Alive & Well

My apologies for the absence these past few weeks, I've been traveling quite a bit lately. Stay tuned for many new pictures, stories of 40-hour-long train rides, and much more! I was just strong-armed by Goongle to switch my Blogger account to "the new version." We'll see what that yields.

In the meantime, enjoy this.

Moscsnow

Fotos

Check it.

Course Evaluations

Yesterday I took about twenty minutes to fill out my online "Course Evaluations." These differ from class to class and can be as basic as "Rate your course on a scale of 1-5," and as in depth as up to fifteen questions about the class.

My Educational Psychology class review was of the sparse variety, with only a number ranking and comments window available for me to vent my grievances. I gave the class a 0, and in the comments section wrote:

I’d like to suggest an alternate title for this course of Ed. 301: “Nothing is Ever A Child’s Fault.” This course seemed to be telling us that if a child shows any trouble with any subject, that he or she is to be excused of any and all misbehavior and labled as having a "condition." This seems to dig a child with problems into a deeper hole more often than not. If teachers and parents caved in every time a student said "I can't," I'm afraid no one would get anywhere.

Sadly, my misspelling of "labeled" probably did irreparable damage to my otherwise objective, helpful response. I suppose we'll see how "confidential" these evaluations really are, and if I end up being summoned to the Ed Department's office.

There are many, many hilarious ways that I could be kicked out of the Ed department. Stay tuned.

Yea Or Nay

The doors to all sins are opened by Pride as one is pushed through by Desire.

How I'm To Be Kicked Out Of The English Department

The scene will of course be Ethnic and Minority Literature. I’ll be sitting in class studying a portrait shot of the Chinese-American author we’re currently reading. Dub Hesser will say “Isn’t this a great, swirling, mystical representation of the Chinese struggle of keeping the traditions of old and facing this new America? Wow. Huh. Striking. What do you think, Matt?”

From the front of the room, I will appear engrossed in the handout.

“Matt?”

I will then furrow my brow at the picture contemplatively, and raise my hand without glancing up. Hessbomb will think “Wow, so engaged in the text, he didn’t even hear his name called but boy oh boy I’m sure whatever he’s got to say is going to be spectacular!”

At which point, after being called on, I will ask “Do Chinese people have eyelashes?”

Adventures With the Romantics

When discussing Byron, one must deal with seductive scenes. The man was a shameless womanizer, and it comes through clear as day in his poetry, usually with hilarious results. In attempting to relate a Byronic seducer to modern times, ol’ Ronny McFargo suggested it to be like saying “Hey baby, I play football for the Vandals [eyebrows up and down with that boink boink noise].”

This was obviously aimed at J., who does indeed play ball for our mighty Vandals. He took it with a humble grin and shake of the head. I like J.

Sniveling Pomp Boy, however, is another story. His response: “Not that that’d get you anywhere,” a bit louder than he apparently intended, as he quickly looked to J. and retracted with “Just kidding.”

But J., the incarnation of Vandal Pride and abused jocks everywhere was not to be appeased by this slippery attempt. He picked up the desk/chair next to him which still contained a flustered grad student, and swung the mass of steel and flesh in an arc straight on top of Sniveling Pomp Boy. As he writhed like a worm on the earth tone carpet, J. picked him up into the air and snapped him in two with a satisfying CRACK.

“IT IS KNOWN TO J. THAT THE FOOTBALL TEAM SUCKETH HARD. BUT HE IS A RARE FORM, ONE WHO IS IN THIS WORLD BOTH AN IDAHOAN ATHLETE AND SOMETHING MORE!!!” he roared, shattering the annoying fluorescent lights in TLC.

He then disposed of the remaining halves of Sniveling Pomp Boy by hurling them through the wall to the ground below, giving our room two much needed windows, and took his seat after slugging a Gatorade and reciting a few lines from Paradise Lost.

An Oracle as to Ground Beef

Better to cook it and keep it than to keep it, uncooked.

Thank U, You of I

A UI student took it upon herself to send out a Facebook message last week informing us how to vote. Not "how" as in, register, go to the fairgrounds, vote, but, well, here's the message:


Tomorrow is election day. Please remember to vote tomorrow, as there are several important issues that will be decided on BY YOU. If you are unfamiliar with these measures, they are as follows:

Ballot Questions:
Proposition 1 (makes education funding a priority -- penny tax sized increase in school budgets) --YES
Proposition 2 (pay developers and land owners, end planning and zoning) --NO
HJR2 (bans civil unions, hospital visitation etc.. and re-defines marriage) --- NO
Advisory Vote on Property Tax Shift (your sales tax pays for special interest property tax cuts) -- NO
Ten Commandments Back in City Park (will bring Fred Phelps back with HIS monument!) -- NO

Ahoy

New pictures be up.

A Companion Piece To Gibbs's Latest

This morning I mentioned to Asher that my Minority Lit class consisted of 90% student led “discussion,” which always boils down to “Ok, can we get into groups and talk about these incredibly bland questions that I’ve come up with? Great.” This was at about 7:45 which left me ample time to get to campus five minutes before class started, but right then I realized that I never wanted to go to that class ever again. I’m going to be hearing the opinions of my peers for the rest of my life; while I’m in college, I want to hear a professor’s thoughts. So I stayed home and read Byron.

I’d kill for a delicious, buttered gender roll.

I Carved A Punkin'

Check It

If you haven't had the pleasure of visiting Greg's blog, do it now. The man is spending the next five months in Antarctica and has great pictures and stories of what seems like another planet.

I Have A Sneaking Suspicion

That my 79% score on our Ethnic and Minority Lit midterm essays had a lot to do with me not so subtly calling most of it crap. Granted, these were not the well-crafted pieces that I would like to take credit for, which is why you didn’t see them posted here, but I really think that if I’d just written five essays on how tough Jewish immigrants had it and said only complimentary things about their writing, I could’ve knocked out an A without having read half the material. But bitterness prevailed, and I just couldn’t let the opportunity to attack this rubbish pass me by, and lo, my 79%.

We Love Our Clichés

Above Reproach

“I feel the darkness growing stronger as you cram light down my throat.”

When asked about these lyrics in an interview, Dave Bazan said that “the force and the arrogance or whatever with which Christians wield their Christianity--actually furthers the cause they’re supposedly fighting against [and] doing harm to the concept of who Christ is.” The next line of the song follows:
“How does that work out for you in your holy quest to be above reproach?”

I’ve always loved this line, the dig at one of the most widely thrown about phrases in modern Christendom, and one that clatters against the lives of the apostles, disciples, Moses, David, and Christ. “Above reproach” has taken on this meaning of being blameless in the eyes of everyone, including non-believers. Peter explicitly says that they’ll malign us because of our faith and the ensuing lifestyle. The Savior of the world was accused regularly of being a drunkard, demon-possessed, and a liar. Especially in light of all the claims He made, He could possibly be the most reproachable person in history.

It’s in God’s Hands Now

Because before it wasn’t, right? “Lord, I now give this problem over to your control, now you can fiddle with it.”

God Helps Those Who Help Themselves

Typically, God will more than likely pick the guy that’s slouching in the corner avoiding His gaze, drag him to his feet and use him to save Ninevah. The Lord doesn’t seem to operate like a CEO, promoting his servants on the basis of how well they pull themselves up the ladder by their own bootstraps. Noah was a boozehound whom God chose to repopulate the world. I’m well aware that merely the presence of an action in the Bible doesn’t justify my imitation of it. More often than not, these examples of folly are specifically there for us to avoid slipping on the same spot. But looking at the history of “who God has helped” doesn’t seem to back up this phrase. The big issue here is largely the order of action that it implies. FIRST I’ll help myself THEN God will help me. Once I get going (on my own), God can kind of push me along. ‘Fraid not.

Interview w/David of Pedro the Lion

For Jay

Dear Dr. Science,
How come when you're riding a ten speed bicycle, when you're not pedaling the bike makes a clicking noise?


