things I like this spring:

Guava paste, blueberry incense, spinning seeds, sunshine, red socks, Turkish Delight, fidgeting, conditioner, the Mexican grocery store, walking, Jesus, flower trees, backrubs, baking cakes, Craig, leaning left, mowed grass smell, fancy cheese, glass beads, coffee, more coffee, drinking too much coffee, new leaves, geese, Craig's parents, teaching, sectarianism, sunglasses, Goodwill, lightening, gospel music, beetles.

(Image link.)

but those were MY rules!

Newt Gingrich:

Senate Republicans should mount an ongoing fight (including a filibuster of other activities if necessary) to get the American people to realize that liberals want to block all current judicial appointments in order to maximize the number of left wing radical judges they can appoint if they win the White House. [...] It shows the Democrats are not engaged in fair play.

Translation: I made up a bunch of meany-pants rules to restrict the minority in the legislature when I thought that the Republicans would be in control forever. But now we're not in control anymore, and it just doesn't seem fair that icky Demoncrats get to even approximate my level of unfairness. Waaah.
Question: Why does Gingrich suddenly seem like one of the more sensible Republicans on the public scene?

From the New York Times:

When the Pennsylvania returns rained down Tuesday night, the narrative became clear fast. The Democrats’ exit polls spelled disaster: Some 25 percent of the primary voters said they would defect to Mr. McCain or not vote at all if Barack Obama were the nominee. How could the party possibly survive this bitter, perhaps race-based civil war?

But as the doomsday alarm grew shrill, few noticed that on this same day in Pennsylvania, 27 percent of Republican primary voters didn’t just tell pollsters they would defect from their party’s standard-bearer; they went to the polls, gas prices be damned, to vote against Mr. McCain. Though ignored by every channel I surfed, there actually was a G.O.P. primary on Tuesday, open only to registered Republicans. And while it was superfluous in determining that party’s nominee, 220,000 Pennsylvania Republicans (out of their total turnout of 807,000) were moved to cast ballots for Mike Huckabee or, more numerously, Ron Paul. That’s more voters than the margin (215,000) that separated Hillary Clinton and Mr. Obama.

Those antiwar Paul voters are all potential defectors to the Democrats in November. Mr. Huckabee’s religious conservatives, who rejected Mr. McCain throughout the primary season, might also bolt or stay home. Given that the Democratic ticket beat Bush-Cheney in Pennsylvania by 205,000 votes in 2000 and 144,000 votes in 2004, these are 220,000 voters the G.O.P. can ill-afford to lose. Especially since there are now a million more registered Democrats than Republicans in Pennsylvania. (These figures don’t even include independents, who couldn’t vote in either primary on Tuesday and have been migrating toward the Democrats since 2006.)

(hat tip)

I hadn't heard that before, but just today at a polling station I saw a sign out for Ron Paul. He should be expected to do well in Indiana, right?

things I read during history class today

McCain: I Support Women's Rights...As Long As They're Meaningless
McCain the Women's Libber
“Fun Dads”, “Strict Moms”, the myth of male weakness and female anorexia: some further thoughts on Courtney Martin’s book
Crazy English
Wagering with Zeno
The Color of Plants on Other Worlds
Eviction Slip
Reading Herodotus

Hard To Get

"Did You forget about us after You had flown away
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath
While You're up there just playing hard to get
You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then..."
Rich Mullins

I hope it stays back this time.

Fafblog!

copy editor?

From the Earlham College newspaper, I just learned that the "sexual violence advocacy program" is unsustainable.
Frankly, I'm of the opinion that we have enough advocation of sexual violence as it is.

virginia is not on my short list...

...of places I'd like to live. Usually, asking anti-abortion activists how long a prison term they envision for women who end their pregnancies works as a rhetorical strategy. Gets folks rethinking the matter.

In Virginia, though, the answer is apparently "five years."

(link to picture)

Unrelatedly, this is more fun.

new definitions

“Rape, ladies and gentlemen, is not today what rape was. Rape, when I was learning these things, was the violation of a chaste woman, against her will, by some party not her spouse. Today it’s simply, ‘Let’s don’t go forward with this act.’” (Link)

You might have thought that defining rape more along the lines of 'sexual intercourse with someone by force,' and then saying that rape so defined is a bad thing, was a positive development. Clearly, this is because you are a godless liberal.

things I've read lately

You Like It, You Wear It
Obama's "Universal" Healthcare Deception
Anti-choicers still want to ban your contraception
Huckabee to Get Evangelical Leader's Nod
Dobson Endorses Huckabee
The Evangelicals' New Clothes

how big a geek am I?

...every congressional [district] attributes a number of delegates -- between three and eight. It is very difficult to get an extra delegate in an even-numbered district. For example, in a 4 delegate district, the candidate split the delegates 2-2 unless one of them breaks 62.5%, in which case the allocation is 3-1. In a 6 delegate district, the allocation is 3-3 unless a candidate breaks 58%, in which case it's 4-2. In odd delegate district, a one vote margin in that district gives the victor an extra delegate. So if a candidate gets 50.01% of the vote in a 5 delegate district, that already creates a delegate gap.

I thought this was a great article, that's how much.

I liked this snippet from a post supporting Sen. Clinton:
...in his effort to woo more conservative voters he's running to Clinton's right on health care and using right wing language on anything from Social Security to tax cuts. It used to matter to progressives how a candidate talks about issues; it still matters to me. It's not that I think Barack Obama isn't a progressive, certainly his voting record is, but the idea that he would run right to make distinctions from his opponent in a Democratic primary goes against everything we've been fighting against; and how else am I supposed to judge how he'll be as president than by the policies he's offering as a candidate? Whenever Obama does something questionable to progressives, it's fascinating to see the bending over backwards that goes on throughout the blogosphere to justify it. I don't think we should be trying so hard to look for signs that Barack Obama is a friend to the progressive movement even as he boasts about wanting to be the second coming of Ronald Reagan.

But I liked this, too, supporting Sen. Obama:
The problem with Clinton then is that she seems hopelessly frozen in these narratives – a byproduct of 1994 and coming of political age in Arkansas. Regardless of her disagreement with Republicans on individual issues, she cedes ultimate political victory to them because she accepts the terms of the debate they establish. Her stances on Iraq and Iran are objectionable to be sure, but what really concerns me is that they reveal a worldview that will result in more future bad decisions. Similarly, while her immigrant-bashing might help her tactically, it’s a long-term loser because it solidifies the view that (1) legal process is something one must earn; and (2) immigrants are bad. On the taxes front, her bashing of Obama’s payroll tax suggestion falls into this same category.

Actually, come to think of it, I've found two quotes that don't support either candidate. They're both negative. I miss Chris Dodd.

creeping racism

I haven't posted anything I've read lately, so here's a link: Link.

I'm not a big fan of Clinton, but...

When women say they support Hillary it's because they are irrationally supporting someone because of their gender. When men say they won't support Hillary it's because "she gives off the feeling that she despises them." If you even bring up the fact that there are men out there who will refuse to vote for any woman, you attacked for allegedly saying that men aren't decent people. Heads I win, tails you lose.
Link.
That makes me want to support her, war votes and all.

i knew it!

chalk one up for Morty

Now Morty can get ham flavored soda. Or pop, if he prefers; I don't know he swings on that.

