Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Authenticity is the great trial of agency or free will. To reject mere existence and to embrace authentic existence is the test. To merely follow the crowd and to merely reject the crowd are both the same activity. Conversely, authentically following the crowd is the same as authentically rejecting the crowd.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
is my thesis about
Well, the birth mother chose another couple. My wife and I dived into our vacation in Seattle as consolation. Vacationing - binge drinking in massive gulps with no hangover. And Seattle offeres a lot to vacationers. The zoo, the underground, the world's largest international film festival, the Folklife music festival (haven't seen that much pot openly smoked since the upper levels of the busses in Liverpool). Grand fun.
On a different note, I'm defending my thesis tomorrow. Here's a quick poem I scribbled during a boring session at the conference two days ago. Don't like it, but I'm out of practice. Cheers.
At those parties
typically with family
or at least among those who spend their days
in dutiful diligence
or at least get paid for practicality
so practical in fact that they wonder
just what in tarnation
I do
with my days
in academic abstraction
indeed the fact that
I abstract may be the only
thing they
know abstractly
so at those parties with a glass half
full and flanked by family
or friends just as estranged
from graduate school as
they sometimes ask
what is your thesis about
I suspect
this may stem from
the drive for small talk
when, of course, nothing
is greater to grad students
whose souls long slain
rot on the altars of
committee feedback
not wanting to offend them
with any obvious
dissertation for dummies
or offend myself
with anything less than
the bodily fluids
I’ll never recover
lost to that ungodly thing
so I tell them with a smile
my thesis is about three fourths of an inch
of unsullied obfuscation
it’s also about the most horrific waste
of my life – I’ll never see those hours again
but it’s also about the loveliest object
in all of odd creation
and yet
it’s also about the most useless piece
of appendix
more impractical than cable TV
and still
my thesis is about the greatest hope I have
of paving
that ephemeral path to sweet, holy medical benefits
yes, ultimately,
my thesis is about the most intimate
of relationships
(but not quite the
most
thank goodness
and my wife)
and so much more
is my thesis about
On a different note, I'm defending my thesis tomorrow. Here's a quick poem I scribbled during a boring session at the conference two days ago. Don't like it, but I'm out of practice. Cheers.
At those parties
typically with family
or at least among those who spend their days
in dutiful diligence
or at least get paid for practicality
so practical in fact that they wonder
just what in tarnation
I do
with my days
in academic abstraction
indeed the fact that
I abstract may be the only
thing they
know abstractly
so at those parties with a glass half
full and flanked by family
or friends just as estranged
from graduate school as
they sometimes ask
what is your thesis about
I suspect
this may stem from
the drive for small talk
when, of course, nothing
is greater to grad students
whose souls long slain
rot on the altars of
committee feedback
not wanting to offend them
with any obvious
dissertation for dummies
or offend myself
with anything less than
the bodily fluids
I’ll never recover
lost to that ungodly thing
so I tell them with a smile
my thesis is about three fourths of an inch
of unsullied obfuscation
it’s also about the most horrific waste
of my life – I’ll never see those hours again
but it’s also about the loveliest object
in all of odd creation
and yet
it’s also about the most useless piece
of appendix
more impractical than cable TV
and still
my thesis is about the greatest hope I have
of paving
that ephemeral path to sweet, holy medical benefits
yes, ultimately,
my thesis is about the most intimate
of relationships
(but not quite the
most
thank goodness
and my wife)
and so much more
is my thesis about
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I'm back
Okay, I’m back.
And now for something completely different, here’s an update of my life.
My grandmother (mom’s mom) died recently. The funeral was this last Friday in Kanarraville (just south of Nowhere). So many relatives tried cramming into my grandmother’s tiny house that my wife and I ended up on cots in a tent in the back yard – that first night, my wife actually finally ended up in the back seat of our car at about 2AM because she found the cot too narrow for her to sleep on her side, the floor of the tent too cold, and the floor in the house too crowded with snoring bodies… we found an air mattress the following evening. I enjoyed the funeral more than I thought I would – honest and touching (an almost impossible balance on any occasion much less a funeral, but it happened). And I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with my country mice relatives who are my favorite relatives to spend time with. The afternoon after the funeral, we hiked a narrow canyon in which most of the trail is in a stream bed – soggy fun.
