My Brother Rules.

Today (Feb. 20) is my brother's birthday. Happy Birthday, Marsh.

He rules. He's six years younger than me, so we didn't exactly grow up together, but close. In many ways, we're opposites. I'm short. He's tall. I'm flabby. He's He-Man. I'm still in school. He has a real job. I'm astoundingly handsome, he's . . . you get the point. But we shared a room for years, and he was hands-down the funniest little kid I've ever known. Ever. If you know him today, you probably consider him to be pretty mellow and a little quiet. This wasn't always the case. While I don't have the time to re-tell his life's story here, I just want to put up a couple of stories that always make me laugh.

And no, I don't have his permission to post these photos. I'm calling it "Fair Use" under the Big Brother Prerogative article of the Geneva Convention.

Marshal was hyper alright, but everyday life seemed pretty boring to him as a baby (by the way, doesn't our mom look awesome?).



Marshal's always been the "Desperado" type. He never went to bed easily, and loved to sneak out of bed to run wildly around the house while my parents awkwardly chased him with the parental, "I don't really want to smash anything or tackle my kid" lurching gait. Eventually, my parents bought a gate for the bedroom door. He just climbed over. Then they put it high. He figured out how to wiggle under it.

Usually, the night would end with my mother sitting in the hallway watching our room with a wooden spoon in her hand. But if she deserted her post for just an instant, Marshal was gone like Houdini.

I've gotta confess, I loved to urge him to get up. It made evenings so much more entertaining. Sorry about the beatings, Marsh. But I didn't hit you myself. I just encouraged you make bad decisions.




Marshal was a pretty irreverent Nativity Shepherd. Would you trust this kid to keep watch over your flocks by night?


If you knew Marshal as a kid, he was always wearing his GI-Joe hat. Always. Occasionally, we would see him outside in the kiddie pool wearing only the hat. After all, swimsuits are kind of restrictive, and it's always important to protect your eyes from the sun. What a wise kid.


(Here's a close-up.)






We each must make our own path in life, and Marshal chose to attend the BYU. In the interest of full disclosure, this was originally my Halloween costume, before I understood the full implications of this color choice. But Marshal's BYU-fandom translated into matriculation and a degree. A true black sheep, he's the only one of my siblings to graduate from the BYU.




But Marshal's BYU-ness has, despite the odds, not driven a wedge between us. Last fall, when I went to Michigan to watch the Utes abuse the Wolverines in Ann Arbor, my friend and I had some car trouble driving into the city. With the car in the shop a few miles from the stadium, we were optimistic, but in no way confident that we'd find a ride back to the auto shop.

Standing near the exit after the game, who pops up, but my Chicago-based brother and his wife, Lindsey. (Pictured below. Note Marshal's Michigan-supporting T-shirt color). I had no idea he was in Michigan for the day. They had come to the game as a last-minute idea, and we bumped into each other. I mean, what are the odds? Who doesn't bump into his only brother in a stadium of 100,000+ people two states away? Luckily for us, Marsh and Linds gave us a ride to our car.




But this is the final, ultimate story of brotherly love:

In late December last year, when Utah's football team had run the table and was headed to the Sugar Bowl, I got an urgent message to call Marshal. I was pretty sick and had spent a good part of the day throwing up, but I finally managed to call him back. Here's how our conversation went:


Marshal: "Are you going to the Sugar Bowl?"

Me: "No, I can't afford it. We're visiting the folks for Christmas. I have a conference on the 4th and one on the 8th of January, and we're trying to buy a car.

Marshal: "I really think you should go. I'd do anything to go if BYU was in this game. That's why I just bought you an airline ticket to New Orleans on the morning of January 2, returning January 3. And Utah Man in Michigan got you a ticket with him and his family."

Me: "I'm healed."

Jesus may save, but Sugar heals the flu.



I told you my brother rules.

Just go ahead and call me Dirk Philadelphos from here on out.

The Hollow Earth

I've heard this crazy idea before, but over the holidays my good friend Susie brought it up again. A couple of days later, I was at a conference in New York and visited a book vendor who was promoting a 2006 book by David Standish called Hollow Earth, that traced the history of this idea. Realizing that this was a sign, I bought the book (but not at retail prices, mind you) and was surprised at how fascinating it was. (A New York Times Book Review from 2007 seems to agree.) To riff on a crude metaphor, the rabbit hole goes pretty deep.

