Even though I am not the biggest fan of the Mouse (that would be a certain "North Dakota" among my friends), I do not think that the purchase of Marvel by Disney is not a bad thing. The Disney brand has tilted too far towards the shores of princess-infested kingdoms, and they are aware of this, since they made an entire film (Enchanted) gently mocking their success in this genre. I remember watching Classic Disney on Sunday nights when I was growing up, and the films of those eras provided plenty of materials for boys as well as girls. I remember a church lock-in at Saint Mary's where the girls prevailed upon me to watch Beauty and the Beast, which I did enjoy. The problem is not so much the quality of the material for girls as the dearth of material for boys.
The American comic industry, in contrast to Disney, has a a terrible record in attracting female readers. Manga producers, however, have no difficulty attracting female readers. What I suspect will happen is this: Disney will promote the kid-friendly and continuity-free lines of Marvel and draw in the boy viewers whom they lost after the duck-heavy years of my childhood, and Marvel will produce more comics oriented toward romance (which disappeared from their line because the action comics merged with the romance line), although it's hard to say whom they could use as leads outside of Mary Jane Watson and Kitty Pryde.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Baby Merchants
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/257390/the_case_against_adoption_research_pg2_pg2.html?cat=17
I have been pondering this last few day the matter of adoption, ever since I read the above site which makes a case against adoption. I cannot take a stand against any and all adoption, because I do not believe that abortions should be performed except if the life and health of the mother is at risk. Please note that I understand that situation as the equivalent of triage at an accident - it would be best if you could save both victims, but sometimes it is necessary to choose. The post, however, is more about adoptions than my position on abortion.
I do not deny that there is coercion and the occasional shady dealing (such as this baby merchant from Cop Rock:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_3AaY1BG8k
Adoption is a mechanism for placing children with a loving family, and it is certainly better than foster care or state care (I regret that we lost that foster kid from the Troop, even if his foster mother's taste in "candy" was deplorable). I have no doubt that my adopted cousin has fared better with my uncle and aunt than she would have with her birth mother. If there is a shortage a white babies to adopt, there is no shortage of babies overall. Perhaps the couples should consider interracial adoption, as my relatives did (long before Madonna), or maybe a slightly older child. After all, biologically produced children so far come with unexpected characteristics.
The biological mothers of the children have a variety of reasons for preferring adoption, ranging from the compassionate to the somewhat mercenary. On the other hand, the birth mother may genuinely believe that this is a way to give her child a better life. The best situation would be to have an extensive local network of family and friends who could help the mother raise the child, but the American lust for isolating individualism has destroyed that possibility for many citizens.
I have been pondering this last few day the matter of adoption, ever since I read the above site which makes a case against adoption. I cannot take a stand against any and all adoption, because I do not believe that abortions should be performed except if the life and health of the mother is at risk. Please note that I understand that situation as the equivalent of triage at an accident - it would be best if you could save both victims, but sometimes it is necessary to choose. The post, however, is more about adoptions than my position on abortion.
I do not deny that there is coercion and the occasional shady dealing (such as this baby merchant from Cop Rock:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_3AaY1BG8k
Adoption is a mechanism for placing children with a loving family, and it is certainly better than foster care or state care (I regret that we lost that foster kid from the Troop, even if his foster mother's taste in "candy" was deplorable). I have no doubt that my adopted cousin has fared better with my uncle and aunt than she would have with her birth mother. If there is a shortage a white babies to adopt, there is no shortage of babies overall. Perhaps the couples should consider interracial adoption, as my relatives did (long before Madonna), or maybe a slightly older child. After all, biologically produced children so far come with unexpected characteristics.
The biological mothers of the children have a variety of reasons for preferring adoption, ranging from the compassionate to the somewhat mercenary. On the other hand, the birth mother may genuinely believe that this is a way to give her child a better life. The best situation would be to have an extensive local network of family and friends who could help the mother raise the child, but the American lust for isolating individualism has destroyed that possibility for many citizens.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Electrifying Baptism
Here's the full story about my cell phone. On Friday, I was in my dining room, reading (aloud, per my project/new blog) my bilingual Novum Testamentum Graece et Latine. I'd gone into the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, for reading aloud is thirsty work. My cell was also on the table. I knocked over the glass, and the water flowed over my phone, the newspaper which Andrew had left on the table, and part of my Novum Testamentum. The water on the table and on the paper was easy enough to handle; the Novum Testamentum was more difficult, but I'm sure my friends and family can believe that this is not the first time I've spilled something on a book - at least it was just water. The cell phone, however, although I have dropped it multiple times, had avoid contact with liquid (again, at least it was drinking water, not toilet water), so I did what I could to take care of it. Fortunately, I had very few pictures on it, and most of the phone numbers were of family, friends, or very frequent business contacts.
One of the things I noticed on Saturday was how dependent people have become on their cell phones. I didn't know where my watch was, so the only clock I had was part of my camera. I use the bus to get around San Francisco, so I am accustomed to having something to read on my person - in this case, a pocketbook of Shakespeare's Sonnets (I didn't realize one sonnet was a complaint against lousy English weather).
Even I, however, have been using my cell phone as a calendar, alarm clock, and address book without backup. Today I pulled out my Utah Navajo Partnership 2009 Calendar from St Aidan's, Boulder, and started to reconstruct my schedule. Some have suggested additional electronic backup, but what if that malfunctions? It seems to me that pen and paper remain the most reliable way of preserving critical informantion from an electric Asphodel Fields.
One of the things I noticed on Saturday was how dependent people have become on their cell phones. I didn't know where my watch was, so the only clock I had was part of my camera. I use the bus to get around San Francisco, so I am accustomed to having something to read on my person - in this case, a pocketbook of Shakespeare's Sonnets (I didn't realize one sonnet was a complaint against lousy English weather).
Even I, however, have been using my cell phone as a calendar, alarm clock, and address book without backup. Today I pulled out my Utah Navajo Partnership 2009 Calendar from St Aidan's, Boulder, and started to reconstruct my schedule. Some have suggested additional electronic backup, but what if that malfunctions? It seems to me that pen and paper remain the most reliable way of preserving critical informantion from an electric Asphodel Fields.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
... And Little Children Shall Lead Him
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090914/od_nm/us_sheep_odd
I was annoyed by the hypocrisy of the London parents who objected to the slaughter of Marcus the lamb, which the children who raised him in a project designed to teach them about the life cycle of livestock approved, since the point of domestic sheep is to serve as a resource to the human race. Although I do not have quite the conspiratorial conclusion of Lindy McDowell (http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/opinion/columnists/lindy-mcdowell/lindy-mcdowell-why-its-good--children-see-a-lamb-led--to-slaughter-14493965.html) involving the meat industry, since I apportion the blame more to the "delicate little angels" mentality of the parents, I do agree that Marcus had a good life for a stock animals, compared to creatures such as industrial chickens. At least these kids will not suffer from the illusion that meat is naturally pre-cut and wrapped when they see it in the supermarket.
