for british eyes only

i heart reading

2007-07-11T16:20:00.000-05:00

yesterday, while surfing the inter-net ("series of tubes"), I found an article in some conservative magazine--which I can't find now--about the debate between phonics-based reading instruction and "whole language learning." this was particularly interesting to me, because: a) I like to read, and I'm sort of intrinsically fascinated about how people become literate; b) my mom teaches kindergarten, and has taught lots of kids to read; and c) JD volunteers once every other week to help one particular girl (a fourth-grader) with remedial reading, and some of the stories are really disspiriting.

Advocates of whole-language learning favor a sort of immersion approach - basically, leave kids in a room with a lot of books, and they'll teach themselves. They are opposed to phonics-based reading (those fabled "Dick and Jane"/Houghton Mifflin primers which stress word-repetition and sounding things out--parenthetically, try sounding out 'Houghton'--that's a toughie!) claiming that such education is the most surefire way to kill kids' burgeoning love of reading and to stifle their young imaginations. According to the article I read (but can't seem to find), educational academics, perhaps unsurprisingly, overwhelmingly favor the whole-language approach, but this gets awfully problematic when whole-language learning is mandated from on-high in bureaucratic fashion. Children from higher socioeconomic brackets are less likely to slip through the cracks, no matter which method is taught; someone is going to make sure they know how to read by an acceptable age. The problem comes disproportionately for poor kids, who, whether they lack an English-speaking parent, have little or no reading material in their homes, or just have parents that don't value education very much, often do get lost in the system. When they aren't given the building blocks of language--the sounds that letters make, for instance--they can sometimes manage to memorize singular small books and pass on to the next grade without ever learning to read. This, apparently, is the case with JD's fourth-grader, who can't seem to sound out "baby books"--the words of her taunting classmates.

If I had just heard the two categories juxtaposed, I surely would have unreflectingly supported "whole language learning" just based on the sound of it; isn't "whole" so much more comprehensive than its alternative? And who wants to kill kids' love of reading? But as I think about it, I suspect that a few people with advanced degrees--those that have had a passing acquaintance with Saussure and Derrida, have bastardized the concepts of linguistic structuralism, and are now passing them off as public school policy, shunning (and even forbidding) some crucial building blocks of learning. Language and literacy are undoubtedly complex, and one certainly wouldn't want to watch kids huffing and puffing to sound things out all day, without connecting their utterance to the meaning of the text (Golden Book) or to imaginative flights of fancy. Nevertheless, it doesn't make good sense to disallow an important component of reading in the interest of "academic correctness." Shouldn't learning to read, in all its manifestations, be empowering?

Out of curiosity, do you remember learning to read? Which components were hardest/most intuitive for you?

the splendor of the seasons

2007-07-10T16:30:00.000-05:00

it's raining--and it sure is welcomed. we're not quite living in a dry and dusty land, but the grass is parched. the grey skies and thunder make it a lovely afternoon to be inside, and I'm glad I am. I recently read about a scientist who links that exuberant feeling awakened with the coming of spring to something hardwired in our evolved genes; whether that's the case or not, I have certainly felt that exuberance, as if life were beginning again--and felt as though I myself were capable of absorbing energy directly from all the newly green matter around me. I just finished reading Annie Dillard's The Maytrees, and my thoughts about the seasons as markers of finitude and new beginnings were echoed on each page. That sort of naturalism, combined with the existential reading and philosophy I've been caught up with as of late has me acutely aware of Heidegger's notion of "Being-towards-death." (I'm probably totally freaking my mom out by writing this--sorry, mom, I've been studying philosophy for too long!) I can't help it. From my first class in introductory philosophy with Dr. Neujahr, I've learned that philosophy is "learning how to die well," and I've absorbed so much existentialism along the way--from Kierkegaard's anxiety, to Heidegger's "thrown-ness,"--the state in which we find ourselves, but didn't necessarily ask for--and the practical issues of bioethics which deal inevitably with the end of human life and the possibilities for extending it, and whether the latter is even truly desirable. More conservative critics, in a Heideggerian vein, seem to think that extending life willy-nilly has the potential to trivialize human life, and to rob it of meaning. Our time-boundedness, and awareness of our finitude encourage us to act and to appreciate, to make a mark in the time we have allotted. One's refusal to look her own future death in the face, and to reckon with it, to push it off into the too-distant-future or to pretend it won't happen, can be a refusal to embrace one's own humanity, to live in (presumably) animal-like ignorance and to enjoy animal-like pleasures to the exclusion of a certain seriousness, as well as human and humanizing tasks--culture-building, for instance. I'm beginning to see the ever-closer ties between existentialism, politics, and psychology, a sort of societal-wide procrastination (God knows, I am guilty as an individual!) and excessive individualism that cares not for what comes later, so long as it doesn't affect one's self. This was exemplified to me as of late, when I heard representatives from Chicago's teachers union downplaying the successes of charter schools and other educational ventures, agitating for more money and time. I certainly know that an educational system can't be overhauled overnight, but it seems to me that time is something that early learners don't have in excess. If a child doesn't learn to read by, say, the third grade, what real hope is there for that individual to become capable of genuine learning, or to cultivate a love of civic engagement? The burden for this child does not, certainly, rest on teachers alone, but time is, in this instance, of the essence. A window missed, in this case, will have real consequence, and more for the child than the (presumably literate) unionized teacher. In our time and place, adult illiteracy vastly increases the odds that one's life will be nasty, brutish, and short. One's ability to read (even seemingly pessimistic philosophy) is liberating, allowing one to decode bus schedules and legal contracts (maybe!), but literature also connects us with others and reflexively shows us our place in the world, and gives us hope through access to other possibilities. Literacy is practically and theoretically wrapped up with existential freedom. The changing weather (now the sun is peaking through the clouds), changing seasons, the new year, one's own personal new year (birthday), the start of a school year (or fiscal year), are regular reminders of flux and growth--and finitude. (I just ordered The Now Habit, in an attempt to further my own literacy and to nix my own procrastinating tendencies. Now, if someone would just teach those little kids to read...

