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.

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.

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.