Perhaps, Then, Something

This I Believe

2010-08-21T11:15:00.001-07:00

I know that I promised to regale you of tales of my encounter with Humbert Humbert, but you will have to continue to wait in anticipation for that story. This was my first week back at school with students (we started Thursday), and I feel pretty good about this year. I am vastly more organized and better prepared for this year, since it is my second rather than my first. In order to get to know my students, I am assigning them a personal essay assignment. For my AP Lit students, I gave the hardest task: to write a This I Believe essay. For those of you who are unfamiliar, This I Believe was started in the '50s by Edward R Murrow, who commented that “Never has the need for personal philosophies of this kind been so urgent.” What it consists of is people sending in personal credos of around 400-500 words. They often begin with a concise statement of belief, such as "I believe you should be nice to the pizza delivery dude," or "I believe everyone deserves flowers on their grave." Believing that this was needed for the current day as well, NPR recently resurrected this project and is continuing to receive and broadcast essays from people of all walks of life.

Anyways, it is a daunting task to try to summarize your personal credo in so few words, so I thought it only right that I attempt it myself. Since my essay drew on the same poem that gave title to this blog, I thought it fitting that I share it here. Hope you enjoy!

I believe that Truth lies just beyond the pebble of quartz.

I find in my musings I often return to one of my favorite poems, Robert Frost’s “For Once, Then, Something.” In the poem, the speaker is kneeling at a well-curb, gazing into the depths of the water. At first, he sees only his reflection, but one time the speaker peers “beyond the picture” to catch a glimpse of “something white, uncertain, something more of the depths.” But then he loses it. The poem concludes with the speaker pondering what that whiteness was: “Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.” I have always loved that line for the sheer magnitude of it, for its incomparable breadth. In it the pendulum swings from the most abstract, Truth, to the most concrete, a pebble of quartz. Within this span I find the entirety of human experience in looking for elusive Truth.

At times in my own personal journey I’ve searched and found nothing but a pebble of quartz. Looking for the sublime, I could find only the banal. I remember once spending an afternoon with my aunt Marilyn at the Saint Louis Zoo, my aunt the missionary—who had sold her possessions to give to the poor and to be free to travel to unpronounceable countries ending in –ezekistan to carry her care for the unreached and unloved to the corners of the earth. She marveled at the intricacies of the natural world and wondered how anyone could behold such sights and wonders and not believe in God. She spoke as Moses would have descending from Mount Sinai, face glowing with the radiation of God’s truth, and in response I could offer nothing but silence. I could see how people could not believe, how it was more probable that such things could arise from nature through evolution than having been created by some unseen and all-powerful God. I searched the well, but could only identify that uncertain whiteness as an ordinary, bland, sliver of uninspiring quartz.

Yet, despite my doubts I cannot escape belief. I cannot wander. I stay affixed to the well-curb, peering into those depths, and in pursuing I’ve glimpsed more than the rough edges of pebbles and perhaps even stumbled upon Truth. Though reason pulls me toward the concrete, intuition, which holds a stronger sway, leads me on. And so I believe that if you ask, Truth will be given to you; search, and you shall find Truth. Although you may need to kneel often at the well-curb, Truth stands knocking at the door, waiting for you to open it.

A Fire Shut Up In Our Bones

2010-08-09T17:19:00.000-07:00

My Sunday School group is reading this group study book called "Interrupted," which is written not from the perspective of one who has all the answers, but a "bumbling, fumbling, searching, questioning sojourner." In the first chapter I ran across a quote (note: I refuse to use the word quotation) that I had been lingering in the back of my mind since a few weeks earlier when I encountered it in Birmingham. On the way back from Florida, the fam and I went to the Birmingham museum on civil rights, which was situation directly across the street from the 16th Street Baptist Church that was bombed in 1963 (killing 4 girls). It was both a harrowing and inspiring experience, as the exhibit asked you to confront both the demons of prejudice and the courage of the few who stood up for justice.

The quote in question was made by Martin Luther King, Jr. on the night before he was killed. The speech, "I've Been to the Mountaintop," was given in Memphis in support of a group of striking sanitation workers. Before getting to the quote I want to focus on, I want to share with you all his closing, which is sadly prophetic considering the events of the following day, but resonates with the tenor of MLK's philosophy:
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

What really arrests my attention from the speech, however, is the following quote. It speaks of a desire that I yearn for:
Who is it that is supposed to articulate the longings and aspirations of the people more than the preacher? Somehow the preacher must have a kind of fire shut up in his bones and whenever injustice is around, he must tell it. Somehow the preacher must be an Amos, and say, "When God speaks, who can but prophesy?" Again, with Amos, "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." Somehow, the preacher must say with Jesus, "The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to deal with the problems of the poor."

More than 2,000 Bible verses convey God's demand that we champion the poor and oppressed. Jesus' last words to Peter were, "If you love me, feed my sheep" (which, I would argue, includes the fullest sense of the phrase, feeding both spiritually and physically). These facts indicate that the fire that MLK speaks of should reside not solely in preachers, but in all who call themselves Christians. Faced with this, I must acknowledge the cognitive dissonance I allow myself in light of the priorities I set for my life. Although I want to make a difference in the lives of others and make this world a better place, in general I want most to remain safe and comfortable. Comfort, however, is not promised in the pages of the Bible; in fact, it is the opposite that we are assured of. If I truly evaluate myself, I am not practicing sacrificial giving, not even close.

More on this in my next post, where I reveal how I met a real-life Humbert Humbert. Stay tuned!

Shark Week!!!

2010-08-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

During the past year I have come to have a somewhat disparaging view of both the Discovery and History channel. Their names for me have long been a strong ethos appeal, and I have, perhaps foolishly, never really questioned their credibility.

No longer. This year, I have watched some of their shows that left me feeling they are only pandering to our need for the sensational and have a greater fidelity to ratings than to accuracy. Coupled with intriguing accounts of the final days of WWII or ancient Egyptian burial rituals are shows detailing the history (and possible existence? they not-so-subtly imply) of the Loch Ness monster, shows describing UFO sightings, and shows exploring the possibility of Michael Jackson being a reincarnated Jesus (okay, that one was made up).

However, this is redemption week, at least for the Discovery Channel. It's Shark Week. I have only watched a couple of hours, but so far it has been fascinating. I watched a man swim with sharks in the ocean and test them by caressing them as they swim by. He states that he is looking for their personality type, based on their reaction. In particular, he is looking for a "player," a shark that are curious and want to interact with him. He was swimming with two of them and touched them and sort of played with them almost like they were dolphins. Then, the two sharks fled as a larger great white approached, who was more aggressive. The swimmer then had to display signs of aggression in order keep the shark from attacking. The end result: great television.