When I ran "ham soda" through Google Image Search, this picture came up.

postbreakfast not-so-jauntiness

Latest depressing development in my prayer life: iGod won't talk to me. I said 'Hello,' and the page froze. I don't even know where to begin theologically reflecting on that.

This afternoon, though, I've learned that Halloween is for Devil worshippers, and that Bush has declared war on fire.

One of those is clearly a joke: you decide.

further adventures with iGod

Me: Could I please have some more coffee?
God: I think you could, if you put your mind to it.
Me: Trouble is, I can't put my mind to things very well without coffee. It's like needing grace before I can be good, you know?
God: Are they exactly the same? Interesting comparasion.
Me: No, not exactly; without grace I'm totally depraved, whereas without coffee I'm totally groggy.
God: Precisely. Are you serious? Are you serious? "Without your space helmet Dave, you're going to find that rather difficult." -- HAL.
Me: Um, my name's not Dave.
God: Woe! Oh I'm sorry what is your name?
Me: Julie. Pleased to meet you.
God: That input matched my default category. Nice meeting you too.
Me: So, are you going to give me some coffee?
God: Take it easy. Why do you want it?
Me: I get impatient without it, impatient and cranky.
God: Where did you get it?
Me: This morning? I got it at home.
God: What does "this" refer to? Where did you get it?
Me: This = Coffee. I get coffee from a coffee pot.
God: What does "this" refer to? Where did you get it?
Me: Do you need some coffee?
God: Yes and I think Dr. Wallace wants some too.

I think we've all learned an important lesson today about the vulnerability of iGod, particularly if s/he hasn't had enough coffee.

random phrase generator

try it.

troubling

There's a lot more going on with the story about Juanita Bynum than I understand. She's a Pentecostal preacher who married another Pentecostal preacher, after having preached a pretty conservative message on abstinence and sexual fidelity, and perhaps wifely submission as well. Her husband beat her up in a parking lot, and now she's filing for divorce.

I keep reading it argued that the message she preached leads women into abusive relationships. Maybe so. Pam does a particularly good job of getting into the stickiness of criticizing the message she preached on femininity without saying that the abuse was her fault.

Pam links to this article on the story from the New York Times, which just made me angry:

Conservative critics among the evangelical clergy have accused her of exploiting the attack for publicity, calling her “loud,” “angry,” “aggressive” and “out of control”...

I wish the author had cited particular conservative critics, so that I could write them each an email explaining why it is inappropriate to belittle a battered woman for being 'aggressive.' Loud, maybe; she's a prophetess, and somehow I doubt those critics were belittling her for being loud when she was preaching on abstinence. But angry? aggressive? She ought to be angry, perhaps even more at evangelical clergy who would ask her to shut up than at her own husband. And slamming a battered woman for being 'aggressive' is... sickening.

nostalgia

Does anyone else remember giggling while ending a hymn title with 'under the covers'? Like this:
Be Firm and Be Faithful (under the covers)
Take Me As I Am (under the covers)
Be Thou My Vision (under the covers)
Nearer, Still Nearer (under the covers)
To the Work! (under the covers)

Did anyone else do this, or was I just a particularly bad kid?

fun

this.

PS: it smells like autumn today.

sitting at Rita's desk, again

I'm sleepy- didn't sleep well last night, kinda groggy, and wanting some coffee before my evening class. Oh, and today was the first Common Meal of the semester, so I made an ass of myself. Just like last semester. I guess someone has to be graceless and groggy so that everyone else feels at home.

That's it: it's not total lack of poise and tact, it's a ministry of hospitality.

So, sitting here at the desk in my cute skirt, reading stuff online. Last semester's beginning poem was The Layers, which turned out to be an appropriate choice for both the semester and the summer. Still sorting the layers from the litter. This poem that I found on Hugo's blog will hopefully not be equally appropriate to this semester, but I do like it:

Account

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, thought it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own — but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.

--Czeslaw Milosz

Other reading from the afternoon has included this Harper's article on dolchstosslegende, a story via Digby on clowns at a KKK rally, and a slideshow via apostropher on a 200-yard spider web.

More to come, perhaps.

Update: Also Is There Anything Good About Men?, Art for our sake, India's middle class failure, Hey Folks, You're Spending My Inheritance, and The elegant assissin.

omphaloskepsis

From Evolving Thoughts:
Let's set the scene with some philosophical definitions. A scientific question is one that evidence can tell for or against. All else is a philosophical question, or as it is popularly known, navel gazing.

The article goes on in an interesting fashion, but I was reminded of one of my favorite parts of the OED: omphaloskepsis, or navel-gazing.
Here's a link for the OED-challenged.

sitting at Rita's desk

I'm sitting at Rita's desk today. For those of you not familiar with the ESR community, I've dressed up very professionally and am spending the day pretending to be a very competent and outgoing receptionist. It's fun for moonlighting, but I wouldn't want to do this every day. And no, I haven't really been asked to make coffee, although I've sure been drinking it.

There's not much to do- I cheerfully and graciously answer the phone when it rings, and then transfer the lucky callers to whomever might be able to actually help them. The unlucky ones get lost somewhere in the system, and I return to two important tasks:
a) looking competent
b) updating various things on the internet.

So, I've changed my Facebook status and updated my books, changed some Myspace stuff and left some comments, tinkered with my email, and now I've updated my Blogger list of books I want to read. It's in the top right hand corner, just in case you ever come into a large amount of money and want to spend some on me. I'm also updating my articles list, which I think I haven't touched since last semester. At some point, I will stop everything to search out more coffee, and perhaps redo my hopefully competent looking hair- if I've learned anything from working at the Roadhouse, or from preaching, it's that looking like you know what's going on is half the battle.

I read this today: The Peace Racket. "...we’re talking not about a bunch of naive Quakers but about a movement of savvy, ambitious professionals that is already comfortably ensconced at the United Nations, in the European Union, and in many nongovernmental organizations." Well, thank Heaven for that, at least.

And this: Enhancing Humanity "Of course, people are worried about more invasive innovations; in particular, the direct transformation of the human body. And this is where the gradualness of change is important, because as individuals we have a track record of coping with such changes without falling apart or losing our sense of self entirely. After all, we have all been engaged all our lives in creating a stable sense of our identity out of whatever is thrown at us." Narrative identity, etc. I've been reading a lot about that lately. Pieces of it will probably end up in my credo; my credo, in fact, is mostly pieces of things I've come across over the summer that I thought were interesting. It probably says more about my faith in its form than in its content.

