Some Haiku I wrote this morning, while chatting with Amber. They're not all technically Haiku. I wasn't counting my morae. It's a neat form though. I used to hate it for it's restrictions, but it's really beautiful when done right (read some real Japanese Haiku). Also it's kind of nice that you only get 17 morae. That means you won't have to come up with many words. Or be loquacious. As I'm doing right now. Anyway, cheers!
---------
Summer has come
large toads follow
crossing roads
[ Added later. I think this is better. But then again, no one likes my edits :P
Summer has come
large toads cross
rainy roads
]
Sea in spring
happy water levels rising
float boats
June rains
all over Japan and Covington
and on me
May flowers
were early because now
June showers
June rains
but I'm warm inside
by the fire
June rains
but I'm very cozy here
with Rosy
Haiku rhymes
are frowned upon sometimes
nickles and dimes
Rainy season
makes the leaves drip on me
and I leave
Moon viewing
is very nice and fun in June
though impossible
Shining leaves
covered in shiny rain clothes
ogres in gowns
June 13, 2006
June 9, 2006
Build bridges on borders, not walls
I'm reading in the papers that Congress is debating passing a bill stating that English is the "offical langauge" of the United States. I'm reading in the papers that a Seattle area restaurant has instated a policy that requires all meals to be ordered in English. I'm hearing my Grandmother state that she doesn't mind if people speak their own language at home or in private, but at the grocery store or at the bank they had better speak English, because this is America, and in America we speak English. When did we stop being a land of immigrants and become a land with only one culture? What makes us think our langauge or culture is somehow better than any other? Why should someone who comes to our country be required to speak "our" language? What is "our" langauge anyway? The majority of our citizens speak english, but only a simple majority. The number of spanish speakers is growing. There are thousands of other languages spoken here. Each of us knows someone who speaks another language fluently, or should.
Any of us who has attempted to learn a second language knows how difficult it is. So, why should any of us expect another to learn english before immigrating to our country? How can we expect a Chinese family fleeing religious persecution (for this is the principle we avow gave rise to our country), how can we expect them to bother learning a new language when they are in risk of losing their lives? If this is our requirement for immigration, or for citizenship, or even to buy groceries, how can we expect anyone to want to immigrate to our land?
Or is that the intent: to stop immigration, especially from Mexico and from the middle east? If we impose intense language rules, will we not keep out the illegal immigrants and the terrorists we so despise? Perhaps, but it's doutbful. The illegals are already risking their lives, and the terrorists will learn the language. However, we will punish the Indians, the Chinese, the Eastern Europeans, the Sudanese who arrive on our shores in hopes of prosperity, of freedom of thought, of a new chance, of freedom from oppression and violence. By building political walls against our "enemies" (and not all Mexicans or Middle Easterns are enemies), we also inhibit our friends. By damming the rivers we stop the salmon. And these friends are our greatest admirers. When I stand in awe of the prejudice of Americans, and lose my hope for a peaceful nation, I remind myself of this land's virtues by considering the immigrant. They come here because they hope for our way of life -- free to think, to speak, to prosper, to pursue happiness. They flatter us by their persistence in crossing our borders. They admire us, and then, sadly they become us. A hundred years after the Irish immigration, and four hundred years after the English colonized, we are all Irish, all English. Those Anglos who built America are so watered down now, that they consider themselves indigenous, and forget that others were here first. We forget that we were forbeared with long enough to send roots into this ground and establish ourselves; we converted from immigrants to Americans. During our transition we spoke our own languages, practiced our own traditions. And now we mock those immigrants who speak their own langauges and follow their own customs, as if we ourselves have never been different, never needed acceptance by an preceding culture. Those immigrants we oppress daily -- by noticing their robes, by stereotyping their turbans, by asking them to speak "our" language -- they will be like us someday, turning to oppress the next flood of immigrants who would flatter them. They will become Americans and then they will become snobs, like us.
Why do we attempt to make them into us? We tell them "become like us, or don't come." What high opinion of ourselves do we hold that convinces us they should be like us? On second thought, I'm not so sure we think so highly of ourselves. I think we're worried they have a better way and we will all adapt to be like them. I think really we're afraid we'll change, or our beloved country will change. Then what will be of our old country tis of thee? What will it be like? I don't know, but I can assure you, if we welcome the immigrants and welcome their languages and their diversity and their wisdom, we will be better for it. We as people will improve, and likewise our nation will improve. When the parts are better, the whole is better.
We should not, and cannot, ask immigrants to change to be like us, to speak our language. It is like how the whites belittled (and still belittle) the blacks and the asians for their differences. Asking a Mexican man to learn english so he'll be like the majority is a bit like asking a black woman to become white so she'll be like the majority. If we're asking them to learn english so they'll succeed, that is empowering. But if we pass a policy or bill that REQUIRES one to speak English, we show preference for one language, culture, and identity over others, and therefore oppress. This is the race problem with a new face. None of us would think today of judging a person based on their skin color, so why will we judge (and even legislate against) a person based on their language? Are not race and language a gift from one's parents? Do we choose our first language, or our skin color? Then how can we be punished for that which is not by our volition?