I was annoyed by the hypocrisy of the London parents who objected to the slaughter of Marcus the lamb, which the children who raised him in a project designed to teach them about the life cycle of livestock approved, since the point of domestic sheep is to serve as a resource to the human race. Although I do not have quite the conspiratorial conclusion of Lindy McDowell (http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/opinion/columnists/lindy-mcdowell/lindy-mcdowell-why-its-good--children-see-a-lamb-led--to-slaughter-14493965.html) involving the meat industry, since I apportion the blame more to the "delicate little angels" mentality of the parents, I do agree that Marcus had a good life for a stock animals, compared to creatures such as industrial chickens. At least these kids will not suffer from the illusion that meat is naturally pre-cut and wrapped when they see it in the supermarket.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
From Divinity to Demonization
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090911/ap_on_sc/us_sci_gender_confusion
So, in the link at the top of this blog entry, Caster Semenya, a South African athlete, was accused of not being female, and tested for XY genes. She also showed no signs of ovaries, and therefore doesn't have periods. She was raised, however, as a girl by her family. So she is a hermaphrodite, named after Hermaphroditus.
In mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite, whom the Naiad Salmacis desired so greatly that she prayed she might become one with him. Although this wish was granted, Hermaphroditus cursed the pool of Salmacis so that any who bathed in it would suffer the same condition. So in this case, it is a curse. A different tradition, however, found in Plato, propose that the human race originally consisted of hermaphrodites and that the desire to be one flesh once more motivated human courtship. According to this line of thought, hermaphrodites reflect the primordial union of man and woman and therefore partake more fully of the Good.
The term "hermaphrodite" has been replaced by newer, "more sensitive", and certainly more transient ones such as "intersex", whose exterior appears as a very mannish female. The only fiction I know of which features intersexuality,Middlesex by Geoffrey Eugenides, does a little to remove the perception of monstrosity, but nonetheless credits the character's condition to the sins of the fathers.
She must be suffering severe psychological trauma from this revelation, and the cruelest blow is this: if she had not competed and won, the testing never would have occurred, and she could have lived her life as a very butch female. Now she's banned from her sport and known to the world as a genetic freak. The reason given for such tests (beyond the obvious physical check) is that male testosterone gives a competitor an advantage, but with the mix of doping, legitimate enhancements, rigorous training, and natural ability in track & field, the successful competitor have already removed themselves from ordinary human beings. I doubt she would be allowed to compete in the men's competition without complaint, yet she is barred from the women's competition; this is a clear case of black-and-white thinking failing to reflect reality. Outside of the world of sports, gender is assigned usually on external features, not genetic tests, and it seems grossly unfair to ruin someone's life in this manner.
So, in the link at the top of this blog entry, Caster Semenya, a South African athlete, was accused of not being female, and tested for XY genes. She also showed no signs of ovaries, and therefore doesn't have periods. She was raised, however, as a girl by her family. So she is a hermaphrodite, named after Hermaphroditus.
In mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite, whom the Naiad Salmacis desired so greatly that she prayed she might become one with him. Although this wish was granted, Hermaphroditus cursed the pool of Salmacis so that any who bathed in it would suffer the same condition. So in this case, it is a curse. A different tradition, however, found in Plato, propose that the human race originally consisted of hermaphrodites and that the desire to be one flesh once more motivated human courtship. According to this line of thought, hermaphrodites reflect the primordial union of man and woman and therefore partake more fully of the Good.
The term "hermaphrodite" has been replaced by newer, "more sensitive", and certainly more transient ones such as "intersex", whose exterior appears as a very mannish female. The only fiction I know of which features intersexuality,Middlesex by Geoffrey Eugenides, does a little to remove the perception of monstrosity, but nonetheless credits the character's condition to the sins of the fathers.
She must be suffering severe psychological trauma from this revelation, and the cruelest blow is this: if she had not competed and won, the testing never would have occurred, and she could have lived her life as a very butch female. Now she's banned from her sport and known to the world as a genetic freak. The reason given for such tests (beyond the obvious physical check) is that male testosterone gives a competitor an advantage, but with the mix of doping, legitimate enhancements, rigorous training, and natural ability in track & field, the successful competitor have already removed themselves from ordinary human beings. I doubt she would be allowed to compete in the men's competition without complaint, yet she is barred from the women's competition; this is a clear case of black-and-white thinking failing to reflect reality. Outside of the world of sports, gender is assigned usually on external features, not genetic tests, and it seems grossly unfair to ruin someone's life in this manner.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
TV Review: Little Mosque on the Prairie
Although the current state at the cabin at Lake Tahoe is a dearth of channels, my TV-watching habits for series (as well as webcomic-reading) can be described as short-term addiction. This tendency also appears when I read books in a series. I watch a lot of episodes at once, and then lose interest; if it is sufficiently compelling, I may return. So it has been with the CBC series Little Mosque on the Prairie. I watched Season 1 a while ago, and then lost interest, but I have been watching many episodes recently, and now have reached another lull.
For those of you unfamiliar with the series, I could just post the Wikipedia link. That, however, would be lazy. The series' viewpoint character is a Toronto lawyer who decides to become an imam (more like a rabbi than a priest) for the Muslim community of the small western Canadian town of Mercy. Presumably the creator of the series used this (standard literary) structure in order that she could have an outsider thrust into the midst of key religious disputes. One must admit it makes more sens than the ordinary child who becomes the key to the salvation of the universe. The Muslim and non-Muslim characters span the entire political range, although it is true that the show privileges the Muslim characters. I can forgive this imbalance, since the other movie and TV roles for Muslim characters and actors of Middle Eastern descent are very frequently terrorists.
It's a very Canadian show, eschewing the Manichaean dichotomy of culture warriors and favoring the portrayal of individuals with personal motivations for faith or lack thereof. Each week there is a crisis that pits at least one character's Islamic beliefs or cultural tendencies from the Islamic part of the world against "western" traditions. The first season is especially interesting in that regard, since specific concepts needed to be introduced; the third season is closer to a soap opera, if soap operas were rigidly episodic and chaste to the point of no kissing. The westernization of the Muslim characters has angered many Muslim watchers, but I doubt the show would be able to spread its message of goodwill and ecumenical harmony if it showed the most rigid segments of the Muslim population.