And then this, from my hero Ben Witherington: Ignorance is Bliss? Biblical Illiteracy in the West. "Well of course part of the problem is the very nature of the modern and western church. It is all too often narcissistic and self-serving to the core. It spends the vast majority of its budget on itself-- its own buildings, its own clergy, its own self-help and nurture programs. The church has ceased almost altogether to be what it was at its inception-- an evangelistic movement, that also did some nurture and training of converts. Instead we are nurture institutions that might have a missions committee. Talk about placing the emphasis on the wrong syllable as the culture becomes increasing less Biblical. [...] What's wrong with needs based preaching? First of all in a culture immersed in constant advertisements and sales pitches, most people in the West have no idea what their real needs are. They can identify their wants, and they mistake them for actual needs." I just like Witherington, that's all. I love the fact that he has a blog, and that he uses bad grammar on it.

Ok, time to find more coffee.

overheard at Sacred Grounds

Spike Haired Fellow: Well, I don't know much about economics, but I've heard the argument that the economic success we saw under the Clinton administration was really due to Reagan and Bush, but we just have such a short view of things that we don't really think about long term effects. At least that's how it gets reported in the media, you know?

Baldy: So the economic success of the Reagan Administration should be attributed to the Lyndon Johnson and the Great Society, right?

Spike Haired Fellow: Well, um, well that's where I don't know much about economics.

What Spike meant was "well, that's where I don't know enough about economics to be able to twist whatever evidence I have into my right-wing mold," but he had to stop mid-sentence to thoughtfully sip his drink.

I thought that was funny and blogworthy, but now that I've written it I'll probably see them at Convocation as new Bethany students. Hopefully they won't recognize me as the young woman who was laughing at them at the coffeehouse.

carnival of the feminists no. 43

Link. Good stuff- I keep forgetting that these awesome carnivals exist.

anxious men

From Pandagon:

The insistent EP theory that men want to [make love to] everything in sight while women simply have some sort of wedding dress-and-fidelity gene is exposed as, if nothing else, too ridiculously simple to be real science and too obviously wishful thinking on the part of some anxious men.

Take that, Steve Pinker. I want to find a copy of the book Amanda's reviewing.

happy

I saw an Indigo Bunting, yesterday. They make me happy.

It's been a happy summer all around.

homeyness

I called my mom this afternoon and found out, among other things:
-the dog died and the cat disappeared
-my aunt Shirley probably hasn't died yet
-my sister dinged up both vehicles while practicing parallel parking

No word on said sister's motorcycling adventures, but I'm sure they'll be glorious.

'cause I stopped the slaughter of turnips

...by killing five men in a rage.
Link.

mail check 2

Junk mail, in various designs of paper-wastiness. Also can be taken as metaphorically exploring the ultimate meaning of life, but I'm in too good a mood.

mail check

Today I received a wedding invitation, a flyer about this summer's family reunion, and a fundraising letter from the cemetary association that manages the spot up the road from my parents' house where many of my relatives are buried.

That pretty much covers the important life events that one might find notice of in the mail. It was a bit overwhelming, but I survived.

what makes me happy?

Sunshine on the back of my neck makes me happy.

Also, banana chips. I used to go to camp every summer at High Braes, which is about a half hour drive from my house. It was (and still is) free for the kids who attend, and mostly supported by area congregations. I'm sure there were many things that my mom liked about sending me to camp, but every year I would look forward to eating banana chips at lunch. I never saw them outside of High Braes, so I thought of them as a special 'church camp' item that only the cook at the Braes could find. They fascinated me; I understood that raisins were dried grapes, and prunes were dried plums, and I had seen other dried fruits, but dried bananas just seemed magical.

At some point, perhaps in high school, I found a tub of banana chips at the grocery store. It was shocking, paradigm shifting- I could just buy banana chips on my own, without going to church camp! I could eat banana chips all year 'round! I could eat them in the hay! I could eat them every day! I could eat them on a boat! I could eat them with a goat! (but I wouldn't share them with the goat, because I like them too much.)

Anyway, I like banana chips. I got a box from my mom yesterday that had banana chips and yogurt raisins in it, among other things. I like yogurt raisins, but the tub of banana chips was the most exciting thing I've seen all week.

Hooray for banana chips. And sunshine- they go together.

straw person

I've mentioned this before, but I like Fred's weekly exegesis of the Left Behind series.

I'll note, though, that due to the sinister tentacles of feminism reaching into even evangelical colleges, I learned about the 'straw person' argument instead of the 'straw man' argument.

future assistant manager

I think I can sum up large chunks of high school by noting that I think this comic is funny.

Really funny. 'Laughing out loud in the computer lab' funny, even though I'm pretty sure that makes me an awful person.

Not that the career track that I'm on is much better, but, um, I've been to school a lot. That should count for something.

commonsense

Because there are other surgical options for late-term abortions, it is highly unlikely that banning IDX will prevent a single abortion. It may, however, prevent some women from having the safest procedure for their particular circumstances.

What the court's decided, in essence, is that a woman's right to make her own medical decisions is less important than preventing legislators from getting an ooky feeling by thinking about fetal heads being punctured. Our safety is less important than their feelings.
-Link

Spectacular. I'm sure Jesus is happy that if I get pregnant, and then the fetus dies in my uterus, I might have to undergo labor and delivery rather than having an IDX. Cause you know how clear the Bible is that a woman ought to be legally coerced into less than stellar medical options because Tony Perkins can't tell the difference between live fetuses and dead fetuses:

This is a victory for a commonsense measure that is overwhelmingly favored by over 70 percent of the American people who increasingly support protections for unborn children...
-Link

Bah. Not only does he not know how to use commas, but I do not think that 'commonsense' means what he thinks it means.

planning- not so much

You Are Root Beer

Ultra sweet and innocent, you have a subtle complexity behind your sugary front. Children love you, but so do high end snobs... when you're brewed right. Your best soda compatibility match: Dr. Pepper Stay away from: Diet Coke

What Kind of Soda Are You?

planning

It hurts less if I call it a plan.
That's more or less been my approach to this semester. It's time to start regretting that, and perhaps planning to do some work.

poem of the day

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Margaret Atwood - The Moment

hmm...

Your results:
You are Mystique

Mystique 53% Poison Ivy 53% Venom 43% Dark Phoenix 41% Mr. Freeze 33% Apocalypse 31% Dr. Doom 31% The Joker 30% Catwoman 25% Magneto 22% Green Goblin 21% Juggernaut 21% Lex Luthor 15% Kingpin 15% Riddler 11% Two-Face 9%

Sometimes motherly, sometimes a beautiful companion, but most of the time a deceiving vixen.

Click here to take the Supervillain Personality Quiz

ugh

"I presented my credentials from the Marine Corps to a very polite clerk for American Airlines. One of the two people to whom I talked asked a question and offered a frightening comment: "Have you been in any peace marches? We ban a lot of people from flying because of that." I explained that I had not so marched but had, in September, 2006, given a lecture at Princeton, televised and put on the Web, highly critical of George Bush for his many violations of the Constitution. "That'll do it," the man said."

More at Lawyers, Guns and Money.

Also, I liked a lot of things about Lexington, but this wasn't one of them.

multiple choice quiz

"I wish you were my Jewish grandmothers" was said by _______ to _______ and _______.

