the earth, land, forests, etc.--and holds the same meaning: each generation should wisely manage the earth and its resources for the next generation; we do not own the earth and so we need to treat it well now so future generations can benefit. The ethic is based on wise management, of cultivation over domination, and has a strong element of love imbued in the simple existence of nature and its aesthetic qualities--this matters simply because it is--that transfer into benefit for others beyond ourselves.

Stewardship, as a kind of service, demands more time and energy, a greater knowledge and understanding of the thing being watched over. It is not a passive role or something done from far away--a steward must be intimate with her ward, to know how best to direct and manage it. In this sense, there is an inherent limit to stewardship: one can only truly manage--and manage well--so much. Once the land gets too big or the kingdom or the farm too large, intimate knowledge and hands-on management are replaced by generalities and abstraction.

Which is how I got into trouble with my garden: I wasn't a steward, I was just a consumer. I did the bare minimum to get what I wanted out of my plants and didn't invest in their care or management. This was a dominion mindset and it's one that, naturally, led to more destruction and loss of resources than benefit for me or my plants.

Even in the face of such loss and destruction, it's hard to switch the mindset away from using a resource to get what I (or you or any of us) want to carefully managing it to ensure its viability long after we are gone. The selflessness of stewardship does not come easy, especially in a culture that demands Everything for Me, Right Now. This is an ages old struggle (Prodigal Son, Ceasar Agustus, Monsanto), but it may be harder than ever as we slip farther from the roots of reality.

None of this is clear, to me or to most people. How do we go about being good stewards? What are the practical steps? Can we switch our focus from dominion to careful management and protection? And what would that look like--not just environmentally, but in all facets of our lives? I'm not sure--but for now I'll start with my garden. The first step is always just to get your hands dirty.

*This post was getting absurdly long, so I cut it off, but there are a few things I wanted to mention super briefly in bullet form:

- A lot of this stuff has been percolating because of Matthew Dickerson's book Elves, Ents and Eriador: The Environmental Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien. An odd way to be introduced to stewardship? Maybe. But totally effective.

- I really wanted to stress the Christian connection to stewardship, but, like I said, this thing was getting out of hand. Anyway: it's there, it's a huge piece of it and someday I'll come back to it.

Vital Cat-Related Information For Your Everyday Life

2009-06-22T07:55:00.004-06:00

It's been brought to my attention that some of you (one of you?) out there need resolution: did we, in fact, bring home the cat from the Humane Society? Is she our new best friend? Is she doing that weird cat-wretching thing under the bed?

Survey says? No. No we did not.

After much deliberation, the drinking of beer whilst laying out pros and cons and some serious hemming and hawing, we decided to give up our claim on dear Jacqueline. It was a rough process, let me assure you: there was sleep lost in a very literal sense. But in the end, The Fiancee and I were able to come to consensus, which was that maybe we should wait another month or so until, you know, after the wedding.

And, while we are remain catless for the time being, I must say it was a really interesting learning experience. Emotion and love were on the line in this one and the two people making the call did not agree, which led to some pretty intense lobbying. And what do you do in that kind of a situation? Shut down and go your own way? Or try to see the other perspective and work it out?

And this was just a cat, right? So what happens when we do this again over the color of a new car or picking out a stove (gas!) or the name of our first born and on and on? This was more about our relationship and less about the cat--okay, it was still mostly about the cat, but at least we learned a little about ourselves, too. Kind of like an episode of The Wonder Years (note: when we get a cat, totally naming it Fred Savage!).

I love it when my problems are wrapped up neatly within half an hour, with a moral to boot. God bless America.

Eyes Open

2009-06-20T08:41:00.005-06:00

I have been having a bit of a geek-out recently. Do you have those books, or TV shows, or movies that impact you on a deep level, the kind of connection that blurs the line between reality and fiction? I do.

It happened the first time with The West Wing. I loved that show so much; I wanted, in a very real way, for Jed Bartlett and his crew of liberal Democrats to run the country. I wanted them all to be real people, to carry over the fictional reality and make it real-reality. I've had similar feelings for things like Joss Whedon's Firefly and Sports Night and Freaks and Geek--mostly TV, as it turns out.

But this most recent geek-out goes way back in time, a sort of odd revisiting of something I've known well but hadn't really found the connection for until now. I've fallen in deep smit with J.R.R. Tolkien, again and in a whole new way.

Here's the skinny: I recently picked up a fascinating book by Matthew Dickerson called Elves, Ents and Eriador: The Environmental Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien. It's a book that looks at Tolkien's environmental vision (without calling him an "environmentalist") through his legendarium (awesome word!) of The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion and other works.

Now: this is an awesome premise to begin with. I've read the LOTR a few times, or in chunks and bits, and so already have a great love of the work. But getting a new perspective that applies to real life, and a part of that life that is imminently important, is quite moving. To see the ecology and environmental vision of Tolkien played out in one of the most imagination-capturing works is pretty great.

But, that's not quite the depth of my new geekdom. Rather, it goes farther back and to a deeper place. To understand Tolkien's environmental ethic as presented in LOTR, Dickerson draws a correlation to Tolkien's Christian worldview and explains that, essentially, Tolkien has taken this Christian worldview and spun it into fiction. While they are not absolutely similar, the basis for the ethic in his fiction is real-world Christian system; Tolkien has said as much himself.

And, for one more leap, to ensure that readers clearly understand the way Tolkien set up his environmental vision in his fiction, Dickerson briefly recounts Tolkien's creation story, which can be found in The Silmarillion. This is ground zero, where my fascination and love of Tolkien hits bedrock.

This was my realization: Tolkien's creation story, taken in part from the Christian version, is more effecting (to me) than the biblical account. What I mean is that, though I believe the biblical Creation story, it does not move me in the way that Tolkien's version does. I've tried to understand why this might be, and the answer I've come up with is fairly simple.

Tolkien's version is different in two ways that my experience of the biblical creation story. Firstly, it is new and vastly different; when I read Tolkien, I was already familiar with the story in Genesis. I had absorbed it and it had become a part of my knowledge; it was old hat. Tolkien, on the other hand, was unlike anything I'd read before and so had the power to capture my imagination.

On top of that, whether consciously or not, I associated the biblical story with Tolkien's, and so found ways to overlap them. I could sense the places where they matched and so I felt a kind of deeper connection to Tolkien's version. In a sense, I already knew it.

Secondly, I knew Tolkien's version to be fiction. This is a difficult line to walk, because in essence the admission is that I have an easier time believing something I know to be fiction than by something I know to be True. If that's the case, do I really think it's true? This is not an insignificant question, since it gets at the heart of a Christian reality: did God create us? Or not?

It's a massive question, but at the moment the thing I think is more interesting (and another aha! for me) is that God works through literature. People are built for story--it's how we communication and make meaning--and so the fact that a fictional creation account can be so moving is not really surprising. I don't find it upsetting that I am drawn to an account that is not biblical (especially since the one is built upon the other), but rather a confirmation that God really is present.

At the heart of all this is an awe that narrative, the work of man, can be used for the purposes of God. That I (and others) can find truth in a form that does not necessarily purport to be anything other than a good story; that God can come at us sideways. Sometimes that's the only way we'll pay attention: when we don't see it coming.

Who knows where He'll show up next. Keep your eyes open.

Shot to the Heart

2009-06-16T23:29:00.005-06:00

You know what can really jack up your day? When your Fiancee falls in love with another woman. Specifically one named Jacqueline who likes to lick herself and engage in some seriously heavy petting in public. Really throws a kink in the plans.

Here's a picture of the offender:

What's worse? We'd only just met Jacqueline when she started gettin' up in my lady's business, all cuddling and working her pretty little mojo. Into her lap in no time. And me, just sitting there, helpless. Humane Society--ha! Inhumane Society says I.

And then, of course, the only thing we talked about the rest of the day was Jacqueline. Jacqueline this and Jacqueline that; Where will she sleep? When can we go pick her up? I wonder what kind of collar she'd like? Never mind there's a wedding to plan and, you know, my feelings to be thinking about.

Sigh.

She is cute though, I'll give her that. And playful. And if the rat we found in our basement this weekend comes back, I'll bet she'd give him whatfor. Still: adding one more life to this crazy puzzle we're trying to figure out? I don't know. Sure, she doesn't need to use the car or snore (probably?) or eat the last of the salsa, but she'll have needs, too. And bills. And maybe, according to her paperwork, a slight incontinence problem.

It's one of those things nobody tells you how to deal with. Like Chinese finger traps or babies. Yeah, it's "just a cat", but when you throw a four-legged love machine with claws into the mix, things change. That's not a decision to take on lightly, no sirree. Especially when it could end up with poo on the floor.

So for now Jacqueline is still hanging out at the Humane Society. But if the winds don't change, we'll probably have one more crazy mammal running around this joint. I just hope I get to keep my side of the bed...

PS: Did you know there's no waiting period to adopt an animal? It's like: walk in, find adorable future pet, fill out a one-pager, pass a brief interview, fork over the cash and BAM! you're a new parent. That's easier than having a for-real baby or buying a handgun. Does that surprise anyone else? And is it weird that I equate adopting a cat to the purchase of a firearm?

The Yellow Goop of Community

2009-06-10T10:06:00.003-06:00

The Finacee and I, along with friends of ours, threw our first official dinner party here in Portland. Sure we've had people over for dinner, but that's been a four-person kind of event; this rolled out into 9 folks with an actual menu and plan of attack. A legitimate party for the eating of dinner.

Things went pretty well. The polenta didn't burn, nobody was allergic to anything we served, the wine was fine (Charles Shaw, I have a feeling, is making the rounds at quite a few dinner parties these days), a good time was had by all. People met and mingled, chowed down and then slowly filtered away as people at a dinner party on a Tuesday night tend to do.

By all measures it was a success. And yet something didn't feel quite right. The whole experience wasn't sitting comfortably, the way I'd imagined it would. I had seen this as a springboard into bigger and better things.

And that didn't quite happen and the reason is clear to me now: it's hard to build community. The 9 of us were in various state of relationship with the others; some of us had never met, some were married, some were not. The ties were multilayered and so we ended up looking like a really complicated Ven diagram, trying to find the points where we all intersected. And that's hard work.

We found commonality, certainly, and that helps. But what really matters is repetition. One dinner party does not a friendship make; it requires a lot of dinner parties--and all kinds of other interactions, too. This is nothing groundbreaking, but coming to the realization that my deepest desire to host a dinner party was to create Insta-Community is interesting.

In a new town, trying to dig up a new life that makes sense, the creation of a social network, of a community, is critical. Luring a bunch of differnt people to a house and feeding them is one way to do that; but it's not the only way. And it can't be just a one time thing. So my unease with the way things turned out is not so much that anything went wrong, it's just that I was hoping for too much too quickly.

This is all new. Cobbling together community is kind of like making polenta: you dump stuff into a pot and then you stir. And stir. And stir. Add some heat and keep stirring. It takes a long time for anything to solidfy. The trick is to keep at it, even when it just looks like yellow goop. It'll get there. Eventually.

An Electronic Easter

2009-06-02T19:42:00.005-06:00

A month+ in people-days is like a kajillion years in cyberspace: there's so much happening all the time, so much new content in the 60/60/24/7 world of the interweb that anything less than constant vigilance results in obscurity. It's a little like the Theory of Relativity; everything online is moving so much faster, I've aged and become irrelevant--Poof!--just like that.

Electronically speaking I have, I'm sure, ceased to exist.

The main deterrent to not blogging more was the simple lack of internet access. Until, um, an hour ago?, I didn't have access at home and my new job doesn't really afford the opportunity, nor means, to take a hit off ye olde internet bong. So online time was relegated to quick spurts at the library or a coffee shop, all of which went to stuff like banking and email and watching YouTube. By the time a good idea for a blog entry rolled around, I was fried.

No longer. Now that The Fiancee (soon to be The Wife!) and I are both working, we can afford the extra scratch to mainline ourselves back into the 21st century. Huzzah.