I'm certainly not a follower of the Prophet, and perhaps I think this way because my formative political experience was the fall of the Berlin Wall rather than 9/11 or the Cold War, but this series does a good job of introducing Islam in a setting which will not frighten westerners.
For those of you unfamiliar with the series, I could just post the Wikipedia link. That, however, would be lazy. The series' viewpoint character is a Toronto lawyer who decides to become an imam (more like a rabbi than a priest) for the Muslim community of the small western Canadian town of Mercy. Presumably the creator of the series used this (standard literary) structure in order that she could have an outsider thrust into the midst of key religious disputes. One must admit it makes more sens than the ordinary child who becomes the key to the salvation of the universe. The Muslim and non-Muslim characters span the entire political range, although it is true that the show privileges the Muslim characters. I can forgive this imbalance, since the other movie and TV roles for Muslim characters and actors of Middle Eastern descent are very frequently terrorists.
It's a very Canadian show, eschewing the Manichaean dichotomy of culture warriors and favoring the portrayal of individuals with personal motivations for faith or lack thereof. Each week there is a crisis that pits at least one character's Islamic beliefs or cultural tendencies from the Islamic part of the world against "western" traditions. The first season is especially interesting in that regard, since specific concepts needed to be introduced; the third season is closer to a soap opera, if soap operas were rigidly episodic and chaste to the point of no kissing. The westernization of the Muslim characters has angered many Muslim watchers, but I doubt the show would be able to spread its message of goodwill and ecumenical harmony if it showed the most rigid segments of the Muslim population.
I'm certainly not a follower of the Prophet, and perhaps I think this way because my formative political experience was the fall of the Berlin Wall rather than 9/11 or the Cold War, but this series does a good job of introducing Islam in a setting which will not frighten westerners.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Speed Spectator Movie Review: The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
I finally watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, although it had been one of the movies I rescued from the “caretaker’s cottage”. I assume it belonged to my brother or his wife when they lived there. First of all, I must admit that I did not grow up watching westerns other than some episodes of Paladin which the Reno stations played early in the morning. I also visited the Bonanza Ranch before it went bankrupt and became another real estate development. My taste in fiction of the American West runs more towards Laura Ingalls Wilder and Brett Harte than John Wayne and Lee Marvin.
The plot and pacing of Valance is excellent and well thought-out, although probably insufferably tedious to Generation ADHD. The title of the film is chosen carefully to provoke interest, accurately reflect the hero antagonist of the film, and conceal the twist ending. The dénouement of the movie shows a satisfying subversion of the ‘sudden ability syndrome‘, a curious plot-related disease in which the hero suddenly develops a specific and necessary ability to save the day. Contemporary movies intended for children are the frequent victims of this, and fuel the narcissism of the current generation - but that’s a rant for another day.
Valance observes the majority of the Western clichés, including the drunken Mexican, the drunken sheriff (in this case, the same person as the former), the stubborn newsman, the ‘happy Negro’, the funny-talking immigrant, and the color-coded hats, but the mere naming of the villain as Liberty Valance suggests a certain degree of self-aware subversion. The character of Liberty Valance does not seem to be sufficiently clever to understand irony, and the depth of Donovan’s (Wayne's) character is limited to a tedious repetition of ‘pilgrim’ as a synonym for ‘fellow’ and a dogged insistence on the necessity and utility of firearms. It may be a generational difference, but I do not understand the appeal of John Wayne and cannot perceive his charisma.
This was an interesting movie to watch, but it was a bit like a mediocre Agatha Christie: the plot is satisfying, but the actors are chess pieces rather than living players.
The plot and pacing of Valance is excellent and well thought-out, although probably insufferably tedious to Generation ADHD. The title of the film is chosen carefully to provoke interest, accurately reflect the hero antagonist of the film, and conceal the twist ending. The dénouement of the movie shows a satisfying subversion of the ‘sudden ability syndrome‘, a curious plot-related disease in which the hero suddenly develops a specific and necessary ability to save the day. Contemporary movies intended for children are the frequent victims of this, and fuel the narcissism of the current generation - but that’s a rant for another day.
Valance observes the majority of the Western clichés, including the drunken Mexican, the drunken sheriff (in this case, the same person as the former), the stubborn newsman, the ‘happy Negro’, the funny-talking immigrant, and the color-coded hats, but the mere naming of the villain as Liberty Valance suggests a certain degree of self-aware subversion. The character of Liberty Valance does not seem to be sufficiently clever to understand irony, and the depth of Donovan’s (Wayne's) character is limited to a tedious repetition of ‘pilgrim’ as a synonym for ‘fellow’ and a dogged insistence on the necessity and utility of firearms. It may be a generational difference, but I do not understand the appeal of John Wayne and cannot perceive his charisma.
This was an interesting movie to watch, but it was a bit like a mediocre Agatha Christie: the plot is satisfying, but the actors are chess pieces rather than living players.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Recent Reading: The Lightning Thief
I read The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan partly because I knew a movie of the book was being made and I wanted to check how solid the mythology was. I like Harry Potter, but the distortions of Latin get on my nerves. Rowling clearly knows enough Latin to get it almost right. Imagine my joy, then, when I discovered an exclamation in Homeric Greek in The Lightning Thief! The first book of the Percy Jackson series reminded me a bit of John Christopher's initial offering in the The White Mountains trilogy due to a careful balance of a full story within a projected series.
The Latin and Greek in the book is grammatical and colloquial. The book follows the standard literary convention that only obscenities remain untranslated, although I doubt the intended audience would realize quite how offensive the phrase 'eis korakas' truly is in Ancient Greek. Riordan extends his untranslated expletives beyond the vocative (the lazy man's foreign language) and even includes the plural imperative of a deponent verb. For those of you who lack the ars grammatica, that means he used a verb form which is passive in form, but active in meaning; that's a level of detail which many grade school Latin students would miss.
The reason for the movement of the world of Greek mythology to the United States is well presented, even if it does show the usual bias towards New York. Riordan has solved creatively the problem of a limited (and previously killed) roster of Classical monsters. The monsters themselves are true to the traditional mythology, and dwell in the appropriately iconic cities and regions. The choice of the entrance to the Underworld is a little surprising, although there is a certain logic to it.
