This morning, I attended church at Saint James Episcopal for the first time in quite some time. My absence on previous Sabbaths had not been out of sloth, but for various unavoidable causes; it seemed wise, nonetheless, during the life changes, that I assure the congregation that my absence in the next few months did not imply any lack of devotion to the institution.
I was listening to the service, I reached a revelation about something that has irked me for a long time, and irked me more than the sudden onset of scratchy throat this morning right before the first hymn began. The church at which I grew up, Saint Mary the Virgin Episcopal, which is neither Catholic nor attached to its neighboring building, Saint Vincent de Paul, used the following text during Eucharist: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again". My current church, on the other hand (in addition to many other modifications of the liturgy), uses this: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ is with us all". I have been meaning for years to ask one of the clergy about this change, but I always forget; now, however, I think that I understand.
It seems to me that the change in the third phrase stems from the ignorance of the masses of grammatical distinction that are subtle yet useful and an attendant miscomprehension of the intended theology of this part of the liturgy. The first phrase is indisputable among Christians (unless you happen to be some sort of neo-Docetist
- http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05070c.htm ),
but the difficulty arises (pun intended) in the English speakers' comprehension of the second phrase: "Christ is risen". Modern English congregants doubtless consider this a simple past, even if the phrase uses the dreaded passive. A speaker of Romance tongue, however, might analyze this phrase differently by distinguishing between "Christ has risen" and "Christ is risen". The former is the description of a past action without any necessary inference about the present, but the latter is the description of a present state dependent on a past action. The distinction between these two concepts largely determines the choice of "avoir" ("to have") or "etre" ("to be") as the complementary verb with a composite perfect in French; even in Latin, where the form of the two concepts is identical, a careful writer who wishes to make the distinction would use distinct "primary sequence" or "secondary sequence" for the verbal forms which follow in the subordinate clause.
Since "Christ is risen" is a description of a present state dependent on a past action, the tripartite temporal symmetry of the statement remains, and past, present, and future each recieve a sentence which they can call their own. "Christ is risen" is a statement about the present, not the past; the risen Christ has present power. The elimination within the English language of the distinction between the "avoir" and "etre" forms has prevented the less grammatically aware congregants from understanding this distinction, and the text comes to lack a Christological statement about the present. I cannot fault anybody for finding this lack unsatisfactory, especially on this day of Pentecost, because the essence of the Christian faith, as I see it, is the not the hope of future salvation, but the presence of Christ in this world right now through the members of his body. The replacement of "Christ is risen" with "Christ is with us all" places the weight of two-thirds of the tripartite division of time (present and future) upon one-third of the weakened tricolon; that one-third, moreover, deprives the statement of its element of future hope, and introduces a participatory element that the first two sentences, as well as the original third, lack. The orignal statement was explicitly and solely Christ-centered, and the results of the statement for believers implicit.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Parks and Propositions
On Thursday, there was an article in the Chronicle (which I still read in the old way, in a café with a coffee) which said that the continuing state budget crisis might force many of the state parks to close their gates. The connection of this unprecedented action with the abject failure of the propositions on the recent ballot is clear enough, but these closures would cripple the outdoor activities of many Scout troops and districts.
On the one hand, I understand why the park service needs money, but I have learned the history of propositions in California and no longer can regard their current use as a substitute for responsible government action as acceptable or worthy of my support. The propositions and initiatives, as originally conceived, were an emergency measure for times of crisis, and had they remained restricted to such times, their use in the current crisis would conscionable. The transformation of the proposition and the initiative into substitutes for governance has not only allowed the government in Sacramento to evade responsibility, but also deprived Californians of a valuable tool by dulling the blade so that the axe is useless when it is most needed. In nineteenth century Portugal, one of the factors in the stall of the national economy (other than the exponential imbecility of the monarchy - read Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty for more information) was the cumulative effect of pious gifts to the church; a third of the land in the entire country was the property of the church, the world’s longest-lived legal person . A similar process happens when pressure groups incite well-meaning citizens to vote for propositions and initiatives that create mandatory uses and set-asides; the individual propositions may or may not add up to an extensive sum, but the cumulative effect is to diminish steadily the amount of flexibility that the state government can practice.
The more immediate effect the closure would have on my way of life would be the sudden and catastrophic deprivation of camping and hiking sites for Troop 14 (my troop) and other troops around the Bay Area. I am sure that we will find new venues or new activities if the closure should happen, but the focus within Troop 14 on camping and hiking (since some troops have a different focus, and I do not presume to know the activities of all other troops in the Bay Area) makes it an area of particular concern.
The effects of closing the parks would be in the main undesirable. Modern buildings, unlike the sturdy stone structures of my academic background, are not designed to weather well without maintenance, and many years of repairing the troop’s traditional campsite at summer camp has taught me that it is more expensive to repair delayed maintenance than to maintain the structure in a regular manner. The population of the parks, too, would change. The absence of both rangers and visitors would encourage an influx of homeless (which might not be altogether bad, if they consumed some of the ubiquitous mule deer and provided a predatory niche whose lack has encouraged the explosive overpopulation) and pot-growers. I should be clear here: my concern in this essay is not the legality or legitimacy of the weed farmers, but rather the displacement of the native flora. I may blog on my thoughts on homeless and potheads on a separate occasion.
I find it exceedingly difficult to write conclusions, and this is my blog, so I feel no obligation to do so.
On the one hand, I understand why the park service needs money, but I have learned the history of propositions in California and no longer can regard their current use as a substitute for responsible government action as acceptable or worthy of my support. The propositions and initiatives, as originally conceived, were an emergency measure for times of crisis, and had they remained restricted to such times, their use in the current crisis would conscionable. The transformation of the proposition and the initiative into substitutes for governance has not only allowed the government in Sacramento to evade responsibility, but also deprived Californians of a valuable tool by dulling the blade so that the axe is useless when it is most needed. In nineteenth century Portugal, one of the factors in the stall of the national economy (other than the exponential imbecility of the monarchy - read Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty for more information) was the cumulative effect of pious gifts to the church; a third of the land in the entire country was the property of the church, the world’s longest-lived legal person . A similar process happens when pressure groups incite well-meaning citizens to vote for propositions and initiatives that create mandatory uses and set-asides; the individual propositions may or may not add up to an extensive sum, but the cumulative effect is to diminish steadily the amount of flexibility that the state government can practice.
The more immediate effect the closure would have on my way of life would be the sudden and catastrophic deprivation of camping and hiking sites for Troop 14 (my troop) and other troops around the Bay Area. I am sure that we will find new venues or new activities if the closure should happen, but the focus within Troop 14 on camping and hiking (since some troops have a different focus, and I do not presume to know the activities of all other troops in the Bay Area) makes it an area of particular concern.
The effects of closing the parks would be in the main undesirable. Modern buildings, unlike the sturdy stone structures of my academic background, are not designed to weather well without maintenance, and many years of repairing the troop’s traditional campsite at summer camp has taught me that it is more expensive to repair delayed maintenance than to maintain the structure in a regular manner. The population of the parks, too, would change. The absence of both rangers and visitors would encourage an influx of homeless (which might not be altogether bad, if they consumed some of the ubiquitous mule deer and provided a predatory niche whose lack has encouraged the explosive overpopulation) and pot-growers. I should be clear here: my concern in this essay is not the legality or legitimacy of the weed farmers, but rather the displacement of the native flora. I may blog on my thoughts on homeless and potheads on a separate occasion.
I find it exceedingly difficult to write conclusions, and this is my blog, so I feel no obligation to do so.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Malay Exercises 8-9
Ex. 8
1. Rendah tembok puteh itu The white wall is low.
2. Meja panjang itu rendah The long table is low.
3. Bilek itu kechil The room is small
4. Rumah ini tinggi The house is high
5. Bakul hijau itu kosong The green basket is empty
6. Manis buah merah itu The red fruit is sweet
7. Panjang-lah tali itu The rope is long
8. Buku hitam itu besar The black book is big.
9. Daun kechil itu hijau The small leaves are green.
10. Kosong mangkok ini The cup is empty.
11. Bakul yang besar lagi elok A large fine basket
12. Bakul besar itu elok The large basket is fine
Ex. 9
1. The tall house is large Besar rumah tinggi itu.
2. Green fruit is sour. Masam buah hijau
3. Small green leaves Daun hijau lagi kechil
4. The black book is small. Buku hitam itu kechil.
5. A large clean courtyard Halaman yang besar lagi berseh
6. The blue flowers are pretty. Bunga biru itu chantek
7. The long string is white. Tali panjang itu puteh.
8. The white cup is small Mangkok puteh itu kechil
9. The houses were small and low. Rumah itu kechil lagi rendah.
10. Small low houses rumah kechil yang rendah
11. A long thin hand Tangan panjang yang lengan
12. This cord is blue. Biru-lah tali ini
1. Rendah tembok puteh itu The white wall is low.
2. Meja panjang itu rendah The long table is low.
3. Bilek itu kechil The room is small
4. Rumah ini tinggi The house is high
5. Bakul hijau itu kosong The green basket is empty
6. Manis buah merah itu The red fruit is sweet
7. Panjang-lah tali itu The rope is long
8. Buku hitam itu besar The black book is big.
9. Daun kechil itu hijau The small leaves are green.
10. Kosong mangkok ini The cup is empty.
11. Bakul yang besar lagi elok A large fine basket
12. Bakul besar itu elok The large basket is fine
Ex. 9
1. The tall house is large Besar rumah tinggi itu.
2. Green fruit is sour. Masam buah hijau
3. Small green leaves Daun hijau lagi kechil
4. The black book is small. Buku hitam itu kechil.
5. A large clean courtyard Halaman yang besar lagi berseh
6. The blue flowers are pretty. Bunga biru itu chantek
7. The long string is white. Tali panjang itu puteh.
8. The white cup is small Mangkok puteh itu kechil
9. The houses were small and low. Rumah itu kechil lagi rendah.
10. Small low houses rumah kechil yang rendah
11. A long thin hand Tangan panjang yang lengan
12. This cord is blue. Biru-lah tali ini
Malay Exercises 4-7
Ex. 4
1. Tulang panjang long bones
2. Kerusi tinggi a high chair
3. Mangkok puteh a white bowl
4. Bilek kotor a dirty room
5. Halaman besar a big courtyard
6. Piring berseh a clean platter
7. Sekolah kechil (“kechik“) a small school
8. Hidong panjang a long nose
9. Suara lembut a soft voice
10. Rambut hitam black hair
11. Bibir merah red lips
12. Buah masam sour fruit
13. Bumbong tinggi a high roof
14. Tembok rendah a low wall
15. Daun hijau green leaves
16. Bunga biru a blue flower
17. Gambar elok a beautiful picture
18. Leher panjang a long neck
19. Muka chantek a pretty face
20. Dahi tinggi a high brow
21. Tangan kotor dirty hands
22. Papan hitam a black board
23. Mangkok kechil a small bowl
24. Kuku pendek a short nail
25. Bakul penoh a full basket
26. Kayu hitam black wood
27. Pinggan puteh a full plate - a white plate
28. Janggut panjang a long beard
29. Lantai hijau a green floor
30. Chawan merah a red tea-cup
31. Buku ini this is a book
32. Rumah kosong an empty house
33. Meja ini this table
34. Kulit itu that hide
35. Papan itu that hand - plank
Ex. 5
1. A white plank papan puteh
2. Empty bowls mangkok kosong
3. White hands papan puteh - tangan
4. Clean nails kuku berseh
5. A short cord tali pendek
6. Big baskets bakul besar
7. Hard wood kayu keras
8. A small picture gambar kechil
9. Large leaves daun besar
10. A clean school sekolah berseh
11. Large books buku besar
12. Blue plates pinggan hijau - biru
13. A short beard janggut pendek
14. Green fruit buah hijau
15. Clean floors. lantai berseh
16. High walls tembok tinggi
17. Long roofs bumbong panjang
18. White planks papan puteh
19. A high house rumah tinggi
20. A large rock batu besar
21. Sweet fruit buah manis
22. Pretty flowers bunga chantek
23. A thin arm lengan kurus
24. Low benches bangku rendah
25. Fat cheeks pipi gemok
26. Small rooms bilek kechil
27. Empty baskets bakul penoh - kosong
28. Dirty floors lantai kotor
29. A small mouth mulut kechil
30. A red bowl mangkok merah
31. This face muka ini
32. Those faces muka itu
33. That head kepala itu
34. These tables meja itu
35. Those eyes mata itu
Ex. 6
1. Bangku tinggi high benches
2. Rendah tembok itu That wall is high
3. Kotor-lah bilek ini The room is dirty
4. Sekolah besar a large school, the school is large
5. Rumah kechil a small house, the house is small
6. Berseh rumah itu The house is clean
7. Panjang-lah tali ini The cord is long, this is a long cord
8. Bunga chantek pretty flowers, the flowers are pretty
9. Mulut besar a big mouth, the mouth is big
10. Kotor pinggan itu the plate is dirty
11. Masam buah ini the fruit is sourt
12. Bumbong rendah low roof, the roof is low
Ex. 7
1. White flowers bunga puteh
2. The fruit is sour masam-lah buah itu
3. The roof is high bumbong tinggi
4. Fine houses rumah elok
5. The picture was large besar gambar itu
6. Dirty hands kotor tangan itu
7. The book is blue biru buku itu
8. A clean floor lantai berseh
9. The basket was empty kosong-lah bakul itu
10. A long arm lengan panjang
11. The chair is low rendah-lah bangku-itu
12. Red fruit buah merah
1. Tulang panjang long bones
2. Kerusi tinggi a high chair
3. Mangkok puteh a white bowl
4. Bilek kotor a dirty room
5. Halaman besar a big courtyard
6. Piring berseh a clean platter
7. Sekolah kechil (“kechik“) a small school
8. Hidong panjang a long nose
9. Suara lembut a soft voice
10. Rambut hitam black hair
11. Bibir merah red lips
12. Buah masam sour fruit
13. Bumbong tinggi a high roof
14. Tembok rendah a low wall
15. Daun hijau green leaves
16. Bunga biru a blue flower
17. Gambar elok a beautiful picture
18. Leher panjang a long neck
19. Muka chantek a pretty face
20. Dahi tinggi a high brow
21. Tangan kotor dirty hands
22. Papan hitam a black board
23. Mangkok kechil a small bowl
24. Kuku pendek a short nail
25. Bakul penoh a full basket
26. Kayu hitam black wood
27. Pinggan puteh a full plate - a white plate
28. Janggut panjang a long beard
29. Lantai hijau a green floor
30. Chawan merah a red tea-cup
31. Buku ini this is a book
32. Rumah kosong an empty house
33. Meja ini this table
34. Kulit itu that hide
35. Papan itu that hand - plank
Ex. 5
1. A white plank papan puteh
2. Empty bowls mangkok kosong
3. White hands papan puteh - tangan
4. Clean nails kuku berseh
5. A short cord tali pendek
6. Big baskets bakul besar
7. Hard wood kayu keras
8. A small picture gambar kechil
9. Large leaves daun besar
10. A clean school sekolah berseh
11. Large books buku besar
12. Blue plates pinggan hijau - biru
13. A short beard janggut pendek
14. Green fruit buah hijau
15. Clean floors. lantai berseh
16. High walls tembok tinggi
17. Long roofs bumbong panjang
18. White planks papan puteh
19. A high house rumah tinggi
20. A large rock batu besar
21. Sweet fruit buah manis
22. Pretty flowers bunga chantek
23. A thin arm lengan kurus
24. Low benches bangku rendah
25. Fat cheeks pipi gemok
26. Small rooms bilek kechil
27. Empty baskets bakul penoh - kosong
28. Dirty floors lantai kotor
29. A small mouth mulut kechil
30. A red bowl mangkok merah
31. This face muka ini
32. Those faces muka itu
33. That head kepala itu
34. These tables meja itu
35. Those eyes mata itu
Ex. 6
1. Bangku tinggi high benches
2. Rendah tembok itu That wall is high
3. Kotor-lah bilek ini The room is dirty
4. Sekolah besar a large school, the school is large
5. Rumah kechil a small house, the house is small
6. Berseh rumah itu The house is clean
7. Panjang-lah tali ini The cord is long, this is a long cord
8. Bunga chantek pretty flowers, the flowers are pretty
9. Mulut besar a big mouth, the mouth is big
10. Kotor pinggan itu the plate is dirty
11. Masam buah ini the fruit is sourt
12. Bumbong rendah low roof, the roof is low
Ex. 7
1. White flowers bunga puteh
2. The fruit is sour masam-lah buah itu
3. The roof is high bumbong tinggi
4. Fine houses rumah elok
5. The picture was large besar gambar itu
6. Dirty hands kotor tangan itu
7. The book is blue biru buku itu
8. A clean floor lantai berseh
9. The basket was empty kosong-lah bakul itu
10. A long arm lengan panjang
11. The chair is low rendah-lah bangku-itu
12. Red fruit buah merah
Monday, May 18, 2009
Phoenix Preserve
Recently I read this article
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090515/ap_on_re_as/as_indonesia_bird_beach_3)
on the maleo, a bird native to Sulawesi, which put me in mind of the mythical phoenix. The maleo is mostly black, but has prominent pink plumage, yellow facial skin, and red-orange beak color. Both of these colors would lend themselves to the idea of flame, especially in climes where the birds are generally less particolored than in tropic lands. Even the black back of the maleo could be attached to the idea of flame, by way of ash.