fancy drinks keep finals panic at bay

2007-05-27T15:11:00.000-05:00

[in the voice of buster]: hey, readers.

i'm "thinking" about my two final papers, during this most lovely of memorial day weekends. jd and I have been sipping on some orange blossom cocktails, which are really quite delicious. I'm pondering hannah arendt and the problem of bureaucracy, and laughing at about a dozen kids across the street, who are invariably in costume. today, I recognize a sponge bob square pants, and they've hauled out a giant hose while their parents yell at them: PARKER!!! GET OVER HERE AND EAT YOUR FOOD!!! (the kid is obviously oblivious to the yelling at the ripe old age of 4, or whatever he is. others get clothes-lined by the hose and look around to see if it's worth crying about, and the birds are all harassing oliver, who also seems pretty oblivious.

Do you remember how your parents and teachers told you to use your "inside voice" when you were inside (presumably you could actually use your "outdoor voice" when out-of-doors?) Well, these kids are definitely using their outdoor voices, and while it's touching to see the very opposite phenomena of "bowling alone" syndrome brewing out here in the suburbs, I'm frankly surprised that no anonymous donor has dropped a Nintendo wii in their driveway.

kitsch and vinegar

2007-04-27T14:35:00.000-05:00

since I last blogged, I've been through and to atlanta, respectively. on the latter trip, I went to deliver a paper at my alma mater, and I visited with my family, my college mentor, and my best friend from high school. since I returned, I've been processing those events, along with some new ones, and reading freud and kant. okay, so I've been trying to read kant, convinced that I absolutely need to master his writings if I'm ever going to pass my qualifying exams. my college mentor observed me with my copy of "religion within the limits of reason alone" and told me that he liked that book, and that he'd done his dissertation on kant. I shared with him a little ditty I had written:

Immanuel
Kant is with us
Relentless logician
Dead philosopher.

he looked vaguely amused, but like my own father, was probably mildly dismayed that I'd borrowed such a sacred tune. he conceded that there's not much approaching common sense in kant, and that was probably my reason for my difficulty in wading through him. I concurred. I'm still trying to read the book, but on a tip from a friend, I started over with greene's introduction, which is helpful. it's making me wonder how true piety is instilled, because I think one has to be habituated to piety in some sense, but if piety is sheerly commanded, as it was in kant's childhood, an honest soul will soon enough detect its own hypocrisy.

greene notes the equanimity that characterizes the pious. it's true: those who can accept God's will in the face of any tragedy are objectively happier than those who question. ditto for the patriotic americans who can quietly accept that their son or daughter is coming home in a box because their president told them that he or she was fighting for freedom, and likewise for the anthropologist who accepts that female genital mutilation is culturally justified and that it would be imperialistic of me to take too strong a position against it. is it not more pious to be enraged, and to try to do something about it?

I met an angry young man last wednesday. he is about to graduate from the college, and he obviously empathizes with the virginia tech shooter. his mannerisms are brusque and his conversational style combative--I suspect he feels alienated, and I am not at all surprised. he corrected my colleague and I in order to make clear that he knows all the answers, and will, in a year or two, enter a graduate program so that he can prove it. When I was his age, I thought I had all the answers, too, but I wasn't so angry. now I'm angry, but I know I don't have all the answers. I do know that I'm tired of the consequentialist logic of assuming you know all the answers in advance, and that you just have to go through the motions of filling in the blanks to get there. this, according to milan kundera, is the definition of kitsch, "the absolute denial of shit" that functions

by excluding from view everything that humans find difficult to come to terms with, offering instead a sanitised view of the world in which "all answers are given in advance and preclude any questions. (the unbearable lightness of being).

it's a totalitarian impulse that excludes the ambiguity of the world in which we live, that tries to create a false unity, when we're not even at one with our selves, and for all his unfalsifiability and fabrications, we owe quite a bit to freud for pointing that out.

stay tuned for my next installment:
the mo' meta, the mo-betta: funfetti cupcakes and why bureaucracy must be resisted.

Spring Break, WOOO!