Mike, let's get this straight from the starting gate. I don't ride bicycles. Ever since I realized how ergonomically efficient the bicycle is, I knew that I would be doing a disservice to our petrochemical and nuclear energy industries by participating in this form of mechanical subversion. If you could build a bicycle that somehow consumed gasoline or uranium, well, maybe I could be persuaded to hop on, but until that time I'll either ride in an automobile or stay put, thank you. To answer your question, that little clicking noise is a gauge put on your bike by the Communists who made it. It's counting off all the lost oil revenue, the money not going into American coffers because you chose to ride a Communist produced instrument of subversion. If that makes you feel a bit guilty as you ride, relax, it should.

If Only...

“Good afternoon ladies and gentleman, my name is Scott and I’ll be your flight attendant today on our flight to Salt Lake City. The cabin is being pressurized for your comfort. Should there be a loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will fall from the overhead compartments. Please secure your own mask before assisting others. Even though the bag doesn’t inflate, there is oxy-“

“Scott?”

“gen… flowing…um, yes?”

“Scott, is it at all possible for snakes to drop out of the overhead compartment instead of oxygen masks? Poisonous snakes?”

“I..- no…it’s not.”

20/20

The Scene: A group of 18-25 year-olds, engaged in relatively intellectual discussion. College classroom perhaps. An opinion is presented. There is general disagreement amongst the participants. Looking for a way out, the opinionated claims something along the lines of “Well you’re just looking at it through your worldview lens, your paradigm.”

This seems to be the favored way of disregarding an opinion we don’t like in academic settings, and armed with a bandolier of trite expressions we proceed to show how another’s thoughts are merely the product of the culture they are surrounded by. I find it interesting that this tactic is used to trivialize someone’s opinion in an age where the world places so much importance on individuals’ feelings. It’s commonly believed that just because there’s a thought in your head that it’s worth hearing about.

The popular view seems to be to rid oneself of any prejudicial paradigm and look at everything “objectively,” without the hindrance of those pesky lenses. Rubbish I say. Why would we attempt something like this, even if it were possible? Hans-Georg Gadamer states that it’s nonsense to even entertain the idea that you can achieve some kind of clean slate mentality when looking at literature, that your reading will always be affected to some degree by your culture.

So if we can’t get to a clean slate, what’s another option? Acquire as many pairs of lenses as possible. Be able to look at a text as though you grew up under Marxist thought, or during the Impressionist movement. Hand in hand with that is the necessity for discernment, when to use what lens. This to me is similar to Samuel Johnson’s idea of suspension of disbelief in the theatre. It’s not that you are totally sold on the idea of Formalism as a valid worldview, but you recognize that the most enjoyment/benefit will come from donning those glasses in this situation. We “suspend” our default lenses when we know that they won’t reveal as much as another.

Playing a little more with the analogy of lenses, what are they designed for? Improving one’s vision. Why would we try to strip ourselves of something that by its nature is designed to better our sight? We would be blinding ourselves. Granted, not every lens is good for every scenario. We shouldn’t try to study the stars with a microscope, even though it’s a lens. And we don’t want to use the wrong prescription for our close readings. But I’ve heard it said before that the possibility of misuse is poor excuse for not utilizing a tool.

Practically, I don’t think that you need to have an intimate knowledge of every lens under the sun. And likewise, some lenses are weightier in authority than others. But that’s for you to decide, because I’m heading to bed.

Today's Irony

Many of you know that I don't get poetry. I can't read it, I don't like it, and I'm taking a class in the Romantics to try to learn how.

That being said, let me direct your attention to the right of this blog, where I have inadvertently done something poetic at least in form. Take a look at the list of folks under 'Noteables.' A six word line, then a three, a one (composed of three characters), then three, and ending with six. Now how about that?

On another note, I saw a sticker on a car while riding my bike back from class that read, in Gothic font, "God is Fear." I didn't have a chance to check out the surrounding stickers that would have given me proper sticker/ideology context (since I'm SOOOO fast), so I'm left wondering if that's meant to have a negative slant. Odds are, this fellow or gal who so boldly displayed their theological views via adhesive vinyl would tell me something along the lines of religion being used as a scare tactic to keep a brother down. Whatevs.

I’m also very disappointed in all four of you who read this and haven’t pointed out to me that Noteables is misspelled. But that's also a bit ironic that I started this post to show some higher use of the language, right under something that spellcheck would pick up. The comedy that is life. I’ll fix it right now.

Fire Survivor

Christmas

For Christmas this year, my gift to you (yes you) is pictures. If you'd like anything from my flickr site or that I've posted here, or maybe you've just seen around my house, let me know and it shall be a Merry Christmas indeed.

I can email anything to you in the original size, or print them out if they were taken digitally. Most stuff on flickr was taken at 6.0 megapixels, but there are a few scanned film shots on there as well. I can blow up the film to 8 x 10" for sure, and maybe 10 x 13.

What Can We Get Away With?

We’ve heard it said that “With Much Wisdom Comes Much Vexation, and Increasing Knowledge Results in Increasing Pain.” I think the fellow that said it was pretty bright too. Hm.

So there are a few obvious was of rationalizing to ourselves how getting smarter brings about vexation and pain. Looking at the word vexation (note, not the original word, but for our purposes…), we see a connotation of nuisance, annoyance. We’re usually vexed by termites in our home, not by divorce in the family. Most of us can probably relate to being annoyed by the asininity of a conversation held between college students on the level of third graders. We hear Chet complain to Kyle about the complexities of Psych 101; We, in our greater knowledge, could deal with said problem in our sleep, and are annoyed by those who struggle with such a simple task.

Hopefully I don’t have to point out that in this situation, while the greater wisdom provided the platform, you still took the step over to judgment and general snobbery.

Here’s another scenario, more addressing the increasing knowledge resulting in increasing pain bit: The world has a lot of ugliness to find. The happy fool sits on his box, sometimes giggling between drool at the pleasure of his simplicity (although of course, he wouldn’t actually be aware of his state as such, but he might have random flashes of enlightenment as to his condition.) But we also know that the simple are killed by their turning away and the complacence of fools destroys them. Maybe not the best option. But be warned that when you seek knowledge, you’ll find that quite a chunk of what’s out there is bad enough to cause you pain. Better to suffer in seeking wisdom, than be destroyed by your apathy.

I’m sure there are a few other ideas out there about how, pragmatically, Smarts = that smarts (hoho). But here’s what I’ve been thinking on the past few days that was certainly new to me: With much wisdom often comes the ability to defend your wisdom. The more you know, usually the better you can explain what you know. Great, right? Lucidity rules. My concern isn’t with simple clarity of expression, but more with the rhetorical swagger that too often tends to accompany “much wisdom.” Often, before a young fella has this wisdom, he’s proven wrong in an argument and has to sit in it. But ah, now that knowledge has entered the picture, he may be able to present his opponent with an airtight case for whatever inane thing he wishes.

Put more simply (hopefully), I think that often what keeps us in check isn’t our better judgment or morality, but the fact that “I couldn’t back this up.” Regardless of my position being right or wrong, I know that my first thought has been something similar at times. “Can I make a case for this? What would their response be? Then what would I say? Ahhh, forget it, I can’t sustain that argument.” Little or no thought (initially) given to whether or not what I’m arguing for is right.

Consequently, with increasing knowledge and much wisdom, the potential for making a solid argument for something ridiculous grows. With a loaded rhetorical arsenal, we sometimes become trigger happy, all too ready and willing to open fire on anything we see.

Art Needs You

I was thinking today about ways to present my senior thesis at the end of this semester, and the idea popped into my head of using some of my photography. As I pictured myself showing and explaining my own pictures, it seemed ridiculous. I thought “Who does this?” Other people should be critiquing my work and telling the group what I was doing, what I intended, because that’s largely what we do in the arts. The creator of what we’re studying is rarely presenting his own material, or even sitting in the back to chime in with “Actually, that’s not at all what it means.”

There’s a certain level of protection for the artist in this. As soon as he puts something out there, the populace will begin dissecting, embellishing, musing, and basically doing whatever they want with it. But the responsibility seems to be somewhat lifted from the creator; and the explanatory weight seems to be shifted away.