Our preference for our language over all others is unhealthy, it is oppressive, it is anti-social and it must stop. There is a principle in the Starbucks mission statement that expresses the desire to "embrace diversity." I like this because it does not hope that we might "tolerate" diversity, or be patient with it while it adapts to be like us, but rather it gives the image of hugging those who are different and finding ways to combine our strengths so that all langauges and all creeds and all colors might be considered American and might consider "American" something we want to be. And I think in the chaos that results from so many differences, from the absence of a homogenous face, from the teeming, huddled masses, we will see arising an America that is not afraid of change, not afraid of other cultures; we will see an America that is matured, and wiser, and willing to understand and accept people that are not white and english. This America will befriend the cultures it will no longer fear, and we may see an America that can support Muslim nations, and that can champion the efforts of so many Mexicans who cross our southern borders for the good of their families. We will thus befriend our enemies, and make them family. By this change and only by this befriending can we ensure America maintains its way of life and its identity: a land of immigrants who are free.
Any of us who has attempted to learn a second language knows how difficult it is. So, why should any of us expect another to learn english before immigrating to our country? How can we expect a Chinese family fleeing religious persecution (for this is the principle we avow gave rise to our country), how can we expect them to bother learning a new language when they are in risk of losing their lives? If this is our requirement for immigration, or for citizenship, or even to buy groceries, how can we expect anyone to want to immigrate to our land?
Or is that the intent: to stop immigration, especially from Mexico and from the middle east? If we impose intense language rules, will we not keep out the illegal immigrants and the terrorists we so despise? Perhaps, but it's doutbful. The illegals are already risking their lives, and the terrorists will learn the language. However, we will punish the Indians, the Chinese, the Eastern Europeans, the Sudanese who arrive on our shores in hopes of prosperity, of freedom of thought, of a new chance, of freedom from oppression and violence. By building political walls against our "enemies" (and not all Mexicans or Middle Easterns are enemies), we also inhibit our friends. By damming the rivers we stop the salmon. And these friends are our greatest admirers. When I stand in awe of the prejudice of Americans, and lose my hope for a peaceful nation, I remind myself of this land's virtues by considering the immigrant. They come here because they hope for our way of life -- free to think, to speak, to prosper, to pursue happiness. They flatter us by their persistence in crossing our borders. They admire us, and then, sadly they become us. A hundred years after the Irish immigration, and four hundred years after the English colonized, we are all Irish, all English. Those Anglos who built America are so watered down now, that they consider themselves indigenous, and forget that others were here first. We forget that we were forbeared with long enough to send roots into this ground and establish ourselves; we converted from immigrants to Americans. During our transition we spoke our own languages, practiced our own traditions. And now we mock those immigrants who speak their own langauges and follow their own customs, as if we ourselves have never been different, never needed acceptance by an preceding culture. Those immigrants we oppress daily -- by noticing their robes, by stereotyping their turbans, by asking them to speak "our" language -- they will be like us someday, turning to oppress the next flood of immigrants who would flatter them. They will become Americans and then they will become snobs, like us.
Why do we attempt to make them into us? We tell them "become like us, or don't come." What high opinion of ourselves do we hold that convinces us they should be like us? On second thought, I'm not so sure we think so highly of ourselves. I think we're worried they have a better way and we will all adapt to be like them. I think really we're afraid we'll change, or our beloved country will change. Then what will be of our old country tis of thee? What will it be like? I don't know, but I can assure you, if we welcome the immigrants and welcome their languages and their diversity and their wisdom, we will be better for it. We as people will improve, and likewise our nation will improve. When the parts are better, the whole is better.
We should not, and cannot, ask immigrants to change to be like us, to speak our language. It is like how the whites belittled (and still belittle) the blacks and the asians for their differences. Asking a Mexican man to learn english so he'll be like the majority is a bit like asking a black woman to become white so she'll be like the majority. If we're asking them to learn english so they'll succeed, that is empowering. But if we pass a policy or bill that REQUIRES one to speak English, we show preference for one language, culture, and identity over others, and therefore oppress. This is the race problem with a new face. None of us would think today of judging a person based on their skin color, so why will we judge (and even legislate against) a person based on their language? Are not race and language a gift from one's parents? Do we choose our first language, or our skin color? Then how can we be punished for that which is not by our volition?
Our preference for our language over all others is unhealthy, it is oppressive, it is anti-social and it must stop. There is a principle in the Starbucks mission statement that expresses the desire to "embrace diversity." I like this because it does not hope that we might "tolerate" diversity, or be patient with it while it adapts to be like us, but rather it gives the image of hugging those who are different and finding ways to combine our strengths so that all langauges and all creeds and all colors might be considered American and might consider "American" something we want to be. And I think in the chaos that results from so many differences, from the absence of a homogenous face, from the teeming, huddled masses, we will see arising an America that is not afraid of change, not afraid of other cultures; we will see an America that is matured, and wiser, and willing to understand and accept people that are not white and english. This America will befriend the cultures it will no longer fear, and we may see an America that can support Muslim nations, and that can champion the efforts of so many Mexicans who cross our southern borders for the good of their families. We will thus befriend our enemies, and make them family. By this change and only by this befriending can we ensure America maintains its way of life and its identity: a land of immigrants who are free.