2007-03-16T22:24:00.000-05:00

ladies and gentlemen, (okay, lady or gentleman)--I don't think this blog gets many hits, probably because I don't blog very regularly, and have alienated my small group of once loyal readers. also, maybe 'cause I'm boring. anyway. somehow, I just blew threw finals week, and uncharacteristically, didn't even blog about it. week 11 (of the academic quarter) is typically my most prolific blogging time, but not winter 2007, rest its soul--oh no--not this time. nada. (perhaps that's why I'm actually finished with my papers--on time, no less?) If you recall my finals breakdown a few months back, you are aware of the anxiety, sleeplessness, chronic writer's block and general insanity that tends to afflict me during these parts of the academic year. what, you may ask, did I do differently this time? I'm trying to figure that out myself, since I'd like to do it again. I did make lots of new year's resolutions and I'm pretty sure on-time papers were intended in there somewhere, and I'm still flossing regularly, but the other ones pretty much all fell by the wayside. oh, and it probably helped that I didn't get hungover this time. baby steps. at the start of the quarter, I entertained the notion of joining the anti-procrastination graduate student group at the school counseling center, but then a few weeks went by, and ironically enough, it seemed too late. I sort of started my research earlier than usual, and that probably helped. but I'm crediting my successes to Jesus...and vitamin C. I guess the first is sort of self-explanatory. I've been praying a lot lately, and He has answered my persistent petitions. not far behind the care of the soul is the care of the body. on that front, I've been ingesting massive amounts of vitamin C in the form of Trader Darwin's Vitamin + Mineral Drink Booster Mix. I get an immediate lift from the fizzy raspberry goodness (could be all the B vitamins, those are important, too), and it makes me feel focused, not jittery. I'm like a pusher for vitamin C--hey kids, ya wanna try some drugs?? I did a little research, and it turns out, humans are very rare in that, unlike 99.8% of other mammals, we lack the enzymatic pathways to create our own vitamin C, which is a powerful antioxidant, and apparently some nobel laureate thinks it's a miracle cure for atherosclerosis and cardiovascular disease, etc. I read somewhere that goats, for instance, make loads of the stuff under stress as a way to increase their bodies' immunity. anyway, it worked for me, and it just might work for you, too. better living through chemistry, right?

so after you've prayed and taken lots of vitamins, and turned in your papers, I recommend making yourself a nice rum and coke. (p.s., if you refer to your drink as a "Cuba Libre," it makes it seem like you're making a political statement and that you're all suave and socially conscious--or maybe not at all, but that's what I like to do). I enjoyed two tonight. And now I'm going to prepare to hit the beach.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

SPRING BREAK, WOOO!!

i love sooouup! (and NY, too!)

2007-02-13T14:02:00.000-06:00

JD's parents came to visit this weekend. They like to take pictures. Lots of pictures. Even when they do not travel, they take pictures of the sunset from their house, of the snow outside in their yard...you get the [picture]. They are always eager to show us their photos, and to view ours (of which there are few). Since Thanksgiving, we have traveled to Atlanta for Christmas/New Year's, and to New York for a fun weekend. Including the shots we took with JD's parents at the aquarium, the count on the camera for 1st quarter 2007 is about 15. Approximately 2 of these photos feature JD, as I do not particularly enjoy wielding the camera. I am probably doomed by both nature and nurture, as when my parents "go on holiday" they will probably return with a disposable camera, on which 3 shots have been taken (all of alligators on the golf course and perhaps a crane [the bird, not the heavy machinery]). Very rarely are they themselves featured in a shot.

While I lamented that we were not able to see more in New York (I, for one, could have happily parked it in MoMA for a couple of days) JD explained to his parents that, pretty much all we manage to do on trips is to keep ourselves fed. This is true. And it's okay with me. I prefer to see places through the built-in lenses of my own eyes, and to keep as souvenirs the smells and tastes of particular locales.

I'm certainly not knocking sight--I'm very thankful for that gift. And I like watching tv (both the hilarious and the hilariously bad) as much as the next person. (Sweet Moses, I love Go Fug Yourself!) But I appreciate print culture more, and I like the imagination it requires. I recently re-read a book by that dame Iris Murdoch (she really was a dame of the Royal British Order; though she may have slept her way to the top...) in which she argues that visual art plays an important moral function, and that the greatest artists are charged with viewing humanity with justice and compassion, and that they have the ability to show us the world as it really is. I was conscious of this claim for the whole New York trip, and I was on the lookout to recognize such art. I felt both challenged and frustrated...and dumb. I was trying to avoid too-literal interpretations, but found myself caught in interpretive circles:

What was the artist trying to convey? Is s/he mocking us? What does s/he want me to see? Maybe I'm supposed to figure it out on my own? No, I think he's mocking us--somebody was really stupid to pay millions for this solid-colored canvas. I think I can paint that one at home. Yes, Mark Rothko, we get it; you like stripes. Yes, we see the variety of horizons this world has to offer, and the crushing weight of social stratification. What? That's not it at all? Whatever.

