voluntourism and youth group missions

I had never heard of "voluntourism" until a Time article with the title "Vacationing like Brangelina." Expecting to see an expose on the most expensive and extravagant resorts in the world, I was fascinated to read about the new vacation fad, voluntourism.

There is certainly an up-side to such things, but the concerns expressed in the article about the colonialist nature of some of the volunteer missions is valid. We're so accustomed to the notion that "every little bit helps" that we don't stop to consider that perhaps "every little bit can hurt" or "every little bit does nothing." I always took issue with the missionary teams who came down to visit us because they usually did nothing meaningful and nothing lasting beyond a paint job. The youth groups who go down to Mexico and to the Caribbean are particularly funny because they don't speak a word of the language and essentially get to go on a feel-good but do-nothing vacation sponsored by a church who lauds their good services when they return. Do the trips have a lasting impact on either party? Rarely. Liberation theologists would certainly find little benefit for the recipients of the great white magnanimity. Medical missions are a different thing altogether; I completely support the "tent-maker" approach because it focuses on the immediate needs of the people.

Islam

Christopher Hitchens wonders why we should fear or respect Islam--or any organized religion, for that matter--in light of its beginnings and teachings.

"...Islamic belief, however simply or modestly it may be stated, is an extreme position to begin with. No human being can possibly claim to know that there is a God at all, or that there are, or were, any other gods to be repudiated. And when these ontological claims have collided, as they must, with their logical limits, it is even further beyond the cognitive capacity of any person to claim without embarrassment that the lord of creation spoke his ultimate words to an unlettered merchant in seventh-century Arabia. Those who utter such fantastic braggings, however many times a day they do so, can by definition have no idea what they are talking about. (I hasten to add that those who boast of knowing about Moses parting the Red Sea, or about a virgin with a huge tummy, are in exactly the same position.) Finally, it turns out to be impossible to determine whether jihad means more alms-giving or yet more zealous massacre of, say, Shiite Muslims."

facebook

I blame Laura. I'd never looked at Facebook before. Never even thought of it. I now have 7 friends.

PBS

PBS is going to be broadcasting The Complete Jane Austen beginning next year. Laura is a huge fan--fanatical, Laura?--of Austen, an interest I do not share, unfortunately. I only recall reading Emma, but I think I may have read Pride and Prejudice at some point, the memory of any book erased by the wonder of the film adaptation starring the inimitably aloof Colin Firth. Victorian literature is an acquired taste or perhaps a taste simply present or not. For me, it's not.

M and I just resurrected our routine of last year of watching a Mystery! on Sunday nights. Ms. Marple isn't my favorite detective, that honor going to Morse or Lynley.

Here's why Welsh is a dying language.

Maxx, in his infinite laziness, decided it was time to get up this morning, but he couldn't be bothered to roll over from where he lay with all 4 paws straight up, so instead he started to kick his back foot against M's leg until he got her attention.

not sure what this is...

chick tracts

When I was a kid, I would often find tracts put out by Jack Chick in churches in Bolivia. They were always fun to read as a distraction from the message--a relief--but were terrifying because they preached such a narrow faith and path to heaven. The demons were especially hideous. I'd forgotten about these until I was doing some idle research on Masonry and came across a tract which talked about how evil the Masons are. It started me on a trip down memory lane.

This is the most ridiculous one I've ever seen:

The "dissection" is quite vulgar, to warn you, but there are a couple of funny reactions.

trailer

The trailer for Frank Oz's Death At a Funeral is the the funniest I've seen in a while, matched only by the R-rated trailer for Super Bad.

Made biscuits and gravy and an omelet this morning after running around and becoming entangled in all the red tape that surrounds M getting her Masters degree to the KY Dept. of Education so that she gets paid more so we can buy more sushi. Busy times.

lawsuit

This story about a woman who sued the local board of education for ignoring sexual abuse that happened 30 years ago and won the case has a lot of people angry. Considering the amount she was awarded, it was infuriating to hear her say "It wasn't about the money; it was about the education lost." The $3.7 million won't be felt by the schools now, then? It was obviously about the money because she went after the school board, the only party with money that she could get to. Despise people like this...

another music video

I just caught the last bit of an Austin City Limits rerun with Franz Ferdinand and What Made Milwaukee Famous. I'm not entirely taken with Ferdinand, but WMMF had a great song called "Jeopardy of Contentment." Of course since they're a small band I can't find any song links, but I did find a video to the song. Not the best, but I really like the piano in it.

tell your god to ready for blood

Deadwood is the finest television I've ever seen, and it closely approaches if not surpasses the mark of being the best cinema I've watched. The title of the post is the title of the first episode of its third and final season which M and I just checked out and started watching. One of the cable channels--A&E, I think--have as their slogan "Characters welcome." Deadwood's characters are the most beautiful and savage I've seen, and I'm saddened that it's over. Ian McShane was robbed of an Emmy.