1) Jeff, to Jon and me
2) Me, to Tracy and Jeff
3) Tonda, to Adriana and me
4) Jon, to Adriana and Tracy

haven't done this in a while

List of stuff I've read and liked today:
The Bargin and The Prize
Democracy's Enemies
Compassion in the Bush
Sami Al-Arian
Quote of the Day
Angry White Man
Tuesday Forgotten American Blogging: Henry Wirz

rilke!

You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.


It’s Not Too Late, Rainer Maria Rilke
Image here.

desire

More on the Rebelution, from someone more thoughtful than me: here and here.

Image: here.

home, home in the snow

"Wherever you go, there you are."
-attrib. to Grandmaster Cliche

There's something profound to be said about identity observing the self, but I'm going for a walk instead.

on the blessing of community

"There is no use trying," said Alice. "One can't believe impossible things."

"I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

-Alice in Wonderland


Yoga by the mailboxes with Adriana and Tonda, followed by jumping on the couches and throwing pillows, makes me feel like I can believe the impossible. Even if Etienne does laugh at us.

quote of the day

From Twisty:

Their remarks represent what I have scientifically determined to be the most prevalent misconception about American feminists (aside from our famed dedication to the Three Hs: Hairiness, Humorlessness, and Hate): that we desire “equality” with men. This notion of inadequate women clamoring for parity is undoubtedly a comforting one, since it postulates “men” as the ideal that is desperately sought by legions of shrill bitches who, ultimately, are doomed never to prevail owing to “innate differences.”

That equality with men is the last thing on the radical feminist’s To Do list will not blow any veteran blamer’s mind, but it is incumbent on the spinster aunt to reiterate every ten minutes or so that our objective is liberation from male dominance, not the opportunity to mimic the patriarchal model of oppression .

fred on civility

"The Ramones rock!" is a statement, albeit an ambiguously defined one, about the world, about our shared reality. "I enjoy the music of The Ramones," is a statement about me. You can agree or disagree with the former, but not the latter, which is irrefutable but also -- as far as the world and our shared reality goes -- irrelevant.

To be civilized -- to live together -- we need to be able to talk about the world we share. We need to be able to talk about art, politics, religion, economics, science and all the other vital components of our civilization and not just about our own feelings. This conversation doesn't always have to be nice, but it has to be honest and it has to be responsible. That is what "civility" means.

Link. I may have said this before, but I'd like to marry Fred when I grow up.

Also, East Germany lives! (source)

Also, I'd be willing to marry Glenn Greenwald, too.

four cups of coffee

Sometimes, particularly when I've had a cup of coffee prior, I get excited in class.

Excitement, unfortunately, doesn't correlate very well with coherence. We were talking in Ethics about the Niebuhr brothers and critiques of pacifism. Reinhold critiques most forms of Christian pacifism as being little more than humanistic optimism, and advocates instead a realistic amassing of power to counter other power centers in global politics.

(Something like that- I've now had four cups of coffee, so my thinking is faster than my typing. Good for the thinking, not so good for the clarity of writing.)

Anyway, I heard something or other about balance of powers and my caffeinated mind said 'Dahrendorf!' Then, because I am ever-so-embodied, my mouth followed suit, leading the class to ask me what the connection was between the ongoing discussion and my animated citation of a British sociologist of whom no one else had heard.

Enter incoherence: "well, he wrote Class and Class Conflict in Industrial Society, and he's roughly contemporary with Niebuhr, and he was interested in how power is divided and diffused among groups so that, um, oligarchies... yeah, so that the power doesn't get centralized... which is sort of what Neibuhr is saying. So they're connected...?"

I have a bookshelf in my house. It's not big enough to hold my books, so they sit in stacks two deep. They aren't organized, either, just thrown in out of boxes from when I moved over the summer. I've tried a bit to put the books I don't expect to use toward the back, but it's a subjective process that sounds like this:
Hm, Acts of Faith, I might want a little rational choice analysis of religion, I'll put that toward the front... yeah.
I don't do well at anticipating which books I'll want on a whim, though, so of course Class and Class Conflict in Industrial Society was buried under a stack in the back.

Enter motivation, though: I drug it out. No clue when I'll look back through it, but it's in my backpack waiting. The connection is clearer to me now than it was in class- I really like our buddy Reinhold, and his critique of active Christian pacifism makes sense to me. It would make more sense, though, if he were writing from a secular position... in which case he would more or less be Dahrendorf.

And I do like Dahrendorf. And coffee.

I'm not a militant, but...

Some friends and I were talking, Friday afternoon, about young women who will say "I'm not a feminist, but..." and proceed to make feminist points.

The only relation between that conversation and the following link is that they both appear in this blog post:

Swiss Accidentally Invade Liechtenstein

What began as a routine training exercise almost ended in an embarrassing diplomatic incident after a company of Swiss soldiers got lost at night and marched into neighboring Liechtenstein.

According to Swiss daily Blick, the 170 infantry soldiers wandered just over a mile across an unmarked border into the tiny principality early Thursday before realizing their mistake and turning back.

A spokesman for the Swiss army confirmed the story but said that there were unlikely to be any serious repercussions for the mistaken invasion.

''We've spoken to the authorities in Liechtenstein and it's not a problem,'' Daniel Reist told The Associated Press.

Link. Made my day.

finally!

Remember the Rebelution?
Well, you can browse the results now.

I feel so... edified.

thanks for all the tips

Ford looked stunned.
"Where have you been?" he demanded.
"Making some coffee," said Arthur, still wearing his very placid face. He had long ago realized that the only way of being in Ford's company successfully was to keep a large stock of very placid faces and wear them at all times.
From So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish


Tonight, at the Roadhouse:
Guest, with menu open: So, your Rattlesnake Bites... are they real rattlesnakes?
Me, with placid face secured: No, they're made with cheese and jalapeño peppers.
Guest, obviously disappointed and confused: Oh. Well, if it's not real rattlesnake, I guess we'll just take a Cactus Blossom.
Me, not out loud: That's not actually a cactus; it's made out of an onion.

Placid faces = Useful inventions.


Oh, and while I wouldn't expect anything called The Gender Genie to disappoint me, playing with it was tons of fun and even reasonably accurate.

The Gift

To pull the metal splinter from my palm
my father recited a story in a low voice.
I watched his lovely face and not the blade.
Before the story ended, he'd removed
the iron sliver I thought I'd die from.

I can't remember the tale,
but hear his voice still, a well
of dark water, a prayer.
And I recall his hands,
two measures of tenderness
he laid against my face,
the flames of discipline
he raised above my head.

Had you entered that afternoon
you would have thought you saw a man
planting something in a boy's palm,
a silver tear, a tiny flame.
Had you followed that boy
you would have arrived here,
where I bend over my wife's right hand.

Look how I shave her thumbnail down
so carefully she feels no pain.
Watch as I lift the splinter out.
I was seven when my father
took my hand like this,
and I did not hold that shard
between my fingers and think,
Metal that will bury me,
christen it Little Assassin,
Ore Going Deep for My Heart.
And I did not lift up my wound and cry,
Death visited here!
I did what a child does
when he's given something to keep.
I kissed my father.