He found that close to the snout sharks have these sensors that sharks respond to greatly when touched. One shark even went into tonic immobility, which is a coma-like trance, that sharks often go into when turned upside down. It is the strangest thing; they can stay in this trance for about 15 minutes, and scientists often insert trackers into their skin (thus cutting them open), and the sharks don't respond at all. It is still unclear why sharks do this, but scientists on the show posited that it could be for females a way to ensure that her eggs get fertilized due to the limited movement. Still, this doesn't completely explain the mystery, since male sharks also experience tonic immobility, though often to a lesser degree.

Another delightful tidbit! Hammerhead sharks: are their bizarrely shaped heads a freak mistake of nature, or a masterpiece of evolution? It turns out that they are particularly well-formed for attacking their prey, which hides beneath the surface of the sand. Each end of the head has an eye and a nostril, which allows the hammerhead to triangulate the source of its prey. Moreover, it has these pores that ooze out a conductive material that allows the shark to sense the bioelectricity of its buried prey, which is carried beyond its body by the conductive salt water. That, is really freaking cool. Bioelectricity sensors! It's even possible that these sensors are what give sharks the navigation abilities to make their transocean yearly migrations.

One of the most dangerous sharks for humans is the Bull shark. A reason for this is this shark's ability to pass freely from salt to fresh waters. It can thrive in both, so it can pass from the ocean waters to swim inland, into waters that look benign and attrack human swimmers.

These are just a few examples of how interesting sharks are. But seriously, the main reason I'm interested in them is because they are clearly the baller-est animals on earth. Great Whites breaching off the coast of South Africa and tearing into a minuscule-seeming seal offers probably the best evidence that these are the greatest predators on earth. Perhaps you are thinking that this is yet another instance of the Discovery Channel's addiction to spectacle. But, oh! What a spectacle it is!

Educational and Humanitarian? Shut Yo' Mouth!

2010-07-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

Have you all heard of the website freerice.com? This site is amazing! It has educational games that you can play and they donate 10 grains of rice for each question you get right. Sure, 10 grains is not much, but to date they have donated 80 billion grains of rice, so it adds up ( I personally have added 2,000 grains to the count just spending random moments on there in the past two days. Booyah!).

I have only played the Italian game (fairly easy) and the two English games (the grammar game is too easy, for me anyways, but the vocab one is very difficult. I got up to level 50 once, but couldn't stay there. I average around level 41-44. Can you beat that, without cheating?). So, do you have some time to waste? Check it out, exercise your mind, and add to the rice count.

(Half of this post was parenthetical. Did you notice?)

A Silent Year

2010-07-26T19:04:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a few days since my last post, so I thought I might post an update (if you are Mike or Dorage, most of this is taken from the email I sent you two, so you can skim it).

I just finished my first year of teaching, and what a blessed end it was. I loved this year, but I needed it to end. I felt so behind for most of the year it was like trying to hold up a mountain of water (that's right, a mountain of water): between planning for the next lesson, grading, and doing my certification stuff, it felt like something would always spill over and try to bury me. However, it was on the whole a "successful" year, meaning that I feel I did the best and accomplished the most that I should expect from myself. If five years from now I still have this many classroom management issues and a syllabus this loosely held together, then I'll have a problem, but I'll take it for year one.

Successes:
-I entered this year believing this was my calling, and I end it with that belief confirmed.
-I was correct in believing that I could "own" a classroom. With my seniors and my PreAP sophomores I was really able to make the classroom dynamic and enjoyable.
-Because of this, many seniors stated that I was their favorite teacher.
-I think they actually learned something too.
-Because of some assignments in my class and some personal assistance, several of my students got some scholarships for college.
-By the end of the year, I got where I could revel in my successes and, for the most part, shrug off the complaints or sheer rudeness of some of my trouble students (that is, undeserved complaints; those that struck home are a different story).

Failures:
-Grammar, what's that?
-My 5th and 7th periods, for a lot of the time. I let them get too out of hand.
-Shamefully, I came to dislike a lot of my students toward the end of the year. I didn't dislike them as people, and had great interactions with them outside of the classroom, but inside I just got worn down by some of them.

I believed the year so successful that I thought I was going to win the teacher of the year award. I only began to think this because several student council members told me they were going to vote for me, but I'm glad that I didn't win it. I think I was letting a little too much pride get to me. It's an easy pitfall as a teacher; when you've got a slew of students telling you you're an awesome teacher, it's easy to lose perspective. I think I will be a very good, possibly even a great teacher, but I'm not there yet.

In other news, Sara got a job! She just finished her MFA in creative writing in April and we were rather worried about her finding gainful employment since jobs are 1. in general scarce right now and 2. good teaching jobs are extremely scarce in South Arkansas right now. Some of the other jobs she was looking at were administrative, and only paid about $20,000 a year, which with our student loans isn't that great. But luckily she got an interview at Hope community college, and went and taught a mock lesson and went through 2 interviews and landed the job. There were about two weeks of silence after they told us they would know who they were going to hire, so we thought for sure she hadn't gotten it, but thankfully we were pleasantly surprised. I can't imagine what it will be like on two real incomes. Moreover, Sara will finally get to do what she and I both love: teaching.

So, what am I doing now that it's summer? Let's see, I (I have become fond of listing, you see):
-went on an amazingly relaxing trip to Florida and spent a went lounging on the beach and spending time with family.
-went to Austin, TX for a week to see my brother and to go to an AP Literature workshop (which was extremely helpful).
-went to KC to see my step-brother get married!
-spent the last two weeks and will spend this week as well in my training to finish getting my teaching license. It has been, to say the least, a frustrating experience. Some of it can be useful, but much of it has been worthless, or even worse, detrimental. I can't say I have much respect for the "research" of the field of education. In truth, there is some good that I can glean from most of what we are taught, but at times I let my attitude prevent that from happening. I'll be glad when I get to choose my professional development classes.
-read the following books in preparation for teaching AP Lit (again, a list!): 1. Crime and Punishment (with six pages of notes) 2. Oedipus Rex 3. Wuthering Heights 4. The Importance of Being Earnest 5. Trifles

There are only a few weeks of summer left. I will probably spend them working halfway diligently and then have to scramble to plan each night for the first month of school. But at the moment those concerns are far off, so I am content to tackle the most enjoyable aspects of planning only, reading great works of literature and sketching out the major components of my syllabus.

So, now that I have spoken again into the wind, will anyone hear? Could anyone still be keeping tabs on this long-dormant blog?

I hope so. God bless.

A Year in Review; Jobless No More!