My wife and I are trying to adopt (to inform any of the three people who read this blog who didn’t already know that). On Sunday as I stepped down from the stand after sacrament meeting, a friend of ours at church button-holed me and told me about a sister of a friend of hers… long story short, we met a birthmother on Sunday afternoon. She gave birth on Saturday to a healthy baby boy. She has interviewed three couples that we know of (including us) and she is working through a case worker through LDS Family Services. My wife and I really like this birthmother; she’s someone we totally feel like we could get along with and it wouldn’t be awkward at all to transition into an open adoption with her baby. As of yesterday afternoon, though, she had yet to pick a couple. Every time the phone rings, my heart dances with my uvula. We’re trying not to get too hopeful: the other two couples are apparently more closely connected to her family. Among other things, this interview has awakened my wife and me to the fact that we had next to zero supplies to bring a baby home to. So we spent some time shopping to get some basics – a few clothes, a few bottles with formula, some new-born diapers, and a carseat to actually carry a baby home in – just enough to last the first few days after a baby gets placed with us. We hope it will happen soon.
But until then, we’re keeping busy, which is good to keep our minds from obsessing about not having a baby yet.
So, this coming weekend, my wife and I are flying to Seattle. Ostensibly, this trip is for me to present part of my MA thesis at the Rhetoric Society of America conference. In preparation, I’m trying to figure out how much of the conference I can ditch so we can enjoy Seattle a bit for the weekend. I’ve already picked out some restaurants downtown that look good (and affordable). Of course, if the birthmother calls anytime before our plane takes off on Friday, we’re canceling the trip.
After that, I’m defending my thesis on Wednesday, May 28. I’ve gone up and down with my thesis. My relationship with my thesis really smacks of an illicit affair. I began the relationship excitedly – almost furtively – as I realized that not much had been written about the specific subjects I researched. A flurry of rendezvous followed which distracted from other personal concerns while I compiled research and wrote the darn thing. Arguments followed – with my thesis and other facets of my life – as my thesis threatened to consume even the normal parts of my life. Now, as the relationship comes to a close, I find myself largely at peace with the whole thing. Perhaps I’ll look back on this phase of my life with nostalgia and relief: it’s been fun and it nearly capsized me… Now, to do this again in a few years, just more intensely with a PhD dissertation.
Two days after my thesis defense, my wife and I will drive to Indiana to try to find a house around Purdue University. We’ll stay a week during which we hope to talk to a lender, find a house, make an offer, and start the long paper work process (which we hope we can complete long distance from Utah). Two nights ago, my wife and I took a community ed course on first-time home buying. I wish I had other non-cliched words, but the whole process of buying a first home simultaneously scares and excites me.
When we get back from Indiana, I’ll start teaching my very last sections of Honors 150 at BYU and Ethics at UVU. It really feels like the end of an era…
We drive out of Utah to move everything to Indiana on August 15.
Okay, so the blog. I have some ideas that have ceased to ruminate in my brain, so I will make sure they get out in digital form here. I aim to have weekly posts from here on out.
And now for something completely different, here’s an update of my life.
My grandmother (mom’s mom) died recently. The funeral was this last Friday in Kanarraville (just south of Nowhere). So many relatives tried cramming into my grandmother’s tiny house that my wife and I ended up on cots in a tent in the back yard – that first night, my wife actually finally ended up in the back seat of our car at about 2AM because she found the cot too narrow for her to sleep on her side, the floor of the tent too cold, and the floor in the house too crowded with snoring bodies… we found an air mattress the following evening. I enjoyed the funeral more than I thought I would – honest and touching (an almost impossible balance on any occasion much less a funeral, but it happened). And I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with my country mice relatives who are my favorite relatives to spend time with. The afternoon after the funeral, we hiked a narrow canyon in which most of the trail is in a stream bed – soggy fun.
My wife and I are trying to adopt (to inform any of the three people who read this blog who didn’t already know that). On Sunday as I stepped down from the stand after sacrament meeting, a friend of ours at church button-holed me and told me about a sister of a friend of hers… long story short, we met a birthmother on Sunday afternoon. She gave birth on Saturday to a healthy baby boy. She has interviewed three couples that we know of (including us) and she is working through a case worker through LDS Family Services. My wife and I really like this birthmother; she’s someone we totally feel like we could get along with and it wouldn’t be awkward at all to transition into an open adoption with her baby. As of yesterday afternoon, though, she had yet to pick a couple. Every time the phone rings, my heart dances with my uvula. We’re trying not to get too hopeful: the other two couples are apparently more closely connected to her family. Among other things, this interview has awakened my wife and me to the fact that we had next to zero supplies to bring a baby home to. So we spent some time shopping to get some basics – a few clothes, a few bottles with formula, some new-born diapers, and a carseat to actually carry a baby home in – just enough to last the first few days after a baby gets placed with us. We hope it will happen soon.