June 5, 2006
must we beach our coracles no more, redux
I rewrote this a bit differently. Let me know which way you like better. Just an experiment with words.
1.) "He studied the sign on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, on the other side of the glass, there was Pooh, passing between two parked cars. And now Pan, hands on his hips two stories above the street, looking for an open window. Snoopy tore past with Linus' blanket and Toad bowled through traffic in a Jalopy. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked away, watching the leaves float about in his tea, wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
2.) "He studied the sign on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, past the letters, on the other side of the glass, passing between two parked cars, there was Pooh thinking thoughts. Two stories above, Pan, hands on his hips, looking for an open window. Just there, dodging the pedestrians, the families on a walk, the children with their eyes wide and adults with their shopping bags, there was Snoopy with Linus' blanket. And bowling through traffic, Toad, in a jalopy, horn blaring and dusty goggled face howling with laughter as he wrecked car after car. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, they were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked down, watching the leaves float about in his tea. They were ships, and Odysseus was tying himself to the mast. He stirred his tea and congratulated himself on not being taken in. He chuckled to himself. He caught himself wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
OR #3?
3.) "He studied the letters on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, past the paint, on the other side of the glass, passing between two parked cars, there was Pooh thinking thoughts. Two stories above, hands on his hips, Pan, looking for an open window. Just there, flying down the sidewalk, Snoopy with Linus' blanket. And bowling through traffic in a jalopy, Toad. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, they were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked down, watching the leaves float about in his tea. They were ships, and Odysseus was tying himself to the mast. He stirred his tea and congratulated himself on not being taken in. He chuckled to himself, caught himself wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
1.) "He studied the sign on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, on the other side of the glass, there was Pooh, passing between two parked cars. And now Pan, hands on his hips two stories above the street, looking for an open window. Snoopy tore past with Linus' blanket and Toad bowled through traffic in a Jalopy. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked away, watching the leaves float about in his tea, wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
2.) "He studied the sign on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, past the letters, on the other side of the glass, passing between two parked cars, there was Pooh thinking thoughts. Two stories above, Pan, hands on his hips, looking for an open window. Just there, dodging the pedestrians, the families on a walk, the children with their eyes wide and adults with their shopping bags, there was Snoopy with Linus' blanket. And bowling through traffic, Toad, in a jalopy, horn blaring and dusty goggled face howling with laughter as he wrecked car after car. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, they were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked down, watching the leaves float about in his tea. They were ships, and Odysseus was tying himself to the mast. He stirred his tea and congratulated himself on not being taken in. He chuckled to himself. He caught himself wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
OR #3?
3.) "He studied the letters on the deli window.
I - L - E - D. E - E - F - F - O - C. Then, past the paint, on the other side of the glass, passing between two parked cars, there was Pooh thinking thoughts. Two stories above, hands on his hips, Pan, looking for an open window. Just there, flying down the sidewalk, Snoopy with Linus' blanket. And bowling through traffic in a jalopy, Toad. All his childhood playmates, for these past years phantoms hiding behind doors and lounging in shop windows at Christmastime, they were out again, eager to play again. Or were they always there? He looked down, watching the leaves float about in his tea. They were ships, and Odysseus was tying himself to the mast. He stirred his tea and congratulated himself on not being taken in. He chuckled to himself, caught himself wondering what little Piglet, peering from beneath the table, could possibly want with him."
one must learn, even from bad movies
Titanic was in theatres for twelve months. During that time 128,000,000 American's paid to see it. It grossed 600 million dollars... 50 million dollars a month. After rentals it's made almost $1 billion dollars ($924.5M to be exact).
Most of the people I know now didn't see it in theatres, but I remember a lot of the girls
I knew then did -- multiple times. There were all kinds of jokes and comics (FoxTrot especially) that mocked how many girls saw Titanic repeatedly. I remember my friends loved bragging about how much they sobbed in that oh so cliche scene when Jack and Rose part. They quoted those lines, "I'll never let go Jack," with gravity and that... song... was a part of my daily social life.
But let's be honest: it's not that good. The plot is star-crossed-lovers at its basest (rich girl falls for the wild boy); the dialogue is predictable; the graphics aren't convincing; the acting is forced and the even the climaxes don't hold my attention. So why did 128 million people see it in just one year? And why did all the girls go again and again and again? With what did they identify so deeply? The kitchsky romantic lines? The contrived love affair? Nah, I have a better opinion of all those girls.
I think they identified with something way better than Rose and Jack's romance. I don't think they cared about that much at all. I think what the girls identified with was Rose's lifelong devotion to Jack. Even in her last years, she remembers him, and has kept him dear to her. She still loves him, 80 years later. I think the girls I knew, and those I know now, want to be that devoted to something.