Standish's book traces the earliest publication of the theory to none other than Sir Edmond Halley (1656-1754), the same man who successfully predicted the return of the comet named for him. Halley proposed that the earth was hollow in 1691, and published a book explaining the "physics" behind his hypothesis in 1692. Despite the scientific trappings, Halley's argument was really religiously based, proposing that it would be a great waste of God's power to make a huge planet that would only support life on the surface (or close to it).

Although Halley said it first, it was really John Cleves Symmes (1779-1829) who took the notion of a hollow earth into the modern era. Symmes proposed that the inner earth was accessible through large holes near the poles that enjoyed warm, tropical climates and probably supported life. Symmes never made it to the Arctic to look for the holes, but he might have been the actual author of the book Symzonia, an 1820s novel about a journey to the interior of the earth. Symmes' ideas were popularized by J.N. Reynolds, who toured the eastern US advocating exploration of the polar regions. Reynolds probably crossed paths - at least in print - with Edgar Allen Poe, and probably influenced the Symmes-like story told in Poe's novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket

After Poe, the idea of a hollow earth shows up in all sorts of 19th and 20th century English-language literature, including the works of authors like Jules Verne, L. Frank Baum (whose book set in the earth's interior is called Dorothy and the Wizard In Oz, a title barely different from his more famous book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz), Edgar Rice Burrough (who wrote Tarzan of the Apes), and dozens of others (I'm using the term "literature" liberally here).

Perhaps the most interesting chapter (for me, personally), was light on hollow earth but quite heavy on 19th century religious ideas. Cyrus Teed (1839-1908) believed that the universe was hollow, and that we on earth were inside of it, living on the concave curved surface of the inside of a sphere. Born in upstate New York, Teed (according to Standish) was a distant relative of Mormon prophet Joseph Smith. Like Smith, Teed received visions from a divine spirit or being, and Teed began the work of using science to redeem humanity. Like other millenialist Utopian groups of that time and place, such as the Millerites, the Harmonists, and the Mormons, Teed founded an ideal utopian community. He called it the Koreshans and they set up in Florida where the movement eventually fizzled out, not in the least because of its emphasis on celibacy. Although Teed's idea of the hollow earth was quite different from the science-fictiony versions of Verne or Poe, his vision of the cosmos struck me as both highly innovative yet consistent with other 19th century Utopian movements. Along these religious lines, many hollow-earth advocates claim that the hollow earth supports a pristine habitat and might be the location of the so-called lost 10 tribes of Israel, keeping with the spirit of Jeremiah (at 3.18, 23.8 and 31.8) (and Ether 13.11; D&C 110.11; D&C 133.26-32, for any LDS readers out there).

Finally, the idea of a hollow earth still has its adherents. Several websites advocate the theory, and I'll list below the few that I've come across, as well as some of those that Standish includes:

ourhollowearth.com

voyagehollowearth.com Sign up for a voyage to discover Symmes' holes for only about $20,000. Seems like a bargain to me. Too bad the voyage has been canceled.

It looks like this voyage is still getting organized. Here is the plan for the North Pole Inner Earth Expedition for 2009. Taking a book out of Reynolds' page, this project is trying to drum up investment by hawking the documentary films that will come out of the voyage (not, necessarily, the discovery of the lost garden of Eden).

This site claims to conduct "scientific investigation into the Hollow Earth Theory."

The Hollow Earth Insider .

Hollow Earth Conclusions and its linked site, one of my favorites, some information on the hollow earth cities, including the kingdom of Agartha.

Incidentally, this last link - from crystalinks.com is a personal favorite because a friend of mine who teaches college had a student in a literature class cite a page from this site in a term paper as a reputable, literary source. True story.

So, let me know if you think the earth is hollow.

Baby Got Front!

[Special thanks to my brother-in-law Spencer for this post's title.]

The Front-Butt is one of the most overlooked human features. When done right, there's nothing quite like it. Pennsylvania is a fine place for bird-doggin' front-butt. Here are a few examples, with pertinent commentary:

The modestly sized front-butt can be a nice accessory. If this woman had to choose between her bottled water, her stylish shoulder bag, or her burgeoning front-butt, there's no doubt what she would choose.