But until then, we’re keeping busy, which is good to keep our minds from obsessing about not having a baby yet.
So, this coming weekend, my wife and I are flying to Seattle. Ostensibly, this trip is for me to present part of my MA thesis at the Rhetoric Society of America conference. In preparation, I’m trying to figure out how much of the conference I can ditch so we can enjoy Seattle a bit for the weekend. I’ve already picked out some restaurants downtown that look good (and affordable). Of course, if the birthmother calls anytime before our plane takes off on Friday, we’re canceling the trip.
After that, I’m defending my thesis on Wednesday, May 28. I’ve gone up and down with my thesis. My relationship with my thesis really smacks of an illicit affair. I began the relationship excitedly – almost furtively – as I realized that not much had been written about the specific subjects I researched. A flurry of rendezvous followed which distracted from other personal concerns while I compiled research and wrote the darn thing. Arguments followed – with my thesis and other facets of my life – as my thesis threatened to consume even the normal parts of my life. Now, as the relationship comes to a close, I find myself largely at peace with the whole thing. Perhaps I’ll look back on this phase of my life with nostalgia and relief: it’s been fun and it nearly capsized me… Now, to do this again in a few years, just more intensely with a PhD dissertation.
Two days after my thesis defense, my wife and I will drive to Indiana to try to find a house around Purdue University. We’ll stay a week during which we hope to talk to a lender, find a house, make an offer, and start the long paper work process (which we hope we can complete long distance from Utah). Two nights ago, my wife and I took a community ed course on first-time home buying. I wish I had other non-cliched words, but the whole process of buying a first home simultaneously scares and excites me.
When we get back from Indiana, I’ll start teaching my very last sections of Honors 150 at BYU and Ethics at UVU. It really feels like the end of an era…
We drive out of Utah to move everything to Indiana on August 15.
Okay, so the blog. I have some ideas that have ceased to ruminate in my brain, so I will make sure they get out in digital form here. I aim to have weekly posts from here on out.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
mouths on the bus
This is another bus piece. I scribbled this on the bus today pretty much as you find it below. The woman I mention is on southbound 830 bus that picks up at UVSC at 9:53 AM every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She rides to the mall transit station to start driving her own route for UTA. I think I'll start riding the bus that comes 15 minutes later...
---
the mouths on the bus
tend to stay shut
in the universal language
of public transport
except for the woman
who’s cranky if she
doesn’t get at least seven hours
and prefers to have Thursdays
and Fridays off and knows that
new medicine saves more lives
than it kills even though when
someone goes is always up the
Man upstairs while she
cradles the American flag kitsch
with a shoulder strap on
her lap
carrying on her
conversation with the
driver from her seat
in the middle of the bus
how she hears his
responses over the
gasping moan of
the space heater
and engine
and air brakes
I’ll never know
but I could know
what she suffered
months years decades ago
that moves her mouth
in environs that keep
all others shut
and thus
discover discomfort
among my uncomfort
that is
if I’d stop moving my pen
and unshut my mouth
---
the mouths on the bus
tend to stay shut
in the universal language
of public transport
except for the woman
who’s cranky if she
doesn’t get at least seven hours
and prefers to have Thursdays
and Fridays off and knows that
new medicine saves more lives
than it kills even though when
someone goes is always up the
Man upstairs while she
cradles the American flag kitsch
with a shoulder strap on
her lap
carrying on her
conversation with the
driver from her seat
in the middle of the bus
how she hears his
responses over the
gasping moan of
the space heater
and engine
and air brakes
I’ll never know
but I could know
what she suffered
months years decades ago
that moves her mouth
in environs that keep
all others shut
and thus
discover discomfort
among my uncomfort
that is
if I’d stop moving my pen
and unshut my mouth
Winter's final laugh (or: Notes from a February 13)
Back in December
an acquaintance snapped back
How will the cold in February
make me any warmer now
and I laughed
at the weakness
that spawned that retort
born in the soft warmth
of southern latitudinal
komfortismus
for I relished the snow
while it kept the air clean
and basked in the novelty
of unmelting drifts
that is
until the drifts waxed old