2009-06-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

This has been a restful, satisfying failure of a year. After a lifetime of deadlines and schoolwork, I was glad to finally have a break and to work a job that didn't come home with me. For this first time, my time was my own, which was good considering I was also adjusting to married life. As my first year of marriage, it was (almost) everything I could have asked for. Sara and I have walked deeper into the foolish belief that two independent people with habits and modes of living formed over decades could live peaceably together, and perhaps even love each other, and found that it might even be possible. We have had a sufficient amount of leisure to enjoy each other's company, and have been comforted to see conflict come less and less often in our relationship.

And yet in some ways this year has felt like a failure. Not one that I regret, but a failure none the less. I have enjoyed tutoring to a certain degree. Working with some students over time and watching their successes, such as getting into grad school with the personal statement we worked on or simply just improving their written English, was gratifying. But it wasn't teaching. It was a year on hold. An extremely non-lucrative year on hold.

And then my life course altered drastically and suddenly. I thought that I was going to be employed by the tutoring center over the summer, only to be informed three days prior to the end of the semester that I wouldn't be. That, coupled with our growing student loan debt, prompted me to action. I had planned on applying to teaching jobs in the area, but there hadn't really been any openings in all of northwest Arkansas, so we decided that it was time to expand our search. One area that we had considered moving to was around Lexington, Kentucky, since it was a pretty area and because it was where some close friends lived. I found out that there was a job fair specifically for teachers near Lexington that week, so we drove up there and found that Kentucky wasn't really a viable option. Since I'm not certified to teach, I have to go into a non-traditional licensure program wherever I want to teach. The options in KY all cost in the ten to twenty thousand dollar range, whereas the option here in Arkansas cost $2,400. So, it took travelling to Kentucky to find out that I needed to stay in my home state. Also, it wasn't until we discussed moving to KY that we realized that we could move since Sara has one more year left in her MFA, but she can finish her last year anywhere (she's mostly just working on her thesis, which is a manuscript length compilation of poetry).

So the past three weeks we have been travelling all over the state for interviews. The first place we visited, which was in Humphrey, was, well, sort of pathetic looking. It was in a shoddy little building with a hand-painted sign, surrounded by the ugly flatlands of the Arkansas delta. Inside it was nicer, and there were exciting aspects of the school, such as the fact that every student has a laptop, but ultimately it wasn't for us. It was a charter school of only 40 students, so the position didn't feel very secure, but mainly the issue was that we didn't think we could live in the delta. I believe that everyplace needs good teachers, and I feel drawn to serving the underserved, but the brown flatness of it depressed us.

We had some other failures, most notably not receiving a job offer that I thought for sure I was going to get from Pulaski Academy, which is one of the nicest schools in the state, but ultimately we found a school that we both felt good about. I received several job offers, but I decided to go with the one from Harmony Grove High School, which is just outside of Camden. The reason I went with this school is threefold. First, I really liked the principal, superintendent, and teachers that I met. They were really enthusiastic about me coming there and it seemed like a good teaching environment. Secondly, I will get to teach the age range that I prefer, 10th through 12th graders (and probably an AP course). At a lot of the other schools I looked at I would have been teaching 8th and 9th graders instead. Lastly, Camden and the surrounding area seem pretty liveable. Sara and I are travelling down there next week to finalize the details, sign the contract, and find a place to live. Exciting!

Getting the job is still punctuated by sadness, though. We both really love Fayetteville, so it will be hard to move. We love being close to family and the friends we have made over the years, as well as being a part of our church, Vintage Fellowship. It seems somewhat like a miracle that there is a group of Christians that share our sensibilities and, frankly, don't scare us. So we are going to Camden with a mixture of apprehension and excitement, which I suppose is true for every move. I am optimistic about living in Camden, but I hope to find a job in this area and move back after a few years.

So, who am I and what am I doing? I am a teacher. I am moving to Camden, Arkansas.

Recent Readings

2009-03-03T16:33:00.000-08:00

Since I last posted about reading Joyce, I have read:
Freakonomics, by Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt
Bastard out of Carolina, by Dorothy Allison
Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card
Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress, by Dai Sijie

Freakonomics was fairly disappointing, but perhaps that is only because I had such high hopes from it. It's publicity mainly comes from its startling assertion that the crime drop seen in the mid-90s occurred because of the 1973 Roe v Wade ruling that struck down laws outlawing abortion. If you have not heard this claim, the reasoning is that introducing abortion prevented a generation of mostly poor, unwanted children from being born. And since this demographic is the one most likely to commit a crime, crime decreased. Overall, the argument makes sense to me, but I don't think it should, nor was it intended to, change people's opinions on abortion since they run along moral lines, which this information does not affect. The downfall of the book, though, is that the rest of its chapters are less intriguing, though the chapter on cheating in Sumo wrestling was pretty interesting.

Bastard out of Carolina was the best book I've read of recent. It details the struggles of a girl coming of age in a poor family and the repercussions of the sexual, emotional, and physical abuse she suffers from her step-father. It was very clearly semi-autobiographical, as its raw details were too harrowingly realistic. This topic is very difficult for me, so it was an emotional read. Still, it was not an overwhelmingly dark book. Also, it offered a psychologically nuanced view of several characters where it would have been easy to have pushed them to be as expected. Overall it was well done, yet not quite breathtaking.

Ender's Game was somewhat of a disappointment, but also very enjoyable. Since it is regaled as the greatest sci-fi book of all time, I met it with certain expectations. To a certain extent, it met them. The story was gripping, its world was interesting enough, and it managed to interest me by its sci-fi gadgetry without becoming carried away. Ultimately, though, Ender fails as an intriguing character. Oddly enough, he was too messianic for me. Real people have flaws; they fail, at least at times. Ender was always the best. At everything, quasi-immediately. I almost got suckered into reading the rest of the series, but decided it was more worth my time to just read the plot summaries on wikipedia. I'll wager I was right about that.

Lastly, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress was moderately interesting, though mainly not for its literary qualities but for the section of history it captures. It takes place during the Cultural Revolution in China during the early 1970s, which, since is was also mildly autobiographical, makes for a good read. If you are unfamiliar with this section of history, spend a little time here. The anti-intellectualism and blind pastoral obsession with the simplicity of peasant life wrecked the country for years, and it's worth investigating the reasoning and events that led up to this movement.

I have also started Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, by Nick Flynn, and The Blind Assassin, but Margaret Atwood, but neither book was able to hold my interest. Please post if you have read either of these and would recommend them.