The female maleo lays her remarkably large egg in volcanic sand or soil and wanders off. This is not a species where a hen and her brood troop gamely through the forest! When the egg hatches, the young maleo is ready to fly and forage. A full-grown bird emerging from the hot sands would indeed appear to be self-generating. There's no particular association of the maleo with spices, such as the frankincense with which (according to Herodotus) the phoenix immolates himself, but spices came from a wide area of the ancient world, and I am not arguing that the legend of the phoenix reflects biology with full accuracy (see Pliny the Elder for particularly egregious examples). I am, however, convinced that reports of this remarkable bird contributed to the myth of the phoenix.
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090515/ap_on_re_as/as_indonesia_bird_beach_3)
on the maleo, a bird native to Sulawesi, which put me in mind of the mythical phoenix. The maleo is mostly black, but has prominent pink plumage, yellow facial skin, and red-orange beak color. Both of these colors would lend themselves to the idea of flame, especially in climes where the birds are generally less particolored than in tropic lands. Even the black back of the maleo could be attached to the idea of flame, by way of ash.
The female maleo lays her remarkably large egg in volcanic sand or soil and wanders off. This is not a species where a hen and her brood troop gamely through the forest! When the egg hatches, the young maleo is ready to fly and forage. A full-grown bird emerging from the hot sands would indeed appear to be self-generating. There's no particular association of the maleo with spices, such as the frankincense with which (according to Herodotus) the phoenix immolates himself, but spices came from a wide area of the ancient world, and I am not arguing that the legend of the phoenix reflects biology with full accuracy (see Pliny the Elder for particularly egregious examples). I am, however, convinced that reports of this remarkable bird contributed to the myth of the phoenix.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
JROTC Spared?
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/05/12/BAH317IIES.DTL&feed=rss.bayarea
I certainly hope that Mr. Yee is right and that JROTC is spared. The sort of students who often sign up for this could use the discipline and collegiality a military program can provide. And if you are a kid from a broken home in a bad neighborhood, what's wrong with seeking a career in the military? My grandfather joined for the job. On the PE credit question, though, I can understand the hesitation. The amount of exercise in comparative military and civilian programs may be equivalent, but I do not know how the individual components compare. Any exercise, however, would be welcome, in the current obesity epidemic.
I certainly hope that Mr. Yee is right and that JROTC is spared. The sort of students who often sign up for this could use the discipline and collegiality a military program can provide. And if you are a kid from a broken home in a bad neighborhood, what's wrong with seeking a career in the military? My grandfather joined for the job. On the PE credit question, though, I can understand the hesitation. The amount of exercise in comparative military and civilian programs may be equivalent, but I do not know how the individual components compare. Any exercise, however, would be welcome, in the current obesity epidemic.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Good Turn 2009
This weekend, the troop traveled up to our summer camp to make repairs. Our usual ambition was curtailed by the lack of our resident volunteer contractor, since the council had moved the date of the activity well after the troop had worked out its own calendar. Although our troop started the tradition of the “Good Turn” as a practical and peculiar measure, the meme has flowered and spread. This is good for the camp, but does not seem so good for the ranger, whose burden, once relieved by the small scale effort, was restored unto him by its wider application. I accompanied the party which headed out to clear the fire road, a path which I find little time to walk when I serve at camp in the summer. It was a pleasant task, but fatal to much vegetation!
At the campfire, the quality was what I have come to expect, although I would value rehearsal and better acting over new material. The MC ran out of material early, and we received a drum recital. I was surprised that nobody had noticed that the Sherlock Holmes book was available, since those stories are always popular at camp. Sunday breakfast was fancier than I had anticipated, and the Scout’s Own as very short, but I admire the courage of the young man who shared his thoughts at the non-denominational “service”.
At the campfire, the quality was what I have come to expect, although I would value rehearsal and better acting over new material. The MC ran out of material early, and we received a drum recital. I was surprised that nobody had noticed that the Sherlock Holmes book was available, since those stories are always popular at camp. Sunday breakfast was fancier than I had anticipated, and the Scout’s Own as very short, but I admire the courage of the young man who shared his thoughts at the non-denominational “service”.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Egyptians and Astronauts
One of the blessings of living in San Francisco is the presumption of literacy, but the literacy which some possess is not what others would consider "respectable". My habit of studying Ancient Egyptian in public has highlighted this local characteristic. It would be presumptuous to expect that many citizens would display much archaeological acumen, but the sight of hieroglyphs seems to draw the "ancient astronaut" crowd.
My quarrel with this sort is not that extrahuman life exists, but that aliens must have helped the ancient civilizations, which afterwards deified them. The deification of illustrious or notorious humans as their deeds become increasingly remote from the present of the incipient worshipper has happened (the technical term is 'euhemerism'), most notably in Egypt, where the Pharaoh already possessed divine characteristics. The suggestion, however, that the Sumerians and the Egyptians received extraterrestrial aid denigrates the ingenuity of the men and women who lived at the dawn of civilization. The requirement of external help is a remnant of racial attitudes which are no longer acceptable,; since it would be impossible for non-white tribes to accomplish such mighty deeds unaided, but white aid is chronologically impossible, aliens must have helped the savages of yore.
Presentation of the aliens as a "more rational" explanation for the deeds of gods in whom no-one (including yours truly) believes is really a re-mythologizing and displacing in time those very gods. The shift from numinous or divine forces to extraterrestrial ones occurred in the late nineteenth century and early to mid-twentieth century, the very era when technological progress was replacing (and in some cases threatening) the theological establishment. The fundamental characteristics, however, of contemporary systems of human thought do not change instantly, and just as the sixteenth century reformers replaced a Papal absolutism with a Biblical one, so too the congregants of technology replaced the unknown, watching God of Heaven Above with new watchers who had superior technology rather than supernatural potency. The aliens may not demand incense and burnt sacrifice, but belief in them is no dfferent than belief in elves and brownies, and the aid the (allegedly) gave no more than a modern version of the myth of Prometheus, with the added satisfaction of confirming the superiority of modern man.
My quarrel with this sort is not that extrahuman life exists, but that aliens must have helped the ancient civilizations, which afterwards deified them. The deification of illustrious or notorious humans as their deeds become increasingly remote from the present of the incipient worshipper has happened (the technical term is 'euhemerism'), most notably in Egypt, where the Pharaoh already possessed divine characteristics. The suggestion, however, that the Sumerians and the Egyptians received extraterrestrial aid denigrates the ingenuity of the men and women who lived at the dawn of civilization. The requirement of external help is a remnant of racial attitudes which are no longer acceptable,; since it would be impossible for non-white tribes to accomplish such mighty deeds unaided, but white aid is chronologically impossible, aliens must have helped the savages of yore.
Presentation of the aliens as a "more rational" explanation for the deeds of gods in whom no-one (including yours truly) believes is really a re-mythologizing and displacing in time those very gods. The shift from numinous or divine forces to extraterrestrial ones occurred in the late nineteenth century and early to mid-twentieth century, the very era when technological progress was replacing (and in some cases threatening) the theological establishment. The fundamental characteristics, however, of contemporary systems of human thought do not change instantly, and just as the sixteenth century reformers replaced a Papal absolutism with a Biblical one, so too the congregants of technology replaced the unknown, watching God of Heaven Above with new watchers who had superior technology rather than supernatural potency. The aliens may not demand incense and burnt sacrifice, but belief in them is no dfferent than belief in elves and brownies, and the aid the (allegedly) gave no more than a modern version of the myth of Prometheus, with the added satisfaction of confirming the superiority of modern man.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Book Review: The Know-It-All and A Year of Living Biblically
I fear I have delayed too long to remember sufficiently well the details of Jacobs' books, which I received as a present from my sister-in-law of recent vintage; nonetheless, I shall essay to convey my general impressions of both so that others might ascertain whether they would derive pleasure from their reading.
The first of the set, entitled The Know-It-All, details Mr. Jacobs' quest to read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, an endeavor with which I can empathize, although I would prefer to pursue other avenues of knowledge. One of the victims of electronic cataloguing is the serendipitous juxtaposition of two sources which, if one inspected both, prove the have a wholly unanticipated and mutually enlightening effect; even a perusal of the encyclopedia can produce a mild form of this epiphany. One of the faults Jacobs developed this project was the unwanted and occasionally unwarranted intrusion of trivia in the flow of quotidian conversation, to which effect, I fear, I am not immune. His initial noxious habit, however, soon came under his control . Several of his acquaintances erroneously assumed that Jacobs' goal was the retention of of every entry in the Encyclopedia Britannica, but in truth it was more an experiment in non-prejudicial accumulation of knowledge, in which the reader must accept the system imposed by others. The result of the experiment are more profound than the substantial accumulation of knowledge, but I shall trust that the reader will discover so himself.
The second book, A Year of Living Biblically, in which Jacobs undertakes to love for a full year by following the Bible as literally as possible, caused more fundamental changes to Jacobs' character. The interval of this experiment was longer than a year, due to the preparations necessary to undertake the task. Jacobs chose to place emphasis on different commandments every day, although certain hazards prompted him to discreetly drop or minimize commandments liable to result in arrest or assault. He spent much time interviewing religious leaders of varying degrees and types of fundamentalism (for this category is not as monolithic as some would prefer to think), excepting those proximity might prove hazardous to a child of Abraham. His visit to the much-maligned snake-handling community was enlightening, although it seems that he failed to take into account the impossibility of experiment and Chistian experience. Ul;timately, he was transformed by his religious experiment \, which makes this book and its predecessor as close to novels as narratives based on blogs can approach.
The first of the set, entitled The Know-It-All, details Mr. Jacobs' quest to read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, an endeavor with which I can empathize, although I would prefer to pursue other avenues of knowledge. One of the victims of electronic cataloguing is the serendipitous juxtaposition of two sources which, if one inspected both, prove the have a wholly unanticipated and mutually enlightening effect; even a perusal of the encyclopedia can produce a mild form of this epiphany. One of the faults Jacobs developed this project was the unwanted and occasionally unwarranted intrusion of trivia in the flow of quotidian conversation, to which effect, I fear, I am not immune. His initial noxious habit, however, soon came under his control . Several of his acquaintances erroneously assumed that Jacobs' goal was the retention of of every entry in the Encyclopedia Britannica, but in truth it was more an experiment in non-prejudicial accumulation of knowledge, in which the reader must accept the system imposed by others. The result of the experiment are more profound than the substantial accumulation of knowledge, but I shall trust that the reader will discover so himself.