It will be an experiment of sorts. We've grown accustomed over the last six months or so to not have daily access. Will the Google suck us away from ourselves and each other? Will she get consumed by Facebook? Will I lose myself in posting here, as I once did? Will our nascent vegetables and damned ugly lawn suffer? I will admit it's a concern; but the pull of the internet and all it entails was just too much.

So here I am, back again. There's a lot rolling around in my meat computer: books I've read, thoughts I've thunk that I hope to spin out in electronic etchings. The need to commune and blog and write, even if no one ever comments (except for Jason and Jake), that's okay. The forum is the thing.

That said, it's also probably good to limit myself. There's a lot more going on these days: work to be worked, a garden and house to attend to, an imminent wedding to plan, a wife to learn to love, a life to live. So Flash Pointe will still be a part of it, still an outlet, something I hope to keep up fairly regularly. Much more than once ever month or so, but also I intend not to post out of idleness. That's just a waste of time, and Lord knows there are plenty of other ways to waste your time online.

In that vein, and as a return to regular programming, I'll slap up here a very funny and appropriate commentary from poet and author Andrei Codrescu [make sure you listen to the audio link; his reading is critical]. Enjoy it, as usual.

At the Altar

2009-04-29T11:12:00.004-06:00

As has been noted by one of two regular commentators, I've been fairly absent of late. All work and no Internet make it tough to get a post up on any sort of consistent basis. With no cable or wireless at home, I find myself (gasp!) reading or gardening or cooking or doing all manner of things disconnected from a screen and keyboard.

It's a good thing, mostly. And yet part of me misses the frequency with which I used to interact here at FP. The stuff I could cull from the vastness of digital space and put here, the thoughts and musings that percolated out of the ether to be captured--if you can really "capture" something that's not physical and of which actual existence could be argued.

This idea of reality, as framed through these new-fangled screens--smaller, higher res, everpresent--is the new paradigm. How we deal with a world that is ever more fractured and and ever more connected (in one sense of the word) is one of the many meta-questions we're contending with these days and with which we'll continue to wrestle.

Add to this a Christian worldview--implanted on top of? or beneath?--and things get more puzzling. As those who embrace a theology and culture and history built upon the written word, on sacrement and study and text, this unmooring into a digital world presents troubles. As Toddy Burton asks, In the era of the screen, how do we remain people of the book?

Do we simply reinvent the book, scan it and put it online? Is that helpful? Are more people reached, does the message of hope and peace and grace spread faster and more effectively? Is it an improvment? As Judas notes in Jesus Christ Superstar, Israel in 4BC had no mass communication; the connotation is that Christ should have come today, now (or in the '70s), when reaching more people more quickly would have been possible.

And yet that's not what happened. YouTubing the Sermon on the Mount wasn't in the plan; JesusChrist isn't on Twitter or FaceBook or MySpace. He meant to show up in the Middle East in a backwater burg, walk around for a three years, hang out with mobs and then get himself crucified as a criminal, all without kleig lights and post-production.

The stories--this unifying story, that explains everything--simply got retold and, eventually, written down. It started small and spread virally (as we're so used to these days) by word of mouth. It was epic, it requried time and attention. It wasn't the infomercial version, televangelist style. It required--as everything involving Jesus eventually does--commitment. It was a reality that made sense, a real reality. The ultimate.

As we descend futher into a myriad of realites, broken into web pages and instant messages, texts and emails, clinging to the real is crucial. Earth, water, wind, fire; the roughness of wood and iron; the heavy lightness of belief and truth. The really real. Step back from the altar of the screen, just for a moment, and see if you can't find the connection struggling to hold you centered.

In Silence

2009-04-16T11:10:00.004-06:00

Easter has passed. Arriving just when the dawn seems not to be rising, at the coldest hour, it explodes in sunlight and purple-laden majesty. It takes us by surprise, by storm, and shakes us to our roots, if we'll let it. And then, like the best and greatest mysteries, it vanishes into the sky.

And we are left, here, on Earth to contend with what's left. A fading joy that is all too quickly crowded out by the worries and problems of the day, small and large; sick children, modern-age piracy, the looming end of an age swaddled in threats of planetary realignment and upheaval. Easter is forgotten and it seems the darkness of Lent has returned.

And so the questions of doubt and faith and reckoning center on suffering, the suffering common to us all, including, in the case of Easter, Christ. In that vein, Robert Krulwich--a host of Radiolab, a fabulous radio show out of WNYC--takes us back to the Bible to look at the suffering inherent in the human condition-- and how we as humans connect that suffering to God and how we try to make sense of it. Though not specifically mentioned, making the leap to the miracle of Easter is not difficult.

*You can also find the podcast on iTunes by searching for "Radiolab".

Quantify Me!

2009-04-15T09:43:00.003-06:00

Alright all you saavy web-trawlers out there: you've probably seen Indexed, but I just got wind and wanted to share the awesome glory that is random (and oddly telling) graphs on note cards zapped straight to the internets. Observe:

If you dig it, you can vote to give Indexed a Webby Award. Also: you should vote to give the American News Project a Webby, too.

KA-BOOM!

2009-04-13T14:06:00.002-06:00

Headline from The Oregonian:

SPOKANE PARKS TO DETONATE SQUIRRELS

Awesome.

The End of the The Road

2009-04-13T13:04:00.003-06:00

Of late progress on The Recession Project has picked up a bit; a week or so back I finished Haven Kimmel's A Girl Named Zippy, powering through it in two days. And just the other day, I wrapped up Cormac McCarthy's The Road, also making short work of the novel.

The Road has been written up more times than I care to mention and adorned myriad Best Of lists, so I won't spend time trumpeting the success of McCarthy's latest novel. The novel speaks for itself.

Reviewers speak of love and the strength of will to carry on--how the Man and the Boy support each other on a road that leads, literally, nowhere. The themes of compassion and love, of strength and responsibility, of our greatest and worst tendencies as humans are littered throughout and are often haunting. But what interests me is the presence of the Divine--and a benevolent Divinity at that.

Though shot-through with despair and longing, there are flickers of hope and Providence that I think under-girds the entire journey. It may be passed of as humanism, of the better nature of the human race surviving through a self-created apocalypse, but the references to God, the small acts of grace and compassion, are more than that.

These moments are seen most clearly in the Boy. I presume the Boy has grown up in a world devoid of decency, a post-apocalyptic world in which the structure of culture and human interaction has reverted to a base level of survival. The Leviathan has never existed for this child. And yet, bred into this world of kill-or-be-killed, there is an inbred desire (need?) to provide for others, to show compassion, to show grace.

This is not necessarily human. The human response is shown by the other characters: the Man, the other travelers they meet (the "bad guys"). Though it may not mean eating others or pillaging the weak, even now, in modern society, our default setting is self-preservation. So the instinct to provide is not a human instinct--it is superhuman, it is divine.

The other major implication of God is "the Fire", carried by the Man and the Boy and mentioned throughout. This is never explained: what is the Fire? Where is it being carried? The assumption (my assumption) is that the Fire is the human spirit, the soul, that is being kept alive to be passed along if ever possible. It is something to be guarded and shared with others.

While the Fire, too, may be simply written off as life, the need to survive, the sense I felt when it was brought up was something greater, something interior. It is separate from the body, though kept within the bounds of the body--and if it is not part of us, it must have been created from outside and given to us. It is other and it, too, is superhuman, divine.

The Road is indeed a novel full of despair and deep, deep darkness, but it does not ignore the flickering flame at the center of its tale. It submerges it, pushes it down as far as it can go, trying to drown it. And it cannot: the Flame remains, the hand continues to reach out. There is hope, even here.

Get. Out. Side.

2009-04-06T10:53:00.005-06:00

In honor of the righteous sun blowing up outside, this will be a super short post based on a question. Ready?

I have a theory that there are more automobile accidents/speeding tickets in the first few days of Spring. I have no scientific way to back this up, but here's my reasoning: after winters cooped up inside, freezing, dealing with crappy and emotion-sucking weather, the sun unleashes some kind of endorphin or something (a massive hit of Vitamin D?).

With this joy of warmth and blue skies upon them, people tend to roll their windows down, rock out to the radio and speed without thinking about it. At least I do: that release goes straight to my leadfoot; I'll often look down and realize I' m over by 15 miles or more.

So: even if this isn't a scientifically verifiable phenomenon, is it plausible? Can you swallow it? Are you with me?

And what else do you find yourself doing when it gets sunny out? Rooftop sunbathing? Fillin' up the kiddy pool? Naked backyard yoga? What's your poison?

Now get outside!

(Non)Learning Curve

2009-04-04T09:45:00.006-06:00

Somehow, I manage to always be slightly behind the curve. Like the time I realized how great M. Ward is the day after he played three shows in Portland--awesome. It seems I'm always catching up, hooking onto acts or books or movies that are already well known in the mainstream and so, by definition, are already expired in the "legitimately-cool" underground.

I guess listening to NPR and scoping New Yorker articles tags me as the hipster-come-lately that I am. Oh well. I can take it, mostly because it doesn't change the quality of my most recent "discovery" of Portland poet-brothers Michael and Matthew Dickman. I'd been hearing of them for the last few weeks--Michael did a reading the other night--but blew them off. Of course. And now I'm kicking myself. Good thing they live here, right?

Anyway, here's a smattering for your brain this Saturday. Heads up: it scrolls for a bit.

We Did Not Make Ourselves // Michael Dickman

We did not make ourselves is one thing
I keep singing into my hands
while falling
asleep

for just a second

before I have to get up and turn on all the lights in the house, one after the
other, like opening an Advent calendar

My brain opening
the chemical miracles in my brain
switching on

I can hear

dogs barking
some trees
last stars

You think you’ll be missed
it won’t last long
I promise

----

I’m not dead but I am
standing very still
in the back yard
staring up at the maple
thirty years ago
a tiny kid waiting on the ground
alone in heaven
in the world
in white sneakers

I’m having a good time humming along to everything I can still remember
back there

How we’re born

Made to look up at everything we didn’t make

We didn’t
make grass, mosquitoes
or breast cancer

We didn’t make yellow jackets

or sunlight

either

----

I didn’t make my brain
but I’m helping
to finish it

Carefully stacking up everything I made next to everything I ruined in broad
daylight in bright
brainlight

This morning I killed a fly
and didn’t lie down
next to the body
like we’re supposed to

We’re supposed to

Soon I’m going to wake up

Dogs
Trees
Stars

There is only this world and this world

What a relief
created

over and over

Lents District // Matthew Dickman

Whenever I return a fight breaks out
in the park, someone buys a lottery ticket,
steals a bottle of vodka, lights
a cigarette underneath the overpass.
I-5 rips the neighborhood in half
the way the Willamette rips the city in half,
it sounds like the ocean
if I am sitting alone in the backyard
looking up at the lilac.
This is where white kids lived
and listened to Black Sabbath
while they beat the shit out of each other
for bragging rights,
running in packs, carrying baseball bats
that were cut from the same hateful trees
our parents had planted
before the Asian kids moved in
to run the mini-marts
and carry knives to school, before the Mexicans
moved in and mowed everyone’s front yard—
white kids wanting anything
anybody ever took from them in shaved heads
and combat boots.
On the weekend our furious mothers
applied their lipstick
that left red cuts on the ends of their Marlboro Reds
and our fathers quietly did whatever
fathers do
when trying to beat back the dogs of sorrow
from tearing them limb from limb.
Lents, I have been away so long
I imagine that you’re a musical
some rich kid from New York wrote about credit,
debt, and then threw in Kool-Aid
to make it funny for everybody.
I can see the dance line,
the high kicks of the skinheads, twirling
metal pipes, stomping in unison
while the committed rage of the Gypsy Jokers
square off with the committed rage
of the single mothers.
The orchestra pit is filled with Pit bulls
and a Doberman conducts them all
into a frenzy.
In the end someone gets evicted, someone
gets jumped into his new family
and they call themselves Los Brazos,
King Cobras, South-Side White Pride.
Dear Lents,
Dear 82nd avenue, dear 92nd and Foster,
I am your strange son,
you saved me when I needed saving
and I remember your arms wrapped around
my bassinet like patrol cars wrapped around
the school yard
the night Jason went crazy—
waving his father’s gun above his head,
bathed in red and blue flashing lights,
all American, broken in half and beautiful.