Another important part of any front-butt is display. The tightness of this woman's shorts really shows off her front-butt in a flattering, but modest way. The checkered blouse draws the viewer's attention vertically, straight down from the neckline to the woman's best feature. Note how the front-butt's push against the material forms telltale creases along the front and sides. This is the sign of a perfect fit for displaying the front-butt in the most flattering light.




Here's a treat: not only does this Rascal-owner possess an exceptionally fine front-butt, but also the very rare side-butt. I've only seen a few in my lifetime, and none so well equipped with Rascal protection.




Other than me, Denim is a front-butt's best friend. This old-timer is using a classic technique for accentuating the front-butt's natural curves. As in the photograph above, this proud front-butter is taking extra pains to protect his front-butt by using Rascal transportation.




Charlie Weis, head football coach at Notre Dame, is the poster-boy for American Front-Butters. He's an inspiration to us all.




WHAT NOT TO DO: This person has tremendous front-butt potential (TF-BP), but is going about it all wrong. The loose shorts and long shirt make it impossible for the viewer to see the goods. All of us need to remember to let our front-butts shine forth for the benefit of all humankind.




Unfortunately, some people aren't naturally blessed with front-butts, or TF-BP. There's quite a rancorous controversy surrounding those who elect to use artificial "enhancements" to make their front-butts look bigger. Some people consider front-butt augmentation unnatural, and lament the fact that our modern looks-obsessed society stresses physical appearance so much. Others feel that tastefully done front-butt enhancements are a good way to boost a person's self-esteem.

One common augmentation technique is to wear a "fanny pack." When properly worn, this bag can give the appearance of a well-formed front-butt. Besides being available in a number of colors, styles, sizes, and materials, they are quite useful for storing string cheese and other delicacies.



Although it may appear to be an attractive solution at first, pregnancy is not a good long-term solution for those seeking an augmented or enhanced front-butt.


As a front-butt missionary, I invite many people to try out the front-butt look. Some of us own finely formed front-butts. Others have TF-BP; Even more are going to need augmentation. Either way, it's a lot of fun to explore one's front-butticity.


Chief Rigby has good (but not Tremendous) F-BP.



Zola is still finding her way with her little front-butt. Her facial expression in the first photo makes me think that she disapproves, though.





Drew and Jack - my nephews - are a little too skinny right now, but they are very enthusiastic front-butters. They'll be old enough for augmentation soon - it'll be interesting to see how they deal with the ethical issues.



I hope you enjoyed my front-butt photos.

Some Contemporary Latin

My good buddy, Arr-Dub, told me about this Op-Ed that recently appeared in the New York Times.

The beginning part, "Are We Rome?" is pretty silly, overblown, and overly simplistic. And is unfair to both us and the Romans. We might have a Senate; we might claim that our country is a "Republic." We might have fancy Latin mottoes on all sorts of official things, but I'd like to think that overall the modern US is a better place to live than ancient Rome, since we've abolished things like slavery and crucifixion and allow women to participate in public and professional life. Besides, anyone who quotes Seneca at length - one of the driest writers in all of western history - is stretching hard for something to say.

But the second part of the article is great, although the content is a bland (but warranted, in my opinion) attack on the recent mudslinging conducted by the McCain-Palin campaign against Obama.

Oh yeah, it's great because it's written in Latin.

For you non-Latinists out there, I only have one thing to say.

Learn Latin.

Just kidding. Here are some of the funnier parts. I'm not one to pile on poor Sarah Palin. She's too easy of a target. It's like making fun of a two year-old for having poor motor skills. Still, she's taking quite a beating in the media but this article still cracked me up. So far, my favorite expressions are:

1. Describing Sarah Palin as "barracuda borealis" (barracuda of the north)

2. Cum Primus Dudus, spousus Palinanus, culpari attemptaret “Centurionem-Gate,” judices Terrae Santae Elvorumque castigat gubernatricem Palinam de abusu auctoritatis per familiam revengendum.

"When the First Dude tried to have the spouse formerly of the Palin family found guilty in "Centurion-Gate," judges from the Land of Santa and Elves censured Governor Palin for the abuse of authority to avenge her family."