"Custer was a c---. The end." ~ Calamity Jane on writing about her experiences as a scout

Here's a clip of Ian McShane talking to the town newspaper man after the latter's business was ransacked.

spoilers

In honor of Harry Potter.

returned

We're home (actually since Wednesday night). I can't put it any better than M did:

I'm sitting in my living room, naked, drinking wine. I love it.

We were welcomed home by a tree brought down across our neighbor's fence and into our yard by a huge storm we passed through east of Lexington. It gave me an excuse to buy a chainsaw, though, so not all is lost. Of course it's an electric chainsaw which takes away some of the manliness of it...

films

I went and watched Ratatouille with M and my 3 cousins yesterday, then I went and watched Harry Potter with my sister. I was very surprised by both, especially the Potter film. Rat was fun and definitely not intended for a young audience, but Potter was an all-out adult film. Not that kind. It was wonderful to finally see some adults fighting other adults instead of just kids running around fighting bad CG. To say the least, I thoroughly enjoyed it! And I'm so ashamed I did...

perfect...

Grassroots movements are dead, and someone really needs to start teaching this in civics classes.

2 kids are walking across the country in demonstration against the war. Whoopty-doo, they definitely inspired me to call my senator! Wow, what an amazing story, really, just super. Their courage is unsurpassed.

"Pope's comments irrelevant to non-Catholics"

If you remove a few words--Christian, Catholic, Pope, Jesus--and replace them with the equivalent words from other religions' lexicons, you have the most generic statement of faith ever. This schmuck doesn't realize that he's trying to "own" Jesus in the exact same way he's accusing the Pope of doing? I saw a DVD on my dad's desk put out by Focus on the Family--a thousand curses on them--which decried the rise of relativism in the evil modern age. That's such an old point of contention that they can't seem to get beyond.

While in Montana I watched 2 minutes of a Xian show on which some fellow complained, rightly, of the rise of "romantic Xianity." He was pointing out how inane it is to sing "you're all I need" or some other such drivel then go out and live your life no differently than anyone else. Fucking Jesus hippies...

I'm in a bad mood.

halfway home

For those of you who for one second were relieved by the post title and thought I'd gone into AA, I regret to inform you that I have not yet begun to drink this summer!

We got to my parents' place at 11 last night and were greeted by an enthusiastic poodle. Good to be in a bed other than a hotel bed.

off we go

We're off to the body shop! Never knew what that was as a kid.

For a good listen, try out Aboriginal Voices Radio. Heard it in Vancouver and am pining after the names of some of the beautiful songs I heard.

women of the Berlin night

I was reading a generic and ultimately newsless magazine--Newsweek, Time, US News & World Report--while waiting at the body shop, and I read an article that was basically a collection of pieces about how the US could become a better nation by following the examples set by other nations. Several of them were interesting propositions that would require a complete regeneration of the American social structure and psyche. The only one that I disagreed with to any great degree was the proposition to follow the Finnish model of free and accessible public education for all (FAPE, in the US). We've elevated this notion of equity beyond the point of realism, beyond the capability of human grasp; we've entered into the realm of idealism, a realm governed by people with beautiful minds and more hope for the souls of humans than I believe wise.

The most interesting article was about the recent legalization of prostitution in Berlin. Prostitution is not a business with a lot of job security, and the city wanted to find a way to provide more stable income and lifestyles for the women. As it turns out, there was a great need for caregivers for the elderly, so the women were trained to work with them. The reasoning behind is thought-provoking and rather indicative of how Western culture views the old: prostitutes are generally quite good with people and, most interestingly, are comfortable touching people. Is care for the old so despicable to us that it's fetishistic? I love that these women are being trained to use their gifts--and I hope that I won't have the involuntary prostitute argument rammed down my throat--in such a positive way, and I wish that the US would take a more progressive approach to both issues.

On a more mundane note, our car should be fixed tomorrow, so we'll have to surrender the cable, pool, hot tub, and sauna. Mmmm, sauna. Our plan is to drive like hell to get to PA to pick up Maxx, hopefully this Friday.

mistaya canyon

mistaya canyon
Originally uploaded by dwain.