Christmas in April?

2009-04-03T10:09:00.004-06:00

A week or so I got gently chastised for not putting up more detail about the "real life" The Fiance (TF) and I are living out here in the glories of Portland. Consider this the remedy, though I'll spare you the "Family Christmas Letter"-style update; small nuggets are easier to swallow anyway.

Since the economy is at the forefront of everything we do, let's start there. TF recently scored a pretty great interview w/a local hospital. Good people, great program, close to home. All good things: fingers are appropriately crossed.

As for yours truly, I've been on the hunt for three months and counting. Dipping in and out of various different activities, trying to find the right fit. Bread has been the focus--baking, that is--and suddenly, out of the blue [or slate-gray, if you're here], a job at a bakery pops up. Lovely.

The Situation rumbles on--details are coming together, all the small pieces we've neglected until now showing up to be dealt with. Where all these people are going to stay when they descend upon PDX? Lord only knows.

Speaking of descending: last week was all about hanging out w/friends from afar. Great beer, a fair amount of hot tubbing and dumb jokes, plus a super friendly howler monkey makes for an amazing vacation. Though it may take a while to air out the house...

Spring is slowly showing up around here. Still plenty of rain and gray days, but the sun is starting to make a play. We'll see. Garden plans on hold: expensive, what? The Recession Project remains a challenge--I'll be hard pressed to get the whole thing done by Dec. 31. Add in taxes, sick dogs, new jobs and all the other detritus of life, stuff gets complicated.

Speaking of which, aforementioned dog is begging for meds, so that'll do it. This comes off more like the Update Email than I'd been shooting for, but oh well. I'll try to keep it more concentrated in the future.

Braaaains! Aristocratic English Braaaains!

2009-03-27T09:48:00.004-06:00

Just a small blip, but the title and cover art are so awesome, I had to throw it up:

Sticky Vengence

2009-03-25T09:11:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I love Rube Goldberg-esque machinations. You know, the super complicated contraptions that do some unbelievably simple thing like make toast or open a door or, in the case below, smack the living goo out of a Cadbury egg? The human brain at it's finest.

As it turns out, in near direct proportion to my love for Goldbergian goodness, I detest on an almost debilitating level (okay, not quite) the Cadbury egg. That and Peeps can just fall into a hole and never be heard from again. So you can imagine my delight and good fortune when a modern-day Rube Goldberg takes the Cadbury egg to task.

Enjoy:

Reality Check

2009-03-22T08:35:00.005-06:00

I've been MIA for the last week or so, down in the hot hot heat of Arizona, land of street-legal golf carts and the never-ending farmer tan. Soaked up a lot of baseball, NCAA tourney action and an unhealthy amount of sun. It was good times and sad to see it go.

And now I'm back in PDX, where reality lives. Woke up to 40-degrees and threat of snow with no oil in the furnace. Had to shake off the doldrums, hoof it to the corner and catch the bus into the office where, if I can cobble enough hours together, I work for the day. Today was middling: four hours.

And now, in downtime, I return to a train of thought that stuck with me the whole week away: can you really take a vacation when you don't really have a job?

This is a sentiment born of fear and uncertainty, one concerned with keeping that damn furnace filled with oil, making phone payments and feeding ourselves. It's what tainted the edges of the baseball games I saw, the cold beer I drank, the sun I soaked up. The call of responsibility just wouldn't be quelled entirely.

But the question about my little vacation expands to a larger idea: what to do in a crap-hole economy like this one. Do you fight and scrap for any job you can? Or is it okay to let it slide for a while, "enjoy the time" as some have suggested I do, and feed off savings (if you have any)? Are there ethical implications to taking a break when you try and try and try and can't find a gig? Or are you bound by duty to go until you find something, anything, to piece it together?

As a Christian, there are implications of trust on top of all this. Yes, life is rough right now and jobs are scare, but are we not to trust even more, then, if we believe? A season of testing and all that? Does my inability to relax belie my anxiety and lack of faith? Or is that simply drive, the need to make a leap in faith that I will be provided for? Where do faith and acts intersect?

Beats me. And I'm sure this post isn't of much use, doesn't answer any questions and asks ones that may seem inane, but it's what's revolving around. Opine away if you'd like.

TED Head

2009-03-16T11:20:00.005-06:00

I read this NYT Magazine piece back in January and then promptly forgot about it. It's resurfaced, because I, too, am now a TED addict.

You think it can't take you, that once is no big deal. That's how it gets you: amazing topics crammed into insanely short segments. You start with one and then it builds and builds and builds. And then it's 2 hours later and you've done NOTHING all day.

This is where it started for me: Peter Reinhart on bread. And I have to say, listening to Peter talk about bread, about the amazing synthesis of nature leavened with not a little mysticism, it reinforces to me the need for me to make bread. It's the kick I've discovered of late, and it's turning into a full-fledged passion. It's what gets me going.

To wit: over the last few weekends I've baked multiple pizzas, various loaves of onion, wheat and sourdough breads, and amazing amounts of flatbread (amazing for a tiny-ass kitchen). This weekend alone I threw together biscuits (easy), some annoyingly elastic pizza/flatbread (bee-yotch!), and some seriously time-consuming croissant dough to make morning rolls. That's a lot of time in front of a very small oven (and a LOT of flour and butter...)

Anyway: the point is to go check out TED, not about my baking habit. There's more than just Peter, but all kinds of amazingly intricate, fascinating, funny talks on, almost literally, every topic under the sun. Dig into it--you won't be disappointed (though you may not be very productive).

Oh. That's Why I'm Fat.

2009-03-11T12:36:00.012-06:00

The name says it all: ThisIsWhyYou'reFat.com

Bad entertainment and worse food (Oh! my ulcer!), combined into a near-literal heart-stopping combination? Amazing? Yes. Dreadful? Double yes! A meatloaf cake with mashed potato frosting? A Twinkie-weiner sandwich? Whatever that things is? (pictured)

Yee gads, America! Eat a carrot!

Admittedly, part of the fun is scrolling along, thinking, No way! What's next!? The other part--which is kind of fun and mostly sad--is thinking about the people who a) eat this and b) sell this to people who will eat this. Funny, in a not-really-funny kind of way.

The photos are all by users of the site, which is free to join. So if you find/make a deep-fried Turducken wrapped in Kirspy Kremes, go ahead and submit. But be warned: someone else may be making a buck of your gut-busting work.

Oi vey. I'm eating a salad for lunch...

Carved in Pulp

2009-03-09T15:41:00.006-06:00

Note: This post used to be shorter and full of holes and errors. It’s longer now; the status of holes and errors is likely to be the same, or worse. --GMF

Of late I've been chewing on the idea of what it means to leave a record. For most of my life, I’ve been attached to a computer. Sure, I remember handwriting class—did anyone else have to go to a class like this? Or was it just me?—but really, since All the Right Type and Oregon Trail in elementary school, life has been about electronics. It’s how we were taught and it’s what we’re comfortable with.

My generation [sub-question: if I’m 25 in 2009, what generation does that make me part of? Early Gen. Y? Or Late-Late Gen X? Thoughts?] was right on that liminal edge of new/old technology—Trapper Keepers were still around; cell phones were just the solid brick kind; Duke Nukem was the latest rage; Twitter? FaceBook? Huh?—and so I think has some nostalgia for the lost art of physicality that used to be part of our lives.

Especially when it comes to the written word. As our world has ramped up its relative speed, spinning faster and faster, in tighter (and yet ever-expanding) whorls, the “necessity” of keeping up has become ingrained. Messages have gotten shorter, smaller and more frequent—and that’s only been possible by a machine that allows us to write (and erase) as quickly as we can think.

This is an amazing power. Information (for good or ill) can now be disseminated at much more rapid rate to the entire world (assuming a decent Internet connection). And yet: it lacks something vital to the act of writing and creating: evidence of the process.

Writing electronically—be in through Word or on a blog, Twitter, MySpace, or Gmail—lacks a certain fundamental connection to the reality of the act of creating. Even now, as I’m writing this, I am unconsciously deleting all sorts of things. Misspelled words, bad word choices, sentences that could go somewhere else. I do this so quickly I can’t stop myself. It’s just second nature.

Which is great: my productivity (in theory) goes up. I'm able to produce content more because I can write as I think, edit quickly, and move on. But what I lose (what we all lose, no matter how many “drafts” of a piece we save) is a hard-copy reality. I save paper, sure (and burn a ton of electricity), but when all that’s left is the final document, I am the less for it.

I believe this need for evidence of a life lived in evolutionary stages is a human thing. We want that detritus, we want those letters and drafts of novels or songs or technical papers. We need the scratch outs, the marginal-notations, the 300 pages of crap beginnings that never worked out. It’s our history—it’s our proof of the mind going back and forth and picking the world apart to reframe it.

Which is why I'm returning to the loving arms of my yellow legal pad, why I'm toying with the idea of getting my typewriter fixed up. I want that record of my existence, frail as it is, so that I (and others) can see where I came from, where I ended up and how I got there.

That's not to say I'm abandoning my computer (this is a blog, after all). I can't afford to do that and don't really want to. But I do sense that need for something more physical, some sort of connection to the here and now and into the past. That, I think, is universal and human and will never go away—regardless of what They’re all saying about dead-tree publishing.

[sub-thought: Wendell Berry gets at this (and way more) in mind-blowing fashion. Look him up.)

[sub-sub-thought: I also think the joy of writing in a more physical medium goes back to the idea of work. People love to work—as much as we complain about it. Again, that physical interaction, the decisive clanking of a typewriter key, the scritch of pen on paper, matters. We need connection to the places we inhabit. Again: see WB]

Tab Dump

2009-03-07T17:39:00.005-07:00

Swaptree.com : you probably already know about this, but if not, check it.

Neko Case : her new album rawks, quiet like.

The Lonely Island : i don't really dig everything they do, but this one makes me laugh every time. heads up: naughty language abounds. don't watch this one at work.

Come Home : remember Junebug, a few years ago? i just saw it--and this scene floored me. fyi: it's live, aka not a recording.

Baseball: spring training is here, ya'll! woot woot!

What the FOG?

2009-02-27T17:45:00.002-07:00

The FOG Index is destroying America.

Okay, that may be a bit overwrought and melodramatic, but the FOG Index is at least doing a pretty good job of destroying my faith in America. And its literate public.

Don't have a bone to pick with the FOG? Don't know what it is? Neither did I, until recently. Allow a brief didactic interlude (ding!): the Gunning FOG Index, as it's properly known, is a formula that tests the "readability" of written text. It takes the average length of sentences (# of words/# of sentences) and the average number of complex words--words of more than three syllables, not counting proper nouns or common suffixes--(# of complex words/total words), plugs them into this formula

0.4 x ((WORDS/SENTENCE) + 100(COMPLEX WORDS/WORDS))

And, bingo!, you can figure out the "readability" of your text. Lower numbers mean your text is easier to understand (a 12 is about the level of a high school senior); higher numbers mean you need to be more "educated" to get the gist of what's going on.

Now, I can certainly see the value of something like this--if you're trying to get a message out to a wide variety of people (a press release, say), you don't want to go all tech-y jargon on them. Go easy, go simple; shoot for like a 10, just to be safe.

And yet, the idea that we can quantify the value of our language, that we can decide who should "get" and "not get" words put in specific orders to create meaning rubs me wrong. If we start writing by rubric, never pushing above a 12 or even a 15 or whatever, we'll stunt ourselves.

Granted, this formula is imperfect ("asparagus" isn't a hard word, but it's technically complex) and doesn't account for the variegated nature of English. It's also true that short, powerful prose can be beautifully stirring and there's good reason to reign in overwritten and unnecessarily decorous sentences.

It's just that, if there are a lot of people out there--particularly marketers--making sure their FOG scores are in a certain realm, than simply by osmosis, we're all going to lose a little bit of our ability to snag a word or sentence worth 20 or 30 or 45 or, again, whatever.

It's a balance thing, I know (isn't it always?). I'm just wary we're all sliding slowly but unequivocally toward a text/Twitter reading level: short, incomplete and low-scoring.

