new house

If you plan on keeping up with this at all, please go to

http://inhumanist.wordpress.com

A great line from Eli Stone:

"Don't backseat deify."

One more day!

Our Thanksgiving break begins Wednesday at noon after parent-teacher conferences. We're excited, though our students have no clue why they're getting half a week off. Apparently the story of Squanto and the friendly Pilgrims didn't make it back over the pond.

Is grave-robbing okay if you're starving?

Here's a follow-up article about the tipping of the trailer. This was the most interesting bit, to me:

Veteran journalist Al Cross, director of the Institute of Rural Journalism and Community Issues, said it's tough for small towns to be in the spotlight, especially in Kentucky.

"As a state, we have something of an inferiority complex," said Cross. And we might have good reason, he said. "We are one of two states that can be the easy object of late-night commentary." In other words it's pretty easy for Jay Leno or David Letterman to take an offbeat story, insert a backwoods stereotype and get an easy laugh. (The other state would be West Virginia, he said, because other poor, rural states farther south more readily bring up race issues, making the laughs more complicated.)

So the prickly feelings when folks start chattering about something that happens at home, he said, "all goes back to the feeling of being picked on."

"Sometimes rural places feel like they are being looked down on by urbanites and suburbanites," he said.

I miss Kentucky

I love seeing stories like this on the evening news:

"Sherriff's order destroys home"

The gist of it is that a mobile home was being moved with a tractor that broke down and blocked traffic for hours. The local sherriff stepped in and had two other tractors ram it to get it off the road, essentially desroying it. My favorite bit:

Barton, and the extended web of friends and family who lived with her, claim authorities didn't give them time to clear out a house full of furniture, much less clothing and the things that can't be replaced such as pictures, favorite toys and baseball card collections. [Extended web? Is this like Charlotte?]

Barton's boyfriend, Alan Gaunce, no relation to Jim [whose front yard the trailer now sits in], said somebody — he's not sure who — told him he'd be shot if he didn't get out of the trailer before it was toppled. Barton, a grandma at 35 with gold streaks in red hair, tearfully contends that Nicholas County Sheriff Dick Garrett "showed no respect for my home" when he ultimately ordered two tractors to ram the thing and set it on its side. [Sure he isn't related. A grandma at 35? Holy crap!]

On the other hand, Garrett, a wiry chain-smoker who ran for re-election with the slogan of "More 'Dick' in 2006," maintains that anybody who thinks it's a fine plan to pay somebody $200 to move their 25-year-old home, all their belongings, and a passel of pets with a farm tractor can't exactly complain when things go wrong. [I would've voted for that slogan.]

"I know I wouldn't pay somebody $200 to move my house and everything in it," said Garrett, noting that the group didn't have a required permit or escort. Basically, he said, he could have arrested the lot of them: Barton, her brood and the hauler. The charge, he said: "being ignorant." [My favorite line in the whole thing.]

To be fair, the partial closing of U.S. 68 for some nine hours on a Friday night is pretty major in Nicholas County, where Garrett Tuesday was reviewing a Mayberry-like constituent call concerning a thwarted attempt to snatch a fresh cherry pie from a kitchen. [What the...? Are you serious?]

He said he did all he could think of to salvage the mobile home, but had to get the road clear. "It's a federal highway," said Garrett, who stood in the rain from roughly 4:30 p.m. Friday until 2 a.m. directing traffic with the rest of his force, a single deputy. ["His force" doesn't seem like the best word to describe one person!]

About 1½ miles into the move, the tires popped off. Sheriff Garrett said he's heard that somebody warned the group the tires would be loose and they should stop the move. He said Barton insisted on going ahead. [This is a classic hillbilly story. "The tars done popped off again, paw!"]

The family, a mishmash of real kin and unofficially adopted kids, teens and young adults, are crammed into a smaller trailer while Barton tries to sort through it all. [Kin? KIN? What the hell kind of journalist uses the word 'kin?' Also, where did these 'unofficially adopted kids' come from? Are they just wandering around the countryside in bands?]

Jim Gaunce, an amiable great-grandfather, watched most of it unfold from his rocker in a sunny living room with windows so spotless birds frequently thud into the glass while trying to fly through. [What the hell is the purpose of this!]

Truly, this is my favorite news story in a while.

Not forgotten.

It boggles my mind that there are more than 6 billion consciousnesses out there who are simultaneously thinking 'I.'

Sometimes I just look at MSLF and wonder how her eyes see me and her ears hear my voice.

I also wonder, rather narcissistically, how often my face or voice has registered in someone's mind and created a thought which is catalogued in their mind and then quickly moved to the darkest and remotest corner of their memory. I also realize I have a subject-verb disagreement in that sentence, and I don't care.

These are things which I have too much time to think about lying in bed waiting to fall asleep.

The Nirvana baby is 17. Wow. What the hell kind of milestones do we use these days?

Trainspotting - The Full Toilet Scene.

This was one of my favorite films in high school.

I just read Aaron's entry about the election, and I feel the need to respond.

I truly wish there were a way to spread this around. Aaron states quite eloquently the simple truths about what a truly Xian approach to this should be, something which I doubt will be stated from pulpits around the nation on Sunday. I truly hate the schism that exists (or, more accurately, is perceived) between the Democratic party and Xians. Yes, that's a sweeping generalization which could be rebutted in a moment, but there is a general perception that the two are not compatible.

Obama does need all the prayer and support he can get. I don't agree with the tone of resignation in Aaron's call to be a "light" to those who voted Democrat, but support need not mean blind loyalty (one problem I had with Obama's rise to power). This should be a unifying election, not a schismatic one.

When it comes to money, I definitely tend toward the socialist side, and I value the Xian groups who take the "follower of Jesus" to the level of living as he did. Of course I'm not suggesting the Xian community become a nonprofit community, but I will never be able to justify (nor understand those who try) a gospel of prosperity. If you are one of those making more than $250K, assume some civic (human) responsibility and help others. If you don't want your money going to fund a baseless war, express that through your vote. I'm fully aware of the Bible's mention of not concerning yourself about material wealth for the future or for your daily needs because god will provide, but I think sometimes people of the best intentions become caught up in the rush of materialism and lose track of the line between "need" and "desire."

I could not agree more about the globalism of the Xian church, and I think some of that ties into the point above.

Finally, I'm glad to hear Aaron's pragmatic and meaningful response to the issue of abortion. It's amazing to me that people will vote in response to an issue which in all likelihood does not affect them, blind to the paradoxes which may be present. Often the same people who will vote against abortion will vote (by voting for the same candidate) for the continuation or extension of aggression which will lead to equal "atrocities" against human life. It's a disconnect which baffles me, and while my stand on abortion is still developing, I appreciate Aaron's reflection that the issue is not one which will be (or should be) resolved in a court. Both sides must be willing to sit down and talk, not bomb or antagonize.

If I've misrepresented anything, I apologize.

Numa Numa

This has brought me hours of joy today.

hot topics

I read an article yesterday about an effigy of Sarah Palin hung outside the home of a California resident. There was nothing described as "outrage"; it was more of a "tsk-tsk, how mundane" sort of reaction.

An effigy of Obama was hung on the University of Kentucky campus. Outrage ensued.

Here are some editorialized excerpts from the Lexington Herald-Leader article (all emphasis and comments obviously mine):

Hundreds of students and several Democratic officials expressed outrage and embarrassment Wednesday after an effigy of Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama was found hanging from a tree early Wednesday on the University of
Kentucky campus.