and the ice on the drive never shrank
and the days dared you
to just try
to spend them outside
which of course hurt worse
than
well
they just hurt
but when the air seemed to breathe
the promise of spring
my wife and I traipsed
above the mountain resort
in snow shoes and short sleeves
until our thighs and necks burned
for who thinks of sunscreen in February
Oh winter’s died its death
I decided
and took a hammer
and spent an hour’s half
sledging the ice on my
north facing drive
but I must suppose it displeased
the gods of snow
to see me in a t-shirt
for this morning greeted me
with clear skies
tepid temperatures
and deceit
the northern horizon at noon
hinting a deeper grey
until a third the way through
the post meridiem
the cold fell from its height
pushing the fragile warmth
back to Arizona
while the flakes silently slid
roaring in their multitude
toward the diagonal earth
and if I believe the printed prophecies
which I almost always do
here witness we
winter’s final laugh
an acquaintance snapped back
How will the cold in February
make me any warmer now
and I laughed
at the weakness
that spawned that retort
born in the soft warmth
of southern latitudinal
komfortismus
for I relished the snow
while it kept the air clean
and basked in the novelty
of unmelting drifts
that is
until the drifts waxed old
and the ice on the drive never shrank
and the days dared you
to just try
to spend them outside
which of course hurt worse
than
well
they just hurt
but when the air seemed to breathe
the promise of spring
my wife and I traipsed
above the mountain resort
in snow shoes and short sleeves
until our thighs and necks burned
for who thinks of sunscreen in February
Oh winter’s died its death
I decided
and took a hammer
and spent an hour’s half
sledging the ice on my
north facing drive
but I must suppose it displeased
the gods of snow
to see me in a t-shirt
for this morning greeted me
with clear skies
tepid temperatures
and deceit
the northern horizon at noon
hinting a deeper grey
until a third the way through
the post meridiem
the cold fell from its height
pushing the fragile warmth
back to Arizona
while the flakes silently slid
roaring in their multitude
toward the diagonal earth
and if I believe the printed prophecies
which I almost always do
here witness we
winter’s final laugh
Monday, February 11, 2008
CD Compilation Liner Notes
I’ve compiled a themed album. This is primarily intended for my older brother (who is the king of CD compilations). He'll be getting his copy of the CDR soon. But I’m posting the liner notes here because this is something that has been taking up my free time (as if I had any to spare). If any of my friends would like a copy of this, let me know and I'll burn off a disc for you.
Album Title: “One More Time”
One of my favorite albums when I was ten or so was an audiocassette of about a dozen variations of the song “Louie, Louie.” I think it belonged to my older brother (whose taste in music I have always deferred to… until I fell in love with Pearl Jam). The variations ranged from the Kingsmen to Black Flag to high school marching band. I don’t know exactly why, but such a gimmick album (variations on a shallow song) has always appealed to me. Years later, when I heard a friend play a rocking acoustic cover of “…Baby, One More Time” in a Liverpool music club, I remember thinking something like, “I’m witnessing the redemption of Britney Spears.” Several months ago, I began collecting the different variations listed below. I consciously did not include variations that were close to versions below or really close to the Britney Spears version (like the one on Barbie and Friends or the one by The Starlite Singers) or dance remixes (although a dance remix in Russian or Mandarin WOULD be included below if I could find one). I still reel at times when I think on the diversity of countries and music genres represented. Versions or languages I would still love to find (they just gotta be out there – I know it): muzak, string quartet, Mandarin, Japanese, gangsta rap, Russian, and more. One version I would have liked to have included is the early cover by Ahmet and Dweezil Zappa. But I didn’t want to buy the CD and iTunes didn’t have it. Oh well. A compilation like this is nothing more nor less than a study of the border and bridges between the ridiculous and the sublime. Enjoy.
Song: “…Baby, One More Time”
Music and lyrics by Martin Karl “Max Martin” Sandberg.
Performed by:
1. Britney Spears. I like to think of this version as the “original cover” version. In the pop music industry, performers rarely write their own songs. This song is no exception. This song has never had an “original” version in the sense that the original was performed by the person who wrote it. Conversely, until Max Martin performs this song, all versions of it will be covers in the sense that nobody who performs it wrote it.