But isn’t this fact largely what makes art and talking about it interesting? I’m definitely not a proponent of “everyone’s opinion is equal and we all have the same right to be heard on a level playing field” crap. Some people are vastly more qualified than others to relevantly discuss certain issues. If I were to be involved in a discussion on poetry, the majority of my time would be spent listening, because chances are everyone in the group would be better equipped than I to comment and I know that. But it is the difference of opinions and perspectives that make up a large portion of what’s interesting about art. And unless we’re dealing with an artist harboring some personality disorder, we’ll only get one interpretation from him, and any discussion would involve creator vs. non-creator. Were he alive, would you tell Rembrandt what he meant by painting “Christ on the Storm on the Lake of Galilee,” after he’d already told you?

So in the artist’s absence, we’re able to hold conversations that may make the creator roll in his grave. But we may also touch on something that he didn’t intend at all, and benefit ourselves and others beyond any of his dreams. This more active engagement with art is, I think, what motivates new artists to create. If we were to hear one side of every poem, painting, song, and story, most of us would probably think along the lines of “Well, I can’t do that kind of thing.” I think I would.

Bucer's Bible Study

Bible study at Bucer's, 1:00 on Wednesday. This week we'll read through the entire book of Isaiah aloud, which may take anywhere from two and half to three hours. After that, we'll discuss the book in smaller chunks every week. You're invited.

Observations on Kamp’s “Progress” in the Time I’ve Been There

Having just recently finished my 5^th summer of work at Kanakuk Colorado, I’ve noticed a few things about the change (or lack thereof) that I’ve seen over the years.

Some Background:

Kanakuk Colorado officially became a branch under the Kanakuk dynasty in 2001 to offer kids an alternative to hot, sweaty Branson. Kids are also able to branch out a bit from their normal sports and activities they could enjoy back home (which is usually somewhere in the south/south-Midwest). They get to pick from five ‘specialties,’ which are Mountain Biking, Rock Climbing, Backpacking, Fly Fishing, and Wet & Wild (river rafting and lake sports.) Ironically, despite our offering of “something different,” the most popular specialty by far is the one that most of these kids already do nine months out of the year; tubing, waterskiing and wakeboarding. Coincidentally, hoho, it’s also the laziest specialty you can choose. Fly fishing at least requires you to stand under your own power and not be towed about by a boat.

We’ve had basically the same options offered each summer with a few small tweakings. The sameness of the sports year after year for returning kids isn’t too big of a deal, since they can always choose new specialties, and the actual trips that we take them on change almost yearly.

Another aspect of camp is Andy’s “Institute.” Don’t let the name scare you too much, it’s only half as creepy as it sounds. Roughly every other day, the kids are presented with a series of talks from Andy on “Christian worldview” issues with an apologetic leaning. These include taking a look at the media that these kids are immersed in, defining and examining dating relationships, and exposure to other major religions of the world in relationship to Christianity. A lot of work goes into these talks, lots of research and tons of resource-gathering time. During the two weeks that the kids are here, they’re certainly given a bit of info on a multitude of issues that a young Christian deals with. And therein lies the first flaw that I’ve noticed.

The problem can be pretty much summed up in the phrase “A mile wide and an inch deep.” Andy ends up flying through a lot of material just to get through it all. Not only is he not always able to mention everything he intended to, but the general atmosphere suffers greatly when he ends up kicking it into hyperdrive and zooming through PowerPoint slides. No one wants to hear about morality issues with the speed of a cattle auctioneer. It’s hard to think of something as important when it’s flying by you without time or chance for reflection or question.

I’ve known a few campers that have decent heads on their shoulders and aren’t too shabby at thinking for themselves. As soon as they pick up on the fact that Andy is making sweeping generalizations for the sake of time, they tend to have a hard time putting any faith in what he has to say afterwards. On top of that, kids that come for a few years are getting almost verbatim the same talks every summer.

Hearing the same material a few times isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And given that there are quite a few new kids each summer, it’s all new material to them. The problem that I see is that kids who have gotten past the basics that Andy spends most of his time on (evolution, sex, racy movies, etc) and are ready for something deeper are pretty much out of luck. They’re going to hear the same thing they heard last summer, and the summer before that.

What this tends to do is keep kids in a stagnant spiritual state. The common cliché associated with camp is to come off of two weeks with other Christians, “get your life back on track,” and experience “The Camp High.” And of course, like any other altered state, it goes away when you stop shooting it and you’re usually in worse shape than when you started. Camp as a whole suffers from this still-water problem, as the aim is for college kids to be around and influencing high school kids. Staff at K-Colorado average one or two summers of work. With a turnover rate like that, how can you expect to grow as a whole? We’re so busy bringing new people up to speed that it’s a battle to just hold our ground. No thought is really given to maturity as a body.

Now I try not to criticize something at this length without offering some semblance of a solution, so here it is:

Institute: I feel that if Andy were to pick one of the many topics he works with every summer and really focus on that and take the time to explain it clearly and critically, campers would gain more from it. For example, next summer could be all about Creation and Evolution. Appropriate time is given for all the subheadings involved, and he could work without the pressure of everything still to cover in the time given. Next year, focus on the media. Not only would this give everyone a chance to slow down and really examine the issue at hand, but it would work well for kids who come back for multiple summers. They won’t hear the same thing for 11 years (yes, I had a camper who was on his 11^th year). There’s also more of a sensation of moving forward, towards something, instead of each summer being a copy of the previous.

I’m afraid my idea for the problem of staff turnover doesn’t have as technically applicable a solution. More or less, people need to want to be there. It truly pains my soul to hear co-workers at camp just finishing their freshmen year of college talking about summer school and internships to fill the next few summers. If you’re “good at camp,” by all means, take advantage of the fact that you have summers off of school and can work at place like K-Colorado.

Up Next: Night Life at Camp or How We Make Camp Sweeter For Those Who Already Love It, and Consequently More Painful For Those Who Don’t.

Only In Dreams

At about 5:00 this morning I found myself in the Logos field house, near the end of a Christ Church Service. I was sitting in the second of two rows of desk/bleachers that ran along the entire length of the building along the side walls. There was a smallish group of folks occupying folding chairs in the middle, near the stage. I was seated about even with the back of the chair group, but about forty yards from them. The building was roughly three times its normal size this morning.

On my right sat Susanna Rench, taking notes with her left hand. I vaguely remember DW making some concluding remarks, but can't remember the details. Then, the overhead LCD projector kicked on, displaying the church's plan for dealing with the issue of "Hurricane Seeds." The first and only bullet item underneath the heading was the word "Frumption."

At this point, Asher Weinbaum, who had apparently been sitting in front of me the entire time, turned around and mouthed the phrase "Mutha Frumption!" with a look that said "Oh yeah, I went there!"

I only remember five or six dreams a year, and they are usually ended by me laughing myself awake. This was no exception.



By the way, isn't Only in Dreams the best weezer song ever?

Purty

Ein bisschen mehr.

Too Good

Amy forwarded this gem to me. Reminds me of Engrish. Enjoy.

FROM THE DESK OF (Dr) SHANK WILLIAMS
CITI TRUST BANK NIG PLC
CORPORATE HEADQUATERS
2, AJOSE ADEOGUN STREET
VICTORIA ISLAND, LAGOS NIGERIA
alternative emails: shankwilliams@jubii.dk

GREETINGS TO YOU,

I Am (Dr) SHANK WILLIAMS the Finance Manager to the Citi trust bank Nig plc .Your contact was given to me by a very good/ school mate of mine, that works with the Nigeria Chambers of Commerce here in Nigeria. So i will be please to use this chance to intruduce to you a business transaction(deal). You are to relax your mind, because this is REAL.Being the manager in the bank(Citi trust bank Nig plc) i have discover a very good dealtransaction which both of us will benefit from, provided i am concerned.

As its stands, there is a foreign client(customer) in person of MR.EDWARD Patrick, also a very good business man who has a very huge sum of amount($15.5million) in the bank(Citi trust bank Nig plc) before his suprise death.It was a pity and sorrowfull that Mr,Patrick, the wife and their only son died sorrowfully, which is, they were among the victims of the TERRORIST BOMB BLAST TRAGEDY, that occured (11th, september,2001) inUnited States of America(USA) during his visit for a business negotiation in America.