The racist act was emphatically rejected by hundreds of students and community leaders attending a quickly-called campus forum to discuss racial issues Wednesday evening. [Racism is the albatross of the US, I think, but I also think we're far too quick to throw the epithet of 'racist' at someone. Of course this act was asinine, but to assume it is fundamentally racist and not ideological (or political) is, I believe, indicative of how 'stuck' we are in the process of moving on.]

"Our time at this university is too short to sit idly by and allow these things to continue," said Tyler Montell, president of UK's student government association. "This is not a concern of any single race. Today, every student is a victim. Every member of our student body must now become part of a greater change."

Meanwhile, UK police and the Secret Service are asking for the public's help in finding who hung the effigy — which wore an Obama mask and had a noose around its neck — in a tree near the Rose Street parking garage... [The feds are in it. I wonder what would have happened if he had been impaled or decapitated? Does a different 'death' make it less racist? Are lynchings the only racist murder?]

Democrats from Gov. Steve Beshear to Lexington Mayor Jim Newberry decried the effigy on Wednesday and apologized to Obama. [Are you kidding me? Apologizing?]

"This was not political speech," Beshear said. "It was simply hate. It was profoundly wrong and deeply offensive. This incident does not reflect who we are as a flagship institution of higher learning or a Commonwealth." [Welcome to Kentucky. And check out Palin as President]

Newberry released a letter late Wednesday addressed to Obama that apologized on behalf of the citizens of Lexington for the act.

"I apologize to you, your family and your supporters," Newberry wrote in the letter... [Dear Mr. Obama: I am so sorry. I'm a big fan of yours. Please don't take me off your Xmas letter mailing list, sir, please, I beg you. It was the hillbillies, I swear! I think you're hot. Love, Jim Newberry]

.. [Someobdy with a stupid job title] pointed to a recent Herald-Leader/WKYT Kentucky Poll in which 12 percent of respondents said they are less likely to vote for Obama because he would be the first black president. Only five percent said Obama's skin color made them more likely to vote for him while 83 percent said Obama's race didn't affect their vote... [So white people are 7% more racist than black people. With a margin of error of +/- 3, that's pretty balanced...]

[UK President] Todd pledged to find the culprit in a written e-mail he sent to the campus just after noon.

"Such acts will not be tolerated. Those found responsible will be subject to the full force of university, state, and federal rules and regulations," Todd said.... [The full force of the university: We will cancel all of your CAFETERIA CREDIT! That's right, you racist fucktard: no food for you! You know what else? We'll schedule you to have all the 8 AM classes for the rest of your college life! Muahahahaha! Do you see what happens when you mess with intellectual freedom?]

Ed Donovan, a spokesman for the Secret Service, confirmed that the federal agency charged with protecting presidents and presidential candidates had been notified and were working with UK police to determine who was responsible.

"We take any threat against any of our protectees very seriously," Donovan said. [Remember this line and keep reading...]

In West Hollywood, Calif., authorities on Wednesday were looking into a Halloween display depicting a mannequin of GOP vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin hanging from a noose. The display also displayed her running mate, John McCain, surrounded by fake flames. [Now read this article about the 'Halloween fun' and 'art' in Hollywood.]

Kidnapping Jesus. Wow.

int'l books to look up. this is for myself because i can't find a piece of paper on which to write...

Britain
Jonathan Coe, The Rotters' Club and The House of Sleep

Russia
Victor Pelevin, The Sacred Book of Werewolf and Buddha's Little Finger
Boris Akunin, The Winter Queen
Ludmila Ulitskaya, The Funeral Party

Albania
Ismail Kadare, The Three-Arched Bridge and Spring Flowers, Spring Frost (Read Excerpt)

Hungary
Imre Kertesz, Fateless, The Pathseeker (Read Excerpt)

Portugal
Antonio Lobo Antunes, What Can I Do When Everything's on Fire?

Norway
Per Petterson, Out Stealing Horses

Egypt
Naguib Mahfouz, The Thief and the Dogs (Read Excerpt)
Muhammad Yusuf Quayd, War in the Land of Egypt
Alaa Al Aswany, The Yacoubian Building

Japan
Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Mexico
Carlos Fuentes, The Death of Artemio Cruz

I was catching up on Slate.com for the first time since we'd left (I'd actually forgotten about it) and read an interesting article about what analogy to use to describe English. The final paragraph is dangerously near to being a non sequitir, but I loved it:

So does it make sense to get excited about English at all? Yes, and if you don't believe me, watch The Wire, if you haven't already. No book I've read in years comes close to the HBO series for the sense of exuberance it gave me about the English language. The Wire's rendering of English in the Baltimore ghetto inspired more conversations about language with nonlinguists than I have ever had. In their best moments, this group of books achieve what the dialogue on The Wire did in every episode: They crack the tight seal between the thoughts you have and the words you choose to express them. At their most inspired, they convey the immensity of the animal in space and time, giving you not just the idea but the feeling that English is not really your language; you are merely its speaker.

Priscilla Ahn - Dream (Official Video)

I heard this on a tv show recently and enjoyed it. I find interesting the degree to which tv has become a disseminator of music which once would have been entirely unknown outside of a particular geographic and musical region. My mind isn't yet made up as to how I feel about it, but I do know it has given me some great music. In which case I must ask myself, does the provenance of the music have anything to do with my enjoyment of it?

If people get a chance, could you go to my test WordPress blog and leave a comment on either that blog or this one about whether you think I should emigrate from Blogger to WordPress?

email forward

I received this email forward from a former student. He wasn't joking. Jesus would be rolling over in his grave if he saw this. Wait... What?

A highlight is the little bit of advertising Jesus leaves behind when he wanders through your computer (aka hacks you): stylelist blog, baby!

HE ARRIVED THIS MORNING, WE HAD PRAYER, SPENT SOME TIME JUST TALKING, and HE HELD ME FOR A WHILE BECAUSE I WAS HAVING A BAD MORNING. THEN, HE WAS ON HIS WAY TO YOUR PLACE.



When He gets to your PC, escort Him to the next stop. Please don't allow Him to sleep on your PC. The message He is carrying is very important and needs to go around. Ma y God bless you as you do this - AMEN.

Walking for Jesus!
Say a prayer, then pass Him on to bless others. Our assignment is to love and spread the gospel throughout the world.
Have a blessed day and touch somebody's life today! I just did. He's walking around the world - via e-mail!!
Pass it on, so He can get there.

When you forward, put where He left in the subject box.

---

Psssst...Have you heard the news? There's a new fashion blog, plus the latest fall trends and hair styles at StyleList.com.

So what I get out of this is that

• Jesus wakes people up in the morning,
• Jesus is a snuggle bunny,
  
• Jesus doesn't spend much time with one person,
  
• I'm supposed to serve as an escort for Jesus
• but can't let him spend the night (sleep on my PC?),
• and Jesus has joined the digital age and is all about cyber.
  

Oh, and from the picture I gather that Jesus is into long walks on the beach.

Who comes up with this shit? I'm offended for intelligent Xians everywhere!

I really do hate Sean Hannity. His popularity is as frightening as--or worse than--the mania surrounding Obama.

I remember that my dad used to listen to Rush Limbaugh in the car, and I actually remember my progression from idolizing to boredom to slight perplexity to befuddlement to outrage and finally to bewilderment that I ever idolized.