Crashing violence is so beautiful in its own way. What amazes me most about waterfalls is that they never stop. Mountains stand still, trees reach their height, the sky goes through certain hues, but water always moves.

Well, we're leaving the Aero Inn for Ohs' Body Shop, hoping and praying--not really--that we can get the minimum of repairs done--windshield--to make it possible to drive it to PA.

It could have been worse. For us. Couldn't have been worse for the deer.

conflict of direction

I just joined the unhappy club of people who have killed a deer with a car. It makes me sad.

We're lying on a comfy bed in Aero Inn in Kalispell, Montana. It'll be nice to have our first shower in 6 days. There are only so many times I can dunk myself in a cold river.

crescent pier

summer 2184
Originally uploaded by dwain.

We were poking around the shore of Lake Crescent, waiting for our table to be ready. the water was glimmering, and though we never saw the sun set, it was beautiful for the dimness of it all.

catching up

I'm still trying to catch up on my writing since June 25th. I have a few notes jotted down, but there's a lot.

Hope everyone is having a great summer! I am!

Except I miss Maxx...

Paradisum – June 24th

In case you hadn't noticed, my Latin isn't of the quality of Joyce's. I'm basically mixing the Italian and Latin that I've seen in books or songs. This particular title actually comes from the soundtrack for 28 Days Later, one of my favorite films. I love Alex Garland's take on what remains when the social infrastructure of a nation gets stripped away, and beyond that what remains when the psychological infrastructure is demolished and begins to be rebuilt. Cormac McCarthy's The Road explores much of the same, especially the latter. As the man and boy wander, the boy struggles to define his own morality despite his father's teachings and using experience as his foundation. His empathy is what forms his morality, the sentiment that "All he wants is food, so don't hurt him." The father's morality is similar to the "brute emergent" morality of 28 Days Later, the veneer of humanity stripped away to reveal the animalistic morality that only humans possess when cornered: kill or be killed. I cannot recommend the film or book enough, and I'm hoping they attempt a film of the latter. Oh, and the soundtrack to 28 Days Later is good, especially Brian Eno's track.

North Umpqua

On this trip we have happened upon Serendipity often. Whether it's meeting an artist, unwittingly being in the same area as a restaurant, meeting a childhood musical hero, or being in the same area as a beautiful wine, these serendipities are the unforgettable moments of the trip, the memorable unplanned.

When I was at Cabela's in St. Louis, I picked up a free copy of Fly Fish America, a magazine with articles about equipment and places and fish. One of the articles was written by an Easterner about a steelhead fishing trip he took to the North Umpqua River in Oregon. I read it several times, envying him the opportunity to fish such a beautiful river—hell, just to visit a beautiful river. Late last week, as we were planning our time between Sacramento and Vancouver and poring over the maps, I noticed that, Thor be praised, we drove directly over the N. Umpqua. Thusfar it has been the most beautiful part of the trip, at least in my opinion.

The Umpqua Valley is a deep valley, almost a gorge, that wends from the mountains of central Oregon to the coast and provides access for thousands of salmon and steelhead to swim up to their spawning beds. I know little about the life cycle of these fish, but this trip has inspired me to learn more about them and their amazing journey. The N. Umpqua is more than 150 miles from the ocean, but every summer and winter a group of them make the journey upriver. There are also trout in the river, and I'm still trying to figure out how trout and steelhead are related. Nobody seems to know! I also want to understand the biology that allows them to live in both saltwater and freshwater.

We drove east, up the valley, following the river in all its twists and falls, mesmerized by the beauty of this sheltered valley. The river is a striking blue, like the water that flows in glacial rivers, and has a shallow edge that drops sharply into a channel of rushing turquoise. How the fish find the energy to push through this torrent is a mystery, as much so as the mystery of the compulsion that drives them to make the deadly but creative journey. The valley sides are steep and often lined by cliffs. There are few houses along the way, and the only town we drove through is more deserving of being called a village than is Rogue River. We stopped at Joe Howell's Blue Heron fly shop, the shop mentioned in the article above. Joe's dog, Shadow, rushed at me barking madly as I approached the door, but she was all bark and tailwagging. Apparently she's quite protective of Joe and will only bark at customers if he's in the shop.