-Li-Young Lee

ash wednesday

In the deep stillness of prayer my soul fasts. Fasting, at its heart, is turning away from what keeps me from God. Two things I must leave: the walls I build around the space that was made to be God's dwelling; the absurdities I keep in that space, so jealously hoarded. Taking down the wall that protects the false self I have been building, all these years ... risking exposure, emptiness, loneliness.

The fast is silence, ocean-deep and prolonged. Shard by shard, the wall begins to fall. Inch by inch, the space clears, and Love lights the shadows.... In letting go is abundance. In emptying I am filled. This is not denial, but freedom. Fast is feast.

-JoAnn Staebler

a Klashnikov and a black hose

As I write this, Oprah is on Channel 4 (one of the MBC channels we get on Nilesat), showing Americans how to get out of debt. Her guest speaker is telling a studio full of American women who seem to have over-shopped that they could probably do with fewer designer products. As they talk about increasing incomes and fortunes, Sabrine Al-Janabi, a young Iraqi woman, is on Al Jazeera telling how Iraqi security forces abducted her from her home and raped her. You can only see her eyes, her voice is hoarse and it keeps breaking as she speaks. In the end she tells the reporter that she can’t talk about it anymore and she covers her eyes with shame.

-Link. River's blog is consistently one of the most horrifying things I've ever read.

long drive to Scot's house

I drove out to Scot's house last night, after a 6.5 hour shift at the Roadhouse, because I love his chickens t--h--i--s m--u--c--h.

Not really. The chickens are fun, but I'm a much bigger fan of the cat.

The first thing I did, upon arrival, was get my truck stuck in the snow. Funny thing about that; I was just telling a friend that all my arrogance over my winter driving skills would come back to haunt me. And there I was, all stuck and whatnot.

The second thing I did was swear loudly, and the third thing I did was make a cup of tea. After that it gets boring, and my nose was cold.

It's a long drive out to Scot and Jen's house, but the nice thing about it is getting Richmond, Dayton, and Cincinnatti radio stations relatively well. I appreciate having my scanning opportunities enhanced; each new station represents a higher chance that I won't be disgusted with the song they're playing.

Home played as I drove through Eaton, complete with the obligatory 'does every train in America have to go through Eaton, because it feels like I always have to stop at this crossing' experience. If you go here you can listen to the song yourself.

And I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
“I’m fine baby, how are you?”
Well I would send them but I know that it’s just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

I owe my sisters Valentine's Day cards, I'm told, since I had snowdays on which to complete them. (And they aren't allowed to be Violentine's Day cards, even though that would be vastly more amusing.) I can make them belated ones, or just start now on some goofy Ash Wednesday cards; my mom wouldn't approve, but Kim at least would think they were great.

So I've been thinking about my sisters, and thinking about home... hardly suprising topics. Buble seems to be singing to a person who is home to him, rather than to a place. I tinkered with the idea that a person could be home for me. Maybe that's how I think of my sisters, or maybe it's how I could think of some dreamboat fellow like the guy who left his number with the bartender last night.

Maybe not, though. That's a lot of load for someone else to bear, to be home for me.

What would it mean to think of God as my home?

storytime

The wife of a man became very sick. On her deathbed, she said to him, "I love you so much! I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to betray me. Promise that you will not see any other women once I die, or I will come back to haunt you."

For several months after her death, the husband did avoid other women, but then he met someone and fell in love. On the night that they were engaged to be married, the ghost of his former wife appeared to him. She blamed him for not keeping the promise, and every night thereafter she returned to taunt him. The ghost would remind him of everything that transpired between him and his fiancee that day, even to the point of repeating, word for word, their conversations. It upset him so badly that he couldn't sleep at all.

Desperate, he sought the advice of a Zen master who lived near the village. "This is a very clever ghost," the master said upon hearing the man's story. "It is!" replied the man. "She remembers every detail of what I say and do. It knows everything!" The master smiled, "You should admire such a ghost, but I will tell you what to do the next time you see it."

That night the ghost returned. The man responded just as the master had advised. "You are such a wise ghost," the man said, "You know that I can hide nothing from you. If you can answer me one question, I will break off the engagement and remain single for the rest of my life." "Ask your question," the ghost replied. The man scooped up a handful of beans from a large bag on the floor, "Tell me exactly how many beans there are in my hand."

At that moment the ghost disappeared and never returned.

-Link

important phone numbers

It was snowing as I drove to work last night. It wasn't a heavy snow, but the roads weren't plowed either, so conditions weren't great. There was a fellow walking up Rt.40 in the same direction I was driving so I stopped to pick him up.

He didn't speak much English, and my Spanish hasn't improved since I nearly failed it in college. He and I shared words to complain about the snow and the cold, and he asked if I was married or had babies, but we weren't able to communicate on an issue of great importance to both of us: where was he going? I thought he was heading to the mall, but he motioned me to drive past it. On down Rt.40 we went, and then turned around, headed back, taking turns at the wild gesturing and frustrated laughter.

Finally, he got me to stop at Hobby Lobby. I don't think that's where he was going, but at least he got to warm up a bit in my truck. He said something, and I tried to indicate that I didn't understand, which greatly disappointed him.

"You no like Mexicans?" he asked.

All my year and a half at ESR kicked in. What could be worse than accidentally representing myself as disliking someone based on ethnic group? So I replied, "no, no, I like Mexicans!"

"You like Mexicans to marry? Ella es muy bonita. My name is Jorge. Let me give number..." and he proceeded to tell me his phone number, which I promptly forgot because:
a) I don't remember phone numbers
b) I don't have a phone anyway, and
c) I didn't intend to call him.

So, I finally got to the Roadhouse, twenty minutes late. My lateness went unnoticed, because most of Richmond was panicking over the strange white stuff falling from the sky rather than coming for steak and beer. I clocked in, poured myself some coffee, and settled down on a stack of peanut boxes to read for class.

Toward the end of the first chapter, Paulsell notes that one of the most difficult of Jesus' teachings, that our helping others in need is helping him and that our ignoring others in need is ignoring him, is really an embodied command. It's about loving people in their bodies, whether they need food, clothing, shelter, or anything else.

That's all well and good, but what stood out to me was that Jesus had just told me that I was very pretty and offered me his phone number, and I hadn't even had the sense to write it down. I could have aced a prayer class with that one. Everyone else could have been labyrinth walking or chanting or whatever, and I'd just be looking for a phone...

"Hey Jesus, it's Julie. Remember me? I picked you up off the side of Rt.40 in the snow, once."
"Hm, yes, little red truck, dirty and made a lot of noise, heat was on but the fan didn't work? Am I remembering the right Julie?
"Well... yeah that's me."
"You dumped me in the Hobby Lobby parking lot because you didn't have the patience to learn my language."
"um..."
"I've got grace for the language issue, but you need to get your fan fixed. And seriously, vacuum. There's no reason to have that much hay on the floor of your truck when you live in a city.

Next time, next time I'll have paper and pen ready.

snowday squared

My dad, his truck, and a *lot* of snow.

In other news, I'm enjoying my second snowday in a row. It's a beautiful day: the air is crisp, the roads are what passes for plowed in Richmond, and the sun has even come out to sparkle on the new snow. I showed up at school for class today, assuming it wouldn't be canceled because, well, it's a beautiful day. And I could get bald-tired Barbwire out of the snowbank without even using a shovel, so why would school be canceled?