I'm realizing girls are prone to devotion. It's one of their strongest qualities. It's the reason they can focus their entire lifetimes on nurturing their families, raising their children and supporting their husbands. It also makes them incredible humanitarians and wonderful teachers. They thrive in customer oriented businesses and in the church they are the truest worshippers. They are devoted to their God, their friends, the men in their lives and their children. On the other hand they can be stubborn about sticking with guys who are abusive, or just deadbeats. They are sometimes incredibly faithful to lost causes and bad ideologies. Still though, I think God really appreciates devotion, especially since devotion is basically the english word for holiness. When a person devotes themselves to something they set apart themselves for that thing and are faithful to it and focus their energies upon it. All of them is committed to that one object or cause. Of course, a thing is not good or bad in itself, but in how it is used. So, from what I've seen, girls are also wise and choose good things upon which to focus their hearts. I think this is one of my favorite parts about girls, and I see this in Amber, that when she makes up her mind, she is faithful to her choice, and devotes herself to whatever or whoever is in front of her at the moment. I want to learn that sort of devotion: I'm sure it pleases Jesus.
Most of the people I know now didn't see it in theatres, but I remember a lot of the girls
I knew then did -- multiple times. There were all kinds of jokes and comics (FoxTrot especially) that mocked how many girls saw Titanic repeatedly. I remember my friends loved bragging about how much they sobbed in that oh so cliche scene when Jack and Rose part. They quoted those lines, "I'll never let go Jack," with gravity and that... song... was a part of my daily social life.
But let's be honest: it's not that good. The plot is star-crossed-lovers at its basest (rich girl falls for the wild boy); the dialogue is predictable; the graphics aren't convincing; the acting is forced and the even the climaxes don't hold my attention. So why did 128 million people see it in just one year? And why did all the girls go again and again and again? With what did they identify so deeply? The kitchsky romantic lines? The contrived love affair? Nah, I have a better opinion of all those girls.
I think they identified with something way better than Rose and Jack's romance. I don't think they cared about that much at all. I think what the girls identified with was Rose's lifelong devotion to Jack. Even in her last years, she remembers him, and has kept him dear to her. She still loves him, 80 years later. I think the girls I knew, and those I know now, want to be that devoted to something.
I'm realizing girls are prone to devotion. It's one of their strongest qualities. It's the reason they can focus their entire lifetimes on nurturing their families, raising their children and supporting their husbands. It also makes them incredible humanitarians and wonderful teachers. They thrive in customer oriented businesses and in the church they are the truest worshippers. They are devoted to their God, their friends, the men in their lives and their children. On the other hand they can be stubborn about sticking with guys who are abusive, or just deadbeats. They are sometimes incredibly faithful to lost causes and bad ideologies. Still though, I think God really appreciates devotion, especially since devotion is basically the english word for holiness. When a person devotes themselves to something they set apart themselves for that thing and are faithful to it and focus their energies upon it. All of them is committed to that one object or cause. Of course, a thing is not good or bad in itself, but in how it is used. So, from what I've seen, girls are also wise and choose good things upon which to focus their hearts. I think this is one of my favorite parts about girls, and I see this in Amber, that when she makes up her mind, she is faithful to her choice, and devotes herself to whatever or whoever is in front of her at the moment. I want to learn that sort of devotion: I'm sure it pleases Jesus.
May 23, 2006
A recent day in the life of Galen
3:15 (AM!!) - Fall out of bed.
3:20 - Wake up Again.
3:45 - Shower
3:50 - A knock on the bathroom door. Pull on the pants and open the door.
3:51 - Rachel (gasping): "The house is on fire. THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE."
3:51 - Galen (thinking): Then why is everyone standing around?
3:52 - Mom (in the hall, panting on the phone): "Yes, I'd like to report a house fire."
3:52 - Open door to my Mom's deck so Dad can place a smoking microwave outside the house (which isn't actually on fire).
4:02 - Leave for work. Drive past two fire engines and an aid car headed toward my house. Laugh all the way to work.
4:12 - Driving 68mph, notice headlights catching up.
4:14 - Notice those headlights have bars in front of them. Notice lightbar. Notice speed is 74mph. Let off gas.
4:15 - State Trooper drives past me at 74mph. Sigh of relief. Back to 70mph.
11:15 - A man asks for a water. Happy to oblige I take a cup and step towards the ice. Reconsider. Step back to the counter. He's holding his hand inside his coat now. Consider the possibilities. Notice the tip jar is gone. Notice large square plastic bulge beneath his coat. Look customer in the eye and say, "Can I have that back please?" He thinks for a few seconds, then puts it back. Says he needs a dollar for bus fare. I search my pockets. No go. Says he just needs a dollar for bus fare because he just got out of jail. I think: Stealing again? And so bad at it? No wonder you were in jail. Apologize profusely but the tips aren't my money so I can't give him a dollar. Offer him his ice water anyway. He takes his water and leaves.