But then suddenly, I came face to face with van Gogh's Starry Night and Dali's Persistence of Time, and it was pretty amazing--right next to a painting by some artist I've never heard of, and so much smaller than I imagined--and I got a glimpse of what (an often posthumous) reputation gets you in the art world, and then I realized again how little I understand. But I appreciated that there were so many different people walking around in the museum, looking at these pieces that some cultural elites decided were important--and sharing something together--and I felt like a slightly more enlightened outsider. And I wanted to stay, and try to figure it out.

Murdoch talks about the virtues of "attending"--to seeing, and focusing on people, and places. As a good Platonist, for her, vision reigns. There is something noble about really looking, even at the things and people we see every day. And if it's not noble, it's at least funny:

JD's parents to JD after a day of sightseeing:

...and here's a picture of the building where you work!

happy new year!

2007-01-02T09:10:00.000-06:00

happy new year, gentle readers. I hope you enjoyed the merriest of holidays. JD and I are back in town after driving from georgia yesterday, (with cats in tow). They are getting to be very good car riders, except I think Oliver is learning how to cast spells, because last night he was riding in the way-back with his nose smooshed against the back window, and the headlights went out in the car behind us, and the person had to pull over, and I think Oliver was responsible. He is also very good at opening the doors at my parents' house--a cat of many talents. (Can you tell that I read some Ramona [as in Quimby] over the break? I love Ramona!) I think my life to date has been governed by Beverly Cleary, Madeleine L'Engle and Milan Kundera. Every time I re-read their books, I am able to sense the impression that they have made on my life--existential and otherwise. I need to read more fiction.

So it is now 2007, and I am excited. I still have a lot of crap from 2006 to attend to, but I want to take this opportunity to turn over a new leaf. I have many resolutions, but generally speaking, I want to live my life better: do do things on time, to get more involved, to stop flaking out. My OC tendencies tend to flourish around the new year. I become conscious of and nostalgic about my activities: my last shower of 2006; my first hair washing of 2007, etc. but thus far, I am embracing my neuroses, as well as the opportunity for a fresh start. True, nothing really changes, except you have to remember a new date. But a '7' can look so elegant--I'm excited to write it!

30 minute meals, give or take: bring it, rachael ray

2006-12-19T09:44:00.000-06:00

so, I was chatting with Leo last night before dinner and I ran an idea by her for an experimental meal. it wasn't terribly unorthodox or anything, but I've always had this fear of cooking canned tuna. I think that, somewhere along the way, my mom (or dad?) impressed me with the notion that tuna casserole is disgusting. I made some chilled tuna and white bean salad over the summer, and it was delightful, but last night I needed something warm--something I could whip together using the ingredients in my pantry and fridge--preferably in 30 minutes or less. incidentally, it always feels really satisfying to make "something out of nothing;" (that may be a Reichl-ism--credit where it's due, right?) I had a pretty well-stocked pantry, which always feels luxurious in itself, but a few cans later, a little chopping and sauteeing, it was like alchemy. so here's what I did:

Heated the oven to 350. I had a decent can of tuna in olive oil (Cento brand, I believe?) so I drained the oil into a pan over medium-high heat, added a diced onion, and a few minutes later, two smashed cloves of garlic. Then I shook in some dried rosemary, and added a little more e.v olive oil so everything could infuse.

Gentle readers, one day I want to soak my own beans, but yesterday was not the day. I drained and rinsed two cans of northern beans in a colander and then added them to the pan, giving them a stir. Then I turned off the heat and mixed in the tuna, plus another pack of that vacuum-sealed tuna stuff I found in the pantry (I know, it sounds appetizing, doesn't it?) along with a pinch of salt, some grinds of pepper, and a few shakes of red wine vinegar.

(As an aside, I just watched an episode of Arrested Development where Lindsay's boiling a canned ham in a giant pot of water: [Lindsay to Michael, excitedly] "Guess what I'm calling it?" [Michael to Lindsay] "Soup?" [Lindsay] "Hot ham water!" [Buster] "It's so watery, but with a smack of ham!"

I digress. So I poured the contents of the saucepan into a casserole dish. Then in a separate bowl, I added a few handfuls of panko bread crumbs, and grated a bunch of parmigianno reggiano into it. I had some "fresh" parsley in the crisper that was not looking terribly...crisp...so I gave that a rough chop and threw it in, too. Then I noticed a handful of pear tomatoes on the counter that frankly, were past their salad days. I bisected those and artfully placed them on the bean mixture, and then coated all that with the cheesy breadcrumby goodness. And then I added some butter. Yes, thin pats of butter dotted all over the breadcrumbs. That was key.

I popped all that in the oven, and poured myself a refreshing glass of pinot grigio, and plopped down to watch Scrubs until the hearty aromas of a rustic French kitchen filled the house (about half an hour later). When I took the dish out, the breadcrumbs were golden brown and everything was sizzling pleasantly.

verdict: The creamy beans contrasted nicely with the crunchy breadcrumbs, and the tomatoes were roasted and had a nice concentrated flavor. JD raved and helped himself to seconds (thirds?) Orange cat tried to steal tuna and signaled his overwhelming approval with lots of mock-aggression. Two paws up.