A Fall Into Decadence

2009-02-23T17:46:00.000-08:00

So, I bought a Playstation 3 this weekend... For many of you, this may illicit no reaction; for others, those of you who are gamers, will see this as a good decision; for fellow blogger and blaggart Mike, it no doubt generates scorn (oh how I miss Mikescorn). For me this was a rather difficult decision. On the one hand, it is an expensive luxury during a time when many are in need. Yet I know that that line of reasoning can be taken too far, and that buying luxuries for yourself is necessary and good, as long as it hasn't become the focus of your life. I debated about it for awhile, but eventually I decided to go for it.

Here was my path that led to the PS3 (and the path that led my lovely wife to okay the purchase). For Christmas Sara and I went to Philly to visit my mom. My brother, his wife, and my two cool cousins came as well. My cousin Tim brought his PS3, and I remembered then how much I enjoyed wasting time playing video games with people. Also, we saw Planet Earth on BluRay, which was breathtaking, to say the least. Then, during our trip in Chicago I was quite impressed with James's setup. Through his PS3 he was able to watch the streaming video from Netflix, which includes a lot of movies and tv series, on his TV. We're planning on cancelling our cable soon because of the cost, but I really enjoy unwinding after work by watching TV or a movie, which this setup allows for less money (well, the PS3 is expensive, but we're only paying Netflix $10 a month) and no commercials. Lastly, the PS3 is a fun way to keep in touch with friends who live across the country.

I was worried that I would be sucked into spending too much time in brainless activity, but last night, the first night I had the PS3, I quit after an hour of playing and read for awhile. I guess I have a little self-control afterall. We'll see if it lasts...

Travels in the Windy City (I wonder if anyone still reads this)

2009-02-17T15:52:00.000-08:00

Yes. It has been over two months since I last posted. Shameful.
Worse, I have not finished Ulysses since my taunting post that proclaimed that I would maim that beast or die trying. Worst, I have actually put it down for the time being to read a few other books.
Nonetheless, it is time for an update. For those of you who did not hear of the ice storm that swept through the midwest, there was an ice storm. It swept through the midwest. In all seriousness, it was one of the worst winter storms in Fayetteville history. Mostly, our lives were just inconvenienced since we only lost power for a day, but many people lost power for over a week. Several-inch-thick coatings of ice weighed most of the branches down so that the trees looked inverted, with downward, ground-seeking limbs. It was eerie and devastating, as power lines and houses were damaged by countless upturned trees and broken-off branches. But it was beautiful. When the sun was out, it hit a whole panorama of glistening ice, as far as you could see. Check out my wife's blog entry about it. There are a few pics here as well.
That was a few weeks ago. Last week, as Fayettevillians were still cleaning out the debris (and they still are), Sara and I treked to Chicago for a writing conferencs and to visit my college friend (asian) James and his lovely wife Mandy. It was great! We spent a lot of time just roaming about and trying new restaurants and in the evenings we hung out with James and Mandy and played games. Also, we got to hear some great writers read their work, among them Marilynne Robinson (of Gilead and Housekeeping fame), Dorothy Allison (Bastard out of Carolina), Nick Flynn (Another Bullshit Night in Suckcity), Donald Hall (former Poet Laureate), ZZ Packer, Joe Meno, and Aleksander Hemon.
The most engaging reading was Friday night. It featured Dorothy Allison, ZZ Packer, and Joe Meno, and it had a performance by Mucca Pazza, a circus punk marching band (yes, that's right. This thirty person ensemble had elements of all three of those ingredients). All three readers were great, though I have to say I was surprised by Dorothy Allison's piece, which began with a raucous "Frog F-ing!" and went on from there.
The highlight of the trip was probably Saturday night. James, Mandy, Sara, and I went out for some Chicago-style pizza and then headed to the Signiture Lounge, a bar at the top of the John Hancock building. We were on the 95th floor, and the view was staggering. Seeing skyscrapers dwarfed from above is a bit dizzying, but still spectacular.
Anyways, it was a full week, but not overwhelming. A good vacation.

Hear the Angel Voices

2008-12-09T15:31:00.001-08:00

Christmas has never caused any spiritual stirrings in my heart. This might be because I didn't grow up in a religious home. That isn't to say that I never went to church when I was a kid, but it wasn't part of my regular routine and I was never in church on Christmas.

For some this is a deeply emotional experience to reflect on how God, the supreme author of the universe, took on the body of human frailty in order to redeem his people who desperately need him. I can relate to that, but on December 25th I feel no stronger about this than on the other 364 days of the year. Don't get me wrong. I still get excited about Christmas, but it is frustrating because I want to connect with what is being discussed in church, and each year it is a struggle for me to do so.

That being said, I am enjoying Vintage's Advent series called The Invasion. The militaristic overtones are not accidental. The Jews of Jesus's time viewed the coming of the Christ, or the Messiah, in these terms. He would be the one to restore the kingdom of David and establish a kingdom without end. But the kingdom of God came in such unintuitive trappings: not in power but in weakness; not with military might, but with love and grace. So often we come to think of God's kingdom in these earthly terms.

I was driving home the other day and I was, somewhat shamefully, thinking about my Christmas list. I get really excited about the gifts I give people, but I also get excited about the ones I'm going to receive. I'm a game junky, and I asked for a lot of games that I am excited to play with my family and friends. But as I was thinking about these things that I would be getting, I saw a father and son walking in the cold. The father had a satchel and he held the child's hand as they walked across the street. It didn't look like they had anywhere to go. It was cold then, and it's even colder tonight.

Maybe Christmas is a good opportunity to realize how entrenched we can become in our own microcosms.

Time to Put the Beast to Rest

2008-12-01T18:37:00.000-08:00

For a long time now it has stood mocking in the shadows--a huge, lurking, lumbering colossus. It's facade appears impregnable, daunting. With haughty, cocked eyebrows it challenges me, dares me, to approach. I have circled around it, held trophies before it (The Sound and the Fury, Brothers Karamazov, Dante's Inferno, the list goes on. Even Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, letting it know that I meant business), yet to no avail. I knew there would come a time, must come a time, when we entered the ring together and didn't leave until I was overcome or victorious, reeling with blood-stained hands, but finally thankfully free of this oppressive weight, this fetter that would not loosen nor let me wander, holding me locked in its incessant gaze. And always the ridicule, the insufferable hints that I would fail, would fall before its awful presence. But I will not retreat or cower any longer. I have grabbed this villain, this demonic plague, by the throat and I will drag it to the ground and silence it, and I will not leave until I see myself in its lifeless eyes...

I have started James Joyce's Ulysses, the towering giant universally acclaimed as the greatest literary production of the last century. Let the battle begin.

At Long Last...

2008-11-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

Last night as I watched McCain's concession speech, I caught a glimpse of the man who could have captivated America and beaten Obama. I was touched by his call for unity and his patriotism. Then, I watched Obama describe the past century of America and thought about how insane it is to think that there are voters alive today who were denied the right to vote at one point. I would not have voted for Obama just because he was black, just as I wouldn't have voted for Hilary just because she's a woman, but I am glad that we have elected a black man, finally. We have come a long way.