The second book, A Year of Living Biblically, in which Jacobs undertakes to love for a full year by following the Bible as literally as possible, caused more fundamental changes to Jacobs' character. The interval of this experiment was longer than a year, due to the preparations necessary to undertake the task. Jacobs chose to place emphasis on different commandments every day, although certain hazards prompted him to discreetly drop or minimize commandments liable to result in arrest or assault. He spent much time interviewing religious leaders of varying degrees and types of fundamentalism (for this category is not as monolithic as some would prefer to think), excepting those proximity might prove hazardous to a child of Abraham. His visit to the much-maligned snake-handling community was enlightening, although it seems that he failed to take into account the impossibility of experiment and Chistian experience. Ul;timately, he was transformed by his religious experiment \, which makes this book and its predecessor as close to novels as narratives based on blogs can approach.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Training for the Mister Babel Competition
My strength has always been languages, ancient or modern (although I did drop and run from the Russian orals), but it took me a while to formulate the most effective plan for acquiring new ones and resuscitating old ones. Ever since I went into business with Aidan, I've thought that I needed to learn Spanish as a business skill (he certainly won't), but was too preoccupied with amending my dearth of business courses.
When I was a little kid at Cathedral, I did learn some Spanish, albeit in a disorganized fashion, but when I received a choice, I chose to take French instead; in those days, not everywhere offered Chinese. I have forgotten much.
Some of you may have noticed my abortive attempts to jump start language acquisition. This was the case before I got a new public library card and discovered the foreign language CDs. I concede that these might not be the highest-rated programs, but I can't justify the expense of buying the more extensive programs such as Rosetta.
So here's the plan as it stands: I will learn to speak Spanish as a business skill, at a micro and macro business level. I will learn to speak Mandarin Chinese, because China is one of the big economies, and it might be useful in Berkeley and San Francisco. I have studied some Sanskrit, but learning Hindi, while potentially fun, is not a priority since Indians who are businessmen (no, teledrones don't count) already speak English, and frequently do so better than some of the riff-raff littering American cities. So what's language Number 3? That would be Russian - one of the sources of labor at Tahoe; last summer I surprised one of our Russian employees by spelling her name in Cyrillic! French, sadly, does not pass the expediency test, since I also need to review my Latin and Greek.
When I was a little kid at Cathedral, I did learn some Spanish, albeit in a disorganized fashion, but when I received a choice, I chose to take French instead; in those days, not everywhere offered Chinese. I have forgotten much.
Some of you may have noticed my abortive attempts to jump start language acquisition. This was the case before I got a new public library card and discovered the foreign language CDs. I concede that these might not be the highest-rated programs, but I can't justify the expense of buying the more extensive programs such as Rosetta.
So here's the plan as it stands: I will learn to speak Spanish as a business skill, at a micro and macro business level. I will learn to speak Mandarin Chinese, because China is one of the big economies, and it might be useful in Berkeley and San Francisco. I have studied some Sanskrit, but learning Hindi, while potentially fun, is not a priority since Indians who are businessmen (no, teledrones don't count) already speak English, and frequently do so better than some of the riff-raff littering American cities. So what's language Number 3? That would be Russian - one of the sources of labor at Tahoe; last summer I surprised one of our Russian employees by spelling her name in Cyrillic! French, sadly, does not pass the expediency test, since I also need to review my Latin and Greek.
New Digs
I fear I may have confused some people at church today, so I wanted to avoid that situation in a broader context. I am moving to a cottage at Tahoe because my brother has moved to his new house with his wife, but it's a bit more complicated than that. Aidan and I own a property maintenance business at Tahoe: we provide maintenance and supply and manage the summer recreation staff for the homeowners' associations. On one of these properties is a cottage, in which one of the owners of the company may dwell. Aidan has been living there with Kacie, but they have bought a new house and moved into it; so now I am living there when I am at Tahoe - working. When I am in San Francisco, I will still be the smartest man at 8th Avenue.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Evie's Waltz: Come Already Down
Evie's Waltz, the newest play by Carter W. Lewis examines the intersection between the stresses of society and family. The dialogue is sharp and dark, and the final reveal is well-hidden, but its performance within sight of the Obama presidency somewhat tempers the bite it would have if there were more years of neo-conservative rule anticipated. An angle involving the dark secrets which the relentlessly chipper father holds is a cliché , but the jaded mother's response is refreshing and it does provide a red herring before the final reveal. The overall experience was intellectually stimulating, but perhaps the alumni reception which I had attended previously that afternoon was buoying my spirit too much for me descend to the level of grimness necessary to appreciate on an emotional level modern playwrights; perhaps I did not require catharsis. I heartily encourage all who have not seen Evie's Waltz to do so, but it would be prudent to avoid an excess of joy prior to the experience.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Wordy Shipmates, by Sarah Vowell
I'd been meaning to read this book, and picked it up down in the Mission: my original goal had been to visit Borderlands Books, inspect the Abyssinians, and purchase a few really cheap old paperbacks (I don't care about bent spines), but Borderlands was closed for the day, or perhaps only lunch. So I proceeded farther south to Blue Dog Books and picked up a copy of this book.
The Wordy Shipmates represents a break from Vowell's usual genre, autobiographical adventures, although the research involved its share of driving around New England. The style, however, preserves her usual liveliness and sense of humor.
What struck me most about her description of the Puritans was the way in which their values were antithetical to contemporary American culture, and particularly conservative Christian culture. The Puritans were Calvinists, and thus believed in predestination, the doctrine which states that God has already decided whether who will rejoice in heaven and who will suffer eternal torments; what the individual does affects nothing, and a Christian follows the law of God because he (the Puritans were very male-oriented) loved God. Here is the knife in the wound: the individual does not know whether he is saved until he is hauled before the Great Judgement Seat, and it is more likely than he is already damned. Calvin himself doubted his salvation. Contemporary conservative Christians, by comparison, believe that believing in Jesus as Lord and Savior is the ticket to the Pearly Gates.
This assurance of salvation leads to the next contrast between Puritans and contemporary conservative Christians: the Puritans feared and distrusted personal revelation.; the behavior and decision-making process of our lame duck leader would be abhorrent to them. In contemporary conservative culture, however, personal revelation of the Lord's will is an acceptable practice. Puritan culture insisted that the leaders of the community interpret the will of the God for the whole.
The desire for assurance, however, found an outlet in signs and portents in every day life. Some contemporary Christians condemn reading the horoscope in the newspaper as condoning divination'; the Puritans could see the struggle between a snake and a mouse on the commons as an indicator of the future. This searching for security in public fora extended to individuals' public actions as well. A successful harvest confirmed God's favor on the individual - despite the cherished Calvinist doctrine of predestination. This equation of salvation with prosperity may have assuaged the fears of the prosperous, but it redoubled the doubts of those in dire economic straits, who already bore grave uncertainty of salvation. It is possible that the correlation of physical deprivation and spiritual damnation contributed to the capitalist character of American society. Compare this to the poor woman in southern Missouri who has virtually nothing but knows that she'll cross the Jordan when the chariot come to take her home.
The Puritan leaders, unlike much of contemporary America, valued the intellect, and wrote their own books since they had brought so few. The shunning of the intellect among contemporary conservative Christians would have appalled them, especially since they founded the two primary institutions of "elitist" education which the radio pundits so despise to educate the leaders of Puritan society. These institutions perforce included instructions in Greek and Latin, even though the latter was the language of the hated Antichrist, known to his followers as the Pope. The ridiculus mus process known as "dumbing down" was not an option for the Puritan preacher or statesmen.
That last distinction surprised me when I read it. The Puritans , despite their strong theological views, made a distinction between the church and the state and tried (with varying degrees of success ) to keep them separate. The difference between their view and that of Jefferson was that the Puritans were trying to keep the state from controlled the church, while Jefferson was trying to keep the church from controlling the state. The Puritan preachers were not allowed to hold political office, nor were the political office- holders allowed to be preachers; nor was this an empty distinction, although the impressive theological depth of any prominent Puritan leader placed them in good stead when arguing with the preacher. When Governor Winston lost the election to his rival, several men sheepishly admitted that their votes had been swayed by preacher John Cotton, an antagonist of Winston; thus it was not thought quite appropriate to vote according to pastoral decree.
The Wordy Shipmates represents a break from Vowell's usual genre, autobiographical adventures, although the research involved its share of driving around New England. The style, however, preserves her usual liveliness and sense of humor.
What struck me most about her description of the Puritans was the way in which their values were antithetical to contemporary American culture, and particularly conservative Christian culture. The Puritans were Calvinists, and thus believed in predestination, the doctrine which states that God has already decided whether who will rejoice in heaven and who will suffer eternal torments; what the individual does affects nothing, and a Christian follows the law of God because he (the Puritans were very male-oriented) loved God. Here is the knife in the wound: the individual does not know whether he is saved until he is hauled before the Great Judgement Seat, and it is more likely than he is already damned. Calvin himself doubted his salvation. Contemporary conservative Christians, by comparison, believe that believing in Jesus as Lord and Savior is the ticket to the Pearly Gates.
This assurance of salvation leads to the next contrast between Puritans and contemporary conservative Christians: the Puritans feared and distrusted personal revelation.; the behavior and decision-making process of our lame duck leader would be abhorrent to them. In contemporary conservative culture, however, personal revelation of the Lord's will is an acceptable practice. Puritan culture insisted that the leaders of the community interpret the will of the God for the whole.
The desire for assurance, however, found an outlet in signs and portents in every day life. Some contemporary Christians condemn reading the horoscope in the newspaper as condoning divination'; the Puritans could see the struggle between a snake and a mouse on the commons as an indicator of the future. This searching for security in public fora extended to individuals' public actions as well. A successful harvest confirmed God's favor on the individual - despite the cherished Calvinist doctrine of predestination. This equation of salvation with prosperity may have assuaged the fears of the prosperous, but it redoubled the doubts of those in dire economic straits, who already bore grave uncertainty of salvation. It is possible that the correlation of physical deprivation and spiritual damnation contributed to the capitalist character of American society. Compare this to the poor woman in southern Missouri who has virtually nothing but knows that she'll cross the Jordan when the chariot come to take her home.
The Puritan leaders, unlike much of contemporary America, valued the intellect, and wrote their own books since they had brought so few. The shunning of the intellect among contemporary conservative Christians would have appalled them, especially since they founded the two primary institutions of "elitist" education which the radio pundits so despise to educate the leaders of Puritan society. These institutions perforce included instructions in Greek and Latin, even though the latter was the language of the hated Antichrist, known to his followers as the Pope. The ridiculus mus process known as "dumbing down" was not an option for the Puritan preacher or statesmen.
That last distinction surprised me when I read it. The Puritans , despite their strong theological views, made a distinction between the church and the state and tried (with varying degrees of success ) to keep them separate. The difference between their view and that of Jefferson was that the Puritans were trying to keep the state from controlled the church, while Jefferson was trying to keep the church from controlling the state. The Puritan preachers were not allowed to hold political office, nor were the political office- holders allowed to be preachers; nor was this an empty distinction, although the impressive theological depth of any prominent Puritan leader placed them in good stead when arguing with the preacher. When Governor Winston lost the election to his rival, several men sheepishly admitted that their votes had been swayed by preacher John Cotton, an antagonist of Winston; thus it was not thought quite appropriate to vote according to pastoral decree.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Richmond Police Scandal
I was reading a link from a friend's homepage about the suspension and (alleged) quitting of a white Richmond police officer over a photo in which he was hugging a Klansman (in reality a Hispanic fellow officer) at a Halloween party. What bothers me most about this incident is that the party perceived to be at fault was the white officer alone, when both the Hispanic cop and the police department should also share the blame.
According to the article, Richmond has a relatively high level of racial tension. This alone suggests that the Hispanic cop's choice of costume reflected poor judgment, and a reputation for being liberal and wearing it ironically just compounds it. His membership in a minority group does not exempt him; perhaps he's not white, but it is always possible for a black man to take offense at a Klan outfit.
The police department also should not escape censure. The article mentioned that the colleagues of the Hispanic cop laughed at costume precisely because he was known (to them) to be liberal. This statement implies he was wearing his costume somewhere that could be construed as an official police area. Policemen are public officials in both senses of the term, and although some rules may flex when policemen are off-duty, the general public will percieve them as police officers even out of uniform, in the same way as religious leaders and teachers cannot divest themselves fully of their public role. A group of off-duty police officers, therefore, among whom one is dressed as a member of a well-known and instantly recognizable racist organization, appears to approve, or at least be tolerant towards racism, especially in a community with a mixture of races and a relatively high level of racial tension.
In short, the Hispanic cop should have shown better personal and professional judgment and the department should not have allowed him to wear this costume in a context in which many policemen were involved.
According to the article, Richmond has a relatively high level of racial tension. This alone suggests that the Hispanic cop's choice of costume reflected poor judgment, and a reputation for being liberal and wearing it ironically just compounds it. His membership in a minority group does not exempt him; perhaps he's not white, but it is always possible for a black man to take offense at a Klan outfit.
The police department also should not escape censure. The article mentioned that the colleagues of the Hispanic cop laughed at costume precisely because he was known (to them) to be liberal. This statement implies he was wearing his costume somewhere that could be construed as an official police area. Policemen are public officials in both senses of the term, and although some rules may flex when policemen are off-duty, the general public will percieve them as police officers even out of uniform, in the same way as religious leaders and teachers cannot divest themselves fully of their public role. A group of off-duty police officers, therefore, among whom one is dressed as a member of a well-known and instantly recognizable racist organization, appears to approve, or at least be tolerant towards racism, especially in a community with a mixture of races and a relatively high level of racial tension.
In short, the Hispanic cop should have shown better personal and professional judgment and the department should not have allowed him to wear this costume in a context in which many policemen were involved.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
La Exploración para el Acontecimiento del Alimento
El sábado en la ocho menos cuarto fui a las escaleras en la esquina de Broadway y de Lyon para encontrar con a la Tropa Catorce para la primera parte de la Exploración para el Acontecimiento del Alimento. Los grupos fueron a sus vecindades en la nueve y cuarto, pero Bruce y yo permanecíamos en la esquina para supervisar progreso. En la onze cada uno volvió y terminamos el acontecimiento. El domingo, después de que hubiera atendido al servicio linguístico chino en San Jaime, en la tres de la tarde debo haberme encontrado con mi amigo para leer al Griego, pero ella era atrasada. La encontré en la tres y cinco de la tarde y leímos el primer libro del Iliad por una hora en un café en Clement.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Book review: Superdove: How the Pigeon Took Manhattan, Courtney Humphries
Book review: Superdove: How the Pigeon Took Manhattan … and the World, Courtney Humphries
Most of us think of the rock dove (aka the pigeon) as merely an urban pest, on par with rats and Woody Allen; this book fleshes out the history of the pigeon. In religion, the rock dove has fallen from the status of a divine bird in the walled cities of Sumer to the feathered equivalent of a noxious weed. Many factors contributed to this descent; including the careful word selection of the Bard and the decline of doves as a food source. The biological history of the rock dove involves an unusual course of domestication, in which the rock dove’s homing ability negated the need for secure pens and inderctly allowed them to survive better than other feral species. I don’t want to spoil any more of this book, insofar as science books have spoilers, so I will say this: reading Superdove has made me appreciate to a much greater degree this inevitable avian companion of mankind.