As the forex manager in the bank also a very good family friend to Mr,Patrick, i have been able to try all my possible best to see(locate) if i can get or know any of this man (Mr, Patrick) family member or relation,so that i can get them informed of the latest development as regards to the huge sum of amount which belongs to Mr, Patrick, in the Citi trust bank Nigplc. To your best knowledge this sum($15.5Million) is floating in the Citi trust bank Nig plc and i will not want it to finally taken by the management of the Citi trust bank Nig plc.But to my greatest suprise, it happens that Mr, Patrick, did not have anybody or other person left behind to stand as his NEXT OF KIN to this money ($15.5Million).

Now, since this man has no any other person left behind for the claim of this very huge sum of money, as the NEXT OF KIN, i will want to realise with you as a foreign partner in respect of this money, so that this huge sum ($15.5Million) could be paid (Remitted) to you into your private bank account as the NEXT OF KIN to this our very good customer/client (Mr,Patrick).

For your information all the necessary arrangement has been put in place to ensure 100% success, while all the important document that covers this money are also at my hand reach, as i have told you initially that i am a family friend to this very man (Mr, Patrick).In NUT-SHELL i will want you to stand as the next of kin to Mr,Patrick, so that we can get this money out fromthe Citi trust bank Nig plc, into your private bank account for safe-keeping pending my arrival for sharing in your country.

It is very important you indicate your willingness, so that i can send Across to you all the necessary TEXT FORM document from the bank also talk on the issue of the sharing modalities as i have planned. Please this deal is of REAL, SECRECY and 100%risk-free. Bear in mind that we are concluding this deal between 15 working days which is from the day of your positive response is being received. You are also required to send across your private telephone and fax numbers for easy communication and oral discussion, so as to avoid any delay.

I come again, you are to stand as the next of kin(Relation) to this very man (Mr, Patrick) for theclaim of this huge amount ($15.5M).Finally, 30% for your assistance, 50% for me, 10% for the re-settlement of any expenses incured from both side while 10% will beinvested in the name of your company and care.You can also contact me with this email// shankwilliams1@msn.com

(Dr) SHANK WILLIAMS. (Finance Manager).
of Citi trust bank Nig plc.

Old Hash: Anzia Yezierska Revisited

I wrote this in my lit theory class a few years back and dredged it up today for "class discussion leading purposes" in Ethnic and Minority Lit. Keep in mind that this was written at the beginning of my English career, so perhaps you'll forgive the clunkiness and just plain ignorance found here.

“In every work of literature the writer has reworked elements taken from experience, in such a way that interconnections between them and the whole from which they were ‘abstracted’ are revealed.” – Cliff Slaughter

I’ve chosen to examine Anzia Yezierska’s The Lost Beautifulness with both Marxist and reader-response theory. I’ve found some interesting things in texts using Marxist criticism in the past, but I’d like to qualify my use of it here by paraphrasing Julian Markels The Marxian Imagination; Markels makes the point that Marxist theory is at its root, a primal act of imagination. To me this means that while I can apply a Marxist viewpoint to Yezierska’s story and use the vernacular of the theory, it’s still just an option. I do my best not to make any claims about the author’s intentions or any such thing. For me, Marxist literary criticism is more of a novelty, one that fits well into many texts because of its focus.

Marxist criticism, unlike most other literary theories, was not developed on its own as a means of interpreting writings. Since Marxism itself focused on the struggle of power between the proletariat working-class and the bourgeois, it fits that Marxist literary theory would work well since most stories are based around some sort of conflict. When you attempt to put on the Marxist mask, you can easily see almost all conflicts in relation to status and power. I believe that since the literary theory developed from this philosophical system, which existed outside of stories before it was used to interpret them, it’s more easily applied to most writings. While the terminology used in Marxist criticism is quite important, I’ll do my best to explain them along the way instead of giving you a vocabulary list here to jump back to.

“The Lost Beautifulness” Through Marxist Eyes

On the surface, Yezierska’s story sounds like it plays right into the hands of a waiting Marxist critic with typical results. The story starts with Hanneh Hayyeh, a Jewish woman, exclaiming how beautiful her newly painted kitchen looks. She has scraped and saved the past few years the money she’s made washing linens for a wealthy American woman, Mrs. Preston. Hanneh got the idea of painting her kitchen pure white after seeing how Mrs. Preston’s shone. She invites all of her Jewish friends in to see it, and soaks up their praise. After she tells Mrs. Preston about it the next day, the landlord comes over to collect the rent. Hanneh practically drags him to the kitchen, to which he merely says “Very nice,” after a quick glance and takes his rent money and leaves. Two weeks later, he raises her rent, telling her that the apartment is now worth more because of the kitchen, and he’s charging her accordingly. She briefly considers going to a pawnbroker or Mrs. Preston for help, but immediately dismisses both thoughts. Two weeks later, the landlord raises her rent again, and she goes to see Mrs. Preston. She offers twice to help her financially, but Hanneh seems insulted and rejects her assistance. She says that she’ll only settle for justice. She goes to court over the matter and loses, gets evicted, and destroys the kitchen out of spite with an axe the night before. Her son Aby is returns home to find his mother and all their possessions sitting out on the street in the rain.

So right off the bat we can see some definite class struggle that drives this story. Hanneh is obviously a member of the proletariat working-class. She is at the mercy of two members of the bourgeois, the upper-middle class who employ the proletariat, the landlord and Mrs. Preston. The landlord has status and financial power over Hanneh, and Mrs. Preston also has some sway being the provider of Hanneh’s income. So far, the situation is reasonable, without exploitation or abuse. The problems start with the painting of the kitchen, and the motivations behind it. Hanneh has fallen victim to the commodification of her kitchen, or placing value on it not for any utility that it has but for the impression that it leaves on others. She’s reaching for the sign value of it, the ability of the item to impress others rather than serve a pragmatic purpose. The landlord sees the opportunity to make more money, and on the reasoning that he can kick her out and find new tenants anytime, raises her rent twice. Hanneh doesn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, and when she takes him to court, she loses.

That’s where I saw the typical Marxist parallel ending, and a more interesting view of the theory evolving. Let’s look first at Hanneh’s state of mind throughout the ordeal: She starts off being overwhelmed with the beautifulness of the kitchen because she’s comparing it to Mrs. Preston’s. She attached sign value to a white kitchen since the member of the bourgeois she knew best had one. This is a form of false consciousness, or an unconscious acceptance of an unfavorable social set-up. Valuing a newly painted kitchen is most certainly not going to benefit someone in Hanneh’s position who can barely make enough money to eat day to day, yet she’s been fooled by the system into thinking that the kitchen is somehow valuable to her. We see this idea of reverence for the bourgeoisie before the trouble starts in the story as Mrs. Preston is honestly complementing Hanneh on her skills as an “artist laundress.” “The hungry-eyed, ghetto woman drank in thirstily the beauty and goodness that radiated from Mrs. Preston’s person. None of the cultured elegance of her adored friend escaped Hanneh Hayyeh. Her glance traveled from the exquisite shoes to the flawless hair of the well-poised head.” (Yezierska, 1256). Hanneh is obviously very aware of Mrs. Preston’s prestige, and admires it a great deal. She didn’t just hear Preston’s praise; she drank it in thirstily, like she needed it. Praise from someone in Preston’s position is immensely important to Hanneh, because of this state of false consciousness.

Hanneh says at one point, “Everything I do is done for my Aby.” (Yezierska, 1257). I think this is questionable looking at how she treats the kitchen. After painting it, Hanneh has her husband in with the expectation of praise. Then she invites her friends in to marvel. Then the landlord. And Mrs. Preston. All for something that realistically has no use for her, but she’s incredibly proud of it all the same and wants everyone else to feel the same way. I think it can be argued that she’s actually doing these things for herself, being caught up in the idea of being a little bit closer to Mrs. Preston in status.

After the first rent increase, I started to see an underlying idea that both supported and contradicted my use of Marxist criticism. Hanneh seems to make it through the two weeks of increased rent, albeit with meat or milk, but at the second increase she snaps. She didn’t approach anyone for assistance after the first increase, but instead went to Mr. Sopkin, the butcher for a sympathetic ear. She comes in wailing, to which Sopkin says, “Hanneh Hayyeh! What to you happened?” The next line shed some light on my idea and gave me a new theme to search for in this story: The idea that Hanneh is using the system to suppress herself. “His sympathy unlocked the bottom depths of her misery.” (Yezierska, 1259).