Regardless of how you feel about the candidates, I think we can all agree and be glad that this madness has ended. And all the people said, "Amen!"

Five Thirty Eight

2008-10-30T11:14:00.000-07:00

Continuing this political thread, I am have recently discovered the website Five Thirty Eight. Its name derives from the amount of electors in the electoral college, and its purpose is to accurately predict the election.

"How is this site different from other compilations of polls like Real Clear Politics," you ask? The website addresses this:
There are several principal ways that the FiveThityEight methodology differs from other poll compilations: Firstly, we assign each poll a weighting based on that pollster's historical track record, the poll's sample size, and the recentness of the poll. More reliable polls are weighted more heavily in our averages. Secondly, we include a regression estimate based on the demographics in each state among our 'polls', which helps to account for outlier polls and to keep the polling in its proper context. Thirdly, we use an inferential process to compute a rolling trendline that allows us to adjust results in states that have not been polled recently and make them ‘current’. Fourthly, we simulate the election 10,000 times for each site update in order to provide a probabilistic assessment of electoral outcomes based on a historical analysis of polling data since 1952. The simulation further accounts for the fact that similar states are likely to move together, e.g. future polling movement in states like Michigan and Ohio, or North and South Carolina, is likely to be in the same direction.

Basically, this is the most sophisticated election projection that I've seen. Right now Obama has a 95.7% chance to win the election, and the most likely scenario has him with 52% of the popular vote and 344.1 electoral votes (with 270 needed to win the presidency). The website also predicts that Democrats will come away with 57 seats in the Senate, though there is a 33% chance that they will reach the filibuster-proof 60.

I am interested to find out how accurate these projections are come Tuesday.

Every Vote Counts! (Unless You Do the Math)

2008-10-27T18:02:00.001-07:00

Prompted by Mike's most recent post, I thought I would take a moment to reflect on voting: why it's important and why we do it. There have been two major advancements for suffrage in this country. In 1870, in the wake of the Civil War, we passed the Fifteenth Amendment (of the 37 states that ratified it, Arkansas was the 10th!), which stated that "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude." Hooray for equality! However, after the initial wave of Reconstruction shifted power towards African Americans, states began pass voter qualification laws, such as poll taxes and literacy tests, which greatly restricted African Americans' right to vote. Sadly, it wasn't until the 24th Amendment in 1964 (Shamefully, Arkansas was among the last five states to retain a poll tax) and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 that these Constitutional rights were upheld.

But let's not forget misogyny. Women's right to vote was restricted until the ripe time of 1920, with the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment (this time, Arkansas was the 12th!), which stated that "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex."

These two steps were instrumental to our nation fulfilling its promise that all men are created equal. The right to vote is essential for there to exist equality among all sectors of society (though, as is obvious, it does not guarantee it). Those who cannot vote are powerless.

However, I am still left with the fact that my vote, in any statewide or national election, does not matter. In local elections, it is conceivable that one vote would make a difference (In fact, the 1977 mayorial election in Ann Arbor, Michigan was decided by only one vote), but in any larger election the odds are astronomically against it. For example, the 2000 election was decided by Florida, where 537 votes out of 6 million made the difference, so even in a historically close election, one vote does not matter. Moreover, I would wager that the margin of error for counting votes would be greater than one, which would render one vote mathmatically insignificant. In response to this, many people argue that if lots of people believed this, then it would make a difference. But that is a different issue. Groups of people voting make a difference, but whether I, as a solitary voter, stay home or go to the voting booth next Tuesday ultimately does not matter.

And yet I vote.

Why? you may ask. No doubt, some of you are angered by my seemingly apathetic view of things. I assure you, I am not apathetic, but rather reason has led me to these conclusions. Rationally, I can find no argument for voting. I can find an argument against what I am doing now, because it might influence others not to vote, but I hope that that won't be the case. I vote for the simple reason that it makes me feel good. I like participating in the process, and by doing so I force myself to become more involved and to pay closer attention to the state of our nation, thereby becoming a better citizen. This, to me, is important, and so since I value voting, it in fact is reasonable for me to vote.

I hope that as you are reflecting on which presidential candidate will better lead our nation, you will consider what I've said and come to value voting as well. Whatever your reasons, and whomever you vote for, get out there and vote on Tuesday the 4th.

Go America!

Worth Your Time

2008-10-22T07:25:00.001-07:00

Dueling church signs.

I spied this on one of my friend's blog, and it is hilarious! (I'd have to say the Catholics schooled the Presbyterians.)

Thanks Vanessa!

A Bleak Persistence , or Hope Amidst Futility

2008-10-21T19:07:00.001-07:00

Don't worry, this isn't about my life. Although I am still somewhat saddened by the FHS fiasco, and worried about the state of our bank account, my spirits are on the rise. Today the wife and I went to Gulley Park to lie in the sun and read for awhile. This weekend, we'll be headed to Tulsa with Dad and Dorris to see Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion. Also, I have an interview this Thursday to begin subbing for Fayettevile public schools, which ought to pad our income some.

It turns out that life is still okay.

Unless you're Pulitzer-Prize-winning Cormac McCarthy, in which case it would appear that everything is not okay. I just finished reading The Road, which chronicles the life of a father and son who are trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic United States. The Event is never explained, but there was some sort of massive fire bombing, or perhaps a global nuclear war. Regardless, the present landscape is barren and lifeless. All animals are dead, ash rains down from the sky, and the sun is never fully seen. Most people have died, and the ones who remain must subsist off of the leftover canned food and scraps left in abandoned houses. Roaming the countryside are bands of men who will steal from you, kill you, and most likely eat you. The only way to survive is to keep moving and scavenging, like some dystopic echo of Kerouac's Beat classic.

Stylistically, McCarthy's writing is Hemingwayesque, sparse and economic. He doesn't use proper nouns, only pronouns (which at time is confusing), and often uses fragments. Also, between each paragraph is a larger than usual space, which seems like an insignificant detail, but it isn't. It creates a disjointed feeling, as if the story is told only in sporadic bursts of prose, which ultimately accents the bleakness or barrenness of the story.

Here is an example of his writing:
He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground foxes in their cover [A reference to him and his son]. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

This example is telling of his tone and of his writing style, but not of his subject. This was one of the very few times that the writing strayed from relating simply the sparse details of their daily existence.