This is where I fall on the chart. I actually think I'm more leftist than Gandhi and more libertarian than the Dalai Lama.

Take the test and see what you are:

Political Compass

This description of a coffee bar from an article about Peter Sarsgaard is spot-on.

It's crowded with 30-somethings in carefully rumpled hair, funky glasses, sleek laptops, expensive jeans and oh-so-cool graphic T-shirts. The flavor of the day seems to be smug.

The new season of Heroes is really bad. I mean really bad. Did I still watch it instead of doing work?

Today is one of those days I hate being a teacher. My class of low-level ESL went from 12--already pushing the boundary of effectiveness--to 16. To make it more interesting, the 4 new students are 6th graders.

I miss high school.

I had one of those rare moments when a childhood memory rushes back to me. I was terrified by the Don Knotts film The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. The bloody fingerprints on the organ keys made me lie awake at night fighting the urge to yell for my mom, an urge I would struggle with for what seemed hours but was probably minutes. I'm pretty sure my mom was annoyed by the whole thing.

grammarian god

I love this website that uses the Christian worldview to justify the teaching of grammar.

Best quotes:

Grammar, or how to mechanically use the gift of the written word, is imperative for the Christian. Grammar enables the Bible to be read with a better understanding as well as gaining the self-discipline of studying God's Law-Word. This very gift allows us to talk with God (i.e., pray). It empowers God's people to communicate the Good News to others as we have been commanded.

That takes out most CoGH preachers, street preachers, and the vast majority of the Xian kingdom on Earth.

God is orderly and consistent applying His Law-Word to all parts of the universe. Nothing is too big or too small for Him. He is sovereign over all and no one is above Him. Grammar reflects one small piece of God's consistency and orderliness. The parts of speech, for example, are true for those during ancient civilizations, the middle ages, the Great Reformation, today and tomorrow. It follows basic rules that may be applied to an endless variety of situations (e.g., suffixes, prefixes, punctuation, etc.). Whether or not the language is American or German, French, Hungarian, Welsh, Spanish, etc., grammar helps to decipher what is being stated.

Except for the exceptions. 'I' before 'e' except after 'c.' Except in 'weird.' Oh, no! If that's not true, then what other exceptions are there? 'Suffer the little children to come unto me. Except for the ugly children.'

God and His word are good. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He will not change, but can be relied upon and be trusted. Past, present and future participles is another small demonstration of our Lord's consistancy. Also, in any piece of writing, there is a beginning, middle and end. All of these parts of writing consist of words with grammar being essential to each aspect.

Are you fucking kidding me? If grammar is so important, isn't spelling as well? Are we sure it's not supposed to be 'Thou shall not kilt'? I totally agree with that one! Also, is this person using language as an analogy for god's immutability? So if I were to say that Xians should be gay for god, this person would have no issue with that?

Grammar Gives Christians the Tools to Protect the Weak from Cheats and Swinders... [What's a 'swinder'?]

An understanding of grammar assists the Christian in helping to protect and defend the weak and helpless (e.g., the unborn, babies, children, the agéd, infirm, mentally ill, etc.). It is essential in helping to secure justice for those that have been civilly and/or criminally wronged. George Mason's Bill of Rights and Patrick Henry's Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death speech are good examples of working to ensure God's Law-Word remain in the civil laws of a nation. These important works, however, would not be possible without learning how grammar applies to sentences, essays, papers, documents, laws, etc. Grammar helps Christians by securing laws to protect private property of the poor, humble, and middle class from those that push redistribution of wealth schemes, socialism, fascism, etc.

Yes, and god is really pissed that those stupid founding fathers fucked up the grammar on the first two amendments so much. Oh, and if you happen to say a prayer along the lines of "God, please help those poor, starving children in Africa who don't got no food to fill their bellies up," he can't get past the grammar to the content. Maybe Bono needs to embark on a 'ONE world united for grammar' campaign to help Africa.

This has been my favorite find in quite some time.

A little sad to hear about the death of one of Pink Floyd's members.

I stumbled upon the movie poster for an Israeli film called Forgiveness, and I was struck by the poster. I can't find a very large version of the poster, but I did find this version of the photograph.

I don't know what to do with Raptor Jesus. We truly are a nihilistic society.

I feel negligent. There are so many things happening and so many thoughts to put down, I sometimes forget that I have this outlet opportunity where I don't necessarily have to censor my thoughts on it all.

Greece is a 3rd world nation. It's the backwoods cousin of Western Europe, the cousin that perforce gets included in family reunions but sits alone at the picnic table.

Also, mopeds are the devil. I hate them now.

You have GOT to be kidding me! P. Diddy/Puffy Combs/Sean Combs/Toolschlobber has to be one of the most egocentric people breathing. Forget the little people who are starving because oil prices are inflating the food market; it's all about the utter horror of flying commercial.

The horror!

lunch

lunch
Originally uploaded by dwain.

Grilled octopus is absolutely scrumptious, especially when it's freshly caught and hung to dry.

I have stories of adventure to tell, but IKEA finally dropped off our stuff (including the ugliest coffee table ever that we accidentally bought) and there is much cheap, Swedish crap to assemble.

double rainbow

double rainbow
Originally uploaded by dwain.

On the ferry to Aegina.

Greek time

Today was an educational one for us. In the US, 20 minutes is precisely that, and 12 0'clock is precisely that. Not here.

We were supposed to go to IKEA on a charter minibus, and at 4:30, we finally decided to go on our own on the metro. Two people in our group were fined 48 Euros each by the metro employees because they had the wrong kind of tickets (which we all did and which I'm convinced I avoided because I looked sexy in a black tie). We then ran madly through the aisles of IKEA picking out the essentials for a new apartment. The best part was that not a single one of the labels or signs was in English or even in Roman letters. It was, as so many people think it clever to say, "Greek to me."

Our apartment has now been furnished for a relatively cheap 1072 Euros.

We left the hotel at 8:30 and got back at 10:45 this evening.

Met some cool Greek-Aussies from Melbourne on the bus from IKEA (which is by the airport which is in the middle of nowhere).

Were lectured on being there for each other by the HR director.

Must sleep.

at school

It's 3:30 in the morning for the majority of our friends who might be reading this, and I imagine my mom is the only one awake while she works the night shift. (By the way, Mom, we tried calling you at 1:30, but you didn't answer.) It's 10:30 here, and I'm struggling not to lay my head on the desk and sleep. I've slept decently the past two nights, but it takes me till after midnight to actually fall asleep.

After signing our contract last night, Kostas dropped us off at our new place with our English-challenged landlord and left us. Kostas has been a blast to be around, and his English has gotten as much practice as our Greek, though his English is infinitely better than my Hellinika. We decided to try walking to the metro to see what our lives will be like, and of course we got lost. Not terribly, just enough to add about 5 minutes to the walk (should that comma have been a semi-colon?). Here's a map (hopefully) of our house on Metamorfoseos street and our walk to school.


View Larger Map
Need. Sleep.

neglected

I haven't posted here for a bit because I've been posting all thoughts on the other site. This will only be for those crazy things I find when I have time to actually browse the web.

How is everyone who might read this?

Robinson Jeffers

I recently finished a book about the life of Robinson Jeffers and about his poetic journey from mystic to inhumanist. I'm not an ardent enthusiast of all his poetry, but his general view of life is one I admire and share. It's dangerous to read a book about someone you admire, I think, because of the real risk of jostling the pedestal on which you've raised them. The biography I read was certainly informative, but I also think it helped to reinforce the elements of Jeffers' poetry and persona with which I connect, including his weaknesses. 