Ah, Indiana. What a great day.

one of ESR's favorite dead horses to beat

"Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are."
-Augustine of Hippo

ahem - now with pictures!

THE LAKE SNOW BAND WILL SWING BACK TO THE EASTERN SHORE OF LAKE ONTARIO AND BRING THE HEAVY SNOW TO THE REGIONS WHICH HAVE ALREADY RECEIVED CLOSE TO OR MORE THAN 100 INCHES. SNOW RATES WILL BE AROUND 2 INCHES PER HOUR AND MAY REACH 4 INCHES PER HOUR WITH ADDITIONAL SNOWFALL REACHING 3 TO 4 FEET OVER CENTRAL AND NORTHERN OSWEGO COUNTY BY MONDAY.
-link

That's my family, under the snow. They'll have good stories, I'm sure, better than 'Indiana folks don't know how to drive.'

Update: Ok, not my pictures. But my friend Lindsey took pictures of digging her car out of the snow.

in my email this morning

Sowing Hope, by Wendell Berry

In the dark of the moon,
In the flying snow,
In the dead of winter,
War spreading,
Families dying,
The world in danger,
I walk the rocky hillside
Sowing clover.

pre-grumble announcement

But the fact that we're seeing a black candidate who seems infinitely more relaxed with himself than his female competitor speaks volumes about just how much we're likely to punish women who step outside the bounds of corporate-flavored gravitas.

Part of this is Clinton's own fault — the very act of saying "you keep telling me to be funny" is depressing evidence of her burdensome self-consciousness. But then again, female humor is easily bent into the worst cliches about women. Funny men, after all, are considered smart, confident and sexy. But wisecracking chicks risk accusations of bitterness, hormonal instability and the assumption (no matter what they look like) that they're using wit to compensate for physical unattractiveness.

-Link

This just reminded me about chapel tomorrow: led entirely by women, with only women speaking. I want to be excited- I'm all about people being able to hear their call to ministry without being slapped down for their gender- but I have a feeling I'll be grumbly afterward.

So, if you're in a mood to listen to a few hours of agitated gender theory tomorrow, take me out to lunch! That's my point. Because a free lunch is a good lunch.

busted out the markers

I've been drawing the same cartoon characters since high school, more or less, without paying much attention to them. None of them have names, and while all of them are somehow me, their individual personalities are rather diffuse. I'm taking Spirituality and the Body now, though, so I've been looking at them a little more closely. This one tends to hold who I am more than the rest, and what stands out to me now is how large her eyes are- up on stalks and looking at everything.

She's also got hips. Just sayin'.

I busted out the markers because pieces of a poem I posted before were in my head:

...I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray...

...Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go...

...a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

Not done; I labeled that post 'inauspicious beginings,' but that actually sounds rather encouraging. I am not done.

My recent attraction to this poem is all tied up with what Hugo wrote on conversion and regret. I'm struck by his words on forgiveness, in particular, but not in any way that I can articulate yet.

For something completely different: "...and then he's shouting that my astronauts were living together in sin and that they deserved to be mulched!" -Aqua Teen Hunger Force!

God's Wheel

God says to me with a kind of smile,
"Hey how would you like to be God awhile
And steer the world?"
"Okay," says I, "I'll give it a try.
Where do I set?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?"
"Gimme back that wheel," says God.
"I don't think you're quite ready yet."
-Shel Silverstein

Letter from Soledad Prison

Hm. And hm again.

Speaking of imprisonment, we had some snow last night. Not a lot, but some. It stopped around seven, so I assumed that I'd be able to drive on a major road when I got out of work at eight-thirty.

But no- this is Richmond. The road was still covered with snow, and my bald-tired truck and I had an adventure getting home. I could hear my dad sitting next to me: Hold it steady. Don't brake, downshift. Watch that moron fishtailing in the Civic. Turn the radio off, singing is a distraction.

I left the radio on, but we made it home alright anyhow.

swirly guy said it

These aren't particularly funny cartoons from today's Ethics class. We're reading Hauerwas, which is great, but it took time and coffee to bring me to a point where I wanted to draw something other than pillows and blankets. The quote is from class, part of a larger image given about rules falling from the sky.

Hauerwas rejects both deontological and teleological ethics in favor of a narrative approach; our ethics are formed not by rules, nor by consideration of the common good, but by the stories that we tell one another within community. I'm not sure why he juxtaposes deontological with teleological, rather than with axiological, but on a broader level he sounds more like a sociologist than a theologian or philosopher anyway.

If our ethics are relative to the stories we tell one another, then sin would be telling a different story, tweaking the narrative somehow. I'm not sure what I think of Hauerwas, overall, but I can relate to a sense of my self as consisting of all the stories I've told and been told, stories about my family, about my church, about what it means to be from Upstate NY and what it means to be Julie. And when I step out of that story, I step out of myself. I feel smaller, scattered, and insecure.

The story goes on, though; the trick is the telling it.

contentment

"But godliness with contentment is a great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out."
-1 Timothy 6:6-7

Or, for more fun, read it in the Wycliffe version:
"But a great winning is piety, with sufficience. For we brought in nothing into this world, and no doubt, that we be not able to bear any thing away."

Easier cut-n-pasted than done.

Currently on Pandora: Last night, last night
Underneath the moonlight
I asked the owl, asked the owl
What to do
He said you only need a love that's true

That's what comes of swinging in ethical trees, I suppose.

cartoons

I was asked, recently, why I never scan my cartoons and post them here.

Lots of reasons, I guess, ranging from 'I don't like using the scanner' to 'I don't draw very well' to 'an embarassing number of my cartoons express my deeply felt superiority to others in class.'

Here's a stab at it, though- this one's from yesterday's Ethics class. Something or other was being said about objective and subjective grounds for ethics; I'd give you more detail, but I was busy trying to draw an owl. It looks better here than it did in class. The question, I suppose, is whether the owl is talking to her friend in the tree, or to me.

And then there's reiterating my feelings on Ogden. Reading On Theology has not been one of the highlights of my week.

Appropriately, today's Word of the Day: 'inscrutable, adjective:
Difficult to fathom or understand; difficult to be explained or accounted for satisfactorily; obscure; incomprehensible; impenetrable.'

phooey on Odgen

As far as I can tell, this fellow spent two full pages to say 'Christian Ethics must be grounded in a subjective knowledge of Christ.' I'm not really sure, though.

I didn't come to seminary for academic hazing, that's all I'm saying. Sometimes, I wonder if the anti-intellectualists in my religious heritage weren't on to something.

this clock would rock my world

Seriously, go look. It's perfect for folks like me, except that I might not remember to look at my computer for the time.

Found that at Crooked Timber, where I also found this set of tag clouds. I didn't listen to the State of the Union, being too busy with considering yesterday evening's various propositions and learning that my jeans are totally slut gear, but I'm a little disturbed to note that my name was one of the most common words.