By the way, the FOG Index for this post? 11.

Oh, FOG.

Pilgrimage

2009-02-27T10:25:00.005-07:00

Finally, finally, finally finished up Pilgrim at Tinker Creek last night. After a long slog, I finally gained some momentum over the last few weeks and rifled through it fairly quickly (when I could find time to sit down with [thanks be to God for TriMet]).

Though the book follows the seasons, I think it might sit better within the framework of the church calendar. After all, it combines the exploration of the natural world with a search for the two disparate parts of God--the knowable and the unknowable. For whatever reason, I found myself much more drawn to the ideas and images presented now, during Lent, than perhaps I might have at other times.

Of course, part of my involvement with Dillard's ideas is a product of where I'm at as a person, as well. I've changed, I'm more receptive to her spiritual-natural connections. I am at a point where I want to learn to step outside of the rattle and hum of every day life and take note of the small and beautiful and terrible things packed into an inch of soil, the width of a feather, the tangle of a root system. I was more prepared now than I had been previously.

And it brought me to new heights and depths. I have found myself more willing to slow down and empty myself, to take stock of the creation around me and the places that God hides when I'm not paying attention. At the same time, the book is not perfect (and Dillard, thankfully, acknowledges such in her 25-years-after reflection at the end of the book).

The language is overwrought in some places and is certainly self-indulgent. There are passages that don't fit or make sense and that ruin the continuity and flow of her more poignant pieces. But those pieces that work well sing and find a way to bring earth and Heaven together in a way I'd not considered before.

So: Pilgrim is a classic, as has already been established by those far wiser than I. It has, as great books should, tweaked my view of the world in a way that will not easily be shaken.

A Thought for Lent

2009-02-26T09:08:00.003-07:00

From A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard:

The death of the self of which the great writers speak is no violent act...It is merely the slow cessation of the will's sprints and the intellect's chatter: it is waiting like a hollow bell with a stilled tongue. Fuge, tace, quiesce. The waiting itself is the thing.

Last Ditch Effort

2009-02-25T09:24:00.003-07:00

Okay, so today is Ash Wednesday, the official start of Lent. Fat Tuesday is over and gone and for the next 40 days it's all about contemplation, reflection and the long uphill climb toward Good Friday and the Cross (and Easter!).

But: I haven't made it to an Anointing service yet--not till tonight--so for now I can still get my giggle on. And so can you with this awesome promotional video. Now, I know this thing looks like a SNL commercial, but I promise it's real. This is totally the kind of American innovation that will pull us out of the recession. Right? Guys? Whatever.

Glide on, you crazy diamonds.

PS: Giving up laughter for Lent is probably a bad idea. So fear not: there will be more laughter to come. It'll just be holding hands with its friend, Solemnity. Hooray friendship!

Oscar Wrap Up, Cooper-Style

2009-02-24T10:07:00.003-07:00

Back in ye olde archives, there's a post about the upcoming Oscars. The Oscars which I did not watch this year, for three reasons: a) I don't own a TV, b) I'd only seen a handful of the films nominated across all the categories and c) I was not at a party with Jason of Reports from a Room with a View.

Granted, Reason A is pretty valid, but mostly it was Reason C that kept me home. Oscar Night with Jason is the only way to fly* (those of you with friends who love movies in that way that entails rhapsodizing about tone and color and directing flourishes know what I mean). Not only does he know his stuff, he's loudly opinionated (which is great), but he also genuinely loves the pageantry of it. He embraces the whole thing (while not being blinded to the tinge of egoism of the whole exercise) and loves it for what it is.

So, though I didn't watch in this year--and am bummed to have missed out on bits of it--there's always Jason's Alternate Oscar post to liven things up.

Maybe next year, eh Jas?

*PS: Toddy, you're on the short list, but we've never Oscar'd together, so I've got no frame of reference.

Lent

2009-02-19T13:18:00.008-07:00

If anyone out there (other than Jason) is still reading this poor excuse for a regularly updated blog, you may remember my obsession with Advent. For the first time in 25 years, I became aware of this sacred season in the church calendar in a way that had never occurred to me before. I had awoken to the power of the coming of Christ; the power inherent in absence and that builds with the longed for completion.

Advent fosters reflection and study, a solemnity of purpose and centering on the coming of the Christ. In the darkness of mid-winter, it is a time to reposition and connect with an Almighty who seems either to be buried beyond call in the depths of snow and ice and darkness, or who has been swirled away amidst the clamor and noise of a most hectic holiday. In either case, Advent stops everything, lights a candle and demands a deep breath. Its holiness is writ small and fine, woven out of fir needles and frigid air: a kiss on the cheek from the Savior.

And then Christmas shows up. BAM! Jesus has arrived, presents are unwrapped, trumpets sounded and life speeds back up again. New Years. Valentines Day. Taxes. It all comes crashing back in and no one seems to care about waking the baby.

Which is when Lent steps in. Like Advent, it too is quiet and somber. But it comes dressed in a ragged shawl, smudged with ashes and dragging a rough and wooden beam. It, too, speaks of Life, but with the scent of Death. They are entwined, and Lent demands our attention by never allowing us to forget the fact.

For forty days we toil, we do not utter Hallelujah, we remember the long walk on the darkest of days. We dwell with the Lord in this place of emptiness, of most abundant sin and seeming hopelessness. We wait here, learning to know that even here, even now in the midst of what feels like our certain end, God remains.

Life, as with the Birth, will come. But it will taste of Death, it will reek of the grave and before we come up for a clean breath of air, we must first go under. We must be marked and, in so doing, we must trust. We must embrace the reality of Death to enfold the truth and wonder of what comes at the end of Lent: the wonder of the Resurrection. Now is the time to confront the reality of Death, and then to turn and confront the greater Reality of Christ and know that, in the end, all will be well.

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

A Short Post With a Longer Post to Follow

2009-02-17T09:23:00.004-07:00

In a short story, you get your main point or issue out at the front and then spend the rest of your space filling in. In that model, here's a short post telling you to go listen to Beasts of Seasons, Laura Gibson's new album, before it's released.

As mentioned, there will be a longer (and completely unrelated) post to follow.

Who Would Win in a Fight: Books or Movies?

2009-02-09T16:34:00.004-07:00

So I was in our small indie movie rental place (very small; very indie.) the other day, hoping to high Heaven that their one copy of Baby Mama was checked out (it wasn't. Really, Tina Fey? Really?) and trying to figure out if I should wash it down with Humboldt County (checked out) or Man on Wire (checked in. Yes!), when I had a thought. Ding!

I thought: would I rather own a used bookstore or a movie rental place?

Now, I know this isn't profound or anything, but it really got me cooking. I mean, I love books. And I love movies (though not to the degree of some folks I know). But which would I rather vend on a regular basis? I'm just not sure. So, walk with me, won't you?, through my weird train of thought:

From an economic standpoint: movies. Dead-tree publishing is on it's way out on the quickly melting ice floes. I love books; I love feeling and smelling and seeing them. But, I can admit: it won't last forever--at least from a bling-bling perspective. So, if I want the money, I want the discs.

From a romantic standpoint: books. Film is film, which is to say it's amazing. The magic of moving pictures will never die. But it's so freaking ubiquitous: TV, YouTube, iPhone. The screen is everywhere. But with books? There's a sense of smell and touch that doesn't translate from your Kindle; a sense of reality that is somewhat lost in the subtle wash of LEDs.

And the best part? With a book, the screen is in your head. You take the words, meticulously laid down in order, and rearrange them on the flaps of your brain. You make new flaps, you make new meaning. It's liquid, like film, but in a much more elemental way. Like mercury or something.

Movies, 1. Books, 1. Which means? Tie breaker!

From a public-service standpoint: sharing a good book or movie is like a public service. When I saw Slumdog Millionaire, I had to make sure millions of people knew to get off their butts and hit the theater. Ditto when I read Gilead: get the book now, people! So, in this instance, the question comes down to: which venue (movie or book store) is better for this system of free-advice-giving?

Movies. I'm just too impatient. If I tell you to read A Canticle for Leibowitz (which you should), I won't hear how you liked it or hated it for, what?, like a month or so. If I rent you The Muppet Movie (yes!), I'll know in a day or two what you thought. It's just a faster turnaround, and in this scenario, speed wins.

What an awkward thought-experiment. What would you all choose: flicks or books?

If It Ain't Broke--Oh. Right.

2009-02-04T12:26:00.007-07:00

The most recent New York Times Magazine has a great article by David Leonhardt, The Big Fix, on Obama's plan for the economy and how to get things jump-started. It leans in favor of the way Obama wants to do things, but isn't heavy-handed or gushing; it's a fair assessment, I think.

Most noticeably, and the reason I'm tacking it up here for wider (ha.) notice, Leonhardt not only explain what the plan seeks to do, but why it matters on a long-term basis. So much of the stimulus is talked about in terms of the moment; we need cash and credit right now. Which is true; but which, as Obama and Leonhardt argue, is also what sets us up for problems later.

The core principal is that the economy needs to be righted, but then it needs to grow. If we get back on track but don't get bigger, nothing changes. That means less on-the-spot help--less money in pockets, and probably even more debt--but long-term benefit. It sucks now, but will suck worse if we don't take the hit now.

Anyway: Leonhardt makes the argument way better than I can. Check it out. Let me know what you think.

Hazardous: Love!

2009-02-03T09:36:00.007-07:00

A quick hit from NPR Music about The Decemberists new album, The Hazards of Love. Need to get me down to SXSW...

NW Territory

2009-01-31T10:45:00.003-07:00

In happier news: I just ordered my first ever seed catalog from Territorial Seeds! Woot! So now, even if I'm unemployed forever, at least we'll (most likely) be able to eat.

Score.

Stay tuned for more garden goodness.

Seed-Related Thought: I was sorting seed packets the other day for a local NPO, Growing Gardens, and came across my first mustard seed. Seriously? Those things are tiny! Jesus wasn't kidding...

The Tragedy of Indifference

2009-01-30T18:49:00.002-07:00

Believe it. Details here.

Paradox Populi

2009-01-30T10:53:00.004-07:00

No getting around it: the recession is everywhere. A few short months ago it didn't seem so frightening, but now that income has dried up and the prospects are slimmer than I'd have thought, it's come crashing home. Being addicted to NPR doesn't help either: Morning and Evening Edition are jam-packed with unemployment stats and dour predictions for the future. Yikes.

In my particular case (and in the case of many, many job seekers, I'm sure) I've noticed this fun little paradox: you see a listing for a job you're interested in or might be qualified for. You read the description, it looks good, and then, inevitably: Experience Required. 2 or 5 or 10 years. Doesn't matter: toast.

Now, I know applying for a gig in the face of not having the experience doesn't hurt you--and believe me, I've flown in the face of this before--but the paradox remains: to get the job you have to have experience and to have experience you need to have the job. Back and forth, back and forth. Ack!

The chord of black humor rings sweet and low. And has led me to select, appropriately enough, Joseph Heller's Catch 22 as my next read in The Recession Project. I'm hoping for a good chuckle amidst the tumult and (hopefully) some perspective. We'll see. Stay tuned for notes and a review.

End note: Nearly finished with Pilgrim at Tinker Creek; review forthcoming.

End end note: I should say that, as difficult as times are, small actions matter greatly. Kind words from friends, laughter, prayer, Scrabble, meals with loved ones, getting outside, staying buoyant by whatever means necessary. I've found it true in my own case and I'd recommend it across the board. Remember: hope is the bravest thing there is. Keep it up, America.

Brief Confessions

2009-01-23T10:37:00.004-07:00

Last night, after way too long, I finished William Styron's The Confessions of Nat Turner. I've been working on this book since August and am glad to finally be done with it--though beautifully and viscerally written, it's a tough book to contend with. Much like the issues at its core--slavery, specifically, and injustice and racism, more generally--the novel is knotted and complex, not easily dissected. Still, I'll try to offer a few thoughts on my experience with Nat Turner.