Most of us think of the rock dove (aka the pigeon) as merely an urban pest, on par with rats and Woody Allen; this book fleshes out the history of the pigeon. In religion, the rock dove has fallen from the status of a divine bird in the walled cities of Sumer to the feathered equivalent of a noxious weed. Many factors contributed to this descent; including the careful word selection of the Bard and the decline of doves as a food source. The biological history of the rock dove involves an unusual course of domestication, in which the rock dove’s homing ability negated the need for secure pens and inderctly allowed them to survive better than other feral species. I don’t want to spoil any more of this book, insofar as science books have spoilers, so I will say this: reading Superdove has made me appreciate to a much greater degree this inevitable avian companion of mankind.
Afghan Exhibit, Asian Art Museum
Today, after Scouting for Food, during which the boys found a faster, more efficient way of covering the territory - good for them!), I went to the Asian Art Museum to see the Afghan treasures exhibit with my dad (who had been willing, available, and nearby when I had asked). We went by car, instead of by bus, as we had planned. At the front desk, we ran into Deb, Damon’s lovely wife, although this was not a surprise, as she works at the front desk. I waved at her. We headed to the Afghan exhibit. It was a smallish, visitor-friendly size. The first section of the exhibit demonstrated the synthesis of Greek and Indian sculptural traditions, with numerous examples of jewelry and figurines, much of it gold. The second section augmented these elements with glass drinking vessels and an ingenious mechanical device which created the illusion of fish swimming in a very shallow pool. The third section displayed the fragments of an ornate chair, complete with computer reconstruction of the object. The fourth section addressed the contents and occupants of a tomb of a rich nomad and his women. This section had by far the greatest quantity of gold jewelry.
The exhibit runs through January.
The exhibit runs through January.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Book Review: A Handmaid's Tale
A Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood
I’d been meaning to read this for years, but was put off by ignoramuses who assumed that I couldn’t appreciate anything serious because I also read “fluffy” science fiction. Finally, it came up as a choice for my monthly book group. So I read it at last, although I don’t wholly regret the delay: nothing sucks the enjoyment of a novel like the autopsy of an English class, presuming that one has the capacity to enjoy literature.
A Handmaid’s Tale presents a fable rather than a straightforward future dystopia; the difference between the two is that a fable stretches the effect and obscures the details of the cause. The milieu of the novel is an extension and exaggeration of the policies of the Moral Majority, the evangelical conversative movement of the 1980’s. The protagonist is Offred, the eponymous “handmaid”, a survivor from the previous regime. Both the current society and the past one are exaggerations, to an extent that would be comic in another setting. I am uncertain, however, how much Offred’s perception of the past society has been contaminated by her present circumstances. These present circumstances consist of an oppressive patriarchy in a world,(or at least the “Republic of Gilead”) rendered increasingly sterile by chemicals and radiation, in which the remaining potentially fertile women serve as “handmaids” to the wives of Commanders, a structure borrowed from the Book of Genesis. Perhaps the effect was more chilling at the time, or perhaps it is more dependant on gender than such dystopian classics as 1984 and A Clockwork Orange, but I did not receive quite the same level of oppressive fear as I did from those works; it still reaches impressive levels of oppression. There are elements, such as the color coding explicitly outlined in the beginning of the book, which could have benefited from expansion. The penultimate chapter was suitably Orwellian, and the last chapter drew more inspiration from the twenty-first chapter of A Clockwork Orange. The last chapter of A Handmaid’s Tale feels forced, even though the collapse of the Republic of Gilead is implicit in the other chapters.
I’d been meaning to read this for years, but was put off by ignoramuses who assumed that I couldn’t appreciate anything serious because I also read “fluffy” science fiction. Finally, it came up as a choice for my monthly book group. So I read it at last, although I don’t wholly regret the delay: nothing sucks the enjoyment of a novel like the autopsy of an English class, presuming that one has the capacity to enjoy literature.
A Handmaid’s Tale presents a fable rather than a straightforward future dystopia; the difference between the two is that a fable stretches the effect and obscures the details of the cause. The milieu of the novel is an extension and exaggeration of the policies of the Moral Majority, the evangelical conversative movement of the 1980’s. The protagonist is Offred, the eponymous “handmaid”, a survivor from the previous regime. Both the current society and the past one are exaggerations, to an extent that would be comic in another setting. I am uncertain, however, how much Offred’s perception of the past society has been contaminated by her present circumstances. These present circumstances consist of an oppressive patriarchy in a world,(or at least the “Republic of Gilead”) rendered increasingly sterile by chemicals and radiation, in which the remaining potentially fertile women serve as “handmaids” to the wives of Commanders, a structure borrowed from the Book of Genesis. Perhaps the effect was more chilling at the time, or perhaps it is more dependant on gender than such dystopian classics as 1984 and A Clockwork Orange, but I did not receive quite the same level of oppressive fear as I did from those works; it still reaches impressive levels of oppression. There are elements, such as the color coding explicitly outlined in the beginning of the book, which could have benefited from expansion. The penultimate chapter was suitably Orwellian, and the last chapter drew more inspiration from the twenty-first chapter of A Clockwork Orange. The last chapter of A Handmaid’s Tale feels forced, even though the collapse of the Republic of Gilead is implicit in the other chapters.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Saturday At the Legion
Although I was greatly fatigued by the festivities the night before, I nonetheless attended the California Classical Association, North (CCA-No.) event at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The place has a wonderful; the weather wasn’t so wonderful. The current special exhibit is one in honor of James Simon, a Berlin Jewish collector form the days of Kaiser Wilhelm who helped to found the museum on Museum Island in Berlin. Simon, like many collectors of his period, had a range of interests in which his wealth allowed him to indulge. His collection included Egyptian, medieval, Oriental, and modern arts (I.e., Renoir) materials. He also died before the Nazis ruined the Jewish subculture of old Berlin. I was glad to see Miriam Bernstein, now retired, from whom I had taken Egyptology courses along the very attractive Nicole Rau. One of the biggest surprises happened while I was sitting in the auditorium. Suddenly a voice started speaking Latin to me. I turned around , and it was Gertrudis Bataviensis, whom I met at Conventiculum MMCVI (that’s Latin immersion camp to you, whippersnapper!). I learned that Gertrudis was a colleague of my classmate Andrea from San Francisco State!
Halloween Party in Cole Valley
I went to the Carleton Alumni Halloween party in Cole Valley. Believe it or not, I‘ve never been much for Halloween parties, and nowadays I‘m guaranteed to miss any Christmas parties beyond that of my own company, so I made my way down there through the Panhandle. I met up with old friends, and met new ones. Anne Buffington (as Peter Pan/woodsy Maid Marian) was there with a guy named Chrysalis (Prince) from her Marin commune. Shilpa Kamat was there too, with her friends Nim and Sadia. So was Trevor Peace. Lien Ly ’04 Marcus Ly’s little sister, was there in a bumblebee costume - thank goodness her school on Mare Island isn‘t actually funded by Vallejo. The biggest surprise to me was the presence of Emily Johnson ‘06 (a Brite-Lite), whom I met a couple of years ago when I went to Carleton and attended the folk dance reunion. I also met “Bud” (a woman!), whose Velma costume I quite admired, and Cheer (a Fairy Godmother).
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Gospel Chorus: Not My Father's Hymnody
Monday, October 20:
In gospel chorus, the instructor (the choirmaster in that church for me will always be Michael Secour) informed us that each of us would have the opportunity to compose a verse of the one of the songs and that each of us would sing that verse in performance while the others provided the chorus. This announcement filled me with trepidation. Although I have trod the stage before (once in a dress), being a bass (moved to tenor due to paucity) has not prepared me for front-and-center cantation. I remained skeptical and anxious throughout the practice until I received the sheet music for the piece. I must admit, the worry of composing took some of my mind away from learning the song. The analytic part of my mind has a tendency to overwhelm the part following my line. Then I discovered the part which I had been analyzing in order to have a template for the portion I was going to have to make up was not the verse: it was the chorus! The words to the verse were “ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ah ah”. After a brief demonstration of how the melody went (at least I didn’t have to try matching a tenor line on my own!), we received fifteen minutes to work on our verse. The lines in mine were shorter and (perhaps) less intellectual than those of some others, but I prefer shorter lines in song composition (I have composed lyrics before, for both poems and songs, just not under such a deadline) and longer lines in prayer composition. I’m still finessing the lyrics, but I do feel less apprehensive about a step-up role.
In gospel chorus, the instructor (the choirmaster in that church for me will always be Michael Secour) informed us that each of us would have the opportunity to compose a verse of the one of the songs and that each of us would sing that verse in performance while the others provided the chorus. This announcement filled me with trepidation. Although I have trod the stage before (once in a dress), being a bass (moved to tenor due to paucity) has not prepared me for front-and-center cantation. I remained skeptical and anxious throughout the practice until I received the sheet music for the piece. I must admit, the worry of composing took some of my mind away from learning the song. The analytic part of my mind has a tendency to overwhelm the part following my line. Then I discovered the part which I had been analyzing in order to have a template for the portion I was going to have to make up was not the verse: it was the chorus! The words to the verse were “ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ah ah”. After a brief demonstration of how the melody went (at least I didn’t have to try matching a tenor line on my own!), we received fifteen minutes to work on our verse. The lines in mine were shorter and (perhaps) less intellectual than those of some others, but I prefer shorter lines in song composition (I have composed lyrics before, for both poems and songs, just not under such a deadline) and longer lines in prayer composition. I’m still finessing the lyrics, but I do feel less apprehensive about a step-up role.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Thursday, September 17th
Thursday, September 17th:
I took the 1 downtown, intending to study at the Mechanics’ Library for my class that evening. The first problem I worked on was a “spot the mistakes” type, the sort of newspaper puzzle I skip because I know I’ll never find all (however many) errors and just end up frustrated. I skipped to the algebraic and balance-sheet problems before returning.
I could feel my mind growing dull, so I finished up the problem on which I was working and hurried over to the Commonwealth Club to hear Christopher Buckley speak on his new book, Supreme Courtship. He is extraordinarily well-spoken, although I do wonder if he sometimes finds it hard to avoid the shadow of his father – he quoted him thrice in the course of his speech. The protagonist and antagonist of the novel inadvertently resemble Obama and Palin – the Palin analogy, in particular, couldn’t have been deliberate. I didn’t stay for the signing – I was being cautious with my available funds, especially since my bank was being particularly unhelpful with an ID problem – and returned to my studies.
I bought some analysis paper at Patrick & Co., because I did not want to have to type up everything for my homework. I ended up staring at it. I realized that I knew its use in theory, but I am so digitized that I’d never actually used special accounting paper despite spending a good deal of my time doing the very same tasks for which the paper was designed!
Later on, as I was walking to the Embarcadero Tully’s to use their wi-fi (the Mechanics’ Library has a one-hour limit), I came across a most extraordinary sign at the corner of Market and Front. A small plaque, embedded in the paving at the Market side of the corner, did not mark the scene of some sordid deed along the Barbary Trail, but asserted loudly and aggressively that the owners of the building also owned (part of?) the corner. I know that businesses often block off sections of sidewalk for construction purposes, but this proprietary claim seemed unduly aggressive.
After the class, which was interrupted by many questions about the current financial debacle, had ended, I traipsed back to the bus stop, where I met Addie, who attends Grace. We had a nice talk about Proposition H and legalizing gay marriage.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Journal Entry: August 25th, 2008
On Monday, I woke in my apartment in San Francisco. I did not go to Kaju, however, since Mom lured me over to her place (where I was going next anyway) with a fruit smoothie. I packed up all of Amy’s belongings which I could find, including some items I was reluctant to send back – the PanTech Duo and the Kensington Saddlebag in particular. I made note of these brands that I might purchase them later without the emotional attachment. I was particularly fond of the Saddlebag, because it was a satchel/backpack designed with the needs of laptop owner in mind. heading downtown to renew my me. Then I walked down to the bank to sort out certain matters. I had to return after leaving because I had forgotten my second item of business there. Then I took the bus downtown to sort out my memberships in the Commonwealth Club and the Mechanic’s Institute. On the bus, there was a dispute between an angry black man and an an angry Italian man. But it was the 1 California, not the 38 Geary, so there was no profanity or serious threat of violence.
I went to the Mechanics Institute first: I entered the lobby, which still retains its molding from an era in which buildings were designed ornately, instead of unadorned functionalty. The exterior decoration of the sealed former mail chute particularly pleased me.I jocularly saluted the doorman, and took the elevator to the fifth floor, where the membership office turned out to be closed for lunch, even though the sign on the door suggested that membership secretary ought to have been back.
I went back down, crossed the street, and ascended the escalator to the Commonwealth Club desk. This was more complicated than one might have expected, since the escalator which usually provided a descent was cordoned off and not working. I explained my problem to the woman behind the desk. When she saw my address, she asked me whether I had grown up in that neighborhood (she had). I said that I had lived in Presidio Heights. She’d gone to Convent, and turned out to Catherine Morris, younger sister of Michael Morris ’89, the class above me at Cathedral. The last time I could have ever seen her (if ever) was when her brothers were in school with me; she would have been nine at most, so it was no wonder I didn’t recognize her. It was extremely refreshing to have a conversation with someone with whom I shared a background. I also registered for the Pinker lecture on September 12th. Although Pinker is a famous linguist, there is a distinct possibility that his writing skill exceeds that of his speaking. I can forgive that, if he’s less of a pompous ass than the late Steven Jay Gould.