Apparently those sparkle-butt jeans are hotter than I thought.

inauspicious beginnings

Yesterday was the first day of class. I overslept, forgot to bring paper to class, made a frustrated and snarky comment about hoping that people wouldn't emotionally process in class, made an ass of myself at Common Meal, and then called it a school day and went to work. Last night's work experiences have been chronicled in a previous post, after which I went home, stomped around my apartment, came back to school to write about it until it was funny, and then showed up at Aaron's house after the Princess's birthday party was already gone.

A little storytelling, a little listening to poetry, a little Aaron guessing that I hadn't eaten supper even though it was after 10, and I finally got home around 1. Forgot to turn on the alarm, and woke up at 7:45 for today's 8:30 class.

So, still no notebook paper, on the second day of class. But I do like this poem from last night:

The Layers
--Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

the rebelution

I don't often talk, around ESR parts, about the problems I see in conservative Christian circles. Folks here are quite motivated to address those problems, loudly and at legnth, even when they have no clue what they're talking about.

This survey, however, suprised me. It shouldn't have- I've met these folks before- but I guess it's been a while.

Some of the questions:
It is a stumbling block for a girl wearing pants to sit cross-legged (i.e. Indian style).
Seeing a girl stretching (e.g. arching the back, reaching the arms back, and sticking out the chest) is a stumbling block.
Seeing a girl take off a pullover (i.e. a shirt that must be pulled over the head) is a stumbling block, even if she is wearing a modest shirt underneath.
Dresses that are fitted at the waist (e.g. with a belt or waistband) are a stumbling block.
And etc.

First off, if the men taking this survey are turned on by girls, rather than by women, that's a problem that likely has little to do with the way the girl is dressed.

Perhaps the word 'woman' is immodest.

Anyway, I apologize to all the men I've tempted by sitting crosslegged in jeans, particularly the jeans I'm wearing today with the sparkles on the butt. If I weren't such a hussy, maybe I wouldn't get propositioned by guests at the Roadhouse.

I was joking with a friend over the weekend about going plain, but all this makes long skirts and headcoverings look pretty good to me.

swingingly naive

I got a nine dollar tip off a thirty dollar check tonight. I asked the guys if there was anything else I could do for them, and they said "is there a room in the back where you could give us, um, a backrub?"

Nine bucks is nine bucks, I guess.

I went back to the storage area, later on, and some friends were talking about swing dancing. It's been forever since I've been swing dancing, and even though I'm no good at it I stopped for a listen. They asked if I wanted to join, and I said 'Sure! When?'

Long story short: they weren't talking about swing dancing. They were talking about swinging. I made a valiant attempt to ignore the problem by saying 'You've got a swing in your yard? Like a tire swing?'

Fellow gives me a long and somewhat discomfiting scan and says 'you know what I'm talking about.' Intensely. Then another person came up, and I slipped off with my ketchup.

Perhaps I should rethink my habit of dancing to rap music while climbing in the shelving. An odd night all around.

three heads

JQ: ...I listened to the lecture and thought, “That’s a fascinating guy!” It turned out he was doing a lecture every day, so I kept coming back. The third time I came back, I was on a hallucinogen. I think that did influence me.

RU: He became more impressive? Kind of like the Grateful Dead?

JQ: Yeah, he became even more impressive and he had three heads.

-It's not a great article, but that part made me laugh.

what are you doing here, Elijah?

Late last night, I was rereading a book of poetry by James O. Bond that I recieved from a friend who moved away. I had already turned out all the lights before I went digging for this poem, so I read it by a candle:

Let go, he said, and fall
Into the everlasting arms
Your frantic grasp upon the edge
Of sullen life is useless now,
Unhand the day, and unheeding fall
Into eternal care.

But no, I plead
I sense no sure embrace
I fear an everlasting fall
Into a cruel and empty space.

Remember yet, he said,
The gentle curvature of space
Encircling time and you
Holds in its arms
The wholeness of us all
And tenderly returns your fall.
Let go, he said, and rise
Into the endless skies.

It was also an evening for digging back through old music, starting with Eli and moving through Margaret Becker, Sarah Masen, Five Iron Frenzy, Third Day, and some Jars of Clay for good measure. Old friends of mine; I should haul them out more often for tea.

late, of course

(I haven't been in much lately.)

We have before us the glorious opportunity to inject a new dimension of love into the veins of our civilization. There is still a voice crying out in terms that echo across the generations, saying: Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you, that you may be the children of your Father which is in Heaven.

This love might well be the salvation of our civilization. This is why I am so impressed with our motto for the week, 'Freedom and Justice through Love.' Not through violence; not through hate; no, not even through boycotts, but through love.

It is true that as we struggle for freedom in America we will have to boycott at times. But we must remember as we boycott that a boycott is not an end within itself; it is merely a means to awaken a sense of shame within the oppressor and challenge his false sense of superiority. But the end is reconciliation; the end is redemption; the end is the creation of the beloved community.

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

sleep and justice

Last week or perhaps the week before, Aaron asked me if I wanted to go to a Martin Luther King Jr. Day breakfast. I said "sure!" Free food, talking about justice, hobnobbing with the Richmond social elite (I may have made the latter up); what could be better?

He checked back this afternoon, wanting to know if I was still up for breakfast. "Sure!" I say again. He tells me that he'll be by to get me at 6:40am.

6:40am.

I like justice. I want to see it roll down like the waters. I just think it should do so at a reasonable hour, say 10:30 for a nice justice brunch.

My committment to justice may be flawed, I suppose, but it will be more than made up for by my committment to coffee; I'll need a lot to make it through breakfast.

oh gracious

"The sister of a Dutch bishop in Limburg once visited the abortion clinic in Beek where I used to work in the seventies. After entering the full waiting room she said to me, 'My dear Lord, what are all those young girls doing here?' 'Same as you', I replied. 'Dirty little dames,' she said."
(Physician, The Netherlands)
-Link

hearing gap

Tomorrow, in my class on ritual, we're holding Love Feast. For those of you not familiar with it, it involves feetwashing. A classmate who is working on the project gave us some simple instructions and advice, including (in my ears):

"Women ought not wear clothes around their waist."

Repeatedly, in this class, I've found myself identifying with the Brethren point of view. The professor describes 'the Anabaptist perspective' on a matter, and I think, 'Well, of course! What rational person could possibly think differently?' As galling as it is to admit that someone else might be right about me, I may find myself part of the Church of the Brethren before I leave.

Just the same, I don't think there's much Biblical basis for an ordinance of crop tops on women at Love Feast.

I waited, (semi)patiently for the discussion to resolve into something understandable, but noone else in the class reacted as though it was odd to ask that women not wear clothes around their waist. That was even odder; surely, in a class of eleven, someone might think that a bit strange!

My look of consternation was noticed by someone in the class, and I was asked what was on my mind. I paused a moment, trying to collect my thoughts, and repeated what I had heard.

"Women ought not wear clothes around their waist?"

Heard spectacularly wrong, of course. The advice was not to wear hose up to the waist, since wearing full pantyhose to feetwashing would result in a strip experience during worship to expose the feet. So the advice was about avoiding immodesty, rather than purposefully engaging it, although we did make the obligatory jokes about a new and more exciting version of Love Feast.

new favorite hymn, perhaps of the week

(I love the Brethren Hymnal.)