A few passages that stood out to me:

In the wilderness, where the ties that bind a civilized psyche are loosened, archetypal patterns of behavior reveal themselves and primordial emotions are given free reign (Karman, the author).

"Inhumanism... [is] a shifting of emphasis from man to not-man; the rejection of human solipsism and recognition of the transhuman magnificence." (Jeffers)

Jeffers, like a modern Elijah, had found a God who would answer him in Carmel [where Jeffers lived in California], infusing his sacrifice, his poetry, with fire. 

But which God? Not Yahweh, the God of history, unless you could strip away all the human characteristics attributed to him and recover a sense of his pure and wild power; nor Baal, the god of nature, unless you could expand his provenance to include all that the universe contains... 

According to Jeffers, the God who created the universe is the universe... Individual phenomenon have value, but only the whole is truly important, only the whole endures. Like flowers that live and die, people come into the world and pass away, as do nations, civilizations, species, planets, suns, galaxies, and even universes. Only God remains, enduring "the sum of life's passions."

Our wounded minds lead us to believe that we are more valuable to the universe than we really are.

Jeffers believed our incestuous anthropocentrism leads to mental imbalance. 

"This is a kind of collective onanism, pathetic and ridiculous, or at noblest a tragic incest, and so I have represented it."

Though Christianity has helped give Western civilization its restless, dynamic character, Jeffers believed that it has done far more harm than good. As a way of life, it increases rather than diminishes psychological disturbance, especially insofar as the bloody image of a crucifixion is concerned. It separates people from the world in which they live by focusing there attention on the world to come. And it catches people in a net of self-concern. Based on a mistaken notion of love, one that encourages preoccupation with one's self and one's fellowmen, and on a mistaken belief that where there is a God who cares for people (enough to appear on earth as one), Christianity  deludes its followers into thinking that humans are the reason and object of creation. 

"I think it is our privilege and felicity to love God for his beauty, without claiming or expecting love from him. We are not important to him, but he to us."

Originally uploaded by dwain.

Had great fun trying to get photos like this.

Originally uploaded by dwain.

Cook's Forest in central PA was a treasure trove of shrooms.

legalism
Originally uploaded by dwain.

I love this sign. Especially rules #1, 2, and 5.

small words

We spent this past week at a cabin in a state park in central Pennsylvania with my family. One would expect a cabin in a state park to be quiet and secluded and not, for example, across the road from a go-kart track with bumper boats. There were at least 6 separate "fun centers" in and around this beautiful state park with old growth hemlocks and white pines. Embarrassing. And I played minigolf at 3 of them. 

I also dreamt I was in an episode of "Law and Order: SVU" in which Batman fomented the rise of a female imitator who had been assaulted when she was young. He also played matchmaker with her and some guy by playing romantic music and floating a pink dress from a tree while his protege was chasing down crooks. To wrap up the episode--which featured Mariska Hargitay for 3 seconds--there was a "the more you know moment" from a politician who was in the dream who spoke sincerely to the camera while wearing a pink nightie. He told us about--I have no idea where this shit comes from--his "unwavering support in the Senate for the required installation of adamantine fire escapes." Adamantine? What the hell?

Michael Phelps just won his 8th. Exciting to watch. 

Tomorrow morning will be my last church service until at least December. I feel like I should join AA. 

I had an epiphany while in the cabin with walls that didn't reach the ceiling: being around family is bad for your personality. 

mushrooms

mushrooms
Originally uploaded by dwain.

Cloud Cult - When Water Comes to Life

Something about this song has captured my interest. I think it's the mysticism of the lyrics more than the music, though the music is certainly unique.

church

Whenever I visit, I always go to church. Some battles aren't worth the losses that would ensue, and this is one I've chosen to lose. Unfortunately, each loss makes the next time I go to church an even more painful experience. I was thinking, on the way home, that if I were to contradict anyone in church I would be told "Listening is a sign of wisdom, and if you listen you'll learn." It's a valid argument, of course, and there's great benefit in listening before shooting off your mouth. However, I was forced to listen from when I was born until Asbury College kicked me out for too many chapel skips. I've never had anyone actually sit and listen to my complaints without responding and trying to convince me. I need someone just to listen to the issues I have. 

Whenever I go to church, I amuse myself by reading the bible in search of interesting passages. Whether or not the audience believes it, I don't go in search of controversial or damning passages, but nearly each time I come up with something which stands in striking contradiction to modern Xian culture. Today I chose at random a book of the bible to read during church. Apparently my early training served me well because I chose one of the shortest books, Philemon. It took about 2 minutes to read. Here are some thoughts. 

Why is this in the bible? Was Paul gay? Was his "thorn in the flesh" a visual analogy? How can Xianity cherish as its founder--because that's really what Paul is--a man who in essence condones slavery? Also, Paul was, in M's words, "a manipulative bitch." The phrasing he uses in this letter is the simplest form of manipulation ever: "I'm asking this as a favor and you can say no (but you owe me your soul)." 

From Philemon I moved to 2 Corinthians. Chapter 10 of the book is Paul's defense of his position as CEO (Chief Ecumenical Officer) and is another classic example of manipulation. What an arrogant prick! Then there's 1 Corinthians 11 and its cultural rules about men and women's roles in society and in church. Utterly asinine.

The pastor at my parents' church is in his 50s or 60s and is as country as it comes. That's not to say he's not intelligent--the stereotype--because he's quite intelligent behind the speech. Today he ran about 20 minutes over--my spirit and stomach rebelled--and lost his flock. It really struck me how similar a teacher's job is to a preacher's and how many of the same manipulations they use. We both use stories to try and make our information real to the audience, and we both have to smack the audience around to get their attention. 

A preacher is also like a literary academic: most of his/her (Wendie) job is about being creative with the scant source material you're given (Philemon). I shudder to imagine how many messages have been preached about that abominably worthless page.  

I'm certain that I've had pseudo-interesting things to blog about, but it takes so much energy to sit and write them, I don't. 

We leave the country in 12 days (including today). The part about moving overseas nobody tells you about--and I know Chris can attest to this--because it deglamorizes the whole thing is the packing. You're not packing one time for one destination; you're packing to store and to take. Will we need to buy pots and pans when we get there, or would it be cheaper to take our own? Should we wait to buy an iron, or should we just take it now? What clothes will we need and when? We're each allowed two 50 lb. bags. Ever tried to squeeze your life into 100 lbs.? (Yes, says Chris.) It's actually more like 92-96 lbs. because any suitcase worth a damn is going to weigh a bit. All my clothes are in a suitcase, and they're starting to smell a little funky. I'm going to be ironing out my clothes for a week when we get there. 

Photoshop CS3 is a wonderful thing. If only I understood it.

It's a pity the vampire bats that have been killing the Warao in Venezuela don't all latch on to Chavez. I think he's my least-favorite world leader because he's such a blatant idiot and liar. 

Worth1000.com

About once a month I go through this web site and find some beauties. 