What I mean by that is that typically Marxist criticism seeks to expose how those with power flaunt it and keep it out of the proletariat’s hands. That makes sense, and there are countless examples in literature and history where you could delve into that idea. But here I started seeing Hanneh actually existing in this power struggle with the (perhaps unconscious) intent of keeping herself in the lower ranks.

After the second rent increase, Hanneh admits that although her first instinct was to run to her husband, she needed sympathy, so she went to see Mrs. Preston. Somehow, she has gone from distressed to enraged during the trip over. Mrs. Preston does sympathize with Hanneh and tells her that she’ll see that she gets the rent that’s needed. Hanneh explodes. “I want no charity – You think I came to beg? No – I want justice!” (Yezierska, 1260). She tells Mrs. Preston that the last time rent went up she went without milk and meat; she doesn’t know what else she can give up. She tells her that she gets so desperate for meat sometimes that she feels she could tear the world to pieces. Mrs. Preston acknowledges the injustice of the situation, doesn’t deny that it’s awful, and tells her the in the meantime, she must accept some help to tide her over and offers her some money again. Hanneh reacts as if she’s being insulted, calling it “hush-money” to keep her quiet, and again demands justice. She then takes the landlord to court, where she has such as slim chance at winning, as the courts arguably favor the upper class.

Here I had another idea of a false consciousness that Hanneh had fallen into. She seemed to think that the only way to live, the just way to live, was to rely on laws and justice. The idea of accepting help from a friend as graciousness, not a loan with interest, was not even an option to her. It was a slap in the face to be offered assistance. This false consciousness also helped keep her trapped where she was. Had she accepted Mrs. Preston’s help, she wouldn’t have been evicted or starving. This is also where the role of the bourgeoisie was somewhat bent in this story. Instead of trying the keep the working class down, “in their place, and keeping power out of their hands, here is an example of one trying to lift up a lower member.

Reader-Response

This leads me directly into an alternate reading of The Lost Beautifulness, one taken from the perspective of a reader-response critic. There are two main avenues which a reader-response critic will normally travel down; describing how a reader should respond to a text, or by relating the critic’s personal response. I’ll be focusing mostly on the latter style, because no one likes to be told what to think, and my personal response is terribly exciting. This is admittedly a subjective response, based on the experiences that I, Matt Gaither, have had and how they influence how I read this story. Reader-response criticism is not, however, useless to anyone other than the critic. Readers more or less fall into categories of “interpretive communities,” where they share similar goals for what they’re looking for in a text, and can therefore benefit from the musings of someone else in their community.

When I found that The Lost Beautifulness was written about a Jewish woman, by a Jewish woman, I wondered if anything that I knew about the history of the Jewish people would come into play. A few pages in, I noticed some Marxist characteristics that stood out to me and I pursued them with some interesting results that sparked a reader-response response in me towards the end of my investigating. It started with my idea of Hanneh seeming to choose misery and poverty over the help of a friend. Something about this seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite pin it down. I can’t quite place what it was that made the connection for me, but I suddenly was thinking: Wait a second. Hanneh’s story is a pretty decent parallel to the Biblical story of the Jews. And what a coincidence, it’s written by and about the same people. The Jews were always at a place of privilege in God’s eyes throughout the Old Testament. They were his “chosen people.” Hanneh enjoyed the favor of a benevolent person in Mrs. Preston throughout the story. Just like the Jews of old, Hanneh had a strong connection to the law, and thought that everything should revolve around it. She showed this in her demand of justice being dealt to the landlord, and taking the entire situation to court, a system of laws. The emphasis on laws wouldn’t be as big of a deal if there wasn’t an alternative. According to the Bible, the Jews were offered a place in the New Covenant with God through Jesus in an act of grace. Grace, to them was the antitheses of law. They were comfortable following the law of Moses to the point of tithing even their spices, but the idea of “free grace” was wholly unacceptable to them. Such was the case with Hanneh and Mrs. Preston as well. Mrs. Preston knew what Hanneh needed, rent money. Hanneh was too proud and reliant on her sense of justice to accept the free gift. Mrs. Preston, after being insulted by Hanneh and accused of being on the landlord’s side, realized that even a free gift can’t be given if the recipient won’t take it. The idea of Hanneh accusing Mrs. Preston of conspiring with the landlord fits into this analogy too, as the Pharisaical Jews first denied Christ’s offer of grace, and then accused Him of being sent from and in cahoots with Satan Himself.

At this point, I wasn’t entirely convinced that my response has enough substance and twist to be interesting. Upon wrapping up my Marxist view, however, I was stunned to realize that I’d neglected the climax of the story: Hanneh destroying her new kitchen with an axe out of spite! The Pharisees had Jesus killed out of their spite for him, and because they refused His free gift. All they were left with was their bitterness and their law, which didn’t end up saving them at all. Hanneh was left in the same position as the law had failed her and she still had all her resentment, so she destroyed the most beautiful thing she had. The entire situation could have been resolved much more peaceably had both parties accepted grace.

In his essay Is There a Text in This Class?, Stanley Fish lets us know that he’s much more concerned with what a text does as opposed to what it means. What it means, under Fish’s thought, has more of a connotation of one, objective meaning that needs to be picked out by the reader. Fish argues that instead of texts having formal features identifiable at all times, it’s instead the reader that projects those features onto the text. Readers then, according to Fish, create literature, not authors. This can certainly be seen as a direct contrast to formalism which looks exclusively at the text, as reader-response puts all the focus on you.

So What

I feel like The Lost Beautifulness set my mind in motion in a way unlike anything I’ve read before. I know that this is quite the sweeping statement to make, but let me try to explain myself. When I first read this story, I remember feeling frustrated at having to endure ANOTHER ethnic-American writing that was little more than immigrants lamenting their state in this cruel, heartless America. I’d read too much of it in too little of a time-span. After reading through it a few times while applying Marxist criticism, the words took on a new dimension. Seeing something below the surface of tears and wailings sparked more of an interest for me. I was comparing The Lost Beautifulness and How I Found America, another of Yezierska’s stories, with Zora Hurston’s personal essay How it Feels to Be Colored Me and short story Drenched in Light. My original thesis for this comparison was to show through formalism how dramatic events in ones life can actually make for poorer writing. My logic behind that was the idea that if you have an extraordinary circumstance to write about, it becomes easier to focus less on your style, syntax, and other aspects of crafting stories. This was all mainly based on my initial dislike for Yezierska’s story, and my admiration of Hurston’s willingness to write positively when she could have easily jumped on the wagon of depressive writing like so many others.

However, after diving into Yezierska’s work with a literary eye (and some patience), I discovered a richness and complexity there that would’ve remained hidden had I not pursued. Or rather, the stories themselves showed me richness and complexity in something that I had originally disregarded, to put it in a more reader-response-friendly tone. The texts also revealed a connection to me between my literary tastes and my musical ones. I’ve often found that pieces of music that I don’t like right off the bat, but let soak in and acquire a taste for end up sticking with me and becoming my favorites. Something that sounds good to me right away rarely has that lasting power. The process of digging into Yezierska’s stories showed me that that attitude of mine is not limited to music, but can also be applied to literature, and who knows what else? This process hasn’t stopped with the conclusion of Yezierska’s story, or this essay. The Lost Beautifulness has caused me to question nearly all of my current likes and dislikes and force myself to ask why, and did I give the dislikes a real chance like I gave the story?

Ahem....

I still have nothing to say....here are mas photos from the summer. Mas to come.

And if anyone knows how I can move my useable borders on this thing about an inch to the left and right so as to put more space between this text and the list of links to the right, I'd greatly appreciate it.

The Co

New pictures from Colorado, link on the right. Enjoy.

Photomania

Many new pictures from Renaissance Fair and Portland are up. Check em out.

I'm heading down to Durango tomorrow for the summer, which means that computer access will be few and far between until August 15thish. I should be able to post about once a week, so I'll try to stay updated at least with pictures.