3. Gubernatrix (prope Russia) Palina, spectans candidaciam MMXII, post multam educationem cum Kissingro et post multam parodiam de Sabbatis Nocte Vivo atque de Tina Feia, ferociter vituperat Obamam, ut supralupocidit (aerial shooting of wolves) in Hyperborea.

"Gubernatrix (close to Russia) Palin, considering a candidacy in 2012, after much education - like Kissinger - and and after many parodies from Saturday Night Live and from Tina Fey, ferociously disparaged Obama as if she were shooting wolves from the sky in Hyperborea [mythical land of the north]."

4. Vilmingtoni, in Ohionem, McCain’s Mean Girl (Ferox Puella) defendit se gladiatricem politicam esse: “Pauci dicant, O Jupiter, te negativam esse. Non, negativa non sum, sed verissima.”

At Wilmington, in Ohio, McCain's Mean Girl defended her actions as a political gladiator: "A few are saying, O God, you are being negative. No, I'm not being negative, but truthful."

5. Talk about lipsticka in porcam!

It's a little early for Christmas,

But I couldn't resist this song I just heard for the first time.

I found this while trying to find out about the new Killers album [Click here to hear the first song to be released, called "Human."]. I'm looking forward to its release. But for now, I'll be happy listening to this Christmas offering, called "Don't Shoot Me Santa." It's pretty funny (especially the video).

I'd like to thank my sister Jen for introducing me to the Killers a few years ago. I hope Santa doesn't shoot either of us. Ever.

[P.S. Nice green dress.]

The Harmonists

A little history lesson:

In the 1780s in Württemberg (in Germany today), a man named George Rapp began preaching that the Lutheran church had strayed too far from the precepts of original Christianity. Claiming to have been called as a prophet, he soon gathered several hundred followers and founded the “Harmony Society.” In the face of intense persecution, Rapp immigrated to America in the early 1800s, settling first at Harmony, Pennsylvania (no, not that Harmony), then a stint in Indiana, before finally settling a town they called Economy, a bit northwest of Pittsburgh on the banks of the Ohio River (it's called Ambridge today). Rapp’s towns were planned communities, communistic in nature, with all its members owning all assets jointly. Rapp's ideas were heavily influenced by German theosophical thinkers, and featured some pretty interesting components, such as the Virgin Sophia and (perhaps) experiments in mystical alchemy. In addition, starting in about 1807, Rapp also preached strict celibacy, which made for few conversions and even fewer progeny. Even so, this utopian society thrived for several decades on the strength of their fine cloth manufacturing.

Rapp the prophet taught that the second coming of Christ was imminent, scheduled for September 15, 1829. When the millennium failed to materialize as promised, the community was prone to dissent, some calling Rapp a fallen prophet. Soon, another German, identifying himself as “Count Leon,” the “Lion of Judah” contacted the Harmonists and proposed that they join him in founding a colony of true Christians somewhere in America. When Leon finally arrived in Economy two years later, in 1831, many of the Harmonists went with him. Included in this group that left the Harmonists at this time were the Zundels, a German family that had been followers of Rapp since before the emigration from Germany.

Disillusioned with prophets Rapp and Count Leon, Jacob and John Zundel found a third movement to follow. In the 1830s, the brothers joined the LDS or Mormon church and moved to Kirtland, Ohio. Jacob followed the Mormons west, spending time in Nauvoo (where he’s supposed to have tutored Joseph Smith in German), Winter Quarters, and eventually arrived in Utah in the 1850s, where he settled in Box Elder County.

The Harmonists that didn't follow Count Leon managed to hold on for several more decades, but the society eventually dissolved in the early twentieth century.

Zola and I thought this was a pretty interesting story, and so, a couple of weeks ago, we decided to take a little road trip out to see what's left of Old Economy Village. While there are no obvious connections (other than the Zundels) between Rapp's millenarian movement and the Mormons, at the very least we could glimpse a contemporary movement that focused on much of the same doctrines (a return to early Christian teachings, the imminent second coming of Christ, no infant baptisms, communistic society). At most (and this is conjecture, although not originally mine), Rapp's movement might have influenced Joseph Smith and other early Mormons (such as Sidney Rigdon, who preached for the Campbellites near Pittsburgh). At any rate, George Rapp and the Harmonists represent an important, and comparatively long-lived, although ultimately unsuccessful attempt at constructing a Christian Utopian society that was ready for Jesus to return.