11:16 - Becky sees me holding two tip jars and asks what I'm doing. I explain. Much laughing. It is expressed that she didn't know I had it in me to catch a thief. I explain I was nice about it -- I did say "Please" after all. :) Receive small award for saving the tips. Feel like a hero.
1:00pm - Amber arrives. Change clothes and set out upon more adventures.
12:15am - Get home. Talk to Mom since she can't sleep.
1:33am - Go to sleep.
7:33am - Get up.
At least I'm not wasting my life asleep :P It was a 22 hour day, but it sure was exciting and fun. I love these supposedly mundane days that really are adventures in themselves. I love having a family and coworkers that can laugh about minor crises. I love having Amber along for it all. She's a great one with whom to share these days.
3:20 - Wake up Again.
3:45 - Shower
3:50 - A knock on the bathroom door. Pull on the pants and open the door.
3:51 - Rachel (gasping): "The house is on fire. THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE."
3:51 - Galen (thinking): Then why is everyone standing around?
3:52 - Mom (in the hall, panting on the phone): "Yes, I'd like to report a house fire."
3:52 - Open door to my Mom's deck so Dad can place a smoking microwave outside the house (which isn't actually on fire).
4:02 - Leave for work. Drive past two fire engines and an aid car headed toward my house. Laugh all the way to work.
4:12 - Driving 68mph, notice headlights catching up.
4:14 - Notice those headlights have bars in front of them. Notice lightbar. Notice speed is 74mph. Let off gas.
4:15 - State Trooper drives past me at 74mph. Sigh of relief. Back to 70mph.
11:15 - A man asks for a water. Happy to oblige I take a cup and step towards the ice. Reconsider. Step back to the counter. He's holding his hand inside his coat now. Consider the possibilities. Notice the tip jar is gone. Notice large square plastic bulge beneath his coat. Look customer in the eye and say, "Can I have that back please?" He thinks for a few seconds, then puts it back. Says he needs a dollar for bus fare. I search my pockets. No go. Says he just needs a dollar for bus fare because he just got out of jail. I think: Stealing again? And so bad at it? No wonder you were in jail. Apologize profusely but the tips aren't my money so I can't give him a dollar. Offer him his ice water anyway. He takes his water and leaves.
11:16 - Becky sees me holding two tip jars and asks what I'm doing. I explain. Much laughing. It is expressed that she didn't know I had it in me to catch a thief. I explain I was nice about it -- I did say "Please" after all. :) Receive small award for saving the tips. Feel like a hero.
1:00pm - Amber arrives. Change clothes and set out upon more adventures.
12:15am - Get home. Talk to Mom since she can't sleep.
1:33am - Go to sleep.
7:33am - Get up.
At least I'm not wasting my life asleep :P It was a 22 hour day, but it sure was exciting and fun. I love these supposedly mundane days that really are adventures in themselves. I love having a family and coworkers that can laugh about minor crises. I love having Amber along for it all. She's a great one with whom to share these days.
May 22, 2006
when everything happens at once
"No words can express how much the world owes to sorrow. Most of the Psalms were born in a wilderness. Most of the Epistles were written in a prison. The greatest thoughts of the greatest thinkers have all passed through fire. The greatest poets have "learned in suffering what they taught in song." In bonds Bunyan lived the allegory that he afterwards indited [wrote], and we may thank Bedford Jail for the Pilgrim's Progress. Take comfort, afflicted Christian! When God is about to make pre-eminent use of a person, He puts them in the fire." (George MacDonald)
May 2, 2006
Let me stay here, safe, for a while.
I want some company now.
A good conversation. An affectionate touch.
Someone to settle my soul.
Uninterrupted. Safe. Sanctity.
-------
I read that to judge is to cast someone out of your company. I'm tired of being watched. Of hoping to please.
A good conversation. An affectionate touch.
Someone to settle my soul.
Uninterrupted. Safe. Sanctity.
-------
I read that to judge is to cast someone out of your company. I'm tired of being watched. Of hoping to please.
Dilemma
1.) The man in a relationship is supposed to pursue the woman in the relationship.
2.) The man in a relationship is supposed to lead the woman in the relationship.
Therefore the man should both pursue and lead the woman in the relationship. This implies he should be both behind her (chasing) and in front of her (leading). This is not a practical possibility. So, which is it? Is there a middle ground or third option?
2.) The man in a relationship is supposed to lead the woman in the relationship.
Therefore the man should both pursue and lead the woman in the relationship. This implies he should be both behind her (chasing) and in front of her (leading). This is not a practical possibility. So, which is it? Is there a middle ground or third option?
April 30, 2006
Why they / we write
There are many authors who begin their novel with the thought, "I will make this entertaining," and they think, "I will be famous." And there are authors who begin a novel with a burden. They think to themselves, "This will be art."
April 22, 2006
let go. just let go.