Joe is in his 60s, a large man with rosy patches on his cheeks and a few stray blooms of red on his white face. He's the kind of man who stands with his belly pushed out a little and his hands in his pockets, only pulling them out when he's talking about something truly worthy of emotion and commitment. His wife is very friendly and welcoming, immediately offering up the dog for free with the purchase of any flies. They make a cute couple, she the personable welcome and he the gruff but knowledgeable keeper whose name may be on the store but is actually employed by his wife. It didn't take long to warm him up, though, with honest questions about the place and the fish. I think that many "old-timers" and locals get turned off by the idea of people coming in with the intention of catching a big fish and taking it out of the river without having any sort of bond or attachment to the river. Of course I fit much of that description, except I have no intention of taking fish out of the river—a good thing, too, because I couldn't if I wanted to! I was fascinated by the history of the river as a haven for fish and fishermen—Zane Grey and Hemingway fished here—and the biology of fish coming up the river, and Joe was more than willing to share his decades of experience. His brusque demeanor soon gave way to excitement as he talked about the runs of steelhead he had seen when he was in high school, and he spoke with nostalgic regret about the poachers who would throw dynamite into a specific pool up Steamboat Creek where the fish gathered before a final push. He said the department of fish and game estimated that the pool had been dynamited once a year for around 30 years, throwing an enormous pause into the run, essentially eliminating entire generations of early-run steelhead. Now some local fishing clubs—what do you do?—have bought an RV and hired a geology student to sit up at the pool and guard it constantly against poachers. Joe thinks that he's spent a little too much time up there, and he couldn't help but grin a little when he told about the man, his friend, telling him detailed stories about this one fish and the bubbles it let out and the movements it made. I think I'd go crazy, too, if I just stared at the same pool of water all day. A sort of lifeguard for the undrownable.

Joe and his wife recommended that we stay at Horseshoe Bend campground because it was farther from the road than the others and had fairly isolated sites. It was gorgeous. It was a fair distance from the road indeed, and the only sound was the Umpqua rushing by us yards away. We were in a deep valley, so the light that reached us felt tired but still warmed as it filtered through countless leaves and needles. There were several other people in the site, but we were separated by enough trees to maintain our comfort zone. It was gorgeous.

No showers, though, and no hot water, so after two days we were…ready.

On the first evening, I headed down to the water with the camera to get some pictures. As I was setting up, from behind me I heard M say, "Bald eagle." Down through the narrow valley flew a bald eagle, low enough that a sudden swoop would land him a fish but high enough to declare to all those below that he was the master of the valley, sky and land. Did I get a picture of him? No. Bald eagle's are interesting animals for both their place in the animal kingdom and their place in the human psyche, specifically the US psyche. There's something about a bald eagle that conjures up ideals which the bird undoubtedly doesn't possess: nobility, bravery, justice, etc. It's a bird. Despite my lack of patriotism, each time I've seen one I pause and watch it, and only half the watching is for the beauty.

Fly fishing is a fascinating activity—I won't call it a sport. It's an amalgamation of physicality and knowledge: you need to know how to present the fly and use the equipment, and you need to know what to present and where. I'm still working on the two areas, but I love knowing that once I become adept at the physical part of it I still have a world of knowledge to explore. Entomology is not something that has ever interested me—I wasn't a boy who was fascinated by any bug beyond tadpoles, and they're not bugs—but it is an integral part of fly fishing. I love kneeling down in streams and turning over rocks to see what nymphs live in the water. I love watching what's floating by to see what hatch is emerging from the nymphal stage and rising to the surface. I love watching the air around me and trying to see what bugs are dropping on the water. For most people, bugs on the water are a nuisance, as they were for me until recently. I'm still learning the bugs, so right now I basically have to catch one and open my fly box and see if it matches anything I have. I never knew about this amazing process of bugs: they begin as eggs on the stream bottom then slowly morph and float up to the top where their wings emerge and they fly up only to fall and lay eggs, beginning the cycle again. It would have held no interest for me if not for fly fishing, and I am grateful to it for awakening in me an interest in the biological world that I didn't have before.

One of the most important flies in the West is the stonefly. It's a hideous bug in every stage. The nymph looks likes a forked-tail demon which would love to chew through your palm if you held it. It's about an inch long with lots of legs on either side. When it becomes an adult and flies, it's a little over an inch with large wings that lie against its body. I bought a few of the imitations at Joe's shop.

RV people are like birds that migrate south for the winter

fishing report

Actually, there's nothing to report except that I'm going fishing tomorrow. In British Columbia. How fun.