The trio of heroes (an apt term for this subcreated world) fill the Harry Potter mode of main character, best friend, and opposite gender friend/potential love interest, but the character interaction placed between the desperate attempts to avoid assassination (this is a children's fantasy, after all) rings true and explores a lesser known dynamic between two gods, or rather their children. The Lightning Thief compromises as little as possible the occasionally sordid interactions between the Olympian gods - this is a relief from the bowdlerization of many other tales.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I can endorse it as a Classics major and occasional fantasy fan.
The Latin and Greek in the book is grammatical and colloquial. The book follows the standard literary convention that only obscenities remain untranslated, although I doubt the intended audience would realize quite how offensive the phrase 'eis korakas' truly is in Ancient Greek. Riordan extends his untranslated expletives beyond the vocative (the lazy man's foreign language) and even includes the plural imperative of a deponent verb. For those of you who lack the ars grammatica, that means he used a verb form which is passive in form, but active in meaning; that's a level of detail which many grade school Latin students would miss.
The reason for the movement of the world of Greek mythology to the United States is well presented, even if it does show the usual bias towards New York. Riordan has solved creatively the problem of a limited (and previously killed) roster of Classical monsters. The monsters themselves are true to the traditional mythology, and dwell in the appropriately iconic cities and regions. The choice of the entrance to the Underworld is a little surprising, although there is a certain logic to it.
The trio of heroes (an apt term for this subcreated world) fill the Harry Potter mode of main character, best friend, and opposite gender friend/potential love interest, but the character interaction placed between the desperate attempts to avoid assassination (this is a children's fantasy, after all) rings true and explores a lesser known dynamic between two gods, or rather their children. The Lightning Thief compromises as little as possible the occasionally sordid interactions between the Olympian gods - this is a relief from the bowdlerization of many other tales.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I can endorse it as a Classics major and occasional fantasy fan.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Prête à Portmanteau
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090812/ap_on_re_eu/eu_france_burquini_banned
So this 'Carole', a convert to Islam, wanted to go for a swim, but also wanted to remain modest. So she bought a burquini, a burqa-bikini portmanteau, and tried to go swimming. But French laws about wearing 'possible street clothes' while swimming prohibited her.
This seems to me typical French ideological overreaction, combined with the usual legislative blindness and resistance to future complications. Any gym or pool I have ever entered has hygienic requirements, usually mandating that one bring a change of clothes and shower both before and after using the pool. The problem here could easily be solved by Carole and other similarly inclined women changing from their non-revealing street clothes to their non-revealing burquini, which presumably has a design intended for la plage et la piscine (although, if I were a woman, I'd hesitate to wear it in a known undertow area). If you've seen photos of 19th century bathing suits, the burquini design doesn't seem at all outrageous, and has an absence of hideous carny stripes to recommend it. After all, the bad on nude swimmers is at its heart a matter of modesty rather than hygiene – swimming trunks or a bikini aren't going to keep a filthy person from polluting the pool, as various “accidents” in our client associations' pools have demonstrated this summer.
So this 'Carole', a convert to Islam, wanted to go for a swim, but also wanted to remain modest. So she bought a burquini, a burqa-bikini portmanteau, and tried to go swimming. But French laws about wearing 'possible street clothes' while swimming prohibited her.
This seems to me typical French ideological overreaction, combined with the usual legislative blindness and resistance to future complications. Any gym or pool I have ever entered has hygienic requirements, usually mandating that one bring a change of clothes and shower both before and after using the pool. The problem here could easily be solved by Carole and other similarly inclined women changing from their non-revealing street clothes to their non-revealing burquini, which presumably has a design intended for la plage et la piscine (although, if I were a woman, I'd hesitate to wear it in a known undertow area). If you've seen photos of 19th century bathing suits, the burquini design doesn't seem at all outrageous, and has an absence of hideous carny stripes to recommend it. After all, the bad on nude swimmers is at its heart a matter of modesty rather than hygiene – swimming trunks or a bikini aren't going to keep a filthy person from polluting the pool, as various “accidents” in our client associations' pools have demonstrated this summer.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Bible Reading: Suffocating Debt
In Matthew 18:23-34, Jesus tells the parable of the unforgiving debtor. The servile debtor, who owes the equivalent of millions of dollars, appeals to his master to commute the sentence of slavery, and the king yields. When the debtor is departing from the manor, he encounters a fellow servant who owes him the equivalent of twenty bucks. This man pleads in the same way as the debtor had done, but the debtor is unforgiving, chokes him, and throws the other man in prison. When the other servants witness this, they report the debtor's actions to the master, who orders the debtor to be handed over to the torturers until he repays his debt in full. As usual, the parable refers the divine consequences of human interactions. Then, Jesus caps his parable by saying, "My heavenly father will do this to you, if each one of you does not have mercy on your brother from your hearts." (Personal translation, from the Vulgate).
This parable could be applied to certain recent events, and almost certainly has, but that's not my interest here. When I was in Confirmation Class (which I took very seriously, unlike some of my fellow students), we had to memorize, understand, and paraphrase the Our Father, Nicene Creed, and various instruments of faith of the Episcopal Church to the best of our ability. In the process of studying the Our Father, I had an insight which was deep for my early teenage psyche: "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive the trespasses of others". This segment of the Our Father was not a statement of desire for the Heavenly Father, nor a straightforward request for sustenance, be it material or spiritual; rather, it required explicit action on the part of individuals. It was the first time I understood my individual role as a member of the body of Christ. I also think that this act of human forgiveness, and the difficulty which many people experience in doing it, drives home what an incredible deal Christians have received.
It's worth noting that the language of the Our Father does not deny the seriousness of the trespasses; "forgiveness" in secular parlance has come to mean, in certain times and places, a diminution of the gravity of the offense, or even pretending the offense never occurred. If that is the way someone understands "forgiveness", it is small wonder they are loathe to forgive! Christians who are unable to forgive the peccadilloes of their fellow men, while accepting divine forgiveness for themselves, are worse than Pharisees, although the attitude is similar; at least the Pharisees placed the same (absolute) price on their sins as the same sins of the Judaean peasants. The other reason, I suspect, that this phrase receives such prominence, is that the Christian who cannot forgive others out of love also cannot understand the greater love which prompts God to forgive him.
That's my testimony and understanding. Feel free to elucidate, critique, dispute, as long as it's civil.