I can never gauge how much reading time I'll have at camp, but here's a list of the books I'm bringing with me anyway:

1. The Art of Living and other stories - John Gardner
2. Orthodoxy - Chesterton
3. The Complete Stories - Flannery O'Connor
4. Mere Christianity - C.S. Lewis
5. Principles of War - Jim Wilson
6. Standing on the Promises - Doug Wilson
7. The Moviegoer - Walker Percy
8. The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
9. Great Hymns of the Faith
10. What We Talk About When We Talk About Love - Raymond Carver

I'm registered for this on Saturday. It was fun last year and we had marvelous weather. However, "not in good shape" doesn't do my physical condition justice. "Formless and void" would be more accurate. If the Spirit of God moves about the surface of my muscular atrophy, it might work out all right. Just kidding, it'll be a blast.

Practice Makes You Better

I’ve taken up some space on this here blizog writing about ideas that are fairly new to me. It’s been great to work out kinks in my thinking and theology through writing. It’s also been unexpected. When I got back into writing, I didn’t foresee being able to better understand my own thoughts by writing them out. Something about realizing that another sentient being is going to read this and that it needs to be intelligible really helps me narrow and focus.

That being said, I thought it was time to write about something that I’ve actually thought about more than once or twice. I was visiting a fellow Moscowvite’s blog archives where I found this writer saying she’d once heard something to the effect of our lives here on Earth being practice for heaven. I thought to myself, “Hm. I say that a lot. She may have even heard it from me, I say it so much. I should elaborate on that.”

What first sparked this idea in me was writing a paper a few semesters ago on Francis Schaeffer’s “Pollution and the Death of Man: The Christian View of Ecology.” While I didn’t actually get much from the book, I did start to form this idea of being given little things to watch over in order to prove yourself responsible.

I think the most obvious example of this in Scripture comes from Mark, where Christ says: “He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous also in much. If therefore you have not been faithful in the use of unrighteous mammon, who will entrust the true riches to you?”

My first thought in response to this was along the lines of “Oh. If we treat something temporal, like the environment, with contempt and laziness, why should we be trusted with eternal things in the next life?” I was basically seeing our life here as a proving ground for “the real thing.”

But as I thought more about it, I started to see smaller levels of the same principle in our lives here and now. Look at childhood for example: Does it really matter how well you score on your 4^th grade math test? Will nations fall and souls perish if you don’t carry the remainder? No. But the common misconception among youth is the idea that “Oh this isn’t important. When things get important, then I’ll be responsible.” Right. After years of practicing sloth, misuse, and neglect, you’ll be able to “be responsible.”

Doug Wilson said in one of his sermons that there are no big choices, since all the little choices we’ve made up to the point of this big one brought us there. I agree with that, but there’s also something to be said for there not being any small choices. Or at least there’s never an excuse for making a choice flippantly, since even if it’s whether you’ll have chocolate or vanilla ice cream for dessert, you form habits of decision making all the time. Thankfully, we’re given more important things to deal with than dessert choices and don’t have to try and impart great importance to things that just aren’t important. We have to choose where we go to college, if we’ll watch that movie, who we’ll marry, how we’ll return good for evil. These are important decisions, that we’ve hopefully practiced for in the years leading up to them.

An example that I’m sure we’ve all heard, but fits here, is a single guy’s preparation for marriage. What does the world tell you about this? Live it up, this is your time, soon enough you’ll be enslaved to The Wife. This is the time to be an idiot.

While I agree that there are aspects of the single life that we should take advantage of, it’s not an excuse to be glib with the choices we make. Not being attached to and responsible for a family does free you up in a certain sense. I think that the misconception, at least that I’ve held for a while, is that we’re freer in every sense until marriage. That “I do” translates to “I do put away any and all of my previous desires, freedoms, and enjoyments.”

I have a great time explaining this idea to kids at camp, how being a meathead now means stacking the deck against yourself in the future. Thankfully I have all kinds of examples from my own life to back this up. I’m constantly amazed at how God weaves our own folly and rebelliousness back into things that are ultimately good.

I don’t see the benefits of preparation for more important matters starting at death. Rather, we’ve given opportunities all throughout our life to practice for things of greater and greater consequence. At death, I hope that I’ve shown myself responsible enough to take on even weightier matters.

Time Spent Worrying Is Time Wasted Not Preparing

And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him. - Hebrews 11:6

Cast your bread on the surface of the waters, for you will find it after many days. - Ecclesiastes 11:1

Do not be anxious then, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'With what shall we clothe ourselves?' For all these things the Gentiles eagerly seek; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious for tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. - Matthew 6:31-35

For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one also hope for what he sees? And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. - Romans 8:24-25 & 8:28

Fun With Macro

A Black Past

If you leave this story with nothing else, remember this: I was once a much worse person than I am today.

I’m the oldest of three kids in my family. We’re each separated by about four years. While I certainly fulfilled the role of big brother as dominator, I rarely took it upon myself to lead. I think that my brother Jordan, four years my junior, truly felt the full force of this in his left nostril one day in Wisconsin when my parents had trustingly left me in charge of the house.

My relationship with my brother oftentimes went the course of “I wonder what would happen if _____ happened to someone?” and I often took advantage of my familial superiority to see these wonderings through to action. They usually started with something like, “Jordan, we should try this,” which was met with initial hesitation, returned with general big-brother badgering from me, and usually his submission in the end.

This was around the time that we’d moved to the States from Germany, and many things that every American kid grows up with were still new and amazing to me. Super Soakers for example. I think I’d seen ads on our one American TV station in Germany for them, and of course my little mind was easily molded by advertising into thinking they were the coolest thing since…..ever. So I had a Super Soaker at this point. Not one of the industrial, dislodge a small child from the pool with the blast models, but it would get you wet. For some reason, I enjoyed pressurizing the canister with air while the gun had no water in it, and just shooting streams of air much more than water. I can remember being mesmerized by watching the skin on my hand and arm dimple under the force of a pencil thin tube of air.

The question was burning a hole in me: what would it look like if “one” were to discharge an air stream up “another’s” nose? I imagined cartoon sound effects and general hilarity.

“Jordan, let’s try this. It won’t hurt or anything, it’ll probably just look really really funny. Your nose will get huge and then go back to normal.”

He wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, but I eventually made a convincing case. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he wouldn’t get to see the hilarious results, just experience them. I probably also did something underhanded like pump the gun once or twice then shoot off a puny shot of air with something like “See? How could that hurt?”

I gave the water gun a healthy priming and set the nozzle against his upper lip pointing nasalward.

“Ready?”

He wasn’t, and I knew it, but he gave a slight nod of the head.

I was right about one thing, his nose did burst out to a larger size than it’s ever been. As I pulled the trigger, his eyes widened in direct proportion to his nostril, as if the air going into his nose was bulging them open and outward. After about a second he screamed. Of course it hurt. I can’t believe that I even considered it not hurting.

My first reaction was “Ssssshh! Ssssshhh! It’s ok it’s ok sssshhh!!” I didn’t want to be found out, and the way he was yelling there was a good chance most of the neighborhood would come knock down the door.

I came clean when the folks got home, and I still wonder if I would’ve had Jordan not been in blinding pain. If I’d done something equally stupid, but only involving me with no way of being found out, I wonder if I would have said anything. Jordan, I really am sorry.

Moshots

There are a few pictures from the Motown bash up on flickr. I'm helpless with flash, so I've artsyed some of them up to make them mo-interesting.

Let's Talk About Those Timely Blessings

When we’re told to walk by Faith and not by Sight, it seems that the common interpretation can be visually expressed by a man (full of faith) gathering up his courage and leaping into an abyss. Think Indiana Jones.

What this seems to suggest is that we only look to Faith when our Sight says “uh oh.” By then it’s not much of a decision, is it? The option to even walk by Sight is taken away, and so, we think, ‘I’ll walk by Faith now I guess.’ But there have been times when my Sight has been looking at something good, like a full suspension bridge across the abyss. Then we think it’s a no brainer, take the bridge. But what if Faith is saying something different? How much harder is it to listen to Faith when Sight is treating you so well?

That relates more to my biking adventures this year than it does to what I’m talking about here, which is God’s timing in blessing and grace. Take the past week for example. All things considered, possibly one of the most troubling, trying weeks of my life, though I just want to focus on one of the issues tonight.