2. Travis. That’s the name of the band – not an individual. Scottish folk/rock group. Pretty straight forward. They were among the first to cover this song. Marty Casey does a version that is, in a lot of ways, indistinguishable from this version. So, of course, Marty’s is more famous…
3. Fire 99. Small time techno industrial band from Olympia, WA. They also have a song named after the old arcade game Sinistar.
4. Midi version. That’s not the name of a band or group. I actually don’t know who put this midi together. I like to think of this playing in the background of Metroid or The Legend of Zelda.
5. Joy Bellis. My older brother calls this kind of music JGB – Jazz Gone Bad. I think he’s referring more specifically to the kind of solo the piano does 2/3 the way through. But it does have a certain post-WWII-disillusioned-pre-rock-and-roll sort of charm…
6. Hog Hoggidy Hog. Get this: South African Punk/Ska. You can get all their music for free on some artist-supported music sites. Gotta love the muted trumpet solo near the end. Another notable punk performance of this song is the one performed by Nicotine on “Punk goes Pop” – but the Bowling for Soup version (see below) takes care of the American sellout variety of punk while this one by Hog Hoggidy Hog delivers a more in-your-face flavor of punk.
7. Crapman Sacramento. That’s his stage name, I shiz you not. His youtube profile says his real name is David Dufresne and that he’s from Canada. Beyond that I can only suppose he’s some flavor of Quebecois. You’ve already noticed this variation is in French (Frappe moi bebe encore plus). I can’t decide which version I hate worse: Crapman’s or Britney’s. How to even categorize this guy’s music – “consciously-horrible-Frenchy techno-junk”?
8. Fountains of Wayne. Pretty straightforward rock n roll. These guys got me started on collecting versions of this song. I heard them interviewed on NPR a few years ago and they played this version of this song. It reminded me of the version my friend played in that music club in Liverpool.
9. The Pigs. One of my favorite finds. These guys are Australian musicians based out of New South Wales. They play a raucous mix of country, bluegrass, and rockabilly. I like to think of the lead singer as a hillbilly from the film Deliverance singing this to Britney after she gets lost on a river-rafting trip.
10. Ten Masked Men. Like the Black Ingvars, these guys are another gimmick group – they do almost completely covers of songs from other genres. Unlike Black Ingvars, these guys are British (out of London and southwest England) and they play death metal. This is my favorite death metal version of this song. That’s right, at least one other death metal band has covered this song – Kevorkian – but honestly TMM’s version sounds creepier.
11. Bowling for Soup. Yet another example of punk sold out. This is from Disney’s “Freaky Friday” soundtrack. Catchy and safely edgy, this version exemplifies Disney’s recent ironic self-consciousness (i.e. embrace edginess because society at large embraces it – this is the same rationale behind selling t-shirts and coffee mugs proudly exclaiming “I’m Grumpy”). Nicotine also has a punk version on the multi-artist album Punk goes Pop (which after the late 80s is an ad absurdum).
12. This particular track has a spotty history on the internet. For a while, many sites that hosted it presented it as a cover performed by the doom metal band Type O Negative (one of those slow, heavy, mega-goth groups with an almost seven foot tall bass singer with fang implants who sings almost exclusively about blood… you know, one of those). But Type O Negative has denied doing this. Rightly so. This is the Britney Spears version slowed from a 3:32 song to a 5:00 song. But thinking about a chorus of bass-singing, fang-implanted, goth giants while listening to this makes it deliciously disturbing.
13. Trombo Combo. Smooth jazz. Actually quite fun. If this song had been written in the early to mid-70s, I’d like to think this is what the “original cover” would have sounded like.
14. Brad Roberts. You know… of Crash Test Dummies fame. This is from a live album probably intended as some sort of come back. But the acoustic guitars are a bit too clangy for my liking, and really this guy singing any song other than “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm” just doesn’t cut it.
15. Black Ingvars. Swedish techno metal group. Self-styled humorists, they make a living out of covering songs from divergent genres (pop to children’s songs to Christmas ditties to gospel tunes).
16. Wise Guys. Geeky German A Cappella. It’s actually a pretty good translation (Schlag mich Baby noch einmal). Fast forward when the audience starts applauding at the end – it goes on for thirty seconds. I mean, they’re good, but not THAT good… Toxic Audio also does an A Cappella version (in English with male and female singers).
17. Chad Michael Murray. This is dialogue from the movie “Freaky Friday.” I couldn’t think of a perfecter end to this study of cultural vapidity.