What's in your pantry?

the gift of gab

2006-12-18T16:45:00.000-06:00

okay, here's what I like about winter: 1. cold weather foods and 2. attempts at hibernation.
my list of don't likes, are, I fear, longer: 1. dry, itchy skin that makes me not want to shower for days, 2. snow that a) has to be shoveled b) makes parking downtown that much more difficult c) gets dirty and gross and all over the bottoms of your pants, so much so that sometimes you get a salt line somewhere around your calf, 3. being cold 4. the commercial madness that ensues after Halloween and bids you to buy lots and lots of stuff that the receiver probably doesn't really want or need.

I'm really bad at buying gifts for people. I always procrastinate about it, to the point when mail-order is usually not a possibility any more. Some people--probably you who are reading this--are incredibly prescient, thoughtful souls who know just what someone else would love, but it's hard for me to escape the mindset that gift-giving is usually some kind of projection of what one would want for one's self or what you think someone ought to have. Other times, people give you a list and then it doesn't even feel like that much of a gift anymore; more like a charity-case.

The gifts I want to give are often irreverent. Take JD's friends who just announced that they're expecting a baby. As camping enthusiasts, JD wants to give them this cute baby backpack so that in several months, they can take the tyke on nature expeditions. I, however, (in the interest of infant literacy, of course) want to give them this book: (wait, there are more!)

They are not the sort of people that would probably appreciate the initiation of their firstborn into a world of boozy impiety. For some reason, that makes me think they need the "Baby, be of use" series even more.

As for me, all I want for Christmas is a ghostwriter.

categorical imperatives, heroism, and the human condition

2006-12-11T11:10:00.000-06:00

Friday's Citibank shooting reminds me of Immanuel Kant. It probably shouldn't--my understanding of German philosophers is much less nuanced than it ought to be, by now. But I'm reminded of Kant's insistence that if a gunman is looking for your friend, you're obligated to tell him the truth (I much prefer Dietrich Bonhoeffer's take--that in such situations you are charged with the responsibility to tell a hearty lie). The situation is surely a bad analogy: the lawyer (Michael McKenna) the perpetrator (Joe Jackson) was looking for was not the security guard's friend, and Jackson knew the floor that housed his target. And yet, when pressed (with a snubbed-nose revolver), the security guard escorted the perpetrator to his target on the 38th floor. A long elevator ride, I am certain. That the security guard fled the scene and boarded a train to Indiana is unsurprising, in retrospect. I'm sure that man feels the guilt of the world on his shoulders, understands with painful clarity his dereliction of duty, and has replayed ad nauseum alternate responses on his part that would, in all likelihood, have led to a different ending. That the police and SWAT teams did everything right in their quick response doesn't change the fact that three innocent people died when the perpetrator should never had made it to the legal office.

JD scoffed when I suggested that the security guards at such places were little better trained or incentivized than mall security workers--poorly paid individuals, perhaps moonlighting, who serve mostly as a show of presence rather than any commitment to a code to serve and protect. I think the psychological and sociological aspects behind the situation are telling. Have you ever read about the Stanford prisoner's experiment where psychology students were randomly assigned to be either prisoners or prison guards? The experiment quickly got out of hand when the prison guards began to flaunt their arbitrary authority and the prisoners internalized their assigned lack of authority. I think for-hire security guards are caught somewhere between these extremes. The security guard worked for AlliedBarton, a company that offers its clients a choice of uniforms, ranging from business casual to military. I'd almost be willing to wager that if this particular security guard had been wearing a military outfit and/or had a firearm to support the authority that was supposedly invested in him, that things would have gone differently. As it was, the unarmed guard in his generic "security" uniform had likely internalized his role to be one of a concierge, greeting people on an everyday basis and giving them directions to their appointments. He had neither the brotherly life-or-death ethos that an urban police force fosters on a daily basis (think about the honor-laden ceremonies afforded to cops slain in the line of duty) nor the means to back up any supposed authority. He had not the thymos necessary to overcome the innate and inestimable fear of death.

I'm sure one could parse this economically, as well: why should an (in all likelihood, poorly remunerated and otherwise marginalized) individual risk his life so concretely for the sake of those better off--one may well suspect a valid case of ressentiment.

It's certainly not my aim to kick someone while they're down; it's easy to blame but more difficult to have compassion for people who must make critical decisions in situations that end badly. Perhaps the security guard believed that he was somehow buying time by cooperating with Jackson. Maybe he was thinking of his own kids, or of his spiritual unreadiness "to go." No doubt he was scared.

Guns make me deeply uncomfortable, and I certainly don't want to live in a police state. Weapons or no, though, I think Bonhoeffer is instructive when he writes about the responsibility we have to take concrete action on our neighbor's behalf to resist evil actions. It'll take quick thinking and decisive action on behalf of another, rather than personal cost-benefit analysis. No outcomes are guaranteed. It's scary as hell. But it'll get easier if more of us do it.

i need a hobby, besides this

2006-12-08T09:44:00.000-06:00

One time in college I had a friend of a friend (sort of a secondary friend) who would give me rides home from class back to my dorm. If you ever visit Oglethorpe University, you will see that the whole idea is pretty ridiculous, especially when you consider that it never even gets that cold. [Frick, I miss college!] He's one of those people who's both interrogative and judgmental, and even though he professed not to have any desire in dating me (nor I him), I could tell he was trying to size up what kind of family I came from. (Apparently, one that gets you drunk...) He wanted to know what each family member did for fun. "What are your hobbies?", he intoned. "Ummm...I like to read...stuff for school," I stammered. As I exited the car, he said some words with an odd sort of gravity that have stuck with me: you need to get a hobby.