On Tuesday, I may have lost my job at the farm for reasons unknown to me. Aside from being a huge financial blessing, it’s a great place to work with great people. But it really is my bread and butter when it comes to paying the bills. The pay is better than anything else I’ve heard of in Moscow, and the hours are flexible. With the summer coming up and me heading to Colorado in three short weeks until August, this isn’t as big of a deal as it would have been in the middle or beginning of the semester.
Timely Blessing #1.

But bills still need to be paid, and I’m looking at about a month without working. About a week before I received my termination letter, my landlords the Birks had asked me if I had any extra time to help do some landscaping at their house for their daughter’s wedding. I said that I really didn’t have the time between two other jobs and school, but that I could come once and maybe find some other people to help them out. I asked a few friends if they could help out, but, like me, everyone’s busy this time of year. I really wanted to help with this, but I couldn’t skip work at the farm and no one else was available. Then I got the letter, and suddenly I had three days a week open to work. They’re paying me $8/hr. Timely Blessing #2

On Thursday I met with Josh Gibbs to chat, and mentioned as we were parting ways this whole situation. He responded with “Oh, my mother in law is looking for some help with some yard work. And she’ll pay you $10/hr." Timely Blessing #3

On Saturday I was working at the Birk’s and spoke with Judy, who owns our house with her husband Tim who wasn’t in town with her. After some small talk about how school was going and how the house was holding up (they always like to joke with me about the fire of ’04), she told me that since Tim usually came over and cleaned all the leaves off of the roof and out of the gutter, that she’d knock $50 off of rent for me if I did it. Timely Blessing #4.

In what I’ve seen in my own life lately, it isn’t so much of leap of Faith, as it is a plodding away, doing what’s right and walking by Faith when those hairy spots interrupt. I don’t typically go looking for places to test my Faith. I usually have plenty of opportunities every day.

On the timeliness of Grace, it tends to come when it’s needed, and not before. This is what I think of when I hear walk by Faith not by Sight. It’s more of a worry-net. When things look bad to the Sight, Faith is there to assure you that Grace is there.

Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord – for we walk by faith, not by sight – we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord.

II Corinthians 5:6-8

Action Shots

Posted a few pictures from the St. Andy's rugby game this afternoon. Larson let me know if you want the full size of any of them.

Reminder

Guys Bible study on Micah at Bucer's. Wednesday, 1:30. If you can bring some outside references or commentary on the book, that'd be great but come regardless.

If I can make it I'll be a bit late, my 1:30 class that I've been skipping has the nerve to give me a test tomorrow.

Suspicians Confirmed

We were visited tonight by a prominent author of young adult fiction named Chris Crutcher in my Lit for Adolescents class. On the topic of censorship he had this to say:

"Words don't do damage. They're arbitrary."

Bikes Part II

Alright, so the main problem I had with my racing last year was the fact that I made it so important. I was pretty excited about the idea of crossing the finish line in spandexed glory for five weeks. While there were most likely some pride issues going on, I think that God brought me down (literally) to focus my attention on more important matters.

With that in mind, I decided to approach this year heavy on the recreational side and light on the obsessive. I was on my bike five or six times all semester, then a few more as our first race came up. Just enough to wake my legs up and not be miserable in the races.

More importantly, I’d made a much more concerted effort to maintain dialogue with my sister, and keep up to date with her. It was funny, most times that the thought of riding my bike came into my head, it was quickly tailed with “When was the last time you talked to Christa?” Through painful road rash I’d been conditioned to associate bettering myself on the bike with neglect to a relationship.

So our first race this year was again in Corvallis, Oregon. The Kerns of Eugene were gracious enough to open their home to me and fill my belly for the weekend. I drove the eight hours there on Friday night, crashed (haha), and left early Saturday morning for the 9:05 road race in Corvallis. I left with plenty of time to spare, so I wasn’t too worried when traffic started slowing on I-5. I got a little more worried when it stopped. I sat for a good half hour before we started inching forward again to come upon a semi that had slid sideways across all three lanes of northbound traffic. And not just the lanes, but the shoulders as well. Both of them. We had to creep past the truck in the mud of the median in a single line one car at a time.

Once past the wreck at up to highway speed, I wasn’t too worried about making the race. I’d left enough of a cushion to still make it on time. Unfortunately, in all the hubbub with the accident, I missed my exit. And with no map to tell me I’d gone too far, drove almost all the way back to Portland before realizing something was up.

Now not only did I miss the race, but I was bringing a teammate’s bike with me from Moscow. And I had all of the team’s spare wheels, and yes, one guy had a flat tire and couldn’t finish. So three of us were not scoring points because of me. This was my first thought when I realized I wasn’t going to make it. What happened next was interesting, and hard to describe. I was definitely in a funk. Not a frustrated, angry, or necessarily sad funk, but a feeling more like “I should’ve known better than to try this racing thing again.” I can’t draw the direct connection that I could last year, that racing was taking me away from something else I should have been doing. But I was nonetheless consumed with a guilty feeling as I made my way back from the outskirts of Portland toward Corvallis.

I’ve heard a lot in Doug’s sermons lately about “God as an author,” and it’s really had me thinking about why we notice and are focused on certain things over others. The long and short of it is that I feel God brings things to your attention for a reason, that the fact that I immediately felt wrong about racing was God’s nudging. Even if I don’t understand why as clearly as I did last year, the feeling was very similar, even amplified. Not only did I feel that racing was bad news, but the funk part of it was that I felt that I should have known. That’s really interesting to me, because even now I only have a hunch as to what biking could possibly have been taking the place of. Even if there never is a life-changing revelation that comes from this time, I know I was saved from burying myself financially and academically. Every time I opted out of a race weekend, I would realize within a few hours that there was so much that I needed to do in that time that I may not even get it done being here in town. I wasn’t altogether comfortable with the leadership on the team this year, and had my doubts about getting gas money and entry fees reimbursed, which would have ruined me.

There isn’t an obvious good deed left undone because of my cycling. I didn’t stay home one weekend and save a baby carriage from rolling into traffic at the same time my race was starting in another state. Wouldn’t that have been cool? I’m thankful in the end though that I didn’t have this feeling, look around and not see anything immediate to take care of, and shrug it off.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Community Happenin's:

I. Tonight (Thursday) at 7:00, the strictly unbiased group "NoSuperWalMart" is sponsoring the film "Is Wal-Mart Good for America?" It's FREE and there will be a panel discussion with open mic questions following. Please come.

II. Wednesdays at Bucer's, guys Bible study, room in front of the smoke room. We've gone through Jonah the past three meetings, and we're moving on to Micah. If you're so inclined, look up and bring some outside references/commentary on the book. The more the merrier (people and references.) Current cast includes Josh Gibbs, Nate Wolff, Asher Weinbaum, Matt Dau, Nick Heid (sp?), Jordan Wilkins, Josh Hatcher, and more!

III. This Friday through Sunday at the Kenworthy, sweet looking French flick called Cache. Mystery suspense, and Frenchness! Friday at 7, Saturday and Sunday 4:10 and 7. Check out the trailer here.

IV. This Sunday, April 23, Jason Webley is playing at the 1912 Center at 7:00. Accordian playing merriment. I haven't seen him but I've heard from many people who have that his shows are amazing. I'll be there if I don't go to Montana for a (gasp) bike race (It's more of a sightseeing jaunt, really.)

V. Sunday May 7th, our house, Substantial BBQ '07. After you've practiced your Mo-Groove the previous weekend at Susanna's bash, get ready to do the Standing Still in our front lawn. Just kidding, you can dance, and to the swingin' sounds of the Shaun Daniel Band at that. There will also be an outdoor movie when the sun goes down, so suggestions for that are welcome. If you're reading this, you're invited. Nate and Hannah, would you guys be interested in playing a bit as well? Email, call or post here with questions.

Das ist alles, tschuss!

Holiday Humor

I scooted into the Co-op with about five minutes till close. Cafe Mam's Mocho Blend coffee (beans) and an apple were all I needed and that's what I brought up to the only open register.

While scanning: "So what's up tonight."
Me: Not too much, glad I got in before you guys closed.

Smiles.

Me: Are you a coffee fan?
Nods.
Me: Have you tried this? The mocho blend?
She hadn't.
Me: Best coffee I've found anywhere, you should give it a whirl.