Ultimately, I'm unsure of what to think about this book. Certainly it was memorable and interesting, but it's not clear that it was good. It was interesting much in the way that 28 Days Later is interesting. The post-apocalyptic world is intriguing, as is the murderous environment that they protagonists must survive in, and I found myself agreeing, "Yes, that would be what would happen." The story is gripping, and I turned pages quickly, wanting to know what would happen next. But was it Good? Will it last within the canon of remarkable Literature?

Here my issue lies with the plot. There was none. The novel and its characters meandered from day to day, without any real purpose except to live another day: they wake, they walk a few miles, then sleep; they starve for a while, then find food; they are in danger, then they escape. The story drones on much as the lives of the people within this blighted land. All there is is the road: no meaning, just movement. And perhaps in that sense the plot, or lack thereof, does tie in with the effect that the novel creates as a whole, and so is pardonable.

Despite the bleakness of the novel's outlook, though, there are faint hints of something that resembles hope. It is so overwhelmed by the dominant presence of gloom and doom that it is almost non-existant, but it is there. I just wanted to mention that to explain the second half of this entry's title.

In the end, I think that McCarthy does have the abilities of a great writer, but those abilities did not all coalesce in this novel into something great, or something lasting. The seeds are there, but they have not yet come to fruition.

Still, it was worth the read.

A Heartbreaking Conclusion to Such a Wonderous Beginning

2008-10-18T07:45:00.000-07:00

I got the job at FHS. I received the call on Thursday while I was NYC for a wedding (one of Sara's close friends). I can't describe the wonder and excitement of those first few hours, but needless to say, I was ecstatic. It couldn't have come at a better time--spiritually, mentally, financially--and it felt like everything in my life was clicking into place.

Then I received the email. I should back up, though. Before I applied, I didn't think I would be eligible to teach for this school year, but I talked with one of the regional directors of the Non-Traditional Licensure Program and was assured that I would be eligible to re-enroll in the program (and so be provisionally certified) at that time. I stated specifically that I had withdrawn, rather than being placed on hold, and had not attended any training modules, but somehow that information didn't sink in. On Friday it was discovered that I had done exactly as I had stated, that I had withdrawn, and I was told that I couldn't accept the job. I don't know whether the regional director didn't understand the distinction between the two and so didn't convey that information to the head office, or if the error lies there (it seems there was misinformation in my file that stated I had attended the summer training), but either way I am out of a job in an embarrassing fashion.

It has not been a good week.

Job Interview

2008-10-02T13:10:00.000-07:00

I have a job interview at a Fayetteville High School this coming Wednesday. I really want to get this job, for a lot of reasons. First, frankly we need the money. Second, it would allow me to get certified and would be good experience. Lastly, starting in the familiar setting of the school I graduated from would helpful as I get situated to high school (as opposed to college-level) teaching.

Last time I interviewed here the principal and the English chair told me that I interviewed well. Last time I didn't get the job, though.

Wish me luck.

The Presidential Debate

2008-09-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

About halfway through the debate, my dad and I paused it (thank you DVR) and I asked him how he thought it was going. I was shocked to hear that he thought that McCain might have gained more ground than Obama. To me, Obama was the more poised, well-articulated candidate, and the one who had more compelling answers.

I am liberal though, and so I agree more with Obama, but I tried to be aware of that when evaluating the two candidates' performances. Still, though, I would chalk this one up for Obama. McCain held his own for the most part, though at times he seemed flustered, but what frustrated me about his answers is that he seemed much less willing to debate the issues, most notably in the segment on the economy. Obama repeatedly pointed out the differences between their tax plans, but McCain only wanted to pin the label "big spender" on Obama. Frankly, it felt like a return to Bush's (regretably successful) tactic of labeling Kerry as a flip-flopper. I can understand how it is important to point out where a candidate is wrong or hypocritical, but please at some point debate the issues.

The other thing that bothered me about McCain was that he seemed to use misleading information to try to sway voters away from Obama. This is probably something that both candidates do, but I don't think Obama did this during the debate (at least, McCain never called him on it). What I am referring to is how McCain said that Obama said at one point that he would never cut spending on the troops, but then did. Obama pointed out that what he did was vote against the Republican funding bill that didn't include a time table, but he did vote for the bill that included one. It just seemed dishonest, and a shameful tactic to use.

That said, McCain did pick up ground on the foreign policy segment. Though I think the two came out even on this, I can see how people would say that McCain won this half of the debate. However, I would then agree with the analyst from Fox News, of all places, who said that although McCain won the segment on foreign policy, Obama won the first half on the economy, and since the economy is the more pressing issue, Obama came out ahead overall.

I'm not uber-political, as you all probably well know. I do think that both of these men want the best for America, and I'm a lot more optomistic about these candidates than I was in the last election. All that is to say, this post is about how the candidates faired in the first debate, not what people think of them overall.

Do you agree, or am I way off base (way to the left, no doubt)?

A Day in the Life of Sam Black

2008-09-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

It drizzled as I made my way up to my office. It's been raining for weeks, it seems. I was meeting a client about a case I had been working on. The case seemed simple--they all do--but I kept having the nagging feeling that this one wasn't. At first glance it appeared to be a simple accident, a man slipped and fell, hurt his head, but the dame who was paying my bills suspected foul play. The guy doesn't remember anything, not even his name, so he's been no help.

It all revolves around Jill. I had talked to her when I first took the case and thought she was a good broad, but messy--the kind that will make you forget things just by looking at her. I wouldn't mind forgetting things with her for a while...and that's what makes me distrust her.

As I mounted the steps to the fifth floor I turned the facts over and over in my mind: on Saturday, September 13th at 10:40 in the morning, two people go up a hill to get some water. Why were running errands together at such an early hour? Were they lovers? Ex-lovers? At the crest of the hill, Jack, according to Jill, falls down and splits his skull. Why did they choose the steepest part of the hill to climb when it was so wet? Could Jill have overpowered Jack, knocked him over the head and caused him to fall down the hill? Here the details become fuzzy. Jack, in a raving, confused state, stumbles back to his house and covers his head with vinegar and brown paper. Or is it Old Dame Dob who bandages his head? So far everyone has had tight lips about this one. Where was Jill during all of this? Her alibi was sketchy at best. And how does Old Dame Dob come into the picture? An innocent, well-wishing bystander? Unlikely.

All of this could be accidental, or coincidental, but in my business I've found that things rarely are. But I still can't see how these people are tied together. Was there money involved? Drugs? Is this some sort of bitter love triangle? With these thoughts rattling around my head, I opened the door to my office, expecting to see my client, whose role in this remained an even deeper mystery. Instead, I was greeted by the steely eye of a revolver. I didn't recognize the man who was holding it, and he didn't offer a name. "Sit," he said. I could tell he wasn't one for pleasantries. As I walked to my chair, I felt the hard kick of the butt of his gun against the back of my head. The world slid away from me as I hit the floor.