I returned to the Mechanic’s Institute, but the door was still shut. By this time’s I’d been hungry for a while, so I decided to go to Lori’s Diner (right next to my dentist’s office!). The till was malfunctioning at Lori’s, so everything was being done manually. The principal waitress, a (justifiably, in this case) cross middle-aged woman from New Jersey, was frustrated with the inability of many patrons to pay with anything other than a credit card. I, of course, had some cash on me. My waitress was Yoana from Guatemala, although the first time I saw her tag, I thought her name was Yoana Guatemala. She was shorter and considerably younger and cuter than Ms New Jersey, although nowhere near as diminutive as the wife of my cousin’s brother and their tiny but precocious children.
After lunch, I first went to Border’s on Powell. I browsed for a while, searching in vain for anything by Naomi Kritzer (I still haven’t found the book she was writing when I last talked with her) and ended up buying Bryson’s Thunderbolt Kid. Then I returned to the Mechanic’s Institute, whose office was finally open. The woman behind .the desk kindly waivcd the replacement fee when she learned the previous one was stolen.
I returned by bus to my apartment, where I took an afternoon nap (because I could) after a brief stop and drink at Kaju to say hello. Then I walked over to my parents’ place, where Dad was recovering from his epidural he had received that morning. I mowed the lawn, but there was little I could do beyond basic maintenance, since it had been ruined by many weeks of workmen repairing and renovating the house. The brown rectangular patch marked quite clearly where the lumber had been placed. I later accompanied Mom to the nursery to carry plants and potting soil to Mom’s car. Mom and I went out for pizza at Georgio’s since Dad was not feeling well enough to go out, but we brought some back for him. Then I returned to my apartment and watched Comedy Central.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
On Duty
The notion of Duty has fallen into disrepute among certain circles, who accuse it of being a hollow shell, an exterior manifestation of nothingness within. I am willing to concede that these individuals are not deliberately malicious, nor willfully blind to opinions other than their own. If they are, then this writing is futile, but if they are not, I hope that this response will enable them to understand more thoroughly the beliefs of others.
It is true that the performance of duty, the evidence available to skeptics’ eyes, is an external phenomenon. Performance, by its nature, must be exterior; even those engaged in prayer or meditation betray outwardly some little sign of their inward reverie. Even if the performance of duty demands an inconvenience incommensurate with mere appearance of dutifulness, some might say that there is an intestine void.
When someone states that to do something is their duty, it is not the external which receives emphasis, but rather the internal. Duty is a stronger word than job, which implies external coercion; if someone feels something is their duty, that is an internal impulse which finds an external release. If someone fails to fulfill whatever they believe to be their duty, that individual will feel guilty, an internal sensation.
Now it is true that on occasion, someone acts in ways that he or she does not feel inside at that time. Even this situation is not without value, if the external performance of duty is habitual. An action repeated many times becomes more fluid and more automatic, which again need not be a bad result if one takes the opportunity to internalize the reasons previously expressed with external actions. Indeed, the less one has to think about the action, the more one can focus on one’s own intention and will to action.
These are my thoughts and feelings on the matter. I am not a professional debater or philosopher, so dispute them if you like, but do not presume that your point of view is the only valid one.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Book Review: The Twelve Christ Chose
The Twelve Christ Chose, by Asbury Smith, 1958
I borrowed this book from the library of Saint James Episcopal, my parish church; its collection is miscellaneous and occasionally strays from selections one would expect in a Christian library, but often such a profusion allows the discovery of a rare tree of knowledge. The Twelve Christ Chose, by Asbury Smith, is one of those. Smith is an Methodist minister of his era; as such, he is more Protestant than many contemporary Episcopalians, yet does not display the reflexive hostility to any Catholic vestiges that contemporary Baptists might. His style is lucid, although non-native English speakers may suffer from some of his assumptions of vocabulary knowledge. It is no surprise that the model for his writing is the popular sermon, but the meat of the argument is generally sparing of Biblical quotes; in some cases, this dearth of direct Scripture is attributable to the scant material which the New Testament provides on the lesser-known apostles. He presents the apocryphal and historical material in a thorough but somewhat dry manner, perhaps enhanced in its original form by the inflections of the human voice.
The structure of the overall book is straightforward, and could serve as a textbook example of what I learned in school about essay composition, although the body of the book is much thicker than anything I have composed. Smith may well have composed, or at least revised, the introduction and conclusion after the completion of the series of sermons. The body of the book is divided into chapters, each one assigned to an apostle. Simon Peter naturally takes precedence in this series, but every one of the Twelve receives thorough and serious consideration. Each chapter opens with the collect for the appropriate saint on his feast day. Although these prayers are thematically linked with the chapter which follows, the archaic language may render them opaque to an audience unaccustomed to such formal and grammatically sinuous language. The material in the chapter weaves together several threads: the frequency and Biblical characterization of the apostle; the historical and social setting from which he came, which is assumed historical knowledge on the part of the Evangelists, but is now often obsolete; apocryphal sources and sources from ecclesiastical history, especially in the cases of the apostles about which very little is said in Scripture itself. It is worth noting that apocryphal in this context does not indicate falsehood or heresy, but rather material which is not part of the canon. Polycarp and Clement are excluded from the epistles for reasons of chronology, not of fidelity.
Dr. Smith’s intention in composing this series was the restoration of relevance to both clergy and laity of apostles who had faded, for the most part, into spectral visual companions of Christ. His thesis, that Christ chose the Twelve as his first followers and his successors in His ministry, suggests that the Twelve were chosen as individuals to whom we could compare ourselves and on whom we could model or avoid modeling ourselves. The secondary reliance on apocryphal texts and tales may cause discomfort to some, but this reliance is never weighted heavier than Scriputre when Scripture is available, and the audience would be wise to remember that the apocryphal tales are Christian tales intended for fellow Christians.
Dr. Smith presents an engaging and thought-provoking read, but I would caution against a too hasty reading of the material that allows omission or diminution of provocative and valuable details and examples. It might be suitable as a series of Bible-based discussions, and thus not far from its original genre. The collects at the beginning of each chapter, however, would require previous examination in order that a discussion group could understand the thematic significance of the collect.
I borrowed this book from the library of Saint James Episcopal, my parish church; its collection is miscellaneous and occasionally strays from selections one would expect in a Christian library, but often such a profusion allows the discovery of a rare tree of knowledge. The Twelve Christ Chose, by Asbury Smith, is one of those. Smith is an Methodist minister of his era; as such, he is more Protestant than many contemporary Episcopalians, yet does not display the reflexive hostility to any Catholic vestiges that contemporary Baptists might. His style is lucid, although non-native English speakers may suffer from some of his assumptions of vocabulary knowledge. It is no surprise that the model for his writing is the popular sermon, but the meat of the argument is generally sparing of Biblical quotes; in some cases, this dearth of direct Scripture is attributable to the scant material which the New Testament provides on the lesser-known apostles. He presents the apocryphal and historical material in a thorough but somewhat dry manner, perhaps enhanced in its original form by the inflections of the human voice.
The structure of the overall book is straightforward, and could serve as a textbook example of what I learned in school about essay composition, although the body of the book is much thicker than anything I have composed. Smith may well have composed, or at least revised, the introduction and conclusion after the completion of the series of sermons. The body of the book is divided into chapters, each one assigned to an apostle. Simon Peter naturally takes precedence in this series, but every one of the Twelve receives thorough and serious consideration. Each chapter opens with the collect for the appropriate saint on his feast day. Although these prayers are thematically linked with the chapter which follows, the archaic language may render them opaque to an audience unaccustomed to such formal and grammatically sinuous language. The material in the chapter weaves together several threads: the frequency and Biblical characterization of the apostle; the historical and social setting from which he came, which is assumed historical knowledge on the part of the Evangelists, but is now often obsolete; apocryphal sources and sources from ecclesiastical history, especially in the cases of the apostles about which very little is said in Scripture itself. It is worth noting that apocryphal in this context does not indicate falsehood or heresy, but rather material which is not part of the canon. Polycarp and Clement are excluded from the epistles for reasons of chronology, not of fidelity.
Dr. Smith’s intention in composing this series was the restoration of relevance to both clergy and laity of apostles who had faded, for the most part, into spectral visual companions of Christ. His thesis, that Christ chose the Twelve as his first followers and his successors in His ministry, suggests that the Twelve were chosen as individuals to whom we could compare ourselves and on whom we could model or avoid modeling ourselves. The secondary reliance on apocryphal texts and tales may cause discomfort to some, but this reliance is never weighted heavier than Scriputre when Scripture is available, and the audience would be wise to remember that the apocryphal tales are Christian tales intended for fellow Christians.
Dr. Smith presents an engaging and thought-provoking read, but I would caution against a too hasty reading of the material that allows omission or diminution of provocative and valuable details and examples. It might be suitable as a series of Bible-based discussions, and thus not far from its original genre. The collects at the beginning of each chapter, however, would require previous examination in order that a discussion group could understand the thematic significance of the collect.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Galatians 4: Better Never Born Into Slavery?
The talk of slave and free in the scripture reading from my programme makes me feel uncomfortable; although it would be absurd to read the word of God without considering the message, the message of a particular passage often discomfits the mind and heart. I am puzzled by the spiritual application of Galatians 4:27.
"Be glad, O barren woman,
who bears no children;
break forth and cry aloud,
you who have no labor pains;
because more are the children of the desolate woman
than of her who has a husband."
Within the immediate context of the comparison of Ishmael and Isaac (which, I noted, corresponds here to Jew and Christian rather than Jew and the not yet existant Muslim), the Judaizers are slaves who are persecuting the Christians who are free. Yet this quote from Isaiah appears to suggest that it would have been better for those who were born into slavery to have never been born. I agree with theis position, to extent that it applies to those born into slavery and never freed, but those who are freed through Christ could not have been freed if they had not been born, and that birth was - by default - into slavery.
In a way - and perhaps this is a misanalysis - the passage seems to say that never existing would be a better state than knowing God after the trials of slavery. I have had too many experiences where the freedom could be appreciated truly and freely only after the 'slavery' period to accept this statement without reflection.
Any of my Christian friends who could help me understand this passage better, your aid would be appreciated most sincerely.
"Be glad, O barren woman,
who bears no children;
break forth and cry aloud,
you who have no labor pains;
because more are the children of the desolate woman
than of her who has a husband."
Within the immediate context of the comparison of Ishmael and Isaac (which, I noted, corresponds here to Jew and Christian rather than Jew and the not yet existant Muslim), the Judaizers are slaves who are persecuting the Christians who are free. Yet this quote from Isaiah appears to suggest that it would have been better for those who were born into slavery to have never been born. I agree with theis position, to extent that it applies to those born into slavery and never freed, but those who are freed through Christ could not have been freed if they had not been born, and that birth was - by default - into slavery.
In a way - and perhaps this is a misanalysis - the passage seems to say that never existing would be a better state than knowing God after the trials of slavery. I have had too many experiences where the freedom could be appreciated truly and freely only after the 'slavery' period to accept this statement without reflection.
Any of my Christian friends who could help me understand this passage better, your aid would be appreciated most sincerely.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Amy's Accident
Amy is tired of people asking her what happened, so here's the official story.
While Amy was crossing an intersection on her way to church, a van hit her from the left. She flew into the air. Fortunately, she landed closer to the sidewalk than the opposite lane. She did not lose consciousness. She did not break anything, but suffered scrapes and bruises. Many people rushed to help Amy when they saw she had been hit. Her guide dog Berta ran away and someone had to hunt her down. Berta was all right, but she did lose her claw sheathing and can still guide. The pastor's wife happened to be an MD and accompanied Amy to the ER for Amy's examination.
While Amy was crossing an intersection on her way to church, a van hit her from the left. She flew into the air. Fortunately, she landed closer to the sidewalk than the opposite lane. She did not lose consciousness. She did not break anything, but suffered scrapes and bruises. Many people rushed to help Amy when they saw she had been hit. Her guide dog Berta ran away and someone had to hunt her down. Berta was all right, but she did lose her claw sheathing and can still guide. The pastor's wife happened to be an MD and accompanied Amy to the ER for Amy's examination.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Keli El
I don't know how to redate this to the current date, so I'll just make a note that I'm writing this on Wednesday, February 20th. The actual date probably doesn't matter, anyway, given the topic. I am currently dating an evangelical, and our approaches to prayer are diametrically opposed. I will try to compare the two without appearing condescending or smug, and I certainly would appreciate any insight from other perspectives. For me, the default form of a prayer is a set of words and phrases handed down by tradition, into which the supplicant pours his content (a brief note: I acknowledge the inherent sexism of using the masculine pronoun, but the female is too specific, the neuter inaccurate and insulting, and the plural an abomination of grammar), while Amy appears to build the structure of the prayer on the spot, adding content organically.
Each of us, quite naturally, is most comfortable with the type most commonly used in our tradition.
The most obvious advantages of each form, in my opinion at least, are that the preformed prayer allows a coherent compression of the incoherent spiritual longing that so often overtakes those of us who are not blessed with the gift of poetry, while the forming prayer gives one much practice in the organization of one's thoughts. The disadvantages? The preformed prayer all too easily provides a cover empty mouthing of words, but the forming prayers in the mouth of an eloquent rhetor can appear positively Pharasaic in its showiness; even worse, one can come to believe that oral fluency in prayer is an indicator of your spiritual state.
Each of us, quite naturally, is most comfortable with the type most commonly used in our tradition.