800th post

A few years ago, I wrote a creative fiction piece about an experience in a coffee shop. It should have begun with an homage line about "in my younger and more vulnerable years" I was fascinated and in awe of coffee shops. There was an aura of academia about them, of intellectualism and freedom from the box in which the rest of world lived. I considered coffee shops to be places where people met to subvert the dominant paradigm. The people didn't care about what clothes they wore (but not in a basement-dwelling dweeb kind of way) and lived in abandon. There is a coffee shop in Lexington called Common Grounds--a clever name is a must for a coffee shop--to which I used to go quite often with my non-coffee drinking friends. I was the cool one who sat about waiting to fall into a conversation about Camus and Rossetti's influence on Jeffers and the impossibility of finding meaning in Palahniuk's works. I never fell into one. 

It was all bullshit. The people around me were talking about People magazine, the latest party, sports, sex, getting drunk. I've had better conversations at a dive bar. I was so crushed by this realization that my fascination and admiration turned quite quickly into contempt and nearly hatred. 

The piece I wrote for the class detailed the specific moment when the turn happened. It wasn't the best piece, to be honest. It had a strong beginning in which I described each little detail of the place which drew me in: the creaky wooden floors, the myriad chairs, the varied couches, the vintage t-shirts, the singer-songwriter soundtrack, and of course the smell of the coffee and intellect. From there, I think I described what happened after I ordered my overpriced drink and began to eavesdrop on the conversations. Again, it was a creative nonfiction piece, so it could have a bit of hyperbole. I ran across the piece recently while packing, but I didn't have the interest in reading it and reliving the experience. The teacher, Erik Reece, enjoyed the beginning of the piece, but he thought I lost focus toward the end, and I agree. It's hard to describe the feeling of betrayal without a few years of background information. 

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Bellefonte writing this. It's much nicer than a university town coffee shop: no snobbery. Actually, there's a stuffed flamingo wearing a sun hat staring at me. I'm a little scared. 

Sanuk!

Two of my three pairs of Sanuk Sidewalk Surfers. I can't find a picture of my solid blue ones because I think they've been discontinued. I leave them all. The top ones are my first love. The bottom ones, called Professors, are my most recent fling. 

[Edit]

Doesn't work. Here's pair #1 (first love who enjoys evening parties on the lawn and jazz in the park) and pair #2 (naughty new pair with a penchant for long walks down foggy streets and Barossa Valley shiraz). 

Doesn't describe me. Interesting, though, and wonderful ammunition for perpetuating stereotypes.

WHAT STUDIES SAY ABOUT YOUR SOUNDS:

POP: Conformists, overly responsible, role-conscious, struggling with sexuality or peer acceptance.

HEAVY METAL: Higher levels of suicidal ideation, depression, drug use, self-harm, shoplifting, vandalism, unprotected sex.

DANCE: Higher levels of drug use regardless of socio-economic background.

JAZZ/RHYTHM & BLUES: Introverted misfits, loners.

RAP: Higher levels of theft, violence, anger, street gang membership, drug use and misogyny.

kentucky river

kentucky river
Originally uploaded by dwain.

I quite enjoyed seeing this on our way to Texas. It was impossible to tell if the fog was falling or rising.

socks

Central Pennsylvania has nothing on the remotest backwoods of Kentucky. Yesterday I saw a grown woman walk into a hospital wearing bright pink socks that said "I (heart) Jesus." 

Because the son of god loves that kind of marketing.

I want to get as many details about one of my dreams of last night. The details are fading fast, but there was such a sense of emotional reality in the dream that a few linger.

Last night I was a Peruvian terrorist in a city composed of memories of La Paz, Bolivia, and Cuzco. As in most dreams, my identity leaped between 2 or 3 of my fellow terrorists who were out on the town. The dream was essentially the story of the final hours before we set off what were ultimately incredibly powerful grenades in the commercial and historical center of the city. We went into a chicken salad buffet where we ignored 3 young women because we knew there was no future in it. At some point, Miah was sent home. We rode the bus/train—it transformed from one to another midride—with nobody else on board at dawn, our bellies full from the dream meal we had eaten at a dream restaurant. As we walked toward the city center, ‘I’ munched on a small cluster of black grapes I found, picking out the few whole ones from the crushed and wrinkled ones. At one point, there was a child in my arms who kept playing with the chain-pins on the grenades strapped to my chest. At the city center, I cycled from one person to another as I threw bombs, and in as long as it took me to inhabit the new body, I also assumed the new personality, slipping on this new psyche like a well-worn hat. I threw the 4 grenades at a skyscraper in construction, I think another one, an empty cathedral showing a PowerPoint tour behind its wrought iron gate, and finally the tallest skyscraper under construction. They all collapsed. Wait. No, the final one I carried into the middle of the street in my hand, holding it aloft. I think I remember the emotion of “messenger” in that part of the dream. I think that last night I was a suicide bomber in my dream.

I woke up then, either because my dream person was dead or because Maxx pawed at me to take him out to piss.

This is a quote from a cousin of the man who killed 8 people in February when he plowed into a crowd of people watching a street race at 3 in the morning. The emphasis is mine, and I find it hilarious. 

"What teenager isn't into having the wheels, the bling-bling and the music, boom-boom?" Cave said. "Every teenager is into it. He's a typical teenager."

Does anybody speak regular English any more? This lady talks like the sound-effects guy from the Police Academy movies. 

Drove to Atlanta and back today. Gas is really fucking expensive. Bring it on. 

A line from a song sung during the patriotic program at the Premier rally Saturday morning:

"In American in God we still trust."

Followed by a message on manifest destiny. 

Oh, and this gem:

Remember, it's the SOLDIER not the journalist who guarantees freedom of the press. It's the SOLDIER not the poet who guarantees freedom of speech. It's the soldier not the activist who guarantees freedom of assembly. It's the SOLDIER who wears the flag, whose coffin is draped in the flag that gives others the freedom to burn the flag.

I think there was a derogatory word used about the activists, but I'm relying on memory and the web to find this. 

We're back in Lexington with Maxx. The heat is oppressive. Tonight we finished off the last of my Archangel Russian Imperial Stout, a sweet beer with an alcohol kick like none other. Speaking of, there was a great bar in Fort Worth called the Flying Saucer with an incredibly selection of draught and bottled beers. I spent a couple of afternoons there to detox from the Premier rally experience. Do NOT try the Spaten Optimator. Bollocks. 

I started reading Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian on the way to Texas. It seemed only appropriate in light of the setting of the novel. I consider myself to be fairly desensitized. I've seen Cannibal Holocaust and I've put up with more than 20 minutes of 120 Days of Sodom (and yes, I was disturbed). I've seen more deaths on film than I would care to admit. Blood Meridian has disturbed and enthralled me more than any of those. I've read scenes of violence described in the most horrific of ways--babies' heads bashed against rocks with blood spewing from from the fontanel is the worst so far--and haven't read more than 5 pages without some murder or mindless violence. At the same time, the stark desolation of the Southwest has been written in the most beautiful words, and the man's bestial nature has been captured perfectly. I My favorite phrase so far describes violent men walking infatuatedly into the "pandemonium of the sun." I can see why so many consider this the benchmark of post-Modern literature (not Postmodern). 

I'm sitting on a queen bed in the Ashton Hotel in Fort Worth wondering how much this luscious mattress cost. Comfort this decadent always comes with a price, and I imagine this one is high. 

M's grandparents own Premier Design, a jewelry company which is essentially like Mary Kay and Tupperware in that it sells via home sales. It's a remarkably successful company which Andy Horner--M's grandfather--started 23 years ago and which had $300 million in sales last year. Each year they have a "rally" in Fort Worth at the convention center to which 7000 of their jewelers come and learn about the new line of tawdry baubles. I've never been to one, but I had to come this time. The entire thing is paid for, so what could the harm be?