I was no slouch in college. I worked part time, read everything I was assigned, did an internship in DC, and had a variety of "leadership roles" on campus. I got things done. I even played ultimate frisbee my first year. (I seem to have lost some of that momentum). I still enjoy things: going out to dinner/cooking with friends, watching Arrested Development and other clever shows. But when I think of my friends who not only handle work/school/religious commitments, but also develop their considerable musical talents and comedic skills, knit nifty and luxurious things, cook elaborate meals (on weeknights!) and blog extensively about them...well I'm jealous and I want to get in the game, too.

I have a sneaking suspicion that finding more constructive things to do with my time will actually make me better at the things I have to do. But my poor organizational skills and a fear of commitment to institutions and events are going to make this a challenge.

I'd like to learn to sail or do woodworking--but I think I should probably start small. Any ideas for me?

long time, no post

2006-12-07T11:36:00.000-06:00

Gentle readers,

If any of you are out there, I bid you a warm and hearty "welcome back." Several months ago I mentioned that this blog was intended to keep my writing skills honed. A lot of good that did, I might add. I just finished the first of three final papers yesterday (about 30 minutes before it was due), and while the finished product is not something I'm remotely proud of, I learned a few things about myself in the process:

I'm a procrastinating idiot
My family really loves me
I would crack easily under torture

While I felt as if I were the fucking stupidest graduate student on the face of the earth for putting off paper-writing (the hangover I contracted after a family gathering this weekend certainly did not expedite the writing process) I had the somewhat comforting realization that I am by no means alone. And for that, I am grateful, although I have resolved to do better in the future (as well as to learn to say "when" at certain family gatherings). This paper was particularly anxiety-producing because the professor had clearly indicated on the class syllabus that no late papers would graded. I found out after turning it in that this wasn't actually true. Too late, because I had already endured several days of interrupted eating habits and shifting, sleepless nights, anticipating my academic demise.

Through all of my irrational intolerable-ness, JD took a day off of work to ensure that I was adequately fed, hydrated, and supplied with frequent hugs and sufficient moral support. My parents and sister called frequently, leaving enthusiastic voice mails and words of encouragement, as well as assurances that they were seeking divine intervention on my behalf. I realize that I was not dying, but merely writing to a deadline, so all these gestures are magnified in my estimation. I can only hope that I shall extend that grace to others who are much worse off than I.

Okay, but it felt like I was dying. I had the sad realization that by overindulging, I had turned my body into a toxic wasteland, interrupting nearly every normal bodily function and deeply impairing my critical thinking skills. Psycho-somatic wholeness loomed large and the mind-body problem was a felt reality. I don't think we're reducible to our physical structures, but I'm pretty sure that we can't do any substantial transcendent thinking without their proper functioning, at least in this life. Additionally, I was probably subconsciously willing my body into true illness so that I might have a "legitimate" excuse to turn in a late paper.

I also realized that the kind of thinking one must do to write a paper is legitimately hard work, and like other muscles of the body, once physical exhaustion is reached, there's just no stringing two sentences together. These mental blocks led to many bouts of senseless sobbing and frustration, coupled with the desire that sleep would refresh my capacities, but too worried about wasting time sleeping to actually relax. While I am pretty good at handling certain kinds of physical pain, like more violent forms of hair removal, I cannot handle sleep deprivation. Perhaps, you too have experienced its effects: moments of perfectly clear alertness when time seems to stand still, alternated with wooziness imbuing the mundane with a confused humorousness characteristic of smoking marijuana, along with the attendent visual disturbances. I don't want to go there again. I hereby repent of my drunkenness and sloth and resolve to turn and do better, living a life of moderation, respecting the limits of my body and the finitude of my life. I just hope that, should I ever be tortured, the perpetrators will pull out my fingernails and let me sleep.

higher modalities

2006-08-30T13:11:00.000-05:00

one of my favorite phrases from the last presidential election came from John Kerry. apparently, when he failed to fully articulate himself to his opponent, he was fond of levying the accusation that s/he "failed to understand the higher modalities of the situation." what an ingenious trump card to hold in your back pocket! (I have tried to use it many times myself on unsuspecting persons). (I imagine that now they's beginnin' to s'spect sump'n).