The most obvious advantages of each form, in my opinion at least, are that the preformed prayer allows a coherent compression of the incoherent spiritual longing that so often overtakes those of us who are not blessed with the gift of poetry, while the forming prayer gives one much practice in the organization of one's thoughts. The disadvantages? The preformed prayer all too easily provides a cover empty mouthing of words, but the forming prayers in the mouth of an eloquent rhetor can appear positively Pharasaic in its showiness; even worse, one can come to believe that oral fluency in prayer is an indicator of your spiritual state.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Review: Speed the Plow
Last night, my father and I went to ACT to see David Mamet's Speed the Plow. The first worrying signs were my confusion over whether I had seen it before and my discovery upon perusing the programme that I had watched a filmed version of State and Main on the very same (that is, Mamet's only) theme. I know I'm not naive to the darkness of humanity (how could I be after reading the Greek tragedians?), so perhaps I have a less wizened soul than playwrights. The interaction of Fox and Gould was as manipulative as one might expect from Hollyword soulsuckers: the semantic emptiness of their banter did not surprise me, but slightly annoyed me. I prefer more meat in the dialogue. The "unfilmable" book seemed too extreme, but I am willing to concede the possibility that Mamet's need for dichotomy led to the ridiculous philosophy of the book and the absurd juxtaposition of genres (prison film, buddy film, romance) of the "good" script. The thing that hindered my enjoyment most of all, however, was the complete and utter lack of distinction between the characters of Fox, Gould, and Karen, and their clones in State and Main. If I had never seen anything by Mamet in any form, perhaps this play would have been eye-opening, but it provides no new insights to one who is not a Mamet virgin.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The Imber-or and I
My entire relationship with rain is sprinkled with contradictions. When I was growing up in San Francisco, I developed a fondness for the morning fog, which has the pleasant habit of remaining for a while, then dissipating. A continuous sheet has no immediately pleasant aspect, nor is the 'drought of March' desirable year-round. I have studied at St Andrews in Scotland and traveled to Newfoundland in Canada: on both occasions I found the fog and the wind commensurate with that of my own hometown. Now, after I have bought a business at Tahoe but remain in the City in the winter, my contradictory relationship with precipitation has grown stronger. When it rains in the City, it will often snow in the mountains. Many of our contracts involve removal of that same snow. The consequence of the conjunction of meteorology and my employ is that while I may suffer the sheeting rain and the treacherous invisible puddles that gather at the slopes of the crosswalks, I also profit from the more heavenly result of the rain that falls to the east of "America's Sodom" (a misinterpretation of the Bible, by the way) in the mountains where my brother and I once played. I no longer say "rain, rain, go away": not only because I am no longer a child, but also because I have come to appreciate the future benefits of a temporary inconvenience and obstacle.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Scum of Bhavata
I shall pass over my initial intent of describing the sea, the hills, and the star on the Flashlight hike on Saturday and go straight to the thing that has most bugged me and made me angry all day. I heard on NPR about Indian marriage scam artists (particularly Punjabis). This is the way it works. Those sexy (=rich, at least by provincial standards) Indians who work abroad (known hereinafter as non-resident Indians, or NRIs) place an ad for a bride. They demand a dowry, often one higher than the bride's family can reasonably afford, and then disappear. There are variants of this, including additional shakedowns and trapping the wife in a culture where she does not speak the language, but I have described the basic outline.
What angers me is not the practice of the dowry, nor the arranged marriage, but the habit of demanding an outlay greater than the bride's family can afford. I can understand the richer of the two families displaying their wealth, but making the poorer of the two poorer still stinks of malice. Of course, the Hindu system of castes seems to share that mindset. It's an aristocratic one - the Greek word 'kalos' means both 'good' and 'beautiful'. The one consolation, I suppose, is that these jilted brides do not seem to be blamed for their misfortune, nor are they branded of questionable morals, as I fear many rigid Western Christian societies would.
What angers me is not the practice of the dowry, nor the arranged marriage, but the habit of demanding an outlay greater than the bride's family can afford. I can understand the richer of the two families displaying their wealth, but making the poorer of the two poorer still stinks of malice. Of course, the Hindu system of castes seems to share that mindset. It's an aristocratic one - the Greek word 'kalos' means both 'good' and 'beautiful'. The one consolation, I suppose, is that these jilted brides do not seem to be blamed for their misfortune, nor are they branded of questionable morals, as I fear many rigid Western Christian societies would.
Friday, November 30, 2007
A Thursday In Late November
What a strange world I live in! This Thursday I went over to Berkeley. Bruce had asked me to reformat a list of Eagle Court speakers, so I had my laptop with me. I set to, but soon discovered to my dismay that the list did not start at 1990, as I had supposed, but in 1984! I noticed a strong pattern of two relatives presenting the Oath and Charge - in one case, there were three brothers sharing one of the presentations! I did some Christmas shopping with Amy - super-bargain-hunting, of course - and then we took a pleasant walk across the Berkeley campus.
I attended a panel at the Commonwealth Club on the issue of privacy in modern society, especially online, a topic on which Amy had expressed no interest. But then, my parents have quite different interests. The panel included representatives of civil liberties, law enforcement, Google, and Facebook. The anecdotes and concerns ran the gamut, from the stupidity of the self-incriminating to the surprisingly nuanced definition of privacy among social network users.
Then Amy returned. We the Geary, which is indeed "dirty-eight" - I was glad that Amy did have to endure the sight of some of the undesirable elements. Such disdain and distrust may arise not so much from elitism as from the male's urge to protect his woman (a natural feeling, even if it appears sexist in this age). We went to a Chinese bible study on Euclid. The park there looks so decievingly flat on Google Maps! The Bible study seemed fairly mellow, but we were at a disadvantage because they were using a book and were halfway through it. I was the only "English" there.
I attended a panel at the Commonwealth Club on the issue of privacy in modern society, especially online, a topic on which Amy had expressed no interest. But then, my parents have quite different interests. The panel included representatives of civil liberties, law enforcement, Google, and Facebook. The anecdotes and concerns ran the gamut, from the stupidity of the self-incriminating to the surprisingly nuanced definition of privacy among social network users.
Then Amy returned. We the Geary, which is indeed "dirty-eight" - I was glad that Amy did have to endure the sight of some of the undesirable elements. Such disdain and distrust may arise not so much from elitism as from the male's urge to protect his woman (a natural feeling, even if it appears sexist in this age). We went to a Chinese bible study on Euclid. The park there looks so decievingly flat on Google Maps! The Bible study seemed fairly mellow, but we were at a disadvantage because they were using a book and were halfway through it. I was the only "English" there.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
USS Hornet Trip
So last weekend, I went on a trip with the Troop on the USS Hornet, the ship which picked up the Apollo 11 astronauts. I came over to Alameda, where the ship was berthed, with carload of Scouts and one other adult, and I shall say this even if it makes me appear old: when I was going on Scout trips as a Scout, Before we could even board (although it must said that we were slightly behind our own schedule, and the military schedule of the Hornet is unforgiving), the fire drill started. The crew presentation seemed to our boys (and I agree with their impressions) aimed squarely and exclusively at the Cub Scouts, although on this occasion there werre Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts as well. Our troop contingent bunked in the chief petty officers' quarters, on port side below the enlisted crewman's quarters. Dinner was regimented, but it was not possible for such a large group as ours was to sit together. The unhappy result was that one kid was left behind (briefly) at the mess.
The evening program consisted of self-guided tours of various areas of the ship, including navigation and the engine room. Each tour group, of course, had to include one adult to keep on eye on the boys (and in one case, girls) The flight deck was off-limits except to a few guided groups. The interior of the ship, at least those portions which were open, was a little disorienting, but then I do not have the best sense of direction and prefer to go back exactly the way I arrived. I would have preferred to spend more time in navigation and engineering, but i had to keep an eye on certain roustabouts. I and my group finally got to the flight deck tour. That was cool! I'm afraid the language of boyhood enthusiasm is the only one in which my feelings about the flight deck can find expression.
I was supposed to do the 5-7 watch, but the adults who were doing the 3-5 watch were so enthusiastic that they stayed unitl 6 and then decided to fill the remaining time themselves.
The evening program consisted of self-guided tours of various areas of the ship, including navigation and the engine room. Each tour group, of course, had to include one adult to keep on eye on the boys (and in one case, girls) The flight deck was off-limits except to a few guided groups. The interior of the ship, at least those portions which were open, was a little disorienting, but then I do not have the best sense of direction and prefer to go back exactly the way I arrived. I would have preferred to spend more time in navigation and engineering, but i had to keep an eye on certain roustabouts. I and my group finally got to the flight deck tour. That was cool! I'm afraid the language of boyhood enthusiasm is the only one in which my feelings about the flight deck can find expression.
I was supposed to do the 5-7 watch, but the adults who were doing the 3-5 watch were so enthusiastic that they stayed unitl 6 and then decided to fill the remaining time themselves.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The Weekend
After a rather dull Friday, more notable for my contemplation of the Great San Francisco Bay Oil Spill rather than any particular work I accomplished. Mom and I went to ACT to see The Rainmaker, of which I had a vague memories due to a hazily remembered movie verison of the broadway version of the play. The performance was wonderful and piercing, ddep thoughts expressed in vivid language.
On Saturday, I had the first half of Scouting for Food, in which the Scouts hang the bags on the doors. This year, however, the bags had been replaced by door hangers in an attempt to reduce litter. The sky was beginning to cloud over. The cubs, a chief component of this outing, arrived late, and too few of our own were in attendance. I would have preferred to go with one of the Scout groups rather than sitting at Broadway and Lyon, but I accepted my role.
After the Closing Circle, I returned to Maple Street and Mom and I rushed over to Berkeley to see the CCA (California Classical Association) performance of Argonautika written by Mary Zimmerman. I found it remarkable how different yet equally true interpretations of a character such as Jason could be. There were occassional moments of pretentiousness. Theorizing in drama should be in character, and I found the zodiacal interpretation awkwardly presented. It also occurred to me that the figure of St Christopher may have more to do with Jason bearing Hera than the grim chthonic ferryman Charon.
Once the curtain had fallen, the rain had increased greatly. I went over to Another Change of Hobbit and picked up the copy of Donaldson's Fatal Revenant. Then I read it as I awaited the return of my beautiful Amy, for I had foolishly left my key in San Francisco. Initially, my plan was to got a certain restaurant along Shattuck, but Amy persuaded that she was tired and that I ought to get some food to eat in. So trudged through the rain and acquired the comestibles. She returned and we had dinner together.
This Sunday, Rod Dugliss spoke at St James on the state and office of the diaconate, to which I remember his appointment, Later, there was a sale of goods and trinkets to benefit Palestinian Christians, and I attended the last Via Media discussion, which was on mission (although not quite what Amy would mean by 'mission'). When I went to Kaju for coffee, Seiko was harried and Lindsey Berkovich was there with her husband.
On Saturday, I had the first half of Scouting for Food, in which the Scouts hang the bags on the doors. This year, however, the bags had been replaced by door hangers in an attempt to reduce litter. The sky was beginning to cloud over. The cubs, a chief component of this outing, arrived late, and too few of our own were in attendance. I would have preferred to go with one of the Scout groups rather than sitting at Broadway and Lyon, but I accepted my role.
After the Closing Circle, I returned to Maple Street and Mom and I rushed over to Berkeley to see the CCA (California Classical Association) performance of Argonautika written by Mary Zimmerman. I found it remarkable how different yet equally true interpretations of a character such as Jason could be. There were occassional moments of pretentiousness. Theorizing in drama should be in character, and I found the zodiacal interpretation awkwardly presented. It also occurred to me that the figure of St Christopher may have more to do with Jason bearing Hera than the grim chthonic ferryman Charon.
Once the curtain had fallen, the rain had increased greatly. I went over to Another Change of Hobbit and picked up the copy of Donaldson's Fatal Revenant. Then I read it as I awaited the return of my beautiful Amy, for I had foolishly left my key in San Francisco. Initially, my plan was to got a certain restaurant along Shattuck, but Amy persuaded that she was tired and that I ought to get some food to eat in. So trudged through the rain and acquired the comestibles. She returned and we had dinner together.
This Sunday, Rod Dugliss spoke at St James on the state and office of the diaconate, to which I remember his appointment, Later, there was a sale of goods and trinkets to benefit Palestinian Christians, and I attended the last Via Media discussion, which was on mission (although not quite what Amy would mean by 'mission'). When I went to Kaju for coffee, Seiko was harried and Lindsey Berkovich was there with her husband.
Monday, November 5, 2007
A Berkeley Weekend
Saturday, I went over to Berkeley for two reasons: to help Zhang Han (aka Ashley) with her memorizing of botanical terms and to discover whether a Little Change of Hobbit had copies of Naomi Kritzer's latest and Donaldson's Fatal Revenant (the latest in the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant). Since the appointment with Ashley was not entirely expected, I had to lug my reference books with me as well as my laptop. A parade in Chinatown thwarted my journey on the 1 California, and I temporarily thought I had lost my bus pass. I walked down to the BART station, and later found my bus pass.
When I got to Berkeley, I met with Ashley at the McDonald's on Shattuck and University. It is always difficult to explain the case and gender endings to an English-speaker, and more so to a Chinese-speaker. I visited A Little Change of Hobbit and somehow failed to forget the title of the books as I entered, as I have done consistently previously. My budget and temporary dearth of a credit card, however, prevented me from acquiring the book immediately.
Then I went to Amy's apartment and worked on prepping Chapter 6 for Ashley and ate Amy's delicious tangerines. I cooked dumplings and had dinner with Amy.
On Sunday, I returned to Berkeley, but first I evacuated Puff, whom I had been dog-sitting, and attended the service at St James. The attendance was scant because many people were at the parish retreat. Mother Mary Moore was likewise absent, although she had left because her sister in Virginia had died.
I returned to Berkeley with my laptop and headed to Amy's apartment. I recovered some of my lost sleep from yesterday's long adventure by taking a nap on Amy's bed. I still, however, had plenty of time to use my laptop for various catchups. When Amy returned from worship practice, we ended up taking Alberta for a bath. We also went to dinner with Kao Chi (aka Lydia) and Wang Beibei (sp?), a visiting scholar from China. We ate at the 168 Restaurant, which serves Taiwanese cuisine.
When I got to Berkeley, I met with Ashley at the McDonald's on Shattuck and University. It is always difficult to explain the case and gender endings to an English-speaker, and more so to a Chinese-speaker. I visited A Little Change of Hobbit and somehow failed to forget the title of the books as I entered, as I have done consistently previously. My budget and temporary dearth of a credit card, however, prevented me from acquiring the book immediately.
Then I went to Amy's apartment and worked on prepping Chapter 6 for Ashley and ate Amy's delicious tangerines. I cooked dumplings and had dinner with Amy.