On our flight down here, I sat next to Russell J. Darkes, a WWII veteran who wanted to talk, and I was more than happy to listen. The man was a treasure. He drank Budweiser, told me stories, and laughed over memories older than anyone I know. 

Lt. Greenley was from South Carolina and was killed by a sniper in Italy. Darkes took his company up the side of a hill to try and get the snipers, and it was the only time he ever told his men to fix their bayonets. 

Private Harker liked to chew tobacco, and he and Darkes would split the monthly ration of tobacco plugs. Harker was hit directly by a tank shell while fighting in an apple orchard in Italy. A nearby British tank did nothing, and the British soldiers drank tea while the Americans and Germans killed each other for 2-3 hours. 

Darkes watched from a ridge overlooking the Rhone valley as Allied airplanes bombed German soldiers who were pulling artillery with horses. "I could have cried watching those beautiful draft horses be killed like that," he said. 

He grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania, the 7th child of 15. He married his high school sweetheart, had two children, was widowed, then remarried a year or two later. She also died. He broke down a little bit. He told her that she would have to propose to him because it was a leap year. "I teased her a bit, then I took her and kissed the devil out of her," he laughed. 

I've never had a more enjoyable plane ride. He has known a veteran of the Civil War, Spanish American War, WWI, and any others since. I am always reminded of a line by Jorge Luis Borges, a line which comes to my mind quite often as I consider mortality and transience:

Something, or an infinite number of things, die in each death... What will die with me when I die? What pathetic or frail form will the world lose?

I'll have to tell more about the Premiere Rally later. I have too much to process right now. I will leave it with one quote which I find to be the basic essence of what I hate about the whole thing. It was said to me by one of the top sellers who has been with the company since it's beginning. He had no idea who I was apart from M's husband, so our chit chat was as banal as it gets. Right before he walked away, he asked me, "Is this your first rally?"

I replied, "It sure is." 

"Then you're going to heaven," and he walked away. 

MISS UNIVERSE 2008

MISS UNIVERSE 2008
Originally uploaded by jojoe_thaimiss.

So was Miss South Africa.

MISS UNIVERSE 2008

MISS UNIVERSE 2008
Originally uploaded by premier_pageant.

Ms Denmark was robbed.

M and I were once yelled at by a hostel owner in Ronda, Spain for giggling too loudly at night. We were staying there with her sister, and the three of us were chatting and laughing, and the mistress of the house knocked on the door and yelled about the time and people sleeping. 

Experiences are funny.

I just finished reading A Canticle for Leibowitz, a book that is apparently considered a speculative fiction classic but of which I hadn't heard until I saw it in the bookstore. I won't lie: I was drawn by the striking cover art. The image of a monk holding a book while other books blend through flame into carrion birds hooked me. 

Even though I bought the book based on the cover, I didn't have very high expectations. Don't judge me. 

The book is divided into three parts of equal length which take place at three different periods in a post-apocalypse world. The premise is that there was a nuclear holocaust some time in the mid-20th century which spawned a backlash against humanism and knowledge called the "Simplification." Scientists, philosophers, engineers, etc. were hunted down and killed, and the world basically became illiterate. Seven hundred years later, the only people who maintain knowledge are the "new" Catholic church monks (though never named as Catholic in the book, they follow the customs), specifically the Albertian Order of Leibowitz, a "booklegger" of the 20th century who was martyred for saving books. It's a fascinating premise, and the first part of the book deals with a time in which the monks are dedicated to preserving, copying, and illuminating texts such as architectural and electrical circuit plans. 

The second part takes place a few hundred years after the first and mirrors the Renaissance. Humanism is on the rise, and knowledge is expanding. 

The third part is in a technologically advanced society which once again has nuclear capabilities. I won't spoil the story, but suffice to say I saw echoes of Robinson Jeffers throughout. 

Now a Dark Age seemed to be passing. For twelve centuries, a small flame of knowledge had been kept smoldering in the monasteries; only now were their minds ready to be kindled. Long ago, during the last age of reason, certain proud thinkers had claimed that valid knowledge was indestructible--that ideas were deathless and truth immortal. But that was true only in the subtlest sense, the abbot thought, and not superficially true at all. There was objective meaning in the world, to be sure: the nonmoral logos or design of the Creator; but such meanings were God's and not Man's, until they found an imperfect incarnation, a dark reflection, within the mind and speech and culture of a given human society, which might ascribe values to the meanings so that they became valid in a human sense within the culture. For Man was a culture-bearer as well as a soul-bearer, but his cultures were not immortal and they could die with a race or an age, and then human reflections of meaning and human portrayals of truth receded, and truth and meaning resided, unseen, only in the objective logos of Nature and the ineffable Logos of God. Truth could be crucified; but soon, perhaps, a resurrection.

some numbers

Some interesting figures:

• 15: Total number of original documents which M and I had to pull together for our visas and work permits for Greece
• 30: Total number of photocopies we had to have
• $5: Cost of notarization of each of the original documents and copies
• 30: Number of times we wrote "I declare this is a true, unaltered, and exact copy of my...."
• $5: Cost to have the notarization certified by the county clerk
• $5: Cost to have the certification of the notarization get an apostille from the secretary of state of KY
• $78: Amount spent overnighting original documents and supplying another overnight bag for the recipient
• $35: Price per page for translations of the 15 documents and 2 extra copies
• $31.60: Price per page to have the translations certified by the Greek embassy (we're only having 15 pages done)
• Total: Around $1400

This doesn't include the gas for our trip to Atlanta which can't happen until we get our translations back. We overnighted them last Monday so that we would have them back today and be able to drive to Atlanta on Wednesday. I'm so glad we put out the extra money to get it there quickly so that she could take her sweet time! Still nothing back. 

Not a happy man, right now.

The European soccer championship between Spain and Germany is going on right now. It's fun to watch except for one little thing: nothing happens. 

vignettes

Garage

Last weekend, we had a garage sale. If ever we do this again, I'm helping to gather and organize, then I'm leaving town. I hate it. I felt like the Narrator in Fight Club who had a fridge full of condiments and no food. Where did we find some of this crap?

Even more annoying than our own materialism were the people who came. On something marked $1, they would ask if they could have it for $.50. "Does it say that on it?" "No." "Then..." Seriously, people, it's 50 cents. 

The city tore down our neon signs the morning of the garage sale. You can only advertise for a garage sale in your own yard. I live on a dead end street. 

Dog

We saw a pit bull running around the street during our garage sale. The poor thing was emaciated, ribs and hips jutting at painful angles and nearly ripping through his dirty skin. We knew he belonged to someone on an adjacent street, but my neighbor and I fed the dog and took him to the animal shelter. When 3 boys came asking M and our other neighbor about him, they said nothing. Were we wrong? An unlicensed, malnourished dog who flinched when we first touched him deserves a better chance. Doesn't he? He was so sweet in the car ride to the shelter and just laid his giant head on my lap. It was a little frightening having a strange dog's head so near my face, a pit bull no less! I think we did the right thing.

Computer

I just bought a Macbook and am lost. It's so foreign to me. What's strange is that it's foreign not only to my mind but also to my body. I'm not accustomed to typing on the keyboard, and my hands and fingers are unsure of themselves. They falter over certain keys, wiggle around in the air searching for others, slowly learning a new way of living.