I think I've spent probably 12 years studying the English language. I've done a million grammar exercises, conjugations and sentence diagrams. Every kid does. And yet I don't think all that studying helped me at all. How can I be sure? Well, I was a slacker: I didn't ever pay attention to grammar. So how do I know what to hang my prepositions on? How do I know where to use semicolons instead of colons? I know because I've read literature and essays that moved me and I saw how they formed their sentences. I absorbed the meaning of their words. I heard how certain syllables slid softly off my lips. I understood. But I didn't learn the specific rules... I didn't need to (don't start with contractions; don't hang that preposition :P).
I was thinking about how people who have a teaching mentality usually break topics into bullet points. It makes it easier to teach. And I was thinking how I usually do this too, even with really complicated topics that can't really be generalized in lists. I wondered what it would be like to teach a history class and never mention a bullet-pointed fact. I wondered if your students would learn better if you just told them stories. All I remember from my history lessons is the stories. The dates came later, when I looked at timelines and recognized famous battles and epic explorations. I wonder now, why don't history teachers -- the teacher with access to an endless amount of stories illustrating all sorts of amazing concepts and theories and New Deals and Chinghis Khan (who wasn't actually much more cruel than Joshua son of Nun) and British aristocracy (Charles is a generous landlord) and French Revolutions (do we really need dates when we have Les Mis and the Scarlett Pimpernel?) and Chinese poetry? Do we really need bullet points when we have the source materials? When we have the actual experiences expressed in language like rain on flowers?
And I wonder if a teacher could, after telling a story, avoid the tempation to break it down into bullet points to somehow make it "easier to remember"... As if anything is easier to remember than a story.
In my life I want to let go of the details and the bullet points. The story... My story has meaning.
I was thinking about how people who have a teaching mentality usually break topics into bullet points. It makes it easier to teach. And I was thinking how I usually do this too, even with really complicated topics that can't really be generalized in lists. I wondered what it would be like to teach a history class and never mention a bullet-pointed fact. I wondered if your students would learn better if you just told them stories. All I remember from my history lessons is the stories. The dates came later, when I looked at timelines and recognized famous battles and epic explorations. I wonder now, why don't history teachers -- the teacher with access to an endless amount of stories illustrating all sorts of amazing concepts and theories and New Deals and Chinghis Khan (who wasn't actually much more cruel than Joshua son of Nun) and British aristocracy (Charles is a generous landlord) and French Revolutions (do we really need dates when we have Les Mis and the Scarlett Pimpernel?) and Chinese poetry? Do we really need bullet points when we have the source materials? When we have the actual experiences expressed in language like rain on flowers?
And I wonder if a teacher could, after telling a story, avoid the tempation to break it down into bullet points to somehow make it "easier to remember"... As if anything is easier to remember than a story.
In my life I want to let go of the details and the bullet points. The story... My story has meaning.
March 22, 2006
I wonder if I really mean this
Sometimes I wish everyone knew my flaws. Then there'd be no fear. But we don't feel safe here amongst humans. At least I don't. In heaven I think we'll all know each other's earthly flaws. And it won't matter, because we'll all be so validated by each other and by Jesus. We'll be safe, because in heaven, we're not in a lifeboat anyway.
an axe is set against the root
Sometimes I want to pop my back. It's instant gratification. But it doesn't solve the root problem: muscles that are tense, vertebrates that are pulled by tense muscles, nerves that are pinched by vertebrates. Popping my back is so easy, but stretching loosens the muscles which releases the vertebrates which frees the nerves. So now, I choose to stretch. I choose yoga over popping. I choose good posture over cracking my back. Stretching takes longer, and sitting up straight takes more attention and determination (laziness is so easy), but it solves the problem.
Yes, that was a metaphor too.
I like how Thoreau said it: There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.
Yes, that was a metaphor too.
I like how Thoreau said it: There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.
March 3, 2006
bash: dump.
I got my blood tests back today. Drum roll please! BrrBrrBrrBumBumBUM
I have perfect blood. Well then, now that I'm not dying, it's about time to find something to do with my life.
Don Miller released a new book yesterday. It's reflections on growing up fatherless, but it's titled something about owning a dragon or somesuch. I'll be reading it, if only because it's also about men mentoring younger men, which is something that's important to me.
That stupid travel itch is coming back. I've been home... hardly a week and the itch is back. I like how everything is going here! Why would I leave? But it itches...
I saw the Constant Gardener again. I still like that movie. I like how it's a love story about people, rather than being a political docudrama with flat characters.
Does anyone else wonder if our children will be as critical of us as we are of our parents?
Jesus keeps popping stuff out of the scriptures at me, like potholes on a ten-speed.
I still don't get why he loves me so much even though I tend to be so fucked up -- even though I love him so much less than he loves me. More on that tomorrow. If in the past few days I've told you to remind me of something, you'd best do that, because I've forgotten. I only have the vague impression I've told people to remind me...
On that note, do remind me to tell you what I learned about Jesus and Peter's exchange at the end of John's gospel.
Oh, and remind me to tell you about the hitchhikers and the old man I met at a garage sale.
You're all lovable. Cheers.
I have perfect blood. Well then, now that I'm not dying, it's about time to find something to do with my life.
