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.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
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.
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