House

The house is emptying. We now have 2 chairs in the living room (one a loveseat, so 3 seats). Maxx is on edge. His nerves have been frayed ever since we got back from Missouri and started preparing for the garage sale. It's going to be tough to leave him.

I wish I could recall the moment I lost god. Why don't I feel an enormous sense of loss and grief? Why isn't the moment imprinted on my daily consciousness and my childhood—or was it adulthood?—like the tragic event it should have been? I feel an external obligation to be sad about the loss, a false sense of obligation which must come from my upbringing. I feel cheated not to have this momentous occasion to which I can point and say, "I lost god on this day because this minor event happened." Losing god should rank up there with losing a parent or stumbling upon a mass grave and feeling the sudden weight of responsibility for hundreds of lives. You're not supposed to find hundreds of skeletons, and you're not supposed to lose god, the only being in this universe who's supposed to know what's going on and isn't just winging it. Yet, somehow, I achieved the latter. I'm not crying about it. I'm just curious about when it happened. Was it the morning I got into the car to drive on a long trip and didn't secretly pray under my breath for protection? For years I avidly strove to be a Taoist or Buddhist or atheist or agnostic, but the barbs of my childhood's faith were sunk deep and would never let me go completely. I was a poseur, publicly mocking faith but privately turning to it whenever it was convenient. In this way, I shamefacedly admit that I was like a vast majority of the Xians I hate yet somehow more despicable. I was more hypocritical because I mocked yet turned to "in need"; at least the Xians didn't pretend not to believe, only to believe all of the time when in fact they believed about as much as I did. To my credit—because I will probably be my only advocate—I did try to live my life on the faith that there is no faith, and I fought the instinct to "pray" or fear hell whenever I felt the urge. But I still don't know when I stopped completely. I don't have a great story to tell people about when I stopped believing in god. The only analogy that comes to mind—and which I don't like because it's more antagonistic than I feel—is developing cancer. They say, "You've developed terminal cancer." How long does that take, and exactly when do you know it's developed? Is it when that first cell begins to have anarchical thought, or is it when it's recruited a number large enough to be called a crowd? At what point is it terminal? Can just one cell be considered terminal? At what point did my search for disbelief become disbelief? I also question myself, often late at night, about whether my search was an honest one. I know it wasn't at first, but in the end did my search yield nothing because I wanted nothing? I can't believe that. I find too much wonder in the world, struggle too hard to understand to be utterly obtuse about it. That's not to say that I don't acknowledge the level of faith which my disbelief requires; it takes an equal amount of faith not to believe as it does to believe. In fact, and I say this without arrogance, I believe that disbelief requires a higher level of courage. The old bon mot applies: If a religious believer is wrong, he has lost nothing; if he is right, he has gained everything. The same is not true for the disbeliever.

As I read St. Augustine's confessions last night, I was impressed by the intensity of his emotions and the level of devotion to the unknown. I expected to feel envious; I expected to wonder why god never revealed herself to me so emotionally tangibly; I expected to feel contemptuous of such blind lunacy. Instead, I found myself uplifted and nearly moved to tears. The beautiful emotions expressed through the most beautiful words available to our limited minds were a revelation to me that humans are wonderful animals. We have the power of creativity and thought beyond even our own comprehension. Augustine wrote wonderful poetry, but that is all it was.

I just finished playing in my first (and probably last) disc golf tournament. I took 11th in my division, and a friend took a 3-way tie for 4th. I had a bad day yesterday, but I was able to shave 13 strokes off my game today and moved up quite a bit. Good times. Stories to be told. Sunburns to peel. Drinks to be had.

Another time.

final words

The last thing I heard from a student--a former student, granted--was a muttered, unfriendly "Fuck you." It made my year. If I'd been thinking a 1/2 second faster, I would've said it right back to him or said "You took the words out of my mouth." The child is a worthless individual, and unfortunately, he's fathered another child already.

Wait, wait, wait... So, this soldier is handing out coins with Bible verses in Falluja? Apparently there's not an intelligence test required for entry to the Marines, only a brass-balls test. Sorry for the crassness.

Marine removed from duty over Bible coin reports - CNN.com

This makes me somewhat sad. I guess I still hang on somewhat to that horribly outdated notion of the noble savage, or perhaps its just a false idea of the simpler past. Of course, if I were placed in their "simple" life, I'd be dead within 43 minutes.

'Uncontacted tribe' sighted in Amazon - CNN.com

777

You've got to be kidding me.

By way of contrast, mix an icy Kentucky winter with coal-fired power plants and residents who often hit the highways, and you end up with the metro area of Lexington-Fayette, Ky., rated as having the largest carbon footprint in the nation. City Carbon Footprints

odd word

I had never heard this word as anything other than a name and even that only rarely. The first definition isn't all that interesting (to me), but the second is fantastic. I can't wait to use this word.

mad·e·leine
1. a small shell-shaped cake made of flour, eggs, sugar, and butter and baked in a mold.
2. something that triggers memories or nostalgia: in allusion to a nostalgic passage in Proust's Remembrance of Things Past.

One more day of school!

a life in the mind

Woman lives nearly 60 years in iron lung.

beautiful

This is an amazing site with loads of fantastic pictures and information about atmospheric optics (halos, Brocken spectres, etc.). My favorite is of a dog's Brocken spectre/glory.

Atmospheric Optics

1 more week

This is my 2nd to last Friday at school. I'd be lying if I said I won't miss some of the kids. I'd also be lying if I said I'll miss more than a handful. No separation anxiety here!

fire the editor

Most inappropriate picture and article title ever.

Another word I love! The 1st definition isn't so great, but the second one is!

boulevardier \boo-luh-var-DYAY; bul-uh-\, noun:
1. A frequenter of city boulevards, especially in Paris.
2. A sophisticated, worldly, and socially active man; a man who frequents fashionable places; a man-about-town.

leave me alone!

Today:

• 1 call from Hillary Clinton
• 1 call from Michelle Obama
• 1 from Barack Obama's headquarters telling us about our polling place
  
• 1 from Barack Obama's headquarters telling us about our polling place (3 minutes after the first one)
• 1 blank message that was probably Bill Clinton on behalf of Barack Obama

Fuck democracy!

Witch Doctor

I love this.

cool word!

I quite like this word.

latitudinarian \lat-uh-too-din-AIR-ee-un; -tyoo-\, adjective:
1. Having or expressing broad and tolerant views, especially in religious matters.

noun:
1. A person who is broad-minded and tolerant; one who displays freedom in thinking, especially in religious matters.

767

No, I'm not peeing up. It's the zenith of a fountain at Bernheim Abroretum south of Louisville.

Last night, the following were simultaneously in my dreams:

1. Iceland
2. Many albatrosses (what's the plural?)
3. A Nokia cell phone with a touch screen that was as large as a legal pad
4. An inlet from the Icelandic sea into which I jumped (though apparently I can't swim even in my dreams) and sank into the mud and got my enormous cell phone wet

What the hell?

ancient past

I'm frightened by Facebook. I've come into contact with people I haven't seen or talked to in more than 13 years, people with whom I've never spoken to on this continent. Memories have been resurrected that perhaps shouldn't have. Nothing bad or tragic, only memories that perhaps would best have been left in childhood. Quite unexpectedly, the past and present are blurring.

I'm excited about Greece. The school we'll be at is in Halandri.