Album Title: “One More Time”
One of my favorite albums when I was ten or so was an audiocassette of about a dozen variations of the song “Louie, Louie.” I think it belonged to my older brother (whose taste in music I have always deferred to… until I fell in love with Pearl Jam). The variations ranged from the Kingsmen to Black Flag to high school marching band. I don’t know exactly why, but such a gimmick album (variations on a shallow song) has always appealed to me. Years later, when I heard a friend play a rocking acoustic cover of “…Baby, One More Time” in a Liverpool music club, I remember thinking something like, “I’m witnessing the redemption of Britney Spears.” Several months ago, I began collecting the different variations listed below. I consciously did not include variations that were close to versions below or really close to the Britney Spears version (like the one on Barbie and Friends or the one by The Starlite Singers) or dance remixes (although a dance remix in Russian or Mandarin WOULD be included below if I could find one). I still reel at times when I think on the diversity of countries and music genres represented. Versions or languages I would still love to find (they just gotta be out there – I know it): muzak, string quartet, Mandarin, Japanese, gangsta rap, Russian, and more. One version I would have liked to have included is the early cover by Ahmet and Dweezil Zappa. But I didn’t want to buy the CD and iTunes didn’t have it. Oh well. A compilation like this is nothing more nor less than a study of the border and bridges between the ridiculous and the sublime. Enjoy.
Song: “…Baby, One More Time”
Music and lyrics by Martin Karl “Max Martin” Sandberg.
Performed by:
1. Britney Spears. I like to think of this version as the “original cover” version. In the pop music industry, performers rarely write their own songs. This song is no exception. This song has never had an “original” version in the sense that the original was performed by the person who wrote it. Conversely, until Max Martin performs this song, all versions of it will be covers in the sense that nobody who performs it wrote it.
2. Travis. That’s the name of the band – not an individual. Scottish folk/rock group. Pretty straight forward. They were among the first to cover this song. Marty Casey does a version that is, in a lot of ways, indistinguishable from this version. So, of course, Marty’s is more famous…
3. Fire 99. Small time techno industrial band from Olympia, WA. They also have a song named after the old arcade game Sinistar.
4. Midi version. That’s not the name of a band or group. I actually don’t know who put this midi together. I like to think of this playing in the background of Metroid or The Legend of Zelda.
5. Joy Bellis. My older brother calls this kind of music JGB – Jazz Gone Bad. I think he’s referring more specifically to the kind of solo the piano does 2/3 the way through. But it does have a certain post-WWII-disillusioned-pre-rock-and-roll sort of charm…
6. Hog Hoggidy Hog. Get this: South African Punk/Ska. You can get all their music for free on some artist-supported music sites. Gotta love the muted trumpet solo near the end. Another notable punk performance of this song is the one performed by Nicotine on “Punk goes Pop” – but the Bowling for Soup version (see below) takes care of the American sellout variety of punk while this one by Hog Hoggidy Hog delivers a more in-your-face flavor of punk.
7. Crapman Sacramento. That’s his stage name, I shiz you not. His youtube profile says his real name is David Dufresne and that he’s from Canada. Beyond that I can only suppose he’s some flavor of Quebecois. You’ve already noticed this variation is in French (Frappe moi bebe encore plus). I can’t decide which version I hate worse: Crapman’s or Britney’s. How to even categorize this guy’s music – “consciously-horrible-Frenchy techno-junk”?
8. Fountains of Wayne. Pretty straightforward rock n roll. These guys got me started on collecting versions of this song. I heard them interviewed on NPR a few years ago and they played this version of this song. It reminded me of the version my friend played in that music club in Liverpool.
9. The Pigs. One of my favorite finds. These guys are Australian musicians based out of New South Wales. They play a raucous mix of country, bluegrass, and rockabilly. I like to think of the lead singer as a hillbilly from the film Deliverance singing this to Britney after she gets lost on a river-rafting trip.
10. Ten Masked Men. Like the Black Ingvars, these guys are another gimmick group – they do almost completely covers of songs from other genres. Unlike Black Ingvars, these guys are British (out of London and southwest England) and they play death metal. This is my favorite death metal version of this song. That’s right, at least one other death metal band has covered this song – Kevorkian – but honestly TMM’s version sounds creepier.