Don Miller released a new book yesterday. It's reflections on growing up fatherless, but it's titled something about owning a dragon or somesuch. I'll be reading it, if only because it's also about men mentoring younger men, which is something that's important to me.
That stupid travel itch is coming back. I've been home... hardly a week and the itch is back. I like how everything is going here! Why would I leave? But it itches...
I saw the Constant Gardener again. I still like that movie. I like how it's a love story about people, rather than being a political docudrama with flat characters.
Does anyone else wonder if our children will be as critical of us as we are of our parents?
Jesus keeps popping stuff out of the scriptures at me, like potholes on a ten-speed.
I still don't get why he loves me so much even though I tend to be so fucked up -- even though I love him so much less than he loves me. More on that tomorrow. If in the past few days I've told you to remind me of something, you'd best do that, because I've forgotten. I only have the vague impression I've told people to remind me...
On that note, do remind me to tell you what I learned about Jesus and Peter's exchange at the end of John's gospel.
Oh, and remind me to tell you about the hitchhikers and the old man I met at a garage sale.
You're all lovable. Cheers.
the new red bmw
Well, here it is. Still no name though.1988 BMW 325ix (30-70 awd).
168 hp
181 lbs torque
heated seats
sunroof
really bright high beams
pirelli tires
and this one Dodge Ram can keep up with it on the curves on 128 between Napa and Winters. Sad!
hydrogen and stupidity
Yesterday on 167 a woman broke her femur in a car accident. A man was charged for wreckless driving in the incident. The headline in the Journal reads, "Crash creates traffic nightmare."
Oh, sure, a woman broke her femur, but you should have SEEN that traffic.
Come on Journal, have a heart.
Oh, sure, a woman broke her femur, but you should have SEEN that traffic.
Come on Journal, have a heart.
March 2, 2006
Finding our faces
Ah, the internet. Where else can you simultaneously discuss comic books, Google's impending collapse and your deepest hopes just by tabbing between chats? In person you can only have one face at a time. Online, you're basically one messy mood swing. You can console a friend who lost a grandparent, while cracking political jokes just one conversation away. Doesn't that seem rude? Can we concientiously express sympathy in one window and feel entirely flippant in the next? Do we confuse ourselves when we are deeply spiritual with one person while ranting about LA's traffic to another?
Can we be true to ourselves and wear these many faces at once?
Can we be true to ourselves and wear these many faces at once?
February 28, 2006
waiting
I was exploring some Hebrew words this morning and talking to Jesus, and I came across this:
"I waited patiently for the LORD; And He inclined to me and heard my cry. " Popular verse and all. David wrote it, and we labeled it Psalms 40. But I looked at two of the Hebrew words behind our words: qavah (waited) and natah (inclined), and the verse seems more important to me. The Hebrew word for "waiting" isn't "waiting" like an orphan for adoptive parents, because an orphan never knows if anyone is coming. Qavah is to wait because you know something is coming. Amber is qavah right now for her camera. She ordered it, and knows it's coming; she waits till Friday, and she waits excitedly because Friday her camera IS coming. So, when David says he is waiting for God he's waiting excitedly because he knows God IS coming. He has no doubt, so it's not hard to be patient. Like Matt counting down the four Saturdays till Florida, David is counting down the moments till God arrives. Obviously God comes when he comes and goes when he goes, so David doesn't have a firm date about when God will come... or does he?
Check this out: natah is translated inclined, as in leaning towards. But that Hebrew word was more often used to say stretch or extend. So don't picture God leaning down towards David like your great-aunt towards a toddler, all achy backed and arthritic. Don't imagine the slow movements we use to ease towards someone. This is God we're talking about. Imagine Michelangelo's Sistene Chapel and God reaching mightily towards Adam. Imagine God running like an Olympic sprinter to David's side. He's arched and stretched and throwing all his energy into crossing the finish line and breaking that ribbon. So David is confident God will come, and he's excited, because God is coming as quickly as he can. How fast can our omnipresent, almighty God get there? Immediately. And when does God begin his journey? Probably when he heard David's cry. When he saw David waiting. Understand this: David is qavah because he knows when God is coming -- God is coming now.
"I waited patiently for the LORD; And He inclined to me and heard my cry. " Popular verse and all. David wrote it, and we labeled it Psalms 40. But I looked at two of the Hebrew words behind our words: qavah (waited) and natah (inclined), and the verse seems more important to me. The Hebrew word for "waiting" isn't "waiting" like an orphan for adoptive parents, because an orphan never knows if anyone is coming. Qavah is to wait because you know something is coming. Amber is qavah right now for her camera. She ordered it, and knows it's coming; she waits till Friday, and she waits excitedly because Friday her camera IS coming. So, when David says he is waiting for God he's waiting excitedly because he knows God IS coming. He has no doubt, so it's not hard to be patient. Like Matt counting down the four Saturdays till Florida, David is counting down the moments till God arrives. Obviously God comes when he comes and goes when he goes, so David doesn't have a firm date about when God will come... or does he?