Here's a picture of inside the school.

Awesome. If I'm ever on a beach in Greece and get accused, I'm claiming to be a victim.

Penis theft panic hits city.. | Oddly Enough | Reuters

KINSHASA (Reuters) - Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men's penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft.

Reports of so-called penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa, where belief in traditional religions and witchcraft remains widespread, and where ritual killings to obtain blood or body parts still occur.

Rumors of penis theft began circulating last week in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo's sprawling capital of some 8 million inhabitants. They quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.

Purported victims, 14 of whom were also detained by police, claimed that sorcerers simply touched them to make their genitals shrink or disappear, in what some residents said was an attempt to extort cash with the promise of a cure.

"You just have to be accused of that, and people come after you. We've had a number of attempted lynchings. ... You see them covered in marks after being beaten," Kinshasa's police chief, Jean-Dieudonne Oleko, told Reuters on Tuesday.

Police arrested the accused sorcerers and their victims in an effort to avoid the sort of bloodshed seen in Ghana a decade ago, when 12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs. The 27 men have since been released.

"I'm tempted to say it's one huge joke," Oleko said.

"But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it's become tiny or that they've become impotent. To that I tell them, 'How do you know if you haven't gone home and tried it'," he said.

ketchup

I just came into the house after lying outside in the grass watching the grey clouds pass over and wondering at the beauty of my hand's silhouette against the mottle sky. I love dusk.

Today was an awful day. The whole week has been stressful, but today was the zenith of suck, if I may wax eloquent for a moment. Minutes after finishing a state-mandated and super-serious test, a student told me she was suicidal and the victim of abuse. I spent the next 3 hours working with our school's various counselors and with her to figure out what we need to do to help her. I hate that sort of responsibility. I just wanted to give her a hug, but all I could think was, "Does she really want someone touching her now?" I do my best to give my students the impression that I don't care about them, but I suspect that some of them have seen through that. I've used the word "I" 8 times in this paragraph that's not about me, and I'll continue to. I know it's horribly narcissistic and horrible, but I couldn't help but be grateful that she had the trust and insight to realize that I do care and talk to me. Over and over I told her how proud I was of her and how much courage it took for her to step outside the boundaries of her culture and admit that something had happened. Of course, this entire conversation was happening while I had 19 other students in the room taking this super-serious test. It was a whispered conversation, and it was uncomfortable as could be. My hands were shaking, and when she went back to her seat, I had to leave the room to cry. English 509 didn't cover this shit.

On a less devastating but equally depressing note, I spent Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons scoring our high school's senior portfolios. I have two sentences to share with you. Three, if I can remember the other. These are all by different "authors," as the perpetrators have the audacity to call themselves. WARNING: #3 is disgusting.

1. "Boys reach a cretin level of maturity later than girls because..." Perfect Freudian slip.
2. "'Fear my afro,' said Roy,' for it will destroy and swallow your soul.'" Worst short story. Ever.
3. "The principles of love are washed away in a sea of saliva semen." Don't ask.
   

If you haven't, listen to Clint Mansell's song "Death is the Road to Awe" from the score to The Fountain. Only good thing about the movie.

We received our info packages from Greece on Tuesday. Much to be done. Many things to be translated into Greek. How, you ask? Fucked if I know, I say.

sunset in our room

The silk painting on the wall is one of my favorite of M's.

disc golf

I just played disc golf at a local course, Veteran's Park, a course that's difficult but at which I was consistent. Today, I was not. Today, I considered giving up disc golf.

I'm drinking Jameson's Irish Whisky. Fortunately, I have a 1.75 liter bottle with less air space than liquid space.

I hate disc golf.

I love disc golf.

Great article.

http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/books/04/15/memoirs/index.html

phrases to remember

• "East/West Jesus" - basically like saying BFE. Not sure where this came from, but it was the only redeeming thing from Leatherheads.
• Tiger in the Woods - First of all, it was said by Patrick Warburton on Rules of Engagement, and although the show is poor, he makes it. I'm going to use this phrase when I'm playing disc golf.

I ran across this recently in an anthology of poetry, and the theme of traitorous nostalgia struck me.

"Beware of Ruins"
A.D. Hope (1981)

Beware of ruins: they have a treacherous charm;
Insidious echoes lurk among their stones;
That scummy pool was where the fountain soared;
The seated figure, whose white arm
Beckons you, is a mock-up of dry bones
And not, as you believe, your love restored.

The moonlight lends her grace, but have a care:
Behind her waits the fairy Melusine.
The sun those beams refract died years ago.
The moat has a romantic air
But it is choked with nettles and obscene
And phallic fungi rot there as they grow.

Beware of ruins; the heart is apt to make
Monstrous assumptions on the unburied past;
Though cleverly restored, the Tudor tower
Is spurious, the facade a fake
Whose new face is a death-mask of the last
Despairing effort before it all went sour.

There are ruins, too, of a less obvious kind;
I go back; cannot believe my eyes; the place
Is just as I recall: the fire is lit,
The table laid, bed warmed; I find
My former world intact, but not, alas,
The man I was when I was part of it.

fun but good

Some of you may recall that I mentioned and had FreeRice.com on my website a while ago. Well, the site is being profiled right now on NBC News, and I found out an interesting fact about it.

The first word ever put on the site by the programmer/creator was "turgid." Turgid is my least favorite word in the world. I hate it. It disgusts me every time I hear it.

Yuck.

bloody brilliant!

M's sister and cousin are in town for the weekend, so tonight we went to our local Movie Tavern and watched George Clooney's Leatherheads. I expected it not to be good, but it was worse. Kentucky's native son screwed up. Big time.

The only saving grace was my trusty tankard of beer: 38 oz. of film-enhancing goodness.

fences

Originally uploaded by dwain.

Rows and rows and rows...

bluegrass

Originally uploaded by dwain.

I will miss the Bluegrass. It's grown on me a lot.

spring of the dead

Originally uploaded by dwain.

Someone told me that the cherry trees were blossoming in the cemetery, so I drove out there this morning. It started out as a beautiful blue sky, but it clouded over in moments.

750 posts

Go to Worth1000 and check out the contest galleries. A couple of my favorites so far. The first one's for you, Laura! The second one's for

thoughts

• I was going to write a lengthy post entitled "Spring broke" about my spring break, but I got lazy.
  
• I just bought an external hard drive that will fit in my pocket. It also holds more info than my laptop and desktop combined.
• Tonight we helped two Hispanic women whose car battery had died in the Kohl's parking lot. The younger one was pregnant and had a 3-4-year-old toddler with her. Two spaces over, sitting in a truck/SUV style Escalade were two white men with their windows down watching passively as these women stood around with their hood up hoping for some help. The younger woman told us the men said they didn't want to damage their own car. Fuckers. I begged the women not to judge us all by them.
  
• A woman just had her appendix removed through her vagina. Not to be crass, but there are desperate men out there who would give their left gonad for a chance to see a lovely lady part, and now we're using the lovely lady parts as part of an appendectomy?
  
• I started a poetry unit today. I'm taking suggestions for good songs to use as examples of poems. And no, Jake, I'm not going to use "American Pie"; too much background.
  
• We just signed up for Skype. Email us for our ID.
• Is it sad when everyday is Fat Tuesday for someone?
  

Little River, TN.

Truly smoky.

A porterhouse over the fire. Delicious!

Fishing in GSMNP.

Trail to Mt. Le Conte.