When I awoke, my office was mostly unchanged, though now there was a jackhammer at the base of my skull. At times like these I turn to the only faithful friend I've got, Mr. Daniels. I poured myself a drink and noticed that there was note on my desk. How thoughtful.

Mr. Black,
You should think about dropping this case.
You're in over your head and you're sinking fast.
Consider this a warning. Next time won't be so friendly.

I'm sinking fast...funny that's what my wives used to say. I could see that this case was more complicated than I thought. If one of the parties was willing to bring in hired goons, well that must mean that I'm on to something. But the only one who knew that I was coming to my office at this time was my client, which means I was probably set up. But my client was the one who set me on this trail in the first place. Things just didn't make sense. They didn't have to, as far as I cared, as long as my check came in the mail.

I grabbed my pals Smith and Wesson and made my way to the street, the only place I felt at home. Once again, I reviewed the facts: Jack and Jill go up a hill, to fetch a pail of water. Later Jack is found with a broken crown...and then all hell breaks loose.

I head towards the scene of the crime, hoping to find some clue--something, anything--that will link all these pieces together. It's raining harder now, and it doesn't look like it's going to let up today. Perhaps it never will...

Pardon the Interim

2008-09-06T07:18:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, on Thursday the 21st, we were told by our landlady that the house we were renting from her was sold and that we had 30 days to move out. This came somewhat as a shock, even though the house had been on the market for a while and people had come by to look at it (though not many stayed for long). Frankly, I would never buy that house, and I think anyone who does will regret. It was great to rent for $300/month, but it had too many problems to ever come out on top with it. It's not a fixer-upper, it's a do-over.

So, we moved kind of fast after that. On Friday we went around and looked a bagillion apartments and townhouses and finally fell in love with the last one we looked at, The Cliffs. We signed the lease on Monday and booked the Cliffs's moving van (if you're moving from Fayetteville to Fayetteville, you can use their van for free, which is pretty sweet) for Thursday. That week we moved pretty much everyday, though the bulk of it obviously came on Thursday and then over the weekend as we unpacked everything. By Monday we had everything in its place, and to celebrate we had my dad and step-mom over to play games. We can actually invite people over to entertain. Amazing.

Here are the advantages of our new place:
It's aweful shiny.
It has (and our old place did not): a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, central blessed heating and air, walk-in closets (two of them), a game closet(!), and lastly: doors.
Yes, I meant doors. Our last place, strangely enough, was arranged in such a way that only the bathroom had a door. And you had to nudge the water heater out of the way to shut that door. We're talking ghet-to.
It also has a sweet amenities package that includes access to a workout space, a pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and their business center that has a couple of computers and a copier and fax machine. We can also get a free massage from the on-site masseuse once a week. Heavenly.

Of course, the con is that it costs more, and currently I only have a part-time job, so that may turn out to be a problem. But right now, I'm basking in my airconditioned, door-enclosed, large-enough-to-hold-all-of-my-books office, and I say whatever. I like it here.

Death the Sound of Static

2008-08-20T13:04:00.000-07:00

While reading White Noise, I've been thinking of what the book is about, what its primary concern is. I began to think that, along with its concern with how mass media and consumerism have changed our social landscape, the novel centered mainly around the issue of death, our fear of it, and the fact that all of our technological advances have not made a dent in either our fear of death and its inevitability. Then I came along the title passage:

"I do want to die first," she said, "but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid. I'm terribly afraid. I'm afraid all the time."
"I've been afraid for more than half my life."
"What do you want me to say? Your fear is older and wiser than mine?"
"I wake up sweating. I break out in killer sweats."
"I chew gum because my throat constricts."
"I have no body. I'm only a mind or a self, alone in a vast space."
"I seize up," she said.
"I'm too weak to move. I lack all sense of resolve, determination."
"I thought about my mother dying. Then she died."
"I think about everyone dying. Not just myself. I lapse into terrible reveries."
"I feel so guilty. I thought her death was connected to my thinking about it. I feel the same way about my own death. The more I think about it, the sooner it will happen."
"How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn't they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise."
"What if death is nothing but sound?"
"Electrical noise."
"You hear it forever. Sound all around. How awful."
"Uniform, white."

I just finished the novel, and I would have to say that I recommend it. One of the things that I enjoy most about reading a book by a new author is being startled by the writing style. Delillo's writing really is distinct. He gives you the sense that he is saying something new.

2008-08-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

For those of you who haven't seen me much in the past two years, you may not know about my new obsession: board games. My college friends will probably only remember that they refused to play the one board game, Axis and Allies, that I brought to school, even though one year for my birthday all I asked for was for people to play it with me (for shame!).

However, since my exodus down south, I have broadened my horizons some. It all starts with the Spiel des Jahres (German game of the year) for 1995, The Settlers of Catan. My acquaintance with this game occurred somewhat circuitously. My friend Otto mentioned to me that I might like it probably my junior year at Wash U. Then, shortly after I came back to Fayetteville, I joined a once-a-month game night group who introduced it to me. Not long after that, my step-brother Brian got a copy and the craze spread from Brian and me to the rest of our family.

After a while of playing Settlers, I began to thirst for a little more variety in my gaming. I soon began buying other European games, and now I have quite the collection. Not yet the collection of my friend George, the host of our game night who owns probably over fifty games, but I’m working on it.

You may have noticed that my favorite website is boardgamegeek.com. You should check it out sometime if you haven’t already.

This begins my series of posts about gaming. I will devote an entire post to different games that I own and that are out there. You should think about trying out some of them.

Man the Sum of What Have You

2008-08-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

What is man?

What The Sound and the Fury says:

"Man the sum of his climactic experiences Father said. Man the sum of what have you. A problem in impure properties carried tediously to an unvarying nil: stalemate of dust and desire."
............................
"Father said that man is the sum of his misfortunes. One day you'd think misfortune would get tired, but then time is your misfortune Father said. A gull on an invisible wire attached through space dragged. You carry the symbol of your frustration into eternity."
............................
"Father was teaching us that all men are just accumulations dolls stuffed with sawdust swept from the trash heaps where all previous dolls had been thrown away the sawdust flowing from what wound in what side that not for me died not."

What White Noise says:

"But you said we had a situation."
"I didn't say it. The computer did. The whole system says it. It's what we call a massive data-base tally. Gladney, J. A. K. I punch in the name, the substance, the exposure time and then I tap into your computer history. Your genetics, your personals, your medicals, your psychologicals, your police-and-hospitals. It comes back pulsing stars. This doesn't mean anything is going to happen to you as such, at least not today or tomorrow. It just means that you are the sum total of your data. No man escapes that."
............................
"Everything that goes on in your whole life is a result of molecules rushing around somewhere in your brain."
"Heinrich's brain theories. They're all true. We're the sum of our chemical impulses."