On Sunday, I returned to Berkeley, but first I evacuated Puff, whom I had been dog-sitting, and attended the service at St James. The attendance was scant because many people were at the parish retreat. Mother Mary Moore was likewise absent, although she had left because her sister in Virginia had died.
I returned to Berkeley with my laptop and headed to Amy's apartment. I recovered some of my lost sleep from yesterday's long adventure by taking a nap on Amy's bed. I still, however, had plenty of time to use my laptop for various catchups. When Amy returned from worship practice, we ended up taking Alberta for a bath. We also went to dinner with Kao Chi (aka Lydia) and Wang Beibei (sp?), a visiting scholar from China. We ate at the 168 Restaurant, which serves Taiwanese cuisine.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Gamophilia
It seems all my acquaintances, regardless of age, are committing matrimony. I could understand it if it clustered around an age group or religious affiliation or political affiliation, but I see no pattern.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Med Cruise: Sept 23
I'm sorry, Amy, the lockstep of the tour group prohibited me from going to church. We left the Le Meridien Phoenician Hotel where we were lodged, and passed under the pseudo-medieval gate into the town of Valletta, after which my great-grandmother was named by her civil service father. The goal this Sunday was not to see the town comprehensively, but rather to visit the Museum of Archaeology in order to better appreciate the megalithic ruins, we would visit later today and to see the originals housed here as a safeguard from the elements. These included the Venus of Malta, the Sleeping Lady, and the gargantuan base of the Fat Lady. One site to which we would not travel was the Ghar Dalam cave where the first immigrants to Malta settled. before the rise of the Pharaohs; the settlers came from Sicily.
After we returned to the hotel, we boarded a bus. We left Valletta for Floriana, and learned firsthand the seamless transition from one Maltese town to the next; our guides assured us strong village dialects nonetheless exist. Floriana yield to Marsa, whose common root with Marsala in Sicily and Marseilles in France is the Semitic word for harbor (a concept unfamiliar to the desert-dwelling Hebrews). The bus drove us through the three cities on the far side of the Grand Harbour; these cities were the center of habitation near the Grand Harbour prior to the arrival of the Knights of Malta: Cospicua, Senglea, and Vittoriosa. At Vittoriosa, the least industrially-uglified of the three cities, I discovered that my camera lacked a memory chip!
We travelled through Fgura and into Tarxien with few signs of intercivic transition. The Tarxien Temples, found originally under a field of a farmer, are now surrounded by urban development. The Temple forms a complex in the approximate shape of a fat lady. Most of the interesting items had been replaced by copies outside, and the copies were in bad shape. The bus then took us through the recent development of Santa Lucija. Around Kirkao, we passed the airport and entered an area full of quarries - the nearby gardens were all former quarrries infilled with rubbish and topsoil.
Then, after passing through Zurrieq, we reached the site of the Hagar Qim Prehistoric Temples (although the precise number is impossible to verify) whose age was even greater than that of Tarxien and whose size was even more massive. The proximity of the sea provided a welcome breeze, but there was only one tree in the entire complex. The largest store was twenty tons (tonnes?). Both sites included 'libation holes', rope holes to fasten doors, and 'oracles holes' through which the priests might have spoken but I also have found that tour guides seek a certainty about the past which archaeologists are unable to provide. a fifteen-minute walk from Hagar Qim would have brought us to the Mnejdra Temple Complex.
We travelled to Mdina, the pre-Knights of Malta capital of the island which had already suffered defensive partition under the Arabs for lunch at the Bacchus restaurant enclosed on one side by a Roman, on the other by a medieval wall. Its initial purpose, however, was munitions storage. Then we walked through the streets of Mdina, the Silent City (so called because so few people live in it) smothered in convents and monasteries - the Maltese are very religious, especially for godless Europeans - and the palaces of noble families with the scions of at least one I quarreled at Downside. The Cathedral of Mdina was spectacular and all the marble of the tombs was inlaid, not painted, and the painting behind the altar was applied directly to Malta's indigenous ubiquitous stone. Naturally, none of the other members of the group seemed to see the cathedral as a holy place rather than inert stone. From Mdina's walls we could see an arc of the island stretching from Valletta to St Paul's Bay, where lie the island on which St Paul was wrecked, according to local tradition. The exact site is unknown, but local traditions always require some spot to be chosen as the official site, or rather, more than one location decides it is the official site and argues with other locations.
For dinner, I went into Valletta for the Maltese equivalent of tapas. The streets were well-lit and crowded (and the petite Maltese girls rather attractive although I'm far too Protestant for them). The flowers were still abundant from the celebration of Independence Day on Friday.
After we returned to the hotel, we boarded a bus. We left Valletta for Floriana, and learned firsthand the seamless transition from one Maltese town to the next; our guides assured us strong village dialects nonetheless exist. Floriana yield to Marsa, whose common root with Marsala in Sicily and Marseilles in France is the Semitic word for harbor (a concept unfamiliar to the desert-dwelling Hebrews). The bus drove us through the three cities on the far side of the Grand Harbour; these cities were the center of habitation near the Grand Harbour prior to the arrival of the Knights of Malta: Cospicua, Senglea, and Vittoriosa. At Vittoriosa, the least industrially-uglified of the three cities, I discovered that my camera lacked a memory chip!
We travelled through Fgura and into Tarxien with few signs of intercivic transition. The Tarxien Temples, found originally under a field of a farmer, are now surrounded by urban development. The Temple forms a complex in the approximate shape of a fat lady. Most of the interesting items had been replaced by copies outside, and the copies were in bad shape. The bus then took us through the recent development of Santa Lucija. Around Kirkao, we passed the airport and entered an area full of quarries - the nearby gardens were all former quarrries infilled with rubbish and topsoil.
Then, after passing through Zurrieq, we reached the site of the Hagar Qim Prehistoric Temples (although the precise number is impossible to verify) whose age was even greater than that of Tarxien and whose size was even more massive. The proximity of the sea provided a welcome breeze, but there was only one tree in the entire complex. The largest store was twenty tons (tonnes?). Both sites included 'libation holes', rope holes to fasten doors, and 'oracles holes' through which the priests might have spoken but I also have found that tour guides seek a certainty about the past which archaeologists are unable to provide. a fifteen-minute walk from Hagar Qim would have brought us to the Mnejdra Temple Complex.
We travelled to Mdina, the pre-Knights of Malta capital of the island which had already suffered defensive partition under the Arabs for lunch at the Bacchus restaurant enclosed on one side by a Roman, on the other by a medieval wall. Its initial purpose, however, was munitions storage. Then we walked through the streets of Mdina, the Silent City (so called because so few people live in it) smothered in convents and monasteries - the Maltese are very religious, especially for godless Europeans - and the palaces of noble families with the scions of at least one I quarreled at Downside. The Cathedral of Mdina was spectacular and all the marble of the tombs was inlaid, not painted, and the painting behind the altar was applied directly to Malta's indigenous ubiquitous stone. Naturally, none of the other members of the group seemed to see the cathedral as a holy place rather than inert stone. From Mdina's walls we could see an arc of the island stretching from Valletta to St Paul's Bay, where lie the island on which St Paul was wrecked, according to local tradition. The exact site is unknown, but local traditions always require some spot to be chosen as the official site, or rather, more than one location decides it is the official site and argues with other locations.
For dinner, I went into Valletta for the Maltese equivalent of tapas. The streets were well-lit and crowded (and the petite Maltese girls rather attractive although I'm far too Protestant for them). The flowers were still abundant from the celebration of Independence Day on Friday.
Med Cruise: Sept. 22
Sept. 22 -
I prefer not to dwell on the plane flights, but I do wonder about Gen. 1:29-30 whether the point is not so much that everything was vegetarian as much as that God created all nourishment.
I prefer not to dwell on the plane flights, but I do wonder about Gen. 1:29-30 whether the point is not so much that everything was vegetarian as much as that God created all nourishment.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Saturday Road Trip
Today, after a rough start and much discussion, Mom, Dad, and I decided to take a road trip up to Sierraville and places beyond. So we drove to Truckee and across the overpass - I’m against overpasses in principle because they kill the economies of small towns, but in the case of Truckee, that’s not a problem - and continued north.
When we reached Sierraville, a small town once prospering from the cattle industry and now dying, the diners and the Moonie-owned hotel were still in business. The guy from old Hacienda del Lago had in fact moved to Sierraville and started a Mexican restaurant upstairs from the old café. That, however, was not where we ate, but rather we crossed the street to a different café, Crossroads Café, which served the best onion rings I have ever consumed - and I don’t normally eat onion rings! The one depressing thing we learned was that the Sierraville Rodeo was no more, since the sponsors and organizers, who were always the same, had grown weary of the flashier Truckee Rodeo’s sapping of sponsorship. I enjoyed the more true to its roots rodeo!
While visiting the bathroom, we discovered that there was a store in the back of the building. We bought a few presents, and then we hit a bonanza. Dad spotted a rack of doggie treats and bought a “chew hoof” for Puff the American Eskimo. He’s still chewing it as I write this.
Then Dad led us on a tour of regional golf courses, including one at which some of his friends had bought a house recently. On the return trip, we turned in to Hobart Mills, and were surprised immensely to see that the area was being developed. We went down the remnants of old Highway 89, which was incredibly rutted and in disrepair, and hit Prosser Lake. On the way back, ever so slowly, we came across the Emigrant Trail, where we stopped to step in the tracks of pioneers and their wagons.
When we reached Sierraville, a small town once prospering from the cattle industry and now dying, the diners and the Moonie-owned hotel were still in business. The guy from old Hacienda del Lago had in fact moved to Sierraville and started a Mexican restaurant upstairs from the old café. That, however, was not where we ate, but rather we crossed the street to a different café, Crossroads Café, which served the best onion rings I have ever consumed - and I don’t normally eat onion rings! The one depressing thing we learned was that the Sierraville Rodeo was no more, since the sponsors and organizers, who were always the same, had grown weary of the flashier Truckee Rodeo’s sapping of sponsorship. I enjoyed the more true to its roots rodeo!
While visiting the bathroom, we discovered that there was a store in the back of the building. We bought a few presents, and then we hit a bonanza. Dad spotted a rack of doggie treats and bought a “chew hoof” for Puff the American Eskimo. He’s still chewing it as I write this.
Then Dad led us on a tour of regional golf courses, including one at which some of his friends had bought a house recently. On the return trip, we turned in to Hobart Mills, and were surprised immensely to see that the area was being developed. We went down the remnants of old Highway 89, which was incredibly rutted and in disrepair, and hit Prosser Lake. On the way back, ever so slowly, we came across the Emigrant Trail, where we stopped to step in the tracks of pioneers and their wagons.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Touring Newfoundland: Part III
In the morning, we went to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America. In order to get there, we had to cross to the Southside of St John's, where the shipyards are, and ascend a hill in the dense fog. We passed the small community of Blackhead, with its one-room schoolhouse, and reached the head of the cape. In addition to the fog, there was a lot of wind. Mom took a picture of me, but then the camera gave out.
Next we went back through St John's up to Cabot Tower on the northern heights of St John's harbor. Here Marconi recieved the first transatlantic wireless message.The fog was so dense that Mom remained in the car while I looked over the site.
After we had descended gingerly and slowly, mowing down no hikers, we headed out of town past a grim industrial "park" called Logy Bay. We soon reached the more scenic outport of Outer Cove, which contended in the St John's Regatta with the men of Bay Bulls. The scenery held up through Middle Cove, and Torbay was also attractive. The outport of Flat Rock had a shrine modeled on Lourdes, a memento of John Paul II's visit to Newfoundland.
We went through at Pouch (pron. 'pooch') Bay. We didn't go berry-picking in Biscayan Cove, although it is known for that.
Evidence of building was rife throughout the ridge between Pouch Cove and Bauline, which lies on Conception Bay, down a steep and winding track, studded with pines.
We lunched at Portugal Cove, looking out at the ferry to Bell Island and the island itself. Bell Island features the longest submarine (=underwater) mines which extend for miles under the ocean. There are also some German subs sunk in WWII.
The drive from Portugal Cove to Holyrood was almost entirely suburban, but Mom did notice the lumpy misshapen bulk of the Butter Pot. Holyrood, at the head of Conception Bay, provided slightly askew of straight view of the bay. We did not return via the TransCanada Highway. but took the road to Witless Bay and Bay Bulls. The route was littered with RV parks and repurposed schoolbuses and more (fishing?) huts.
Next we went back through St John's up to Cabot Tower on the northern heights of St John's harbor. Here Marconi recieved the first transatlantic wireless message.The fog was so dense that Mom remained in the car while I looked over the site.
After we had descended gingerly and slowly, mowing down no hikers, we headed out of town past a grim industrial "park" called Logy Bay. We soon reached the more scenic outport of Outer Cove, which contended in the St John's Regatta with the men of Bay Bulls. The scenery held up through Middle Cove, and Torbay was also attractive. The outport of Flat Rock had a shrine modeled on Lourdes, a memento of John Paul II's visit to Newfoundland.
We went through at Pouch (pron. 'pooch') Bay. We didn't go berry-picking in Biscayan Cove, although it is known for that.
Evidence of building was rife throughout the ridge between Pouch Cove and Bauline, which lies on Conception Bay, down a steep and winding track, studded with pines.
We lunched at Portugal Cove, looking out at the ferry to Bell Island and the island itself. Bell Island features the longest submarine (=underwater) mines which extend for miles under the ocean. There are also some German subs sunk in WWII.
The drive from Portugal Cove to Holyrood was almost entirely suburban, but Mom did notice the lumpy misshapen bulk of the Butter Pot. Holyrood, at the head of Conception Bay, provided slightly askew of straight view of the bay. We did not return via the TransCanada Highway. but took the road to Witless Bay and Bay Bulls. The route was littered with RV parks and repurposed schoolbuses and more (fishing?) huts.
Touring Newfoundland: Part II
The next day we took to the road. We went south, past the outport of Bay Bulls to Witless Bay. There we had tea at the recommendation of Vernon, one of the fellow conference attendees. Gull Island was visible from the balcony of the Witless Bay cafe. It was rather chilly outside.
We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.
The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!
We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.
We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.
The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.
Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.
After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".
We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.
The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!
We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.
We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.
The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.
Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.
After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".