This parable could be applied to certain recent events, and almost certainly has, but that's not my interest here. When I was in Confirmation Class (which I took very seriously, unlike some of my fellow students), we had to memorize, understand, and paraphrase the Our Father, Nicene Creed, and various instruments of faith of the Episcopal Church to the best of our ability. In the process of studying the Our Father, I had an insight which was deep for my early teenage psyche: "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive the trespasses of others". This segment of the Our Father was not a statement of desire for the Heavenly Father, nor a straightforward request for sustenance, be it material or spiritual; rather, it required explicit action on the part of individuals. It was the first time I understood my individual role as a member of the body of Christ. I also think that this act of human forgiveness, and the difficulty which many people experience in doing it, drives home what an incredible deal Christians have received.
It's worth noting that the language of the Our Father does not deny the seriousness of the trespasses; "forgiveness" in secular parlance has come to mean, in certain times and places, a diminution of the gravity of the offense, or even pretending the offense never occurred. If that is the way someone understands "forgiveness", it is small wonder they are loathe to forgive! Christians who are unable to forgive the peccadilloes of their fellow men, while accepting divine forgiveness for themselves, are worse than Pharisees, although the attitude is similar; at least the Pharisees placed the same (absolute) price on their sins as the same sins of the Judaean peasants. The other reason, I suspect, that this phrase receives such prominence, is that the Christian who cannot forgive others out of love also cannot understand the greater love which prompts God to forgive him.
That's my testimony and understanding. Feel free to elucidate, critique, dispute, as long as it's civil.
Movie Review: The City of Ember
On Thursday night, I watched The City of Ember, based on the book of the same name by Jeanne DuPrau. I have long held a love of post-apocalyptic movies which do not involve leatherdaddies and large amounts of hairspray, ever since I read John Christopher's The White Mountains and The Sword of the Spirit trilogies, or perhaps it was early exposure to Spartacus and the Sun Beneath the Sea. I will confess, I have not read the book, which is contrary to my usual movie-watching policy.
At first, I wasn't sure the DVD was working properly, because this is the only movie I've seen with so many scenes in the pitch black that don't involve people dying horribly. The architectural geography of the actual city of Ember triggered some visual memories in me, which I could not identify until I checked the next day and realized the author was French; I had been reminded of the more nightmarish architecture of The City of Lost Children. The leads of the film were well-cast, although the dim lighting (for once justified by plot relevance) made reading their faces difficult at times. Some other reviews have faulted the film for a lack of action; while the sacrifice of certain scenes from the book appear to have reduced the action quotient, I was pleased to watch a film where the intelligence and mystery-solving sections of the book were not sacrificed for action scenes. Enough confrontations occur in the dark or dim already!
The mole and the giant mutant beetle were absurd (although moles are indeed creepy, if you look closely at them), and how everybody in these underground cities avoids rickets baffles me. I assume dwarves in fantasy books have a racial immunity. The Assignment Day, although it is common for such survivalist dystopias, seems slightly ridiculous in its system of random assignments. Lois Lowry's The Giver, which I re-read today (yes, the whole thing) in order to have some points of comparison, contains speeches that indicate careful thought on the matter of individual assignments; perhaps the book The City of Ember contains such scenes which were cut from the movie.
I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but the location of Ember is the draw, so perhaps it's not so bad that there will be no movie sequels.
At first, I wasn't sure the DVD was working properly, because this is the only movie I've seen with so many scenes in the pitch black that don't involve people dying horribly. The architectural geography of the actual city of Ember triggered some visual memories in me, which I could not identify until I checked the next day and realized the author was French; I had been reminded of the more nightmarish architecture of The City of Lost Children. The leads of the film were well-cast, although the dim lighting (for once justified by plot relevance) made reading their faces difficult at times. Some other reviews have faulted the film for a lack of action; while the sacrifice of certain scenes from the book appear to have reduced the action quotient, I was pleased to watch a film where the intelligence and mystery-solving sections of the book were not sacrificed for action scenes. Enough confrontations occur in the dark or dim already!
The mole and the giant mutant beetle were absurd (although moles are indeed creepy, if you look closely at them), and how everybody in these underground cities avoids rickets baffles me. I assume dwarves in fantasy books have a racial immunity. The Assignment Day, although it is common for such survivalist dystopias, seems slightly ridiculous in its system of random assignments. Lois Lowry's The Giver, which I re-read today (yes, the whole thing) in order to have some points of comparison, contains speeches that indicate careful thought on the matter of individual assignments; perhaps the book The City of Ember contains such scenes which were cut from the movie.
I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but the location of Ember is the draw, so perhaps it's not so bad that there will be no movie sequels.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Birthday Float
This year, my birthday fell on a Wednesday. For most people, this would be an inauspicious time, but I had submitted payroll the day before, and had taken care of the imminent bills, so it seemed a good time to enjoy myself. The weather was less than optimal, despite previously glorious days, so I suspect my dear cousin Zachary or his lovely girlfriend brought the chilly weather with them. My original plan was a boat trip on the lake, since Katie had never visited Lake Tahoe, but that plan hit several logistical logs, so I chose to float down the Truckee River instead. I led my party to the wrong side of the river, where once long ago there was a launching point, so we had to return to the northern bank. The river seemed crowded, although it must be even more so on holidays such as the 4th. The boats on the river contained the expected mix of families and drunken yahoos. I had forgotten how far downstream the River Ranch was, if your craft is drifting glacially. The river was higher than I had anticipated, so many of the shallow parts, which in past years had provided me with formidable obstacles, were drowned. The point of such a trip is relaxation, so relatively little occurred that is worth noting. As we were emerging from the downstream side of one of the wooden bridges that spans the Truckee, two juvenile delinquents dumped a bucket of slightly rancid water on our items stored in the stern of the boat, as well as Zachary. Zachary grabbed the nearest projectiles at hand and hurled them at the brats; he hit both of them, but no adults were nearby, so it's doubtful they learned a lesson.
After we had finished our float, we went to the Blue Agave for a late lunch and a margarita pitcher.