Interesting the difference 57 years make.

Church Street

2008-08-12T11:51:00.000-07:00

With my newfound free time, I decided to start a book club at my church. I've wanted to get more involved and to give something to the church body for awhile, and I felt this was the answer. It also gives me a reason to keep reading good books and to continue to read scholarly articles about them. Over the past two years I found that I really love reading scholarship, but for some reason I often lack the impulse to read it. Hopefully being the "leader" of the book club will guilt, shame, or somehow force me to do the research. We'll see.

Since we are meeting at our house on Church Avenue, I thought Church Street Book Club was an apt name. Having a name is important; otherwise I don't know how we would strike fear into the heart of our enemy or even have a rallying cry. We're working on a theme song.

We just had our first meeting. We ended up at fifteen members, which is about maximum capacity. I only expected about half that many, so I was pleasantly surprised. At the meeting I handed out a questionaire to see which of the books I was interested in reading the members had already read. Here's the list:

The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut
The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon
Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
American Pastoral by Phillip Roth
Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
The Night in Question by Tobias Wolff
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

Not a bad list, if you ask me. The result of the questionaire is that we're reading Slaughterhouse Five first. It's one of my favorite books, so I'm pretty excited.

It begins like this:
Listen:
Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time.
It ends like this:
Poo-tee-weet?

Soulmates

2008-08-07T09:29:00.000-07:00

Last night, Sara and I were eating from a tub of Ben and Jerry's together and she spilled chocolate on her shirt. This is annoying because she tends to do this often, and I am the one who cleans the stains out of her shirts (how domestic!). I took her shirt and went into the bathroom, and then I heard her following me in to defend herself. She insisted that she really wasn't that messy, and then I turned to see:

Lovely. Absolutely lovely. For those of you who have known me long, these antics might seem familiar.

The Human Buzz of Some Vivid and Happy Transaction

2008-08-06T13:10:00.000-07:00

To prepare for the comprehensive exam for my master's, I was given a reading list that I could choose my books from. The list specified that some books had to be read, but other times it had a list of several from which I had to choose 3 or 5. When I was narrowing down the twentieth century American literature section, one of the professors on my committee began by stating that he assumed that I chose White Noise by Don Dilillo, but I didn't. The reason for that is that I hadn't read White Noise yet, which for someone who supposed is focusing on twentieth century American literature is surprising. Thus, after I finished with the exam, I felt sufficiently shamed to go check it out from the library. It's a book that I've wanted to read since my last year of undergrad, so this has been long overdue.

Here I should say that whenever I talk about books that I'm reading, I'm likely to quote from them or to reveal something about them, so if you don't want to have your reading experience spoiled, you might want to skip these posts. I'll try not to mention anything that would ruin the book for you, but still, consider yourself forewarned. Now back to White Noise.

So far it's been quite delightful. I'm only a third of the way through it, but it has lived up to my expectations. Like most post-modern literature, it's about life in our modern world that is so saturated by mass media and consumerism. Also, holding with the trend of postmodernism, it has a somewhat whimsical view of reality; exaggeration and the outlandish are expected and everyday experiences are cast in a new light. It recalls William Thackery's observation that "the two most engaging powers of an author are to make new things familiar, familiar things new." That certainly seems the case with Delillo.

Two passages stick out to me as I think about the novel. In the first, one of the main characters, who is a professor of cultural studies, is reflecting on America while in a supermarket:

"Dying is an art in Tibet. A priest walks in, sits down, tells the weeping relatives to get out and has the room sealed. Doors, windows sealed. He has serious business to set to. Chants, numerology, horoscopes, recitations. Here we don't die, we shop. But the difference is less marked than you think."

I remembered this first passage after reading the next one. Later, the main character, Jack, who is also a professor, comes across a colleague outside of work. On campus, Jack is one of the more famous professors, achieving almost celebrity status among colleagues. Devoid of his flowing academic robes, and his pomp and circumstance, however, Jack's formidable presence has diminished. His colleage tells him, "you look so harmless, Jack. A big, harmless, aging, indistinct sort of guy."

What follows is one of the best passages I've read in a while. Jack consoles himself by a frenzied shopping spree that spans a page and a half:

"We moved from store to store, rejecting not only items in certain departments, not only entire departments but whole stores, mammoth corporations that did not strike our fancy for one reason or another. There was always another store, three floors, eight floors, basement full of cheese graters and paring knives. I shopped with reckless abandon. I shopped for immediate needs and distant contingencies. I shopped for its own sake, looking and touching, inspecting merchandise I had no intention of buying, then buying it..."

As the passage progresses, both the characters and the language itself build in intensity and crescendo out of control, ending in:

"Voices rose ten stories from the gardens and promenades, a roar that echoed and swirled through the vast gallery, mixing with noises from the tiers, with shuffling feet and chiming bells, the hum of escalators, the sound of people eating, the human buzz of some vivid and happy transaction."

I'll post again about the book after I've finished it.

The Wonder of Blank Pages

2008-07-28T18:56:00.000-07:00

When my brother and his wife returned from India a couple of years ago, they brought me a beautiful leather-bound journal, with feathery, hand-made pages. The smooth and crisp outside, combined with the sleek, faintly colorful pages make it enjoyable just to hold and to leaf through the pages. The feeling of new books (Penguin makes the best!) and journals is one of my few tactile pleasures. However, I found the pristine blankness of its pages intimidating. I couldn't bring myself to write in it for weeks because I didn't want to mar its beauty.

I've found the same dilemma with this blog. I created it a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't been able to write anything. I wasn't really sure that I wanted a blog, but my long-unused creativity has clamored for some outlet too long for me to ignore. In my newfound freetime (I just completed my masters in English at the University of Arkansas), I've decided to chronicle my thoughts on life, literature, and God. Also, as a recently married man, I thought it would be helpful to muse about love and this mystery we call marriage. Hopefully these musings will offer some illumination and a chance to stay updated about my life.

In case you are curious, the inspiration for my blog's name came from my favorite poem by Robert Frost, "For Once, Then, Something."

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.

I love the last line of this poem. The abstract, ethereal "truth" swings to the concrete "pebble of quartz," from the height of significance to supreme inconsequentiality. Few poets could manage that in a single line. I love too that the speaker finds that even the pebble of quartz, in the long absence of graspable meaning, would be something.

Perhaps, too, in our daily lives we might come across a pebble of quartz if we would only watch for it. If we looked and listened, we might even come to find something deeper.