Friday, June 1, 2007
Touring Newfoundland: Part I
I keep forgetting my notes, so I'll do it from memory. The first day of touring (after the conference, where my sparkling wit was absent from the podium) saw Mom and I going to see the puffins in the afternoon. In the morning, we walked around St John's, along the aptly named 'jellybean row' composed of houses, each a different color, and yet not provoking the apocalypse which neighborhood committees so fear. The close packing of the churches was conspicuous, and the names of the two cathedals (Anglican and RC) seemed a sign of silent provocation.
In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.
We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.
In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.
We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Newfoundland
The coast of Newfoundland is rocky and wind-whipped, free of the scent of decaying vegetation. The outports hug the coast, like barnacles. The interior of the Avalon Peninsula is boggy, with thin soil and shallow "ponds", the local name for lakes. The people of the outports are Irish and very Catholic, only recently risen out of a subsistence lifestyle. These "baymen" are opposed to the "townies" of St John's, which is the closest thing to a metropolis on the Island. The Protestants moved to ST John's as it grew, abandoning the outports to their Irish fishermen (almost in peonage until confederation with Canada).
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Spiderman 3
I finally saw Spiderman 3 this Sunday. It wasn't as good as I had hoped; neither was it as bad as I had feared. Some of the combination of humor and angst was ill-handled and ill-matched, but I am not at all convinced that that dissonance isn't appropriate for Spiderman. The movie did suffer from the common affliction of the third installation of a trilogy (both visual and written), where the complexity obscures the purity of the narrative. The biggest surprise for me was that a certain new character did not perish, nor did that character's counterpart. I've never been a big fan of the Sandman, however.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Cache Canyon Troop 14 Whitewater
I went whitewater rafting with Troop 14 this weekend. I ended up paired with Bruce, the boss man. There were fourteen Scouts and six adults - it was even numbers or no going. The first day was my very first day doing whitewater, even though I had canoed, kayaking, and sailed many times before. Each river vessel requires its own techniques, and rafts are no exception. Unlike canoes, however, rafts bounce off rocks. I found the first half of the first day extremely stressful with a precipitous learning curve; later, however, I relaxed a bit. In the evening, Rick, who runs Cache Canyon whitewater trips, put on games and a slideshow. On the second day, I enjoyed myself immensely. The second day featured rapids that required scouting (not Scouting). The two of our boys who were doing Whitewater Merit Badge (Rick, in addition to being an Eagle Scout, is a merit badge counselor) passed.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Good Turn 2007
Friday night, I got a call from Bruce about the Troop's weekend 'The Good Turn'. Ordinarily, we would go up to our summer camp for the whole weekend and make repairs; the weather, however, was prophesied to be so severe that he had decided the Troop would go up for the day. So we did. The overcast sky provided a cool environment, muting all colors. As yet it was not drizzling. Then at eleven it started. Everybody worked at something; some dug post-holes and put up signs for the nature trail; others fit the boards to the metal frames of the non-wood platforms; yet others repaired the the cabins in Pioneers, where the Troop stays in summertime. Our customary coordinator for this venture, Chuck, had injured himself severely in recent months, but his absence was noticeable. Although it was only a day, an impressive amount of work was accomplished, and, most importantly, the ranger had a better attitude towards the troops who participated.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Boondocks
Last night, which was Thursday, I went to the JCC to hear Aaron McGruder in dialogue with Jeff Chang. Every seat was sold, altough not all were occupied. I sat near one of the JCC preschool teachers (married to a non-Jew) who grew up in San Francisco and learned to swim in the old JCC pool. Perhaps Ruth knows her? McGruder seemed quite pleasant, but he did not delve too deeply into politics and eschewed invective.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Khristos Anesti secundum Marcum
I realize the absurdity of posting twice in such a short period of time, but there are some thoughts which would be expressed too late, were I to delay their expression further. It is true that I did not attend a Good Friday service, but by this omission I mean no disrespect. For many years, dwelling on the service of Good Friday struck me as morbid, whether that of devout Catholics or dour Scottish Calvinists. I was made to understand, however, that this apparent morbidity, when applied in moderation, was an attempt to incorporate into the person of the individual believer that anguish which Luther felt all too keenly.
I still prefer the emphasis on the resurrection, however, for Christ was not the only one who died for the sins of others (for many luckless animals without blemish had done that for lesser numbers 0f individuals) but rather the only one who came to life again for the sins of others.
I still prefer the emphasis on the resurrection, however, for Christ was not the only one who died for the sins of others (for many luckless animals without blemish had done that for lesser numbers 0f individuals) but rather the only one who came to life again for the sins of others.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Heady Days
The last three days have seen much intellectual ferment, and I should put my thoughts to the pixels ere the hot winds of change wipe away the notes on my tabula erasura.
On Wednesday, I attended the SFSU Classical Students Association lecture, the last of the season, at which the topic was 'Religious War in the Ancient World'. Although it was argued that western monotheism allowed the full flowering of religious war, there are certain counterexamples of Buddhist kings no less military and missionary. Sadly, the lecturer omitted for reason of time, a comment on my beloved Donatists.
On Thursday, I went with Joan and Joe Sutton to Stanford that I might hear Patrick Hunt, vir illustris of the archeological world, speak on his expedition to the Alps and his seeking of the pass by which Hannibal, with his men and elephants, crossed the mountains. Hunt suggested that the choice of such an unfavorable route was not only plausible, but likely, for a member of Hannibal's lineage. Hannibal's god was Baal, a god of heights and storms; where better for the general to seek his god's protection than the place where he would choose to dwell?
On Friday, I joined Joan again unexpectedly for the reading of the 'phad' at the Asian Art Museum. The museum not only had borrowed a display of the art of the state of Mewar in Rajasthan, India, but it had also brought a bhopa and bhopi, indigenous storytellers specializing the reading of the phad, a painting and portable temple which aids the bhopa and bhopi in telling the stories of the local god Pabuji and the much more renowned Ramayana. For those who care to know, the bhopa and bhopi will be performing at 2:30 at the museum through the 15th. I strongly encourage those who can to go.
On Wednesday, I attended the SFSU Classical Students Association lecture, the last of the season, at which the topic was 'Religious War in the Ancient World'. Although it was argued that western monotheism allowed the full flowering of religious war, there are certain counterexamples of Buddhist kings no less military and missionary. Sadly, the lecturer omitted for reason of time, a comment on my beloved Donatists.
On Thursday, I went with Joan and Joe Sutton to Stanford that I might hear Patrick Hunt, vir illustris of the archeological world, speak on his expedition to the Alps and his seeking of the pass by which Hannibal, with his men and elephants, crossed the mountains. Hunt suggested that the choice of such an unfavorable route was not only plausible, but likely, for a member of Hannibal's lineage. Hannibal's god was Baal, a god of heights and storms; where better for the general to seek his god's protection than the place where he would choose to dwell?
On Friday, I joined Joan again unexpectedly for the reading of the 'phad' at the Asian Art Museum. The museum not only had borrowed a display of the art of the state of Mewar in Rajasthan, India, but it had also brought a bhopa and bhopi, indigenous storytellers specializing the reading of the phad, a painting and portable temple which aids the bhopa and bhopi in telling the stories of the local god Pabuji and the much more renowned Ramayana. For those who care to know, the bhopa and bhopi will be performing at 2:30 at the museum through the 15th. I strongly encourage those who can to go.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The Purimspieler
One of the advantage of a shorter winter work week and setting your own hours is that you can go to events during the day you might otherwise miss. So today I went to the JCC to see the Purimspieler, a 'classic Yiddish film'. The room was full of elderly Russians, and the presenter was speaking in Russian. I was pleased to note that my Russian aural comprehension, although spotty, had not vanished entirely. The film itself was in Yiddish with English subtitles. My rudimentary German allowed me to understand portions of the original dialogue.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Borderlands and Amazons
I finally made it to Borderlands, the science fiction and fantasy store on Valencia. As usual, it is invisible while walking down from 18th, although that seems appropriate for a bookstore of its kind. Ripley, the hairless Abyssinian, the confluence of tradition and practicality in bookstore animals, was at home, and I decided not to buy a post card of that peculiar cat. I bought a copy of Naomi Kritzer's third book in her trilogy. I had been meaning to buy Freedom's Sisters since June, since I had promised I would. My biggest thrill is that Kritzer makes Alexander imprison Zeus (if any mortal would, Alexander would).
I've been reading a book on the history of the state of Israel. It's very complicated.
I've been reading a book on the history of the state of Israel. It's very complicated.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Yale, Yale, Yale
I don't think I'll do this on a regular basis, but I'll forget the details if I don't post now. I'll just have to post the investigation into Trinidadian Benedictine identity theft. After a day in the quiet confines of the Mechanics Institute Library, where I finished reading the Canaanite mythological corpus so that I could return the book on Wednesday, I mounted the hill to the University Club via Powell. I was temporarily is blocked by the incessant crimson of the cable cars. Then I arrived at the University Club, where there was to be a Yale group singing - without a brawl. It turns out that one of the female members of Red, Hot, and Blue, was the friend of Andrew, who is a fellow CSB alum. The only girl in jeans there was a friend of Andrew's friend; she had gone to a familiar local school on the other side of the bay.
The 300
I finally saw the 300. I loved it. It was what a movie about a glorious last stand should feel like. I can forgive the abundant free license in the source material (courtesy of Frank Miller) if it encourages the appropriate katharsis. The one thing, however, which does worry me, is the vivd racial distinction in the film. Since the graphic novel from which the images were taken was intended to invoke the black, white, and red of Greek pottery, in that format it is logical. The portrayal of Xerxes as the big black menace, howver, is more provocative in a movie than a graphic novel.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Palace of Legion of Honor
Today I went to the Palace of the Legion of Honor. I don't like the cabbageware in the ceramics room; I prefer two-tone patterns when I think about such things at all. The multicolored ones offend me greatly. I also visited the dark little room next to the cafeteria, in which There was an exhibit of paintings inspired by a rambling country preacher. The jewelry exhibit was what I was there for, but Art Deco still does nothing for me. The necklace of Mumtaz which Elizabeth Taylor recieved from Richard Burton interested me more for its historical value than than its entertainment value (unless I'm watching Blue Velvet, I don't give a fig for Elizabeth Taylor). A jewel associated with the Taj Mahal, on the other hand, is fascinating.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Great Caesar's Ghost
In honor of Caesar's demise, I have decided to blog on the chthonic spirits of the Roman people. Ghosts and ancestors are universal and particular; no culture lacks tales of the dead and undeed, and yet each culture provides its own perspective. In the Romans' case, the line between ancestors and divinities was ambiguous. The 'lares', of which so many who have studied Rome have heard, were domestic guardian spirits (a word, incidentally, which encapsulates perfectly the aforementioned ambiguity). The 'manes' were the ancestors of the household paterfamilias.
The spirits of which I wish to write, however, are the less benign variety. As is common in Roman religion, these malicious forces were mentioned in the plural. Today most would associate the word 'lemur' with wide-eyed Malagasy mammals, but the (white) naturalist who discovered them named these strange and fascinating animals 'lemurs' after 'lemures', the spirits whom the Romans propitiated during the holy days of the Parentalia (in Latin, 'parentes' means 'relative' rather than 'mother and/or father'). The innate cuteness of the mammal has dissipated much of the dread and deathliness the Roman would attach to the name, but the other designation of the Parentalia threats retains a visceral and mortiferous response for the English-speaker: 'larvae'.
In short, there is no single word for 'ghost' in Latin, and yet referring to 'a ghost' in the singular is contrary to Roman usage. If Caesar wishes to haunt the classicists of today, he will have choose a companion!
The spirits of which I wish to write, however, are the less benign variety. As is common in Roman religion, these malicious forces were mentioned in the plural. Today most would associate the word 'lemur' with wide-eyed Malagasy mammals, but the (white) naturalist who discovered them named these strange and fascinating animals 'lemurs' after 'lemures', the spirits whom the Romans propitiated during the holy days of the Parentalia (in Latin, 'parentes' means 'relative' rather than 'mother and/or father'). The innate cuteness of the mammal has dissipated much of the dread and deathliness the Roman would attach to the name, but the other designation of the Parentalia threats retains a visceral and mortiferous response for the English-speaker: 'larvae'.
In short, there is no single word for 'ghost' in Latin, and yet referring to 'a ghost' in the singular is contrary to Roman usage. If Caesar wishes to haunt the classicists of today, he will have choose a companion!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Aeneas and Dido
In consideration of the sad ignorance of many of my friends of the glorious language of Cicero and Caesar, I have established a separate blog into which my attempts at recreating that noble tongue shall reside.
I went down to the JCL (Jewish Community Library) yesterday and discovered that it was hidden, oh so cleverly on the second floor of a high school. Although I had come there originally in search of a Hebrew primer and a Harry Kemelman mystery, I rejoiced upon discovering a collection of the four extant Ugaritic myths. I love mythology, I devour it, but this was the first time I had found a volume of these myths unencumbered by apparatus critici, or too precious to read at leisure. I also checked out Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet.
I went down to the JCL (Jewish Community Library) yesterday and discovered that it was hidden, oh so cleverly on the second floor of a high school. Although I had come there originally in search of a Hebrew primer and a Harry Kemelman mystery, I rejoiced upon discovering a collection of the four extant Ugaritic myths. I love mythology, I devour it, but this was the first time I had found a volume of these myths unencumbered by apparatus critici, or too precious to read at leisure. I also checked out Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Christianus ad Purim
Die Iesu Xpi dno nro post in templo Divi Didaci a nostra presbytera alteram partem sermocinii de persona et umbra secundum Iuuenum doctorem mentis audissem, post in domo meae matris eius canem salutassem et pianoforte lusissem, tunc ad Centrum Civitanum Iudaeicum Franciscopolitanum et ad dies festivales nomine Purim celebrandos et spectaculum eorundem Purim spectandum iter feci, ubi matri obuiam iui. Multae hamantasae comesae sunt. Puella partem Esther actura pulchra corpore secundum suum genus in atrio Centri matri de sua imagine capta photographice querabatur. Hoc anno ista aula ubi omnes more maiorum spectaculum Purim spectent sedibus eleuatis egit.
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