Cashier: Do you know that your total is $6.66?
I had noticed and I told her so.
"And it's Easter," I added, flaring my eyes wide in mock horror. She found it hilARious.

Since I Can't Write....

I've taken some pictures. A few more from Vancouver, some from the farm. I'll work on Part II a bit tonight.

Long, Rambling, Overly Detailed on Cycling: Part I

I’ve been asked lately how the bike season is going. Every time I hear the question I have to consider how much this person knows about my experience last year, and how much they’d want to hear. The short answer is that it’s not going well at all. The long answer is everything that follows.

January of last year I started riding my bike for the 2005 collegiate season. I rode a lot. Eight to ten hours a week. I couldn’t have asked for better conditions, if you were around the greater Moscow area you’ll recall a two week stint of 65-70 degree weather in February that I took every advantage of. I almost always rode alone, as my schedule was pretty hectic with two jobs and full time school and rarely had the foresight to plan group rides. I also liked being alone for two, three, or four hours at a time.

By the time our first race rolled around I was easily in the best sport-specific shape I’ve ever been in. I’d raced my first year as a ‘C’, the lowest category and was starting off in the ‘Bs’ this year. My first season had been cut a bit short the last time I’d raced in Oregon when I put a pedal down too early on a turn and slid myself down the pavement at about 25mph. Now I was back, this time in Corvallis and with hours upon hours of work put into my legs.

The race started in a gentle drizzle. As we took off from the start I worked my way into the front third of the peloton. About three miles in there was a small hill, maybe ¾ mile long. Hills are a blessing to someone as metabolically blessed/cursed as myself, so I stood up out of the saddle and pulled off the front just to see what would happen. With minimal effort I was pulling away, so I sat back down and let the pack envelop me as we crested the hill. As we came to the second climb I did the same thing, but didn’t let up at the top. I instead dropped a few gears and smoked down the backside at about 80%. As we flattened out near the bottom, the pack came back around me. I felt like I had this in the bag. I felt that physically I was in good enough shape to be competitive in the As this year, and after winning this race, I’d bump up to the category. Guys around me were shaky on the hills and struggling to catch back on to the little attacks that were going on. I settled into a comfortable position about three or four people from the lead.

I was hugging the shoulder line with four riders to my left, as well as people in front and behind me. We were in a straight, flat section of the course. Imagine the least likely place for a wreck to occur. That’s where the guy on the median to my left went down. I could see the commotion in my peripheral vision, then watched as bikes dominoed over right into me. With the gravel shoulder on my right, a bike in front and a bike in back of me, and an OSU Beaver crashing into my left, I didn’t have many options of escape. I got knocked by the crash, then once the four racers to my left were down I was able to try and regain control by squirting up and to the left where I promptly ran into the guy in front of me. It happened very quickly, but I think that I ended up with my front wheel rubbing against his chain-stay and me leaning into him. This only lasted a split second before something caught and I ended up over my bars and rolling down the road. Thankfully we weren’t cooking along too quickly so I was able to roll back on my feet with my momentum and grab my bike. My chain had dropped off of the front rings and I spent about a minute trying to get it back on as the pack sprinted away. When I finally got it in working order, I hopped on and tried to catch back on. They were out of sight by now, but I was hopeful.

Here’s the best part: I came to a T-intersection with a roadside volunteer who was supposed to be pointing us in the right direction of the course. I was pointed in the wrong direction. I rode about twenty miles off course as the wind and rain started picking up. When I happened upon I-5, I knew something was amiss. I turned back around, and noticed how absolutely frozen I was. Riding in the wind while wet will do it. I also realized that I had no idea where I was. Even if I were to ask someone for directions, all I knew was that we were parked in a big empty lot in the middle of nowhere. So I rode, backtracking as best I could, and thankfully came back to our car where I (slowly and with numb claw-hands) peeled off my wet garb and put on every piece of dry clothing that I owned. A few hours later I was warm enough to put my wet jersey back on for the team time trial. I opted out of the criterium on Sunday. Physical damage from the wreck: Minimal.

The next week found us in Seattle. Typically our road races are the first event, but this week we started with the team time trial. The As were down a rider and asked if I would ride with them and I agreed. We weren’t out to break any records, just get some points for the team. Travis and Charlie took off with me sucking their wheels. In the first mile, the road drops down a hill and turns to the right. Unknown to me, as I was gazing at Charlie’s wheel and butt, the U. of Oregon team had just crashed two minutes earlier on the corner. One of their riders was standing on the far side of the road telling us to slow down and watch for gravel. I didn’t hear this and by now had my arms in the aerobars on my bike, which don’t have brakes attached. Imagine the three of us in a straight line. Travis, Charlie, me. Travis sees and hears the warning, and slows. Charlie, sees Travis slow down, and pulls out of line to the left as he slows. Me, looking down, with my hands gripping something that can’t stop me, creep right up to Travis’s wheel with Charlie to my left as we hit the corner. I reached for my brake with my right hand, but it only twitched my bike a few inches left, right into Charlie. This time, we went down at about 35. I clearly remember having a very calm sense of “I can’t believe this is happening” as my right forearm dug into the chipseal. We slid, rolled, and bounced for a bit, and got up as Travis rolled up to us after turning around. Physical damage: Substantial. We hauled ourselves over to the ER for some stitches and Hydrocodone prescriptions.

As I was having my arms and legs picked clean of gravel I started to think about this bike racing deal. I started thinking about how much time I’d put into this. How many hours I’d spent sitting on a tiny bike seat, alone, moving myself around Washington and Idaho. For what? Even if I’d been winning these races, I was beginning to see this as something extremely selfish. Everything I’d put into this “hobby” was self-serving. It was to make me look good. I couldn’t honestly say that anything I’d done on my bike had benefited anyone but me. And it actually wasn’t doing me too many favors so far. Hmmm.

Our next race was in Bozeman, Montana. I’d done this race the year before and was looking forward to it. It ended on a three mile climb, 1100 feet gained. It was my best shot at winning a race that year. I was excited.

I was also feeling a lot of tension about it. The thoughts from the previous week had been rolling around in my head and building a tiny fort of doubt.

Now understand this: I’m a terrible criterium rider. This is because I’m scrawny, and a retired runner. My mentality on a bike is similar to how one runs; steady. Pick your pace, stick to it to the end. Crits are nothing like running. Road racing in general is nothing like running, but crits especially. Good crit riders are typically your beefy dudes, with legs the size of couches, to use the classical reference. I’ve always gotten smoked in them, but I was hoping to maybe be able to at least hang on with all my training this year. The crit was the first event on Saturday, and as usual, I got owned. Started near the back from the get go and only fell back until I was totally alone, then pulled out. No big deal, road race tomorrow.

More tension that night and the next morning. Can’t shake the feeling that I’ve wasted my time this semester on something selfish. The drive to the start of the road race was a good hour. I spent the majority of it asking God for some clear sign about what I should be doing with the cycling thing. We got there, unloaded bikes and started warming up. As I took my bike down the road I felt a clicking/knocking in what I thought was my crankset, which was a new addition to the Trek. This was its maiden voyage. I asked Charlie to take it out to see what he thought. As he pulled back up he said “I didn’t feel what you’re talkin’ about, but what’s up with your left shifter?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. He proceeded to show me how my front shifter was seized up and I was therefore stuck in one chainring up front. We took it apart and dumped about a quart of lube into the thing to no avail. There would be no shifting between big and small rings for the Trek. Given the nature of the course, with a huge hill and all, I was out of the race. That seemed to be a pretty clear answer. I told the team that I was done for the year.

You may be asking what else I could’ve been doing besides riding my bike. Plenty, I think. Over Christmas break of that year I found that my sister wasn’t saved after a quick talk with her. Our relationship is another topic that I could (and should) spend a lot of time on, but for now it’s enough to say that I failed as a big brother while I lived at home and now had a chance to repair some of that. Instead, I rode my bike.

Similar situation with my brother, as far as me not living up to my role as a brother. I’d been trying to establish more of a relationship with him as well, but bike riding went on.

There are a few other things that I may have been neglecting, some of which I talked a bit about in my Shakespeare paper last semester, but my brother and sister were definitely on the front burners.

So that’s the backdrop for this season. I’ll try to have it up this week, and hopefully it will be edited and smoother than this.