The prose, as mentioned, is beautifully constructed in long, flowing phrases. Much attention is paid to scene; to light and smell and feel; to color and description; to internal rhythm and feeling. It's dense, there's a lot going on. Nat Turner starts and ends in winter, and so reading this in the early dark, my furnace not yet kicked on, I felt drawn to the icy presence, submerged in Styron's rendering of Virginia.

The dialogue is striking. Split between the Nat Turner's narrative voice--measured, intelligent, educated--and his "speaking" voice--wreathed in dialect and stereotype--the book finds that balance between inner- and outer-self. It's a gamble. Thankfully it was masterfully done and I felt it added much to the novel, both in the wondering of reading something so skillfully done as well as the commentary Styron was making.

As far as the events in the novel, Styron has an unflinching eye. He does not shy away from the absurd, the inhumane, the violent and awful. He has a fearful knack for lulling the reader along, especially during Nat Turner's long narrative bits and then inserting a gristly detail or image with a casual nonchalance. It kept me on my toes.

My one criticism of this aspect of the novel was the intense, almost gratuitous, fascination with sex. It only appears near the end of the novel, but it is commanding. It's not that the subject itself was unwarranted, but the way in which it was described, as well as its frequency, made me pause. Were these images necessary? And what, exactly, did they add to the telling?

The last bit I'll mention is the awkward moral place Styron left me at the close of the novel. Which is where I think I'm supposed to be. As Nat Turner's "mission" becomes clearer, his character changes. This transformation is subtle but noticed and it stirs up all sorts of mixed feelings, or it did for me. Where once it seems his cause is pure and just, the internal mechanism that drives Nat and that informs how he sees himself and others takes on a new hue. A righteous cause does not so righteous seem, when the gritty details emerge.

It's this ambiguity, this uncertain balance that Styron is able to provide that I appreciate. It would be easy to paint the characters, situations and circumstances in broad strokes, leaving out the awkward contradictory details. Styron manages, imperfectly, to portray the difficult and knotted reality that slavery and racism and America represent.

I will say this: if you take it on, keep something lighter on your night stand. You'll need it.

They're Baaaaack!

2009-01-22T09:42:00.004-07:00

The Oscars are here, the Oscars are here!

Okay, it's true: I don't actually pay that much attention to the hoopla until the nominees are release (read: today). I'm not well researched on film; don't know the ins and outs of a directors style or an actors subtle nuance; and I genuinely detest the Red Carpet showdown between vapid hosts from E! and the attendant celebrities--it literally makes me cringe.

So, Oscar season isn't really all that big a deal to me. And yet: I find myself sucked in by the hype, every year. I want to see the "nominated movies", to be informed so I can join in the pontificating and guessing and lamenting when the film (or actor or song) I know for a fact should win, doesn't make it. I think it's part of the fun of the Oscars: for a day, you allow yourself to be swept up into pageant and glamor, riding some weird wave of beauty and recognition for jobs (very) well done.

Sure: there's the aforementioned vapidness, the hollow nature to a lot of what goes on. The candy-coated shell of Tinseltown is nothing new; people have been griping about that for years--including the self-congratulatory mood surrounding the giving of the Golden Statues (Golden calf? What?). It's part of the deal.

But film is still art, and amidst dreck like Paul Blart: Mall Cop, you find genuinely inspiring, thought-provoking, moving pieces of film, both big (Dark Knight, Tropic Thunder) and small (Slumdog Millionaire). In an age where cash-money rules, where people (ironically) are wary of familiar marketing and products they are unfamiliar with, and where the Internet is quickly redefining traditional cinema, it's easy to lump film in with dead-tree media.

The Oscars manage to celebrate both aspects of the film industry: the pomp and circumstance, the magic glow, the sweetly arrogant whiff of hands patting backs; and the art, the recognition of superior work, of talent that requires pause. The fact that film began as art and remains so, even when it's harder to see.

The Oscars are here, try to enjoy it. Get informed, check out the nominated (and non-nominated) films, if for no other reason than to know what's going on. It'll make the next month way more enjoyable, that's for sure.

Note: other sub-topics of interest surrounding the Oscars: fascination with celebrity; human desire to judge; need to be "in" on the hype; the innate draw to short lists and expert opinion; tendency to pick a position (ex: Benjamin Button v. Milk) and defend it to the death

Oh, Sam

2009-01-21T13:09:00.004-07:00

By this time there's already been plenty written about newly-elected Portland mayor Sam Adams' affair with an 18-year old teenager. There are voices on both sides of the debate--resign or remain--and each argument has its merits. My own will be brief.

In full disclosure, I'm not well acquainted with Adams' history or the strong support that, until recently, surrounded him. I did not vote for him, living out of state at the time, and so my judgement stems from an outside perspective.

Adams' has said he will not step down unless it impedes his ability to lead the city. Under that criteria, I have to agree with a growing number of voices to ask for him to abdicate. At issue isn't so much the impropriety of the relationship. Though I'm sure that will be part of the investigation, the issue isn't the relationship, per se; private matters should remain private. Rather, it's the way Adams' handled the situation from the get-go and has seen in through that is troubling.

When Adams' understood that the intent of the teenager (then 17) was more than professional, he should have cut off contact. Period. Regardless of what did or did not occur (and when), it paints him in a bad light. What's worse, and I think telling, is that he asked the teenager to lie about it and lied himself when asked directly during the campaign. Again, while the relationship may have been consensual and legal, what matters is Adams' credibility.

Adams' credibility has been tarnished and because of that, it will be difficult for him to get anything done, either at home or abroad. Regardless of talents and abilities and plans, this is the thing that will be at the front of peoples' minds. It simply supercedes everything else, and so will make it difficult for him to govern well or efficiently.

So, Adams' should step down. He should put Portland ahead of himself, recuse himself and let everyone move on. He might have been a great mayor, sadly, I don't think we'll ever really know.

Can/Did/Will

2009-01-20T11:40:00.002-07:00

Well, folks, it's official: Barack Hussein Obama is the 44th President of the United States.

And it's, apparently, officially over, as NPR's most current headline on my feed reads thusly: More Chains Pull Peanut Butter Products. I guess pomp and circumstance can last only so long.

But before we head back into the fray of real life, take a look (in the slight chance you missed it) at The Rev. Dr. Joseph Lowery's benediction at the close of the Inauguration. No matter your faith, I think we can all join the masses with a loud Amen! today.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

The Recession Project

2009-01-13T09:57:00.004-07:00

These are hard times we're living in, no denyin'. Money's tighter for more people more of the time. Jobs are melting away. People are clamping down, sitting tight. The buck seems to have officially stopped.

Which, as rough and scary as it can be, is not all bad. These are the kinds of times that Victory Gardens flourish, that DIY becomes a mainstream attraction, that people start spending time in pews and on prayer rugs. We grow a bit more inward as a people, taking stock, counting the blessings that remain.

And so, in this recession-inspired season of minimalism, I'm instituting The Recession Project. It's my goal, over 2009 (hopefully; longer if necessary) not to buy a single book until I read all the books I currently own. Not only is this economically based--books are expensive!--it's also a kind of stop-and-smell-the-roses thing. I love having books on my shelves, of owning the books; but I rarely stop to read the ones I've purchased. Something else gets in the way, and so the classics or novels or histories I'm interested in get pushed back for the NEW.

This will not be easy. I'm only two weeks in and already there are books I want to pick up from the library. Which raises a question: what are the rules, exactly, of this little endeavor? I'm glad you asked.

As stated, I will not purchase books until I've read my current list; I will also not check out books from the library (caveat: this does not include reference books or books for my book club [don't worry, Jason]). I will accept books as gifts, but they'll be edited out from the pile, which essentially means they won't get read for a bit. I will also buy books for others, so if you're a book loving friend of mine and you've got a birthday coming up, fear not.

As regards the reading order: the books are organized by author, but I'm going to read what I feel like, when I feel like it. By skipping around I'll hopefully remain interested and really savor each of the books in the list.

So, that's my little act of solidarity with, um, whom? Certainly not the publishing industry, that's for sure. But anyway, it's a bit of intellectual belt-tightening and hopefully it will make me appreciate what I've already got and keep a few more dollars in my pocket for other things.

Like beer to drink whilst reading. Come on, this is a recession, not Prohibition. We could all use a drink, I think.

Not Dead!

2009-01-07T22:51:00.002-07:00

Greetings loyal readers.

It's been kind of slow around here on the Pointe, I realize. Blame it on the holiday crush. And the fact that I've just relocated and am having some serious home renovation/job finding issues. More to come.

Anyway: just wanted you all (three?) to know I'm still kicking. And will get back on the horse soon-ish.

Cheers.

GMF

[Belated] Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T08:35:00.005-07:00

I'd meant to get a Happy New Year! post last night pre-2009, but I've been kind of busy playing a lot of Guitar Hero and ping pong down here in Tejas. So here, a day late, is my belated greeting:

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Typically, if I was continuing the trend, I'd recap 2008 in some sort of list-based fashion--best books I read (Gilead), people who died (Heath Ledger), favorite movies (Lars and the Real Girl), etc.--but I'm too lazy to sift through all that information and try to come up with something cohesive.

What has been on my mind, big time, these last few days is that from now on my New Years are linked with someone else. I'm getting hitched in July and so from here on out we move in tandem; we make resolutions, suffer the pitfalls and enjoy the highs of each new annum together. In some sense, this is my biggest year yet because it's twice as "big"--we've doubled-down and have a lot more riding on 2009, to drastically mix metaphors.

And so in the run-up to champagene toasts (mine was made with a Bud, by the by), and in a totally foreign environment (Houston), I've been keenly aware of where I am and where I want to be--as an individual and as a family unit. It's true what they say: everything is bigger in Texas. The portions, the cars, the freaking commutes. Bigger, wider, louder.

It's a world I'm unaccustomed to and while I have really enjoyed my time here {read: newly minted Guitar Hero addict} and have loved getting to hang out with The Fiancee's family, it reminds me what's important to me--and to us--and gives me pause to be careful and intentional about how we move forward in our new lives together.

As 2009 unfurls, I hope for a closer reading of my surroundings--the place I live, the land I live on, the people I interact with, the way in which I impact my environment and vice versa. I suppose this could be looked at as a resolution, but really I hope to make it more of a lifestyle. To tread lightly, live simply, pour into my work and my wife and my city a love that is returned in kind.

And though I said I'd avoid it, I'm an obsessive list maker and a liar to boot, so here's my List for 2009 and the date I'd like to have each item accomplished:

1. Get married - 2009

2. Learn to be a good husband - Pre-death

3. Read every book I own - 2009

4. Plan a garden - 2009

5. Raise chickens - two to three years

6. Collate a short story collection - five years

7. Get a job I like - end of January 2009

8. Attempt some kind of visual art - 2009

9. Run a marathon - October, 2009

10. Intern as a baker - 1-2 years

What's on your list?

A Winter's Tale

2008-12-26T18:09:00.003-07:00

Now that the presents have been opened (and returned or exchanged), the feasts eaten, the carols sung and the old family drama reignited (and hopefully calmed)--now that Christmas has come and gone--it's time for a story. Not much compared to a virgin birth in the middle of the desert culminating with a violent, public death (not to mention eternal salvation for all), but it'll do.

And so, I now present: UHaul? We Haul!: A Winter's Tale

In the beginning, the plan had been to vacate Missoula on Monday the 22nd of December. The UHaul, all loaded up on Sunday, would be ready to rock and off we'd go. 10, 12 hours, we guessed, to make it to the Rose City. No problem.

And then, a week before Departure, snow struck. Big time. And not just in Missoula, where it's expected. But in Portland, where it is most certainly not. And so things looked iffy, and continued to look iffier. Sunday the 21st arrived; the UHaul was picked up and loaded (in a swift two hours {thanks A & M!}) and time was then bided.

For a whole extra day. The planned goodbyes were said--at church, at home, at work. And then we hung around, running errands, eating too much, mildly freaking out. And snow kept a-falling. After much consultation of the interwebs and the parental units, the call was made: Tuesday, the 23rd was our new Departure date.