11. Bowling for Soup. Yet another example of punk sold out. This is from Disney’s “Freaky Friday” soundtrack. Catchy and safely edgy, this version exemplifies Disney’s recent ironic self-consciousness (i.e. embrace edginess because society at large embraces it – this is the same rationale behind selling t-shirts and coffee mugs proudly exclaiming “I’m Grumpy”). Nicotine also has a punk version on the multi-artist album Punk goes Pop (which after the late 80s is an ad absurdum).
12. This particular track has a spotty history on the internet. For a while, many sites that hosted it presented it as a cover performed by the doom metal band Type O Negative (one of those slow, heavy, mega-goth groups with an almost seven foot tall bass singer with fang implants who sings almost exclusively about blood… you know, one of those). But Type O Negative has denied doing this. Rightly so. This is the Britney Spears version slowed from a 3:32 song to a 5:00 song. But thinking about a chorus of bass-singing, fang-implanted, goth giants while listening to this makes it deliciously disturbing.
13. Trombo Combo. Smooth jazz. Actually quite fun. If this song had been written in the early to mid-70s, I’d like to think this is what the “original cover” would have sounded like.
14. Brad Roberts. You know… of Crash Test Dummies fame. This is from a live album probably intended as some sort of come back. But the acoustic guitars are a bit too clangy for my liking, and really this guy singing any song other than “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm” just doesn’t cut it.
15. Black Ingvars. Swedish techno metal group. Self-styled humorists, they make a living out of covering songs from divergent genres (pop to children’s songs to Christmas ditties to gospel tunes).
16. Wise Guys. Geeky German A Cappella. It’s actually a pretty good translation (Schlag mich Baby noch einmal). Fast forward when the audience starts applauding at the end – it goes on for thirty seconds. I mean, they’re good, but not THAT good… Toxic Audio also does an A Cappella version (in English with male and female singers).
17. Chad Michael Murray. This is dialogue from the movie “Freaky Friday.” I couldn’t think of a perfecter end to this study of cultural vapidity.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
On Solemn Mockeries
In analyzing (and condemning) the practice of baptizing infants, Mormon gives us a clear example of a kind of sacrilege he calls “solemn mockery.” The practice of baptizing infants is a mockery in that it turns baptism into a farce. He gives plenty of reasons: “little children are whole,” “they are not capable of committing sin,” repentance and baptism are only for those who are “accountable and capable of committing sin,” infants “cannot repent,” and as such, infants are already “alive in Christ.” (Go read Moroni 8 to get the context for all of these quotes). Ergo infants need neither repentance nor baptism.
But Mormon’s qualifier of “solemn” deserves consideration as well. By calling the practice a “solemn” mockery, Mormon recognizes that the people who practice it typically do not believe they are mocking God. In fact, people who practice infant baptism typically practice it with the utmost of respect and solemnity for God and religious ceremony. I’m positive that well-meaning anxiety and concern for the heavenly welfare of everyone prompted both the institution of infant baptism in Catholicism and Catholicism’s recent reassessment of the status of unbaptized children (http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2007-04-20-popelimbo_N.htm).
Now, I can think of a few “wise purposes” the Lord may have had in mind when He prompted Moroni to include Mormon’s treatise against baptizing infants in the Nephite record. Certainly, the most obvious one is as a preemptive argument for the more than one billion Catholics in the world today who (heaven forbid they actually) learn about the restored Church and why they need to be baptized as a post-age-eight person by someone with restored priesthood authority. Think how especially useful this is as the Church spreads through Central and South America (among the primary audience Mormon and Moroni intended the Book for).
Perhaps not as obvious, but certainly possible, is this purpose: Moroni gives us an EXAMPLE in infant baptism of a KIND of solemn mockery. If we apply Moroni chapter 8 ONLY in terms of infant baptism, perhaps we are missing additional applications to ourselves. I submit, therefore, that there are other solemn mockeries with which we should probably be concerned.
Again, a solemn mockery is an assertion that fill these two criteria: (1) it is a farce of an essential Gospel principle perpetuated by (2) people who are convinced it is God’s will based (most likely) on other less vital principles. Such mockery is mockery by virtue of a reordering of spiritual priorities.
Consider again infant baptism.
Assertion: infants need baptism
Justification: nobody can enter heaven without baptism
Principle it violates or ignores: no SIN can enter heaven (baptism merely makes sinless those who have sinned)
Why: infants CANNOT sin ergo they do not need remission of sin even through baptism
Reconciliation: people who die as infants go straight to heaven, for they are sinless
Consider these other solemn mockeries presented in the same manner
Assertion: We should avoid the things that LOOK like they’re evil
Justification: Paul and Nephi teach us to (respectively) abstain from or shake at the appearance of evil.