After we had finished our float, we went to the Blue Agave for a late lunch and a margarita pitcher.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The Dog That Came In From The Road
I shall not speak of work today, not because of privacy issues, but because little of interest occurred in the workplace. When Dad and I had stopped at the Dollar Hill 7-11, he for certain unmentionables, I for a coffee that I might proceed straightway to the tasks at hand (namely payroll) once I had arrived at the office, a Husky, big, shaggy, and silent, wandered into the store and casually inspected his surroundings and lay down. We marvelled at this, but the clerk seemed non-chalant. It turned out that the dog was more the store dog than the companion of any particular employee. Such behavior seems to be in the nature of Huskies, who prefer to roam at will and are large enough to spare their owners worry over bear encounters. I heard a tale recently, in which a female Husky left her house each morning, walked north to meet up with her "boyfriends", went south again past her house, and returned when evening was nigh. I suppose each breed has its own predilections.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday Morning Hike
On Saturday morning I went on a hike in Meeks Bay with my brother and Olive, his 7-month-old half-lab, half-heeler. Dad and I had tried to reach the first stream of the trail earlier this summer before his feet gave out, and it's a trail we know well from taking the late springer spaniel along it - he, of course, found the destination incredibly exciting. Olive, however, had not yet grasped the idea of an outdoor activity which did not involve throwing anything, so she bounced along the trail, stopping only to stare at us with genial confusion - this behavior explains, if not excuses, the lack of pictures with this post. When strangers were near, she displayed the peculiar attitude of youngsters, in which bravery extends to a point just before the moment contact. When we reached the stream, which was low from summer evaporation, Olive was more interested in splashing than drinking.
The Meeks Bay trail lies between a waterlogged meadow on the left and a series of stony ridges on the right, leading up to the aptly named Desolation Wilderness. The meadow is a favorite spot for bears seeking berries. On either side of the trail grew clusters of wildflowers, purple and white and blue and yellow, but the soil is not fertile, since it is primarily composed of granite sand, and the clusters were farly widely spaced. Most of the water which finds its way into the valley comes from a cluster of lakes high above, descending via the stream which was our destination.
The Meeks Bay trail lies between a waterlogged meadow on the left and a series of stony ridges on the right, leading up to the aptly named Desolation Wilderness. The meadow is a favorite spot for bears seeking berries. On either side of the trail grew clusters of wildflowers, purple and white and blue and yellow, but the soil is not fertile, since it is primarily composed of granite sand, and the clusters were farly widely spaced. Most of the water which finds its way into the valley comes from a cluster of lakes high above, descending via the stream which was our destination.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Recent Reading: Finding Oz
When I was a child, I read with avidity the Oz books; when I was in college, I read some excellent fiction on the meaning of the Oz books (inevitably, one of them imposed a heavy nad anachronistic homosexual content) and even found some of the non-Oz materials penned by L. Frank Baum (the less said about Alan Moore's Lost Girls, the better) but until recently I had never read a biography of Baum which explored the possible sources from his personal life which may have contributed to the elements in the Wizard of Oz. Schwartz approaches Baum's life as a story itself - an appropriate choice given the way Baum himself understood life - but also elucidates Baum's connections to radical feminism, Theosophism, oil monopolies, snake oil salesmanship, manifest destiny and Native American genocide. Some of these themes appear only in the book, whereas other reminders of Baum's life appear only in the movie. And for the record, I have never found the "all a dream" ending of the movie satisfying. After I had finished the book, I understood the nineteenth-century context and the personal drive of the author of the great American fairytale.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Berchakap di-kelantan
(I apologize for any errors - feel free to correct me)
Hari satu saya berjalan kapal terbang ka-Kentucky di-negeri USA tempat saya berchakap di-sini bahasa Latin chuma sahaja dengan banyak pengajar dari kampong2. Rupa-nya hari di-sini benar panas. Dudok saya sekalian di-rumah tempat dudok musim sekolah orang murid. Orang perempuan kelantan berchakap benar chantek!
Hari satu saya berjalan kapal terbang ka-Kentucky di-negeri USA tempat saya berchakap di-sini bahasa Latin chuma sahaja dengan banyak pengajar dari kampong2. Rupa-nya hari di-sini benar panas. Dudok saya sekalian di-rumah tempat dudok musim sekolah orang murid. Orang perempuan kelantan berchakap benar chantek!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Royaneh 2009
I went up to Royaneh on Wednesday of the first week (Troop 14 spends two weeks at camp). The heat and dust were still familiar. The camp programme now included many new badges, most of which do not have the activity level of traditional “camp” badges - Entrepeneurship, Salesmanship, and Theater were among these. Fourteeners who remember about candy and soda probably realize that some boys already understand Entrepeneurship quite well! The new Trading Post is spacious and has a deck which is eminently suitable for loitering.
On Thursday, the night was bitterly cold, which was either unfortunate or character-building, depending on whether you were a Scout in the Wilderness Survival class or a proponent of the tough-it-out school. It was also skit night, and the troop used one of the skits from Wednesday‘s campfire. Its dark humor worked slightly better in the more intimate setting of Pioneers (the site where the troop stays while at camp) than in the Ralph W Benson Amphitheater.
On Friday, there were the usual panics about unfinished badges, exacerbated by sloth and estival distraction. Some were agape at the notion that Bruce and I required some level of evidence before signing notes. The most notable thing, however, occurred at the Friday (camp-wide) campfire. When the camp staff began to wheel Jumbo on stage, the big screen on which the photos of the week’s activities are projected, they dropped it, and then in the process of fixing it, they dropped poor Jumbo again. the slide show occurred, but I credit its barely perceptible haste to the time lost through Jumbo’s failure to fly.
The breakfast of the first Saturday is always slightly odd, since the camp staff is bidding adieu to the Scouts, even though our troop does not leave. I was rather surprised that our camp task was not to clean Big Egypt, since that’s a favorite task to assign to Troop 14. Big Egypt is the shower house/bathroom between the dining hall and Pioneers, which earned its moniker because the old Big Egypt before its reconstruction once had a trough called the Little Nile - I shall be silent on the composition of that river. The troop split into rough age cohorts: the older Scouts went to the JLT (Junior Leadership Training), while the younger Scouts descended to the parade field to practice Colors. After a game of football to shed some excess energy, the younger group marched up to Scanlon Ridge, where they did some orienteering and the folly of claiming knowledge was shown quite dramatically. A group of Scouts later went down to Roman Plunge (aka the old Canoe Base) for an old-fashioned swim. I am told that there was a Siren from the camp staff down there. Then came the inevitable game of Capture the Flag. The campfire started late, so both I and another were cut from the program, and the Sherlock Holmes never even entered into consideration - it would be nice to find something equally engaging, but slightly shorter.
On Sunday, the Scouts signed up for merit badges and went on cairn hikes. The opening camp campfire (which I had not seen the previous Sunday) had undergone improvements and revisions.