I am suspicious of the two-party political system in America, as well as its non-binary collegiate counterpart, social fraternities and sororities. part of this may well be my individualist nature; I resent being told what to believe and whom to befriend (although if Michel Foucault is correct, I've probably been socialized much more insidiously...there's an interesting new article about him here). one of JD's friends from college is a fascinating case study: a staunch Republican in college, he now campaigns on behalf of the Democratic party. he's an issue-voter for sure, but I can't help but think that his political enthusiasm is merely an outlet for his sociable nature (one of those "joiner" types Tocqueville praises) rather than any manifestation of idealism, lofty or otherwise (not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that...)

what I resent is the increasing centrism of the two-party system to the point where the parties are hardly distinguishable. politics have certainly made for strange bedfellows, and the resultant offspring are so discordant that the purportedly big tents don't represent anyone very well right now. in large measure, one feels that s/he is compelled to endorse the lesser of two evils, or to take a principled stand and vote third-party (also known as "throwing away your vote") . the dichotomies (that is, all the various permutations of voting your conscience/voting your pocketbook, along with all the "a-vote-against-me-is-a-vote-for-terrorism" bullshit) ought to be false ones. enter cynicism and political disengagement.

the farmer-statesman is certainly a romanticized trope, but it's one that seems increasingly desirable in this age of the career politician. I am dumbstruck by the insatiable hunger for power of those in high political office, and by the parallel lust for money (and power) of those in the executive suite who use the former to their personal advantage (in case you can't tell, I caught part of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington last weekend). [If you want to read a very interesting article about income distribution in America, check this out--it will give you a good visual.]

in the last post, I alluded to a possible shift toward populism. a few nights ago, JD and I listened to a rather fascinating exchange between Senator Byron Dorgan (D-ND) and Casey Mulligan, an economist at the greatest school on earth, but an awfully dismal scientist, in my view. this was moderated by Milt Rosenberg (also a greatest school affiliate, and quite an engaging radio host, I might add). summarily, Dorgan is considered a populist by many, and has written a book entitled "Take This Job and Ship It", while Mulligan is your basic free-market libertarian. as one who voted libertarian in the last election, I am increasingly dissatisfied with that position and thought Mulligan's position was lacking...cojones. it's easy enough to trot out economic theory whenever you're asked a pragmatic question, but when he kept referencing an unlikely example involving Barcelona when every listener knew he was being asked about Baja California and Shanghai--well that's pretty evasive and intellectually dishonest, if you ask me...as usual, I digress...

I guess the sociopolitical question for me is this: is it preferable to promote a laissez faire policy of free trade with the expectation that this will "flatten" the world economically (this proposition is dubious--some argue that it will yield a "pointy" world of a fabulously wealthy few living amidst masses of the poor) or is a somewhat protectionist policy favorable? (I can't wait to read JBE's Gifford Lectures on Sovereignty, but I've already been convinced by Hannah Arendt, and Reinhold Niebuhr, and to some extent, Bonhoeffer, that state sovereignty is legitimately sanctioned in Christian ethics ). one of Dorgan's many good points was that when big businesses in america search the globe to find the cheapest labor possible, they are really promoting slave labor, undoing the considerable reforms fought for in the united states for over a century by bypassing them entirely. I do think it's unconscionable that such businesses should in any way be rewarded for doing so (via tax breaks and other political favors) and for exporting jobs that have historically paid a living wage. I certainly don't think that state sovereignty precludes our duties to those around the globe--but I think it's doubtful we'll help many raise their standard of life by lowering those of "the last great hope" (note: I'm not necessarily speaking consumption-wise).

my main reservation with populism is that it may well tend to a tyranny of the majority. according to wikipedia, the opposite of populism is elitism, and I'm all for that, too. perhaps I'm really a communitarian?

until next time, here's to striving to understand the higher modalities of the situation.

sense and subjectivity

2006-08-28T11:38:00.000-05:00

subjectivity is a subject I've been thinking about for a while now. (you're right, that is a horrible sentence, and yes, I am going to leave it that way). I'd been musing on it internally for quite some time when, after a filling dinner at HB with my friend Natalie (one of the supremely honored women in my life and undoubtedly one of the world's best listeners), half the bottle of pink wine I had consumed prompted me to share some very fuzzy thoughts with her on the way home. what I tried to relate (no doubt, poorly) was (and continues to be) my awe with the simultaneous independent and intertwined experience of the some six billion people on this earth, and as if that weren't enough fodder to keep me chewing for a few lifetimes, how those subjectivities relate to God. if you've ever seen the movie I Heart Huckabees, it's sort of the blanket concept--that here's a war, and here's a tree, and here's an orgasm and they're all connected. (disclaimer: I've been reading Alfred North Whitehead and even taught Adventures of Ideas in my Human Nature and the Social Order class, and these have both undoubtedly colored my own subjectivity). part of each of our subjectivities is our past experiences and how we bring those into the future. i've often thought it interesting that in my nuclear family there are (currently) something like 164 years of experience between my parents and sister and I, some of it shared, but all of it experienced uniquely. JD and I have about 51 years of experience between us, and given our extensive long-distance relationship prior to the present, the stuff that we've directly experienced together is a fairly small percentage of each of our lives. learning to live together in community and to understand how the other formed their outlook and opinions is certainly among the blessings and challenges of marriage.

learning to identify with and trying to understand "the other" (I believe it's called "alterity" to use a philosophical word coined by Emmanuel Levinas, but even earlier described by Adam Smith and perhaps others...even St. Paul?) seems an important task for a wannabe ethicist such as myself and for all humans who would be humane (me too, and hopefully you). alterity seems to me an important counterpart to judging well and growing in wisdom. thinking theologically for a moment, to laugh with those who are laughing and weep with those who are weeping are rather biblical commands that ought to put Christians in a perpetual state of tension and discernment. and one more thought for the road: I can't help but think that God must derive some pleasure from the varieties of subjectivities of those made Imago Dei. (well, perhaps some pleasure and probably a lot of grief.) I venture to think that the uniqueness represented by his creatures, and indeed, his creation, mirror the gratuitous abundance of God...

more about this, and perhaps some conspiracy theories, thoughts about my possible shift toward populism, and musings on globalization and the middle class soon. your comments are warmly welcomed. what are you thinking about?

so I've been thinking about food.