Old Economy Village is interesting enough, but not all that remarkable. It is mainly geared at demonstrating for tourists how the members of this community worked during the 19th century. Zola and I poked around for about an hour, took a few photos, and called it a day.

Here's the entrance to the Visitor Center.

This (copy of an) old map shows the grid layout of the small town along the Ohio River.

Some pictures of the restored Economy Village

Most of the buildings were red-brick, like this one.

The spire in the background belongs to the church. The house in the foreground belonged to Frederick Rapp, (adopted) son of George Rapp.

The garden behind Frederick Rapp's house, appropriately featuring a statue of "Harmony"

Let's just say that the surrounding town of Ambridge doesn't look as good as Old Economy village.




This is a copy of the signatures of the Zundels, who were withdrawing from the Harmony Society in 1832.

Beaver County, Utah

While I was out west, I was lucky enough to spend a couple of days with some friends on their ranch just north of Milford. Thanks Shaun, Tammy, Becky, and everyone else for making this such a fun getaway.

I can't get enough of the desert. Western Utah has a rugged, vacant beauty that defies easy description. So different from the green, closed-in outdoors of Central Pennsylvania, the desert vistas are vast and empty, te harsh landscape barely sprinkled with the detritus of any past inhabitants.

It's a hell of a place to try to make a living, though.

For all the hundreds of years that native and white men and women have tried to survive in this hard land, the dim traces of the past seem very impermanent, as if all of human existence has scratched only a fleeting impression on the desert's tough skin.

Enough of my rantings, though. Here are some photos.



The native Americans - Southern Paiute (probably the Kwiumpus band) and perhaps the earlier Fremont Indians - lived for hundreds of years (at least part of the year) along the shores of the Beaver River (until it was dammed in the twentieth century). For how many unknown hundreds of years, these people made their stone tools from obsidian taken from a nearby canyon. All the little black spots on the ground are pieces of obsidian that were chipped off over the years to make arrowheads, scrapers, and other tools. You can see Ed as a little dot near the horizon. Although I'm sure archaeologists would find more tangible material remains, on the surface it doesn't seem like much to leave behind for hundreds of years of habitation.



This is part of what's left of Frisco, a boom town with a big silver mine that boasted nearly 6,000 inhabitants and 23 saloons in the late 19th century. Apparently, there were many surviving buildings until fairly recently. Now, it's pretty well blocked off to trespassers.



Frisco's cemetery. Many of the inscriptions on stone are still legible, but I imagine the majority of graves used wooden markers that have perished. Many of the graves held infants and children. It would be a harsh place to try to give birth or raise a family.



Near Frisco, in several places, the miners built charcoal ovens to produce charcoal for the mining and refining processes. These kilns are the most visible remains of a booming town, and required a huge amount of lumber to keep them stoked.



In addition to Frisco, there were other many other attempts at homesteading in this little valley. Most of the buildings have been wiped from the earth. A few foundations remain. A rare stone building, like this one that my nephew James is standing beside, lasts longer.


At the end of this little track - called "Schoolhouse Lane" - near the swathe of darker green, was the town of Beaver Bottoms. This was a place where the river could be easily forded. Now, the river is all dried up (because of the dam) so it's harder to imagine.


A lonely building.





James caught a friend - a little lizard.



Tammy and Becky showed us where to see some old petroglyphs. Not as spectacular as those found at the Parowan Gap, they were nevertheless pretty darn cool. [See Ed's blog for some excellent photos of the Parowan Gap drawings] It struck me how these indecipherable scratchings were the most long-lived records of human activity in this desert land. Whatever these symbols and marks meant to the people who made them, to me, living today, they indicate only a desperate desire to leave a permanent mark of humanity on the great desert slate. A defiant urge, to be sure, but ultimately feeble. Already - so Tammy told me - she's noticed that the marks are fading back into the rock's patina. I'm pretty sure the desert is going to win this one in the end.



See the spirals? There are actually five of them, arranged vertically.



Becky decided that the petroglyphs were really an encoded phone number, but the number was disconnected.


The Lone Wolf hunts in a pack of one.




So much fun. I hope I can go back!