On Monday, the day was unexceptional, and the troop campfire started late, as usual for this session, but the performances therein were superb. The quality of the skits was erratic, but the musical offerings by patrol members were excellent. I’m not sure the contents of House of the Rising Sun are appropriate for a Scout campfire, but the execution was nearly perfect.
I left on Tuesday.
On Thursday, the night was bitterly cold, which was either unfortunate or character-building, depending on whether you were a Scout in the Wilderness Survival class or a proponent of the tough-it-out school. It was also skit night, and the troop used one of the skits from Wednesday‘s campfire. Its dark humor worked slightly better in the more intimate setting of Pioneers (the site where the troop stays while at camp) than in the Ralph W Benson Amphitheater.
On Friday, there were the usual panics about unfinished badges, exacerbated by sloth and estival distraction. Some were agape at the notion that Bruce and I required some level of evidence before signing notes. The most notable thing, however, occurred at the Friday (camp-wide) campfire. When the camp staff began to wheel Jumbo on stage, the big screen on which the photos of the week’s activities are projected, they dropped it, and then in the process of fixing it, they dropped poor Jumbo again. the slide show occurred, but I credit its barely perceptible haste to the time lost through Jumbo’s failure to fly.
The breakfast of the first Saturday is always slightly odd, since the camp staff is bidding adieu to the Scouts, even though our troop does not leave. I was rather surprised that our camp task was not to clean Big Egypt, since that’s a favorite task to assign to Troop 14. Big Egypt is the shower house/bathroom between the dining hall and Pioneers, which earned its moniker because the old Big Egypt before its reconstruction once had a trough called the Little Nile - I shall be silent on the composition of that river. The troop split into rough age cohorts: the older Scouts went to the JLT (Junior Leadership Training), while the younger Scouts descended to the parade field to practice Colors. After a game of football to shed some excess energy, the younger group marched up to Scanlon Ridge, where they did some orienteering and the folly of claiming knowledge was shown quite dramatically. A group of Scouts later went down to Roman Plunge (aka the old Canoe Base) for an old-fashioned swim. I am told that there was a Siren from the camp staff down there. Then came the inevitable game of Capture the Flag. The campfire started late, so both I and another were cut from the program, and the Sherlock Holmes never even entered into consideration - it would be nice to find something equally engaging, but slightly shorter.
On Sunday, the Scouts signed up for merit badges and went on cairn hikes. The opening camp campfire (which I had not seen the previous Sunday) had undergone improvements and revisions.
On Monday, the day was unexceptional, and the troop campfire started late, as usual for this session, but the performances therein were superb. The quality of the skits was erratic, but the musical offerings by patrol members were excellent. I’m not sure the contents of House of the Rising Sun are appropriate for a Scout campfire, but the execution was nearly perfect.
I left on Tuesday.
Monday, June 15, 2009
An Attempt At Malay Composition
Saya dudok di-rumah yang besar di-tepi mata ayer yang besar lagi tawar(1) nama-nya Tahoe. Dia di-antara gunong Sierra Nevada. Rumah di-atas kebun senang (2) tempat saya lari ka-sana ka-mana masa saya budak. Dahulu lari, sekarang ta’ senang. Kerja di-negeri nama-nya Tahoe City. Sa-malam keluar dengan bapa ka-pekan ka-kedai tempat beli makan minum (3) beli buah pisang roti sa-keping sa-peti susu. Sudah pulang rumah, simpan.
(1) “lake”- “big freshwater spring” is the closest I could do
(2) “vacation resort”
(3) “grocery store” – ‘pasar’ seemed too broad.
(1) “lake”- “big freshwater spring” is the closest I could do
(2) “vacation resort”
(3) “grocery store” – ‘pasar’ seemed too broad.
Sic Semper Tyrannis (No, I Don’t Know How To Say It In Korean)
I have been following with the interest the events of the tense succession crisis in North Korea. Kim Jong Il, “the Dear Leader”, has appointed his younger son, Kim Jong Un, as “the Brilliant Comrade”, passing over the elder son, whose name I do not recall seeing. I do know, however, that there is speculation that the elder son was passed over for the dubious honor of leadership of North Korea because he attempted to enter Japanese Disneyland with a fake passport. Such disgraceful behavior is reminiscent of the Athenian suitor for the daughter of the tyrant in Corinth, who drunkenly danced away his chance at her hand and then brazenly claimed he had no regrets. Kim Jong Un’s title as “Comrade”, rather than “Leader”, does not have a precedent in the previous transfer of power; in that case, the government announced the change without any previous suggestion of the ailing health or recent demise of “the Great Leader”. The elevation of “Comrade” to the meaning of “Crown Prince” (the final blow to a title founded in radical egalitarianism) suggests that the Dear Leader is still alive, but incapacitated. How much true power the Brilliant Comrade will wield if and when he becomes the Brilliant Leader is a vexing question, in light of the nuclear tests and the characteristics of the third generations of Kim tyrants. I should pause to explain that my Classical training has taught me to use “tyrant” as a technical political term (rather than a near generic term of political abuse), which indicates a “bad” monarchy, one which has no cultural or historical legitimacy in the country in which it establishes itself. In general, the Greek tyrannies began with an ambitious man who rallied his countrymen under the banner of improving their condition, who overthrew the current government, and who (if fortunate enough to avoid assassination) passed his rule onto his son. Most Greek tyrannies collapsed in the second generation; those which survived did so because they had transformed into pseudo-monarchies. These states remained pseudo-monarchies because they lacked the clear line of succession which (most) monarchies possessed. The third generation was the last for the tyrannical dynasties. Even the Syracusan tyranny, which approached most closely the ideal of monarchy, fell in the third generation, only to be re-established about a century later, and those latter tyrants claimed a descent from the former in imitation of monarchy.
The presence of two brothers in the rising generation is not reassuring. Even in monarchies which had a clear succession, there was often much tension between the Crown Prince and his younger brothers, such as the sons of William the Conqueror, or the Emperor Vespasian; in monarchies which lacked this tradition, such as the Ottoman Empire and the empire of the Mongol Horde, fratricide was a common occurance. A few occurances of happy balance have existed, such as the harmony between Emperor Charles V and his brother, but for the most part history and legend record conflicts such as that of Romulus and Remus, Caracalla and Geta, and the sons of Solomon, allegedly the “wisest” king of all history. Even if the brothers themselves do not seek to quarrel, the internal parties of the state (and they always exist) now have the opportunity to support their own candidate and undermine that of their rival, whereas a lone son can be a puppet in equal measure, but does not provide the same opportunity.