Oh God, in restless living we lose our spirit’s peace
Calm our unwise confusion, bid thou our clamor cease.
Let anxious hearts grow quiet, like pools at evening still,
till thy reflected heavens all our spirits fill.

Teach us, beyond our striving, the rich rewards of rest.
Who does not live serenely is never deeply bless’d.
O tranquil, radiant Sunlight, bring thou our lives to flow’r,
less wearied with our effort, more aware of pow’r.

Receptive make our spirits, our need is to be still.
As dawn fades flick’ring candle, so dim our anxious will.
Reveal thy radiance through us, thine ample strength release,
not ours, but thine the triumph in the pow’r of peace.

We grow not wise by struggling, we gain but things by strain.
We cease to water gardens, when comes the plenteous rain.
Please, beautify our spirits in restfulness from strife,
enrich our souls in secret with abundant life.

my horoscope

Aries March 21 - April 19
When times are tough and the world around you seems grim, don't be afraid to turn to religion for a good, hearty laugh.

Also, I'd forgotten how much I like this site. I wasted hours on it, at Houghton, when I should have been working.

Mmm, good slacking memories.

Update: more slacking...

Dallas-based Pizza Patron decided that it would accept pesos at its restaurants. Naturally, real Americans see this as the leading edge of the Reconquista, just like all the stores in Buffalo that accept Canadian dollars and all the stores in Canada that accept American ones. It’s all part of a plot to return Saskatchewan to Spanish rule. You laugh, but after Spain rejoins the Caliphate you’ll all be reciting from El Quran before every round of juego de pelota.

~link

screw Descartes

I still have a sense of choking on all the things I want to say, both when friends ask how I'm doing and when I sit down to write emails or blog. This has been such a full intensive, so full of good things. I hadn't realized how hungry I was to have physicality back in my corporate worship, but the class on ritual that I'm taking has really fed that need as we've practiced the ordinances. Water, bread, juice, oil... I like Quakers, for the most part, but I can't know my faith by closing my eyes and looking inward all the time. I need to taste the juice, see the baptismal water reflecting the sunlight, smell the frankincense and myrrh and olives on my forehead.

My body and my spirit don't have separate faiths, and to feed my spirit on the mysterious things of God and my body only on practical potluck foods doesn't make sense to me. I need to know my faith in my body, as much as in my spirit.

I'm really looking foward to Love Feast on Friday. I have more I could say, but people are talking loudly in the computer lab and I can't think. Who are these jerks, anyway? I would never even consider talking in here when someone's trying to work.

stars and asterisks

I dislike keeping happy secrets.

This makes life hard for me, at the beginning of Janurary, because I never have my Christmas presents passed out on time. I excuse them first as Epiphany presents, then as part of an MLK celebration, then as Valentine's gifts, and the remainder are lost somewhere in my apartment to inspire guilt at a later date. The tension builds in me- almost done! I can almost share them!- and if I were at all a reponsible person it would motivate me to finish more quickly.*

I delivered a bunch last night, though, after the early evening meeting for worship. It was fun, at Houghton, to write CPO numbers on random objects and know they'd be delivered, but I like slipping gifts into mailboxes myself even better. Epiphany stars- some little, some big, some neat, some funky, all different colors and none really appropriate as Christmas ornaments.

That's okay, though. The star doesn't go over the stable, anyway, except in the Victorianesque Christmas cards. Stars are about journeys to find the Christ, not the Christmas celebration itself. Journeys through deserts and oases, fording rivers and climbing mountains, searching for the pearl of great price.**

ESRwise, I made them for friends and for attenders at early evening worship, which was a bigger list than I anticipated.*** It was a great way to spend break, though, holding each friend in prayer while making a star for them. I had a sense of joy in yesterday's meeting at seeing people back in Richmond that I think was connected to having spent that time in prayer; I don't always feel at home, here, but I felt at home yesterday with my friends.

The stars aren't all done, of course, but they'll get done.**** And I'm excited about them, even the ones I haven't finished yet.

*Or perhaps begin in November, instead of a week before Christmas.
**Or pearls of great price, for someone of my less orthodox friends.
***I could have counted, rather than anticipating, but then I wouldn't be me.
****Jess, yours and Laura's will be in the mail... eventually. Perhaps by, um, your birthday.

class break

Diamond Joe's in my head, this morning:
And I'm gonna walk in the city square
With all this bear grease in my hair

This is great, in that it's an upbeat song that keeps me awake.

The downside, though, is that I'm singing it to myself in class, and bouncing up and down and grinning. It's a small enough class that the professor can give students opportunity to speak when they look confused or like they've had an insight, which I generally appreciate since I don't always speak up when I have an idea or question. Today, though, Diamond Joe has resulted in me being asked to share my insights with the class on multiple occasions when I have had no such insights.

I've passed a few times, and made up some stuff about 'nonverbally invoking the unseen source of power within a context currently being made sacred' on the fly, but I think I need to find a quieter song to sing for the second half of class.

Update! Status report: Mission Find A More Appropriate Song, dismal failure. Continued singing Diamond Joe throughout class discussion of the theological signifigance of marriage. Briefly considered doing a classroom special music- Diamond Joe don't you know, she should have left me long ago...- but fortunately realized in time that this is only funny as a hypothetical.

bread of heaven, broken for you

My hands are still shaking. Not much, I guess, just enough that I can see it, and enough to be having trouble typing. But shaking, nonetheless.

About an hour ago, I finished helping to lead my first communion service. Steve had done this before; my only experience was in a deaconish role in a congregation in Indianapolis, once, several years ago.

I was reminded of Luther, this morning, his fear that he would somehow mess the service up. I'm no transubstationist- I tend to think of the real presence of Christ as something within the gathered community, rather than within the bread and cup. I worried, though, worried that I mess up the prayers, mess up the songs, mess up the order, drop the bread and spill the juice.

Well, I did mess up. Not badly, but there were errors. Jesus showed up anyway.

I have lots to say, and no idea how to say it.

Hopefully my hands stop shaking before I get to work tonight.

real men

“Moktada,” Mr. Hussein replied, smiling contemptuously. “Is this how real men behave?”

Link. That quote jumped out at me, due to recent ruminations on gender... I would dearly like to know how real men behave, and I'm not sure that rereading Robert Bly would settle the matter.

I don't have time to reread it, anyway; class starts tomorrow, and I (of course) have not yet even bought the books.

Update: "It's outrageous- an execution during Eid. Muslims all over the world (with the exception of Iran) are outraged. Eid is a time of peace, of putting aside quarrels and anger- at least for the duration of Eid." -River

happy new year

And I said to the man
who stood at the gate of the year,
'Give me a light that I may
tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied,
'Go out into the darkness,
and put your hand into
the hand of God.
That shall be to you better
than light,
and safer than
the known way.'

link

I rung in the new year in a Pentecostal church with Aaron and Eileen. A favorite New Year's, thus far, although the one in Rochester at Scott and Katie's apartment is still high on the list.