And so it was. On Tuesday, we arose early. We said our last goodbyes, hopped in our vehicles and off we went. With trepidation we slushed through frozen streets in our rented van, pitching and yawing on the crappy ruts made by Tundras and Titans and an army of Subarus. A few miles outside of town, by the airport, we gassed up, said one last prayer and off we went, headed for Idaho.

And? It was fine. The roads were clear, mostly. The snow was fine and dry, some spindrift kicking across the road. But, really, no big deal. Tra la la la. Moving slower than normal, sure, but nothing to be sc'red of. Even the passes weren't bad; take the corners slow, even pressure on the brake. No sweat. Shoot.

And then: we made our first mistake: Coeur D'Alene. Needing gas and a rest (and some grub), we pulled off into the resort town to find HUGE snow drifts and nary a plow in sight. We made it into the gas station. Making it out an hour later--post-grubbage--was another story. Half way into the street the UHaul got stuck. Some serious rocking and burning of rubber got me free a few minutes later, but going the wrong direction.

Instead of being in the right lane (to turn right and back toward I-90), I was now in the left lane. No problem: head to light, turn left, pull a massive U-ie and head back to the freeway. Except when selecting a location in which to turn around, I picked a parking lot that was even less plowed than the gas station. And so, of course, I got stuck (again). In the middle of the street (again).

This time, though, I was high-sided on the right back tire. So I had zero traction. Luckily a passel of Mormon elders--about 18 years old or so--ambled by and offered to give me a push. Which they did. Which got us nowhere--though at least there were some friendly faces hanging out with The Fiancee and I as we tired to figure out our next move.

Luckily, it was made for us. For, lo!, Jeff of the White Truck and Wide Girth appeared! Or, actually, his wife rolled down her window and asked/hollered if we were stuck. Yes. Yes we were. Well, then, she said, they had a chain and could pull us out.

Hooray! Jeff, a Carhartt and overalls (and, specifically, Carhartt overalls) kind of guy, got to work. He looped his chain around my rig, hooked the deal up and off we went, back into the street. We got unlooped, shook hands, Merry Christmas-ed one another and then it was off to I-90. I didn't even get to say thanks to the Mormons.

That was early afternoon. And from there things were smooth (ignoring the traffic jam in Spokane {Seriously, Spokane, what's the deal? It's always something with you, I swear}). Until...

[Back Story: To get to Portland from Missoula, you can do one of two things: head all the way west to Seattle and then south; or you can diagonal west to the Tri-Cities, cut south over the Columbia and cut west again along the Gorge. This second option--known as the I-84 route--is the more common. Unfortunately, I-84 had been closed from Hood River to Troutdale, about 60 miles worth of freeway, due to snow and wind and basic awfulness. The morning we left, I-84 had been reopened. Bear this in mind.]

We got to Hood River. Eastern Washington had been fine. The Tri-Cities? Piece of cake. Even the Oregon side of the Gorge hadn't been anything to worry about. And then, of course, we hit that sketchy 60 miles stretch.

And we hit it hard. Within two minutes I'd skidded to the side of the road in the UHaul. It's dark already and I decide I need chains. No problem, The Fiancee says. We unload the chains and fight with them for thirty freezing minutes, finally getting the f*ckers on (though not very well, it turns out...). As we finish up, we decide it's probably best to put chains on my Explorer, just so we're all safe.

Except when The Fiancee jumps in the driver's seat to move my rig, nothing happens. Whrr whrr whrr. Whrr whrr whrr. It sounded like a dying robotic cat. Turns out? Leaving the lights on and the engine off is a bad idea. What's more, we'd slid off in a great spot, on an overpass right next to a truck stop!

Which we then walked to, in the dark. We are tired. We are scared. We are not sure what's going to happen. At the Chevron station, we start calling tow companies to ask for a jump. And this is where Providence shows up again, played this time by off-duty Oregon State Patrolman Mike Mayer.

Mike, on his way to Eugene for Christmas, gives us a lift back to our stranded vehicles and while en route calls in to the dispatcher and asks them to send out somebody with a jumper kit. Amazing! (Note: we wouldn't figure out Mike was a OSP until later, so this display of making the police do what he wanted was kind of freaky). Even more amazing, Mike hangs out on the side of the road with us for like forty-five minutes--wearing like a t-shirt and mittens--on the side of the highway until said patrolwomen shows up.

Insert comedic relief: after the rig is jumped and running, your brilliant correspondent, on his way out of the car to trade places with The Fiancee, turns off the car. {In my own defense, this was an ingrained reaction, I didn't even think about it. This, trust me, doesn't seem to matter to The Fiancee or anyone who hears the story. Apparently it's still pretty damn funny). It takes a few tries to get the attention of the State Troopers, who look aghast that said correspondent should have a driver's license, berate him none to gently and then re-jump the car. The engine remains running.

Back on the road we hustle along at 25 mph for maybe fifteen more miles, until the snow melts or blows off. The roads are clear again, so we pull off--leave the cars running--and strip the chains so we can make better time (also to avoid the poorly tightened chains wrapping around the axle of the UHaul). And we do.

We bomb the rest of the way to Portland. The roads are totally clear and our spirits are high. Our final obstacle: side-streets. Portland apparently employs like one snow plow, and he was busy clearing major roads and freeways. He apparently had zero time for any surface streets anywhere in the city. Which meant, rolling in at 10:30PM on frayed nerves we bounced and skidded through some very narrow streets before finally--15 hours later--arriving at our destination.

All in all, not a bad trip.

PS: If you're in need of UHaul chains, let me know--I'll sell 'em to you kind-of cheap.

A (Merry) Christmas Card

2008-12-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

Nativity, Brian Kershisnik

Eve: Interior Christmas Card Reflections*

2008-12-24T20:25:00.007-07:00

As I sit here, musing through the blogosphere, listening to Sufjan Steven's Songs for Christmas, the dog snoozing on the couch next to me, I'm sucked into reflection. The stockings are hung, the tree is lit. There's no fire, but that's okay. I'm just happy to not be bouncing around snow-stuffed streets in a UHaul--something I've been up to for the last two days.

In the rush of driving and moving and returning said UHaul; of picking up siblings from Canby and braving rush-hour on unfriendly streets at dark; of too much wine with lunch and last-minute gifts, the whole Christ part of Christmas Eve has been--yet again--subsumed by what I perceive to be more important.

Jesus is pretty amazing when it comes to inserting himself where you least expect. Like on the side of I-84 as you try to attach chains in the dark. Or in Couer D'Alene in the guise of Mormon missionaries and a guy named Jeff when you get stuck in the snow. Or now, in the scent of Douglas Fir and the diffuse light of the Christmas lights strung around the tree. He's always around, but I'm most apt to hear him when I'm quiet.

Or maybe I'm just most apt to listen. I could hear him whenever I wanted, if I paid attention. But here, as Holy, Holy, Holy plays, I can feel Christ coming to earth. I strain to feel him arrive, connect with him as he is born, as his cry is first heard. This connection, this straining, explains my newfound love of Advent. And it's culmination tomorrow when the Word Incarnate is birthed.

The churches near our house in Portland have had to cancel services (the snow has been too bad) and that saddens me; I love the candle light midnight reflection. The carols and songs. The Scripture readings. The time to sit in dark and silence and taste the light, the scent of melting wax.

Not this year, which is okay. I'll listen to the carols, the bells and light my own candles. The Fiancee and I will pray, knowing that Jesus is here anyway, asking to be heard if we will only listen.

*scroll up a post to see the front of this Christmas card

Slumdog Millionaire

2008-12-19T10:32:00.007-07:00

Thanks to the WGA and my friend (and film director {of the amazing short, The Aviatrix}) Toddy Burton, I got to watch Slumdog Millionaire before it hits Missoula. In our pre-viewing wrangling, I'd been campaigning for Frost/Nixon, but Toddy--who is way smarter than me when it comes to a lot of stuff, especially film--insisted. And so it was.

And I am ever grateful.

Slumdog, as you may have heard from other chatter on the interweb, is getting fantastic reviews. It's already been nominated for awards and will [hopefully] take something at the Oscars. It's fantastically acted and beautifully shot, with a soundtrack that I'm waiting to buy with my Christmas monies. And even my one niggling critique--that Slumdog is a little too overfull, that there are loose ends that don't quite tie--has resolved: this quick and dirty, violent and funny film about India is not meant to tie neatly like a package or even a haphazard quilt, with the edges in tact. Slumdog is more of a brilliantly faded sari, the threads hanging loose at the edges, a tattered but glorious whole.

I was trying to explain the impact of Slumdog to my friend Jason, a self-described cinephile, at breakfast this morning. And I just couldn't quite articulate the sense of openness and awe that it revealed within me. At some point during the screening, I stepped back. I realized that I am a white upper-middle class man watching a movie about people who I have zero logical connection with: and yet I was profoundly moved.

Not in a heart-wrenching way. But in a way that made me, for a brief moment, realize my place in the world. It increased my circle. I could see more of the world now. A veil of some kind was lifted. Even now I can't explain it well, not even to myself. But I know that I was changed, that Slumdog Millionaire was able to get to a place that I can't understand in words.

Though it need not be said, I'll end with an exhortation: please go see this film. You won't regret it.

Ecotopia?

2008-12-18T12:47:00.005-07:00

A gaggle of researchers with the EVST program at Lewis and Clark College in PDX are reevaluating the idea of the Ecotopia, the interconnectedness of spirituality, ecology and utopian/dystopian ideas (the phrase comes from the book by Ernest Callenbach).

You can help them out by taking their brief (and private) survey; for more info on the project, check out their website.

Turns out I'm pretty sure nature is inherently sacred of it's own accord (8 for 10), but am also firmly rooted in my religious tradition (9 for 10). I also happen to be seriously dystopian (10 for 10) about the fate of the world.

Awesome.

Anti-Meridian

2008-12-18T11:12:00.003-07:00

From mid-high school through college my favorite band was Five Iron Frenzy (they still rank up there, for the record). For the unfamiliar, FIF was an 8-piece punk-ska outfit from Denver. While they never hit mainstream success--something they may not have been terribly upset by--they were nonetheless able to pack concert halls and skating rinks and dingy clubs and outdoor festivals. All told I probably saw them seven or eight times.

I remember their farewell tour a few years ago. I was so upset I couldn't figure out a way to get to Denver to see their Finale. I had to settle for a show closer to home--which was awesome (and awkward [note: when going to an emotionally fraught event, do not allow your {recent} ex to tag along; it will only make things no bueno])--and buy the live album when it came out a few months later. I remember crying at my desk as I listened to the album the first time through.

Seriously. I was a wreck.

Fortunately a few of the members from FIF whipped up a side project, Brave St. Saturn, a sort of experimental space-rock thing. Admittedly, their first album, So Far From Home, was not great (which is being generous). But their second album, Light of Things Hoped For, was amazing--infectious musically, more muscular than SFFH, and the ultimate joy of any FIF/BSB album: the lyrical content. I've been listening to it consistently since it's release in 2003.

And since then it's been a waiting game for the final installment of the BSB trilogy to drop. Until yesterday. I used to be up on this stuff, checking websites, attached to email listservs. I should have known the final album had been out since September. But I didn't.

So I'll count it as a happy surprise that Brave St. Saturn's Anti-Meridian is out. You can check out the official BSB website or listen to tracks on their MySpace page or on iTunes. Give it a listen.

THE ONION Calls It

2008-12-17T12:30:00.011-07:00

Barack Obama Defeats Barack Hussein Obama

DECEMBER 17, 2008 | ISSUE 44•51

WASHINGTON—In one of the most hotly contested and pivotal races in U.S. history, Democratic candidate Barack Obama emerged victorious on Nov. 4, beating out the one man who could have taken the presidency away from him, Barack Hussein Obama.

According to sources, the socialist Muslim radical, who had close ties to known terrorists, smoked crack cocaine in the back of a limousine, and was by all accounts the Antichrist himself, emerged out of nowhere in late 2007 to challenge the progressive junior Senator from Illinois. Though few had heard of the freedom-hating extremist before, Barack Hussein Obama quickly garnered attention in several key regions of the country, and saw his popularity buoyed by conservative talk-radio hosts, mass e-mail forwards, and thousands of Americans riding on the backs of flatbed trucks.