In this age, inimical to the establishment of new pseudo-monarchies and not exactly friendly to the existing established monarchies, I would not expect that the Kim tyranny will survive a third generation. How much the eventual collapse will damage the world, given North Korea’s posturing, remains to be seen.
The presence of two brothers in the rising generation is not reassuring. Even in monarchies which had a clear succession, there was often much tension between the Crown Prince and his younger brothers, such as the sons of William the Conqueror, or the Emperor Vespasian; in monarchies which lacked this tradition, such as the Ottoman Empire and the empire of the Mongol Horde, fratricide was a common occurance. A few occurances of happy balance have existed, such as the harmony between Emperor Charles V and his brother, but for the most part history and legend record conflicts such as that of Romulus and Remus, Caracalla and Geta, and the sons of Solomon, allegedly the “wisest” king of all history. Even if the brothers themselves do not seek to quarrel, the internal parties of the state (and they always exist) now have the opportunity to support their own candidate and undermine that of their rival, whereas a lone son can be a puppet in equal measure, but does not provide the same opportunity.
In this age, inimical to the establishment of new pseudo-monarchies and not exactly friendly to the existing established monarchies, I would not expect that the Kim tyranny will survive a third generation. How much the eventual collapse will damage the world, given North Korea’s posturing, remains to be seen.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Canoe Training 2009
On Saturday, June 7, the troop went on its annual Canoe Training outing. This was a single day outing, unlike previous years.. Originally, we had been scheduled to go on the Canoe Training this weekend, and the Whitewater Trip earlier, which everybody loves, but sufficient volume at Cash Creek is dependent on the release of water from Clear Lake, and that release is dependent on the irrigation schedule of the Valley; apparently the water flow of California is entirely artificial (Charlie Johnck, hydrologist, might be able to enlighten me). After a great deal of schedule changes, including the cancellation of the earlier date due to rain, we ended up back on the original date, but we could only get one day. I will say, however, that the ranger at Tam-O-Rancho is a lot more personable than the old ranger at Royaneh.
We had no staff, so The World’s Best Patrol Leader (I can’t use real names, obviously) took point and sent two Scouts up the (unconventional) trail to scout - unfortunately, at one of the young men had a rather impulsive character and neither returned in a timely fashion. The troop went down to the lake by the usual way and found the “scouts” already there. This lake is small and artificial, created by an permanent earthen dam. There were more weeds than usual, part of which we removed my by hand.
The dock was on the far side of the lake; its square components were tied together in a straight line, with the exception of the final one, whose placement on the side provided a larger platform on which to take the first step from the bank. Some of the older guys marched counter-clockwise along the banks of the lake in order to paddle the dock across. At first, the boys made headway, but it became clear that something was restraining the rather awkwardly shaped dock-boat. It was clear also that the crew of this “craft” was not composed of crew members. Eventually, the anchor was located, although half sank when a certain person detached it. The new placement of the dock almost blocked the shallow basin from the deeper part of the lake.
Once the set up had been completed, the Old Man administered the swim tests and deliberately if not maliciously mangled some names, while I climbed into the lookout post. Only one boy expressed reluctance, and fortunately he tried and won in the end; to spend the entire day on the shore while all the other boys were in the canoes would be extremely boring and frustrating!
Although I had to do paperwork for the Court of Honor (is it that hard to mark down who is present?), an enlightening experience in distinguishing Goofuses and Gallants and the inconvenience of senary percentages, the boys were busy on the lake. The halving (or greater) of the time for practicing strokes and steering diminished the final competence of the candidates for the merit badge. A significant winnowing factor, as usual, was the swamping and righting of a canoe. It is remarkably difficult to swamp your own canoe deliberately (probably a self-preservation trait), but once you achieve the intentional sabotage, the operation of righting the craft presents grave difficulties. There is no support form below, so the only power comes from sufficient upper body strength, which is an absolute division: either it is enough, or it is not. Many Fourteeners have failed in their first year of Canoe Training, only to succeed in the second.
Since all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, there was a half-hour of free time on the water, during which it seemed that half the canoes were sunk (this doesn’t mean they went to the bottom of the lake, since they were still buoyant). The troop dads provided a feast of grilled hot dogs and chips, in addition to largely ignored fruit) before we changed and marched back to the cars.
We had no staff, so The World’s Best Patrol Leader (I can’t use real names, obviously) took point and sent two Scouts up the (unconventional) trail to scout - unfortunately, at one of the young men had a rather impulsive character and neither returned in a timely fashion. The troop went down to the lake by the usual way and found the “scouts” already there. This lake is small and artificial, created by an permanent earthen dam. There were more weeds than usual, part of which we removed my by hand.
The dock was on the far side of the lake; its square components were tied together in a straight line, with the exception of the final one, whose placement on the side provided a larger platform on which to take the first step from the bank. Some of the older guys marched counter-clockwise along the banks of the lake in order to paddle the dock across. At first, the boys made headway, but it became clear that something was restraining the rather awkwardly shaped dock-boat. It was clear also that the crew of this “craft” was not composed of crew members. Eventually, the anchor was located, although half sank when a certain person detached it. The new placement of the dock almost blocked the shallow basin from the deeper part of the lake.
Once the set up had been completed, the Old Man administered the swim tests and deliberately if not maliciously mangled some names, while I climbed into the lookout post. Only one boy expressed reluctance, and fortunately he tried and won in the end; to spend the entire day on the shore while all the other boys were in the canoes would be extremely boring and frustrating!
Although I had to do paperwork for the Court of Honor (is it that hard to mark down who is present?), an enlightening experience in distinguishing Goofuses and Gallants and the inconvenience of senary percentages, the boys were busy on the lake. The halving (or greater) of the time for practicing strokes and steering diminished the final competence of the candidates for the merit badge. A significant winnowing factor, as usual, was the swamping and righting of a canoe. It is remarkably difficult to swamp your own canoe deliberately (probably a self-preservation trait), but once you achieve the intentional sabotage, the operation of righting the craft presents grave difficulties. There is no support form below, so the only power comes from sufficient upper body strength, which is an absolute division: either it is enough, or it is not. Many Fourteeners have failed in their first year of Canoe Training, only to succeed in the second.
Since all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, there was a half-hour of free time on the water, during which it seemed that half the canoes were sunk (this doesn’t mean they went to the bottom of the lake, since they were still buoyant). The troop dads provided a feast of grilled hot dogs and chips, in addition to largely ignored fruit) before we changed and marched back to the cars.
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