2006-08-25T13:35:00.000-05:00

like my good friend Chef Yum Yum (a major souce of inspiration for this blog), I too, "eat every day." much of this thinking about food has been due to the recent receipt of some long-awaited Shun knives that JD and I ordered several weeks ago. they came earlier this week, and I, being home during the day, had the privilege of opening them. amidst all the excitement, I almost failed to notice that as I hastily undid the bubble wrap around the cardboard-sheathed samurais, the pointy ends were making contact with my abdomen. miraculously, a self-administered appendectomy was avoided, and I immediately set about finding more appropriate things to slice with my new appendages. did I mention that HOLYCRAPTHESETHINGSARESCARYSHARP? I mean, they seriously feel like weapons. much of it is their razor-sharpness, heavy weight, and considerable length, but the Japanese insignia on the blade no doubt adds to their ninja-esqueness. I find myself checking to make sure Oliver is not underfoot when I’m using them. I’m thinking his days of ass-grabbing in the kitchen are numbered, but I digress…

in anticipation of the knives, I purchased the foodstuffs to make a Tex-Mex feast, out of the same yellow book to which Chef Yum Yum links you. yes, she inspired that, too. (although I contend it’s been one of the most profitable gifts for JD that he’s ever given—he agrees). I was, back in high school, a vegetarian for about four months; I’m more of an omnivore now, but I’ve been doing a good bit of thinking about eating more intentionally, “lower on the food chain,” if you will, and making more of an effort to sacramentalize meals that involve animal flesh. proudly, this meal did not.

I’ve grown really fond of chilled soups this summer (working my way through the Yellow Book, I’ve made chilled vichyssoise, and a green pea summer soup, among others). all the pureeing and straining yields soups of such saturated color and concentrated flavor. [remember when Buster communicates his love for soup to Lindsay? Amen to that, I say.] this time, I was ready for the Roasted Corn and Avocado Soup with Cilantro Oil, accompanied by the Green Chile Cheese Puff (essentially a crustless quiche/soufflé involving a block of shredded Monterey jack and a cup cottage cheese—what’s not to love about that!?)

this soup, not unlike many others, calls for finely diced onions. now onions are a very common aromatic, but they have been the bane of my existence in the kitchen. I hate the smell on my hands, and they make me cry (because they make sulfuric acid in your eyes!)—it hurts real bad!! I have gone so far as to wear swimming goggles in the kitchen (it’s a good look for me). JD often accuses me of trying to find a materialistic solution to every problem under the sun (this is probably about 75 percent valid), but between my rub-away-bar and my new knives, onions will trouble me no more. I have never sliced so effortlessly, accurately, and quickly! suddenly, cutting onion is a joy. until next time, here is a picture of my beautiful, verdant soup for your viewing pleasure, and/or inspiration.

okay, so i'm not british (and you don't have to be, either)

2006-08-14T14:08:00.000-05:00

frankly, with all the transcontinental security issues as of late, i'm surprised this blog name wasn't taken--that and all the hordes of arrested development fans out there (of whom i hope you are one). you oughta be. in fact, that's probably the only prerequisite for reading this blog. well, that and basic literacy.

as a grad student at the greatest school on earth (if you don't know, i'm not going to tell you...at least, not yet) i've been schooled in the postmodern style of self-disclosure, taught to articulate 1) why i'm writing and 2) what i hope to accomplish thereby, and 3) my modus operandi: (1) peer pressure - many of my friends have blogs, and i enjoy "hearing" their voices as i read about the inner workings of their hilariously twisted minds and various exploits; (2) prolificacy - (which is a real word according to dictionary.com) i'm a very slow writer who has, in recent years, become rather notorious for long-overdue papers. i'm hoping that, rather than becoming a vehicle for procrastination, that this blog may help me to overcome some of my writer's block; and finally, (3) posterity - since the age of fifteen, i have always had summer jobs (with one exception when no one wanted to hire an individual with half-a-master's-degree from (un)said greatest school on earth). my new husband, who has chosen a sensible and urbane career for himself, has willingly agreed to support my life of the mind until i return to school in in late september, and i've found myself with quite a bit of time on my hands for thoughtful reflection (or at least thoughts). sometimes they seem worth pursuing in greater depth, but i find they often slip away, hence the need to capture them for further contemplation and the possibility of insight from others (i suspect that possibility, gentle reader, is indeed probable!)