With a final push in the weeks leading up to the election, and fervent endorsements from Sen. John McCain, Gov. Sarah Palin, and Sean Hannity, many reportedly feared that Barack Hussein Obama would somehow manage to inch out Barack Obama on Election Day.

"It was a hard-fought campaign, and [Barack Hussein Obama] definitely gave it his all, but in the end he just didn't have enough credibility with the American people," said political analyst and NBC Nightly News anchor Brian Williams. "Still, he's probably the best candidate the Republican party has put out in decades."

Though Barack Obama emerged victorious with 53 percent of the vote, he was unable to defeat the shadowy figure of dubious ethnic origin in a number of conservative states, including West Virginia, Alabama, and North Dakota. His opponent's strong showing in those states has led many to speculate that the controversial figure is poised for a return to the political stage.

"I don't think we've heard the last of Barack Hussein Obama," noted political strategist Karl Rove said. "I have a feeling he'll be back in 2012."

RELATED HEADLINES:

Area Woman Becomes Republican Vice Presidential Candidate

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Do You See What Happens?

2008-12-17T10:41:00.004-07:00

Far out, man.

There's also a heap of Lebowski spoofs on the YouTube.

Magazine Roundup

2008-12-15T10:21:00.008-07:00

A little controversy for your Monday morning.

First up on the docket: Lisa Miller's recent highly-controversial Newsweek cover story about the religious case for gay marriage. Now, while there's plenty of back and forth among the usual extreme ends of the spectrum, I'd just quickly like to add my two cents from closer to the center.

Generally: From a legislative stance, I'm totally in favor of gay marriage. From a personal stance, I'm a little more wobbly; I'm in favor of it, but not as staunchly. I can't say with such surety that I "agree" with it on a moral level--and that is only because I haven't dealt with it very deeply. I'm, quite honestly, unsure. But, again: I should have no part in keeping people who love one another from marrying. So, just because I'm not 100% comfortable with the idea, doesn't mean I should be able to stop it. Does that make sense?

Specifically: In her quest to "prove" that the Bible advocates for gay marriage (or, at least, doesn't advocate against it), Lisa Miller managed to totally alienate a large swath of people (like myself) who may agree with her, with quotes like this:

"Would any contemporary heterosexual married couple--who likely woke u pon their wedding day horboring some optmisitic and newfangled ideas about gender equality and romantic love--turn to the Bible as a how-to script?"

As a contemporary heterosexual man who happens to turn to the Bible for advice on my impeding marriage, I'm offended. I do think the Bible, and my faith, are hugely important in understanding the nature of my marriage and how to go about living it out. Does my faith in Scripture negate my ability to be in favor of gay marriage? Apparently. In positing the religious case for gay marriage, Miller categorically ignores (and speaks down to) people of faith--the very group she is, I assume, trying to sway.

I came to piece ready to be convinced. I wanted to see her evidence--Biblical or otherwise--and see how her argument shaped up. But she lost me with her condescension long before she provided concrete evidence for her position--which never convincingly showed up anyway. In the end I was frustrated, not only at the way I felt treated, but at the way it will simply confirm the views of much stauncher and more conservative religious folks who, oddly enough, look to be offended so they can more easily write Miller off. Sadly for her she delivered.

And Now For Something Completely Different: In a change of tone, style and content, Gourmet has reposted DFW's seminal essay Consider the Lobster (something to do with the recent abundance of cheap lobster). Give it a read: it's more thought-provoking and better tasting that Miller's piece--though not without it's own kind of bitterness.

UPDATE: I neglected to add Malcolm Gladwell's piece about education reform from last week's New Yorker. It's a big deal, education reform, and this piece takes it on in a way I'd not heard of; convincing, at least to a layman whose grip on education reform is pretty basic.

Too Far?

2008-12-12T14:50:00.001-07:00

I like Jamie Oliver a lot, but I'm just not sure about this...

Thoughts?

A Light Shines in the Darkness

2008-12-12T11:26:00.005-07:00

As I've noted elsewhere, Advent is a preparation. It's a space amidst the Christmas season, an empty room to retreat to and be silent. In the hustle of doing and buying and traveling, it's an anytime Sabbath: a lit candle, a prayer, a slow breath.

This is the vision, but I often fall short. I forget. I get amped on social commitments, work, travel, presents and lists and the demands of the "season". I get sucked into worldly fights and blunders, taking sides and burning energy on everything but being vigilant for the Messiah. I bluster at the ignorance of a select group of Christians and the spiteful-seeming anger of a similarly small sample of atheists. I add to the noise without realizing it.

Which is why I need to be reminded that regardless of what goes on in my head, in my town, around the country and world: Christ is still coming. None of us really has it down, nobody gets it right. We like to posture that we do, but we don't. And amidst the shouting, Jesus makes his quiet entrance.

My friend Jason has an appropriately reflective post about Christmas. You can read the whole post here, but I'll share the quote that brought me back to rights (emphasis mine):

"Christmas has become nothing more than an occasion for mirth and gift-giving...a kind of a second Thanksgiving in some sense. And that's fine -- the day must be what it can as it waits to be acknowledged as what it is..."

I think that last bit, about waiting, is exactly right. We cannot force Jesus, or Christmas, to be what we decide. He will not allow it. We must let it be what it is and hope that beneath the pomp and slander and glut and greed the truth shines through. I am often enough the one heaping expectations and falsity on top of the truth so I am in need of grace here as well.

So I'll pray and take Jason's words as a reminder. May we all be reminded.

Iraq and a Hard Place

2008-12-10T11:33:00.003-07:00

Ezra Klein has a succinct synthesis of Mike Crowley's article on Obama and Afghanistan. As EK notes, the possibilities are frightening.

Ditching one cluster-f of a war for another possible goat rodeo is not helpful, but we also can't sit and do nothing. Especially when it might not even be Afghanistan we should be worrying about (if you believe the article); it might be Pakistan.

This will not, as I think everyone realizes, be any kind of cake walk. It will be a long time before we get to unfurl banners on aircraft carriers saying Mission Accomplished.

Wua ga ma uma ahuma ooma!

2008-12-09T08:08:00.004-07:00

Oh man oh man oh man!

I'm so excited I found this I can't quite handle it. I mean, I knew it was inevitable and it's really not all that surprising, but WOOKIPEDIA!?!

Awesome!

May the Internets be with you!

*the title of the post is Wookie for "I think my arm has been pulled out of its socket!"

The Reality of Advent

2008-12-05T20:28:00.002-07:00

My run along the Clark Fork today seemed built for Advent: a dark and low-hanging sky, pregnant with the possibility of snow. Cold, crisp air without a breath of wind. Amazing light, diffuse through the center, concentrated on the horizon, wrapped on Lolo Peak. It was nearly perfect.

But it got me thinking. As much as I identify with Advent, as strongly as this season calls to me for the first time, it lacks something critical: an end. Advent is not an end to itself, it is a time of preparation. We celebrate Advent, as we celebrate Lent, because we expect something greater, something else that will change all that we know.

Advent is beautiful and solemn, but only because we know it won't last. If this were it, the darkness and drear, the cold and silence, we would have no reason to be assured. We could not endure without the hope of something greater--Christ--coming. It is only because it ends that Advent means so much.

Which is a glorious thing. Because think about what it would have been like before Christ, when Advent--which wouldn't have existed--simply continued ad infintium. Forever. Endless preparation for something unknown and, to some extent, unexpected. It's sort of overwhelming. But it focuses us away from ourselves, which is a great deal of what Advent is about, I think, and to the thing that really matters: Christmas.

Advent exists solely for Christmas, just as John the Baptist existed solely to point the way to Christ. It is worthy, but only as a stepping stone, only as a brief respite. Christmas, Christ, is what truly matters. That is what we should be looking toward in the grips of this winter season. To lose sight of that is to lose sight of the true meaning of Advent and Christmas.

So be vigilant. And remember for whom and what you keep watch.

Advent

2008-12-04T08:47:00.005-07:00

I've never paid much mind to the church calendar leading up to Christmas. But this year I find myself craving light and solace and in so doing, I find myself drawn deeply to Advent.

I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps it's a product of age and my general awareness. But I feel strongly that it's the Spirit calling me, stirring me to the meaning of these long, dark days: the explosion of light that will cover the plains and mountains, rivers and rocks and trees at the coming of the Christ-child. It is a preparation in the darkest hour for revelation and redemption.

The world is not an easy place and in these uncertain times--as all times certainly are--the tension between Advent and Christmas provides heat and friction, buoying the soul and lifting of spirit we so deeply require. We can all too easily pass by, miss the call and therefore be unprepared to respond.

This reading--from Jan Richardson at The Advent Door--calls to mind the tension of the season and our need to listen with as much strength as we can muster. May it calm and renew you this season.

These Advent days can be disorienting in the ways that they call us not only to remember the past but also to anticipate the future and attend to the present. Yet this is the work of the threshold, and Advent is a threshold season, a liminal place in the calendar, an in-between time of preparation and expectation. Thresholds offer a heady mix of possibility and peril. They are wildly unpredictable, they stir up questions, they call us to live with uncertain, they compel us to develop skills at attending to the present even as we discern the future. Ultimately, they are places of initiation, taking us deeper into God and the person God has created us to be.

(Artwork by Jan Richardson @ The Advent Door)

Hatin' on Carnivores: Graph-ical Version

2008-12-03T15:00:00.003-07:00

Not to be outdone, the NYT has this article about piggies and moo-cows and poo and global warming scarries. And? It comes with a GRAPH (and varied examples of sloutions)! Woot!

Enjoy responsibly--like with a salad or some left over Tofurkey.

The Cow Goes Moo?

2008-12-03T10:26:00.008-07:00

Of late, I've been doing a lot of thinking about food. Where it comes from, how it's grown and harvested, what's in/on it, how the whole massive Industrial Food System fits together. The only solid conclusion I've come to is that Michael Pollen is right: omnivores have a serious dilemma, especially if you want to be more conscious and connected to the food you eat and support.

And as if the whole situation wasn't complicated enough--what with chemical spraying, CAFOs, the unending deluge of inedible corn (and attendant corn subsidies), mysterious processing, the convoluted arguments for and against locavorism and, above all, the need to feed millions of people (and the fact that we don't even do that very well)--Ben Adler goes ahead and adds one more massive layer to this whole cluster-f: global warming.

His article, for TAP, connects eating meat (cows, to be specific) with global warming and greenhouse gasses. Not really surprising, when you think about it, given the massive litany of processes that produce emissions and wreck the planet on the way to a Quarter Pounder. While Adler suggests that going meat-free is the most environmentally beneficial option (abstinence-only education does work!), what's even more compelling is how simply eating less meat would significantly reduce the amount of greenhouse gases our country releases. One meat-free day a week, that's all. Or even just not eating as much meat per meal, or even just less red meat. That's not so hard, is it?

The article is both depressing and uplifting. It's depressing because this gradual switch, from eating less meat to (eventually) no meat, is so easy and yet it's such a huge obstacle, especially here in America. It will take years of education and perseverance to make anything like this possible on a large scale, and we don't have years.

On the other hand, it's hopeful. This is a manageable, tangible goal. Veggie pasta instead of pork chops on Thursday nights? Sure, that's easy. And heck, it saves money, too, which is nice. We can do this, if we want. It's a sacrifice, sure, but not an insurmountable one.

And on a personal level, this has helped me to commit to a decision I'd been wrestling with for a while. While I've essentially gone veg (while still hedging the "locally-sustainable meat" line) in response to my distaste for the industrial farming system here in the States, helping to reduce global warming is an added bonus. It gives my decision more weight and credence and, hopefully, will be a good conversation starter.

Oh, you don't eat meat? Why not? Global warming? WTF?

I'm glad you asked...

Thank G-D for Atheists

2008-12-02T09:57:00.003-07:00

Oh people...

Just when you think things can't get any weirder or more complicated out in the hinterlands of these United States, something like this goes down.