Check this out: natah is translated inclined, as in leaning towards. But that Hebrew word was more often used to say stretch or extend. So don't picture God leaning down towards David like your great-aunt towards a toddler, all achy backed and arthritic. Don't imagine the slow movements we use to ease towards someone. This is God we're talking about. Imagine Michelangelo's Sistene Chapel and God reaching mightily towards Adam. Imagine God running like an Olympic sprinter to David's side. He's arched and stretched and throwing all his energy into crossing the finish line and breaking that ribbon. So David is confident God will come, and he's excited, because God is coming as quickly as he can. How fast can our omnipresent, almighty God get there? Immediately. And when does God begin his journey? Probably when he heard David's cry. When he saw David waiting. Understand this: David is qavah because he knows when God is coming -- God is coming now.
February 27, 2006
I woke up at 9am this morning. I felt like I had left the swimming pool just to climb into bed. All soaking wet. Sweat everywhere. It was 9am so I decided to shower and get out of my stifling blankets. I locked the door to the bathroom and then my Dad knocked on the door. He mumbled something, so asked him what he said. He said, "Are you ok?" That's when I realized I was sitting in the bathtub in my pajamas, and the shower curtain was wrapped around me like a hot dog. It took me a few minutes to decide it was worth unlocking the door. He had heard a clunk. I couldn't decide if I was dying or not. He got me water and a piece of bread. He knelt on the floor to make sure I was ok, and I sat on the edge of the bathtub and hung my head in exhaustion. Who knew falling down could be so much work? The doc says I need to eat more (sweeeet!), drink more, rest more (me? rest MORE? hahahahaha) and he stole some of my blood. I don't think he's going to give it back. What he doesn't know is my body is a blood manufacturing MACHINE!
My palm pilot is covered with things I want to be doing right now. But I'm supposed to take it easy. I'll just avoid washing my hand until I feel better.
My palm pilot is covered with things I want to be doing right now. But I'm supposed to take it easy. I'll just avoid washing my hand until I feel better.
February 22, 2006
Well, let's see:
1.) The water was cold. Very cold. The wind was colder.
2.) The hopefully came true! The plans went off perfect! Fun times were had by all! We stayed up till 2am talking and it was healthy and beautiful. The play was educational at a heart level. I'm not sure I can factually point to what clicked with me, but I think it mostly came down to realizing that the human condition is common to, well, all humans.
3.) The mystery dinner was a night of intrigue and proposals and lots of lying through teeth. It should be repeated.
4.) The family dined at Eva in Wallingford. Good service, quite the selection of unique food, a great tawny port and a 10 table atmosphere. Pleasant to say the least.
5.) The meet with Sharon fell through but I did get to spend a few hours with Katelyn, which was decidedly beautiful. El Diablo was made for interesting conversations.
6.) I missed my flight to Long Beach, so I read Hemingway in SeaTac's new terminal which is light and bright and modern and has some very cool art on display. I flew into Orange County instead and caught a shuttle to the car which turns out to be exactly what I expected. A few hours later, after 10 hours of not eating I stopped at Trader Joes before the long drive to Sacramento. Taragon and chicken is a great combination and fresh juices are wonderful. The drive wasn't nearly as trafficky as I expected. At 5pm I made it from Long Beach all the way out of LA on the 405 and the 5 in just two hours! The car handles well and rides like a BMW, which is the point. The paint isn't perfect and there's some personality quirks, but it drives like a BMW, so who cares? Oh, I have a radio in my car. It's been so long since I've had a radio.
I'll update again soon!
1.) The water was cold. Very cold. The wind was colder.
2.) The hopefully came true! The plans went off perfect! Fun times were had by all! We stayed up till 2am talking and it was healthy and beautiful. The play was educational at a heart level. I'm not sure I can factually point to what clicked with me, but I think it mostly came down to realizing that the human condition is common to, well, all humans.
3.) The mystery dinner was a night of intrigue and proposals and lots of lying through teeth. It should be repeated.
4.) The family dined at Eva in Wallingford. Good service, quite the selection of unique food, a great tawny port and a 10 table atmosphere. Pleasant to say the least.
5.) The meet with Sharon fell through but I did get to spend a few hours with Katelyn, which was decidedly beautiful. El Diablo was made for interesting conversations.
6.) I missed my flight to Long Beach, so I read Hemingway in SeaTac's new terminal which is light and bright and modern and has some very cool art on display. I flew into Orange County instead and caught a shuttle to the car which turns out to be exactly what I expected. A few hours later, after 10 hours of not eating I stopped at Trader Joes before the long drive to Sacramento. Taragon and chicken is a great combination and fresh juices are wonderful. The drive wasn't nearly as trafficky as I expected. At 5pm I made it from Long Beach all the way out of LA on the 405 and the 5 in just two hours! The car handles well and rides like a BMW, which is the point. The paint isn't perfect and there's some personality quirks, but it drives like a BMW, so who cares? Oh, I have a radio in my car. It's been so long since I've had a radio.
I'll update again soon!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)