Now, I'm all for civil rights--I have a feeling I'll be putting up a more substantial, less head-shakey post about this later--and have no problem with the "sharing of space" at the Capitol, but really? Come on, folks: peace on earth and goodwill toward all. Remember that?

Sigh.

On the upside, there're only 71 days until Presidents' Day! Woo, Washington and Lincoln!

Advent of a Conspiracy

2008-12-01T14:51:00.004-07:00

Advent Conspiracy says what I was trying to say below, only, you know, better. Take it to heart.

Redefining Christmas

2008-12-01T11:05:00.010-07:00

If you happened across this post over the last few hours, you'd have seen a bloated, half-baked treatise on charity and Christmas. Apologies; it wasn't very well thought out, especially the intended sarcasm about the US being a Christian nation.

Instead of the unfunny or helpful tricks, I'll get to the point: it's time to redefine Christmas. The peanut gallery has been calling for a long time--in movements like Buy Nothing Christmas--to reorganize the way we do Christmas here in the States. I'm jumping on the wagon this go round and advocating that others do likewise.

It's easy to get self-righteous here, so I'll do my best to walk carefully. It's not that gift-giving is wrong or bad or immoral; it's just that it's gotten out of control. Our desire for stuff--especially cheap, readily available stuff--has usurped the other, better angels of our nature. This is not a question of religion; Christmas has for a good (?) long while jumped the bonds of Christianity and now roams free as a time of gift giving and getting.

Likewise, this call to redefine Christmas is not solely for those who claim Christianity. This is for everyone, regardless of belief or unbelief. Giving to charity, of placing others in need above our own consumptive desires is a universal, human thing. How your particular flavor of spirituality (or lack thereof) influences that universality is up to you.

So, if you're able this year, please consider ditching the wrapping paper and expensive gifts. Make it a game, let your kids, your friends and family choose their charity, get them involved. The point is not just to write a check; it's to make a difference in the lives of others while making a difference in the lives of those closest to you.

If you need help making the switch, please visit Redefine Christmas or Changing the Present.

Happy Turkey Day, Everyone

2008-11-27T14:00:00.010-07:00

A Whole New World

2008-11-24T11:12:00.008-07:00

World Mapper, redrawing the world as we know it. Bloody fascinating

Private Spending on Health Care

(h/t: NPR)

Gilead

2008-11-24T08:20:00.003-07:00

I finished Marilynne Robinson's Gilead on the flight from Denver to Missoula last night. It seemed an appropriate place, soaring high above the plains in the dark. I felt brought close to the face of Heaven, there at 39,000 feet, with John Ames blessing me.

I am still too close to Gilead, today. I need time away to allow a more critical eye. For now here's a litter of quotes I found as I thumbed through this morning. They are mostly theological in nature; I'll try to pry loose more descriptive passages in the future.

"When you encounter another person, when you have dealings with anyone at all, is is as if a question is being put to you. So you must think, What is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation? If you confront insult or antagonism, your first impulse will be to respond in kind. But if you think, as it were, This is an emissary sent from the Lord, and some benefit is intended for me, first of all the occasion to demonstrate my faithfulness, the chance to show that I do in some small degree participate in the grace that saved me, you are free to act otherwise than as circumstances would seem to dictate. You are free to act by your own lights. You are freed at the same time of the impulse to hate or resent that person. He would probably laugh at the thought that the Lord had sent him for you benefit (and his) but that ist he perfection of the disguise, his own ignorance of it." p. 124

"Even the Holy of Holies was broken open. The deep darkness vanished into ordinary daylight, and the mystery of God was only made more splendid. So my dear hoard of silence can be scattered, too, and the great silence will not be any poorer for it." p. 133

"...The root of real honor is always the sense of sacredness of the person who is its object." p 139

"And often enough when we think we are protecting ourselves we are struggling against our rescuer." p 154

"Don't look for proofs. Don't bother with them at all. They are never sufficient to the question, and they're always a little impertinent, I think, because they claim for God a place within our conceptual grasp." p. 179

"I don't know exactly what covetise is, but in my experience it is not so much desiring someone else's virtue or happiness as rejecting it, taking offense at the beauty of it." p. 188

"You can spend forty years teaching people to be awake to the fact of mystery and then some fellow with no more theological sense than a jackrabbit gets himself a radio ministry and all your work is forgotten. I do wonder where it will all end." p. 208"

"...Doctrine is not belief, it is only one way of talking about belief..." p. 239

"It has seemed to me sometimes as though the Lord breathes on this poor gray ember of Creation and it turns to radiance--for a moment or a year or the span of a life. And then it sinks back into itself again, and to look at it no one would know it had anything to do with fire, or light...But the Lord is more constant and far more extravagant that it seems to imply. Wherever you turn your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration. You don't have to bring a thing to it except a little willingness to see. Only, who could have the courage to see it?" p. 245

*Page notations are from the paperback edition*

No Cable? No Problem!

2008-11-22T16:35:00.002-07:00

After the poor-me-no-cable post, I thought to myself, Suck it up, camper! And was quickly reminded of my new favorite thing on the non-televised airwaves: Radiolab out of WNYC. Think of it is an East Coast cousin to This American Life. It's on many public radio stations (though not here in MT), but it's also archived on the wonderous internets. Give'r a listen.

Ho Ho Holy Crap I Wish I Had Cable!

2008-11-22T10:24:00.005-07:00

99.9% of the time I'm glad I don't have cable. Exceptions include stuff like The Office and Project Runway and Comedy Central. Especially Comedy Central. Double-especially when it means I'll miss out on A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All!

Don't be like me. Get cable. Do it now. Here's a teaser to convince you:

A Snooter

2008-11-20T16:13:00.005-07:00

I've been busy hustling around PDX in grown-up clothes (read: slacks and dress shoes!), so haven't been able to feed the addiction as often as I'd like. But two things to keep you all (all? one? three?) on the hook: go get the current issue of The Atlantic. Some thought-provoking and weird (as usual) stuff this go around.

And here's a musical interlude for your entertainment. Heads up: Mozart Symphony No. 40:

(h/t: Daily Dish)

Aright. Back to it.

NEWS FLASH: STEVENS OUT

2008-11-19T06:26:00.002-07:00

Mobile-blogging from the Missoula airport--at the not-so-bright but early time of 6:30AM--because I just can't help myself, here's a news update* from NPR: Senator Ted Stevens, of Alaska, has been voted out of office.

Now that's change you can believe in.

*I'd be seriouly worried if anyone gets their news from this blog. Honored, but worried.

Core Strength

2008-11-18T16:51:00.004-07:00

Having been lightly involved in Missoula's thought-experiment on how to reconfigure itself for the coming 20 to 50 to 100 years--to develop or not to develop?; urban core or rural sprawl?; bike lanes? increased buses or rail?--and headed back to Portland, a "real" city with a "real" urban population looking at similar questions, this article on Urbanism from TAP is quite intriguing. Something to keep an eye on over the next few years, eh?

Is It Hot in Here?

2008-11-18T16:42:00.002-07:00

Straight from The Man himself:

A Little Civil Disobedience for your Tuesday

2008-11-18T12:59:00.006-07:00

Squash-Based Love

2008-11-18T11:14:00.002-07:00

I'm iffy on squash. The smell, the texture, the taste. Unless you boil it, puree the crap out of it and then mix it into something else. Like soup or pumpkin bread.

Or a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Now, I know there's no actual pumpkin in a PSL (which probably goes a long way in enhancing the enjoyment factor), but dear Lord these things are amazing. And you can get them anywhere; it used to be they were the purview of a very specific, ginormous coffee company that shall remain nameless. But these days? Everywhere!

So: go get one. Even if you don't drink coffee. Get decaf. Get non-fat. Get soy. Whatever. Just freaking get one!

Kill Your Television

2008-11-17T18:24:00.007-07:00

Just when you thought EnergyStar ratings would let you buy a big, bad Plasma screen, NPR shows up to rain on your televised parade. Have no fear: here's a graph to explain it in non-moving pictures:

(Kirk Radish/NPR)

On Listening Well

2008-11-17T14:46:00.010-07:00

On my run this weekend, I listened to last week's This American Life broadcast. It was the first show after Studs Terkel passed away and so to commemorate, the first half of the program was devoted to airing interviews he'd done with survivors of The Great Depression.

Sadly, I'd not been well-acquainted with Studs (as he seems to be called by everyone) until yesterday. I'd heard his name and knew, in a very general way, what he was about. Hearing these interviews, hearing to the way he talked with people and listened to them, was fascinating. It was like discovering some great secret I couldn't believe I'd never known about.

Not only is the concept of an oral history fascinating in itself, but the topic--The Great Depression--made my particular experience even more arresting. Jogging through a beautiful Montana afternoon, I listened to these ordinary, everyday people describe their experiences of this cataclysmic event--an event that, God forbid, may be around the corner.

Granted, the interviews I heard were culled from thousands of hours and edited together to create an overall effect. I was meant to be moved in a certain way, and I was. But the impact is astounding: far from a sense of hatred and anger--though there is certainly some of that (especially towards those who had money and held onto it)--the overriding sentiment is of "pulling together", or everyone doing what they could to help one another. There is far more talk of ending racism, of commonality, of binding up than of hatred for the federal government for letting such a thing happen--though, as I said, there is some of that.

But beyond the emotional content of the piece, came a revelation: what is gained from listening to people. Really listening, without an agenda, without attempting to pull something from their words. Just hearing them out. You learn so much more. I learn so much more. With so much fear and uncertainty--our national and personal struggles compounded by a contentious election--looming, taking time to realize: we are human, we are the same. Whatever may come, we need to band together, to tell stories, to support one another and move forward. We cannot do this alone.

We were never meant to.

You can find many more of Studs Terkel's interviews here. Please give them a listen.

Honor Guard

2008-11-15T10:24:00.004-07:00

This week's New Yorker is an election wrap-up and features some great in-depth reporting about Obama and McCain, how their campaigns were run and the depth of what they've won (the Presidency, a large step forward for equality) and lost (honor). The bit that most interested me is from David Grann's piece about McCain. Here's the quote:

The platform for such a party was never fully thought out, but participants told me that it included the following ideas: pushing campaign-finance reform and curtailing special interests in order to restore faith in government; affirming that the federal government had a limited but important role in public life and should not be dismantled, as Newt Gingrich’s wing of the Republican Party had attempted to do; a greater call for public service, either through the military or through programs like AmeriCorps; less emphasis on divisive social issues; promoting a progressive tax system that favored the middle class rather than the rich; and regulating the excesses of the capitalist system.

Grann is talking about McCain's shift away from his party after 2000 and toying with the idea of creating a third-party to run a campaign on. What's fascinating is that, looking at the policies and ideas in this quote, I'm really attracted to them. I like this version of McCain.

Which surprises me. My experience of John McCain has been limited to the 2008 general election, both due to my age and lack of interest in the Republican primaries. So to realize how different the two McCains--the "old" and "new"--really are is pretty incredible. If you'd told me McCain supported the kinds of policies mentioned in the quote, I wouldn't have believed you; his behavior and rhetoric during the campaign just didn't match up. It seems to have been almost a 180-degree shift.

Which makes me wonder what this election would have been like if John McCain had run as what I'm inclined to think must be the "real" John McCain, instead of capitulating to his party's base. It makes me wonder, as Grann does, how much McCain has really sacrificed in his bid for the White House. And oddly, as Grann hints at near the end of his piece, it makes me hope John McCain ends up back in the Senate, ready to fight for the ideas and policy he so ardently believed in.

Knowing When to Lead

2008-11-14T13:53:00.023-07:00

The Phoenix Initiative, an arm of The Center for a New American Security, has a recent foreign policy paper out talking up the concept of strategic leadership. You can read the report for yourself, but here's a money quote:

Strategic leadership requires making wise and deliberate choices about how, when, and with whom to lead. While America remains the single most powerful country in the world today, it cannot take global leadership for granted, nor can it revert to what worked in previous eras. Both the scope and the limits of American power must be taken into account. Moreover, leadership is not an entitlement; it has to be earned and sustained. Leadership that serves common goals is the best way to inspire the many different peoples of the world to make shared commitments.