Essential principle it violates or ignores: “the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7
Why: based on a misinterpretation of Paul and Nephi
Reconciliation: see earlier essay on this blog “On Avoiding (the Appearance of) Evil”
Assertion: we must set numbered baptism goals (i.e. our ward will baptize twelve people this year)
Justification: goal-setting exercises faith. If prayerfully set, the goal (which may seem unattainable) will be accomplished with the Lord’s help
Essential principle it violates or ignores: agency of others
Why: “A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.” Dallin H. Oaks
Reconciliation: “Consequently a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others.” Dallin H. Oaks (both Oaks quotes are from “Timing,” BYU devotional address, January 29, 2002)
Assertion: vulgarity (i.e. a word like the F-bomb) is the same as taking (or using) the Lord’s name in vain
Justification: Vulgarity is “profane” and using the name of the Lord in vain is “swearing” – “profane” and “swearing” are the same, ergo vulgarity and breaking the Third Commandment are the same.
Essential principle this violates or ignores: Taking (or using) the name of the Lord in vain actually means using an appellate of Deity in an authoritative manner when in fact such authority is absent, as in D&C 63:60-62, “Behold, I am Alpha and Omega, even Jesus Christ. Wherefore, let all men beware how they take my name in their lips—For behold, verily I say, that many there be who are under this condemnation, who use the name of the Lord, and use it in vain, having not authority.”
Why: Confusing profane and swearing is a basic error of confusing synecdoche for synonym. To “swear” (in a negative sense) used to mean to use the name of Deity in a purposely inappropriate manner – which actually is literally using the name of the Lord in a vain manner. “Profane” used to mean that which is unholy, unhallowed, desecrated, pagan, etc. The F-bomb (a VERY old word) was originally profane in the sense that its usage implied a desecration of a sacred act (i.e. procreation). Using the name of the Lord in vain was also profane, for it desecrated the sacred act of invoking God’s authority. The umbrella concept (at least the way culture uses it) is “profane”. “Using the name of the Lord in vain” is profane, but not all that is profane is “using the name of the Lord in vain.” Eventually, sometime several centuries ago, people began interchanging “swearing” for “profanity” which, as I mentioned, are scripturally synecdochic – not synonymic.
Reconciliation: Language is essentially communicative. Some words in certain cultures communicate hurtful or demeaning messages. Don’t hurt or demean (which means, by and large, don't use the F-bomb - but notice this is different justification than saying people should not be vulgar because it's the same as using the Lord's name in vain). The flip side of this is that it might be possible to profane in a genuinely beneficial way – like profaning that which is already profane, i.e. making or identifying as unsacred that which is already unsacred. I’ll write another complete essay just on this idea later, but the basic idea is an exploration of the question, “what is more profane – the F-bomb or the cultural conceit which keeps the procreative act shrouded in vulgarity?”
Perhaps I’ll also post more solemn mockeries later. These could include:
- denying the beggar to encourage self-reliance, when in fact everbody is a beggar and everything belongs to God (see Mosiah 4 and Hugh Nibley’s “Work We Must but the Lunch is Free”)
- seeking personal wealth to help the Church (think what Jesus could have done with a big house)
- preparing as a Church congregation for a natural disaster with more fervency than preparing to meet the Son of God
We could come up with more, but the point of all of this is this: learning about one solemn mockery in the scriptures (e.g. infant baptism) should alert us to other practices or mindsets we may have that disorder principles and make farces out of essential Gospel principles.
But Mormon’s qualifier of “solemn” deserves consideration as well. By calling the practice a “solemn” mockery, Mormon recognizes that the people who practice it typically do not believe they are mocking God. In fact, people who practice infant baptism typically practice it with the utmost of respect and solemnity for God and religious ceremony. I’m positive that well-meaning anxiety and concern for the heavenly welfare of everyone prompted both the institution of infant baptism in Catholicism and Catholicism’s recent reassessment of the status of unbaptized children (http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2007-04-20-popelimbo_N.htm).
Now, I can think of a few “wise purposes” the Lord may have had in mind when He prompted Moroni to include Mormon’s treatise against baptizing infants in the Nephite record. Certainly, the most obvious one is as a preemptive argument for the more than one billion Catholics in the world today who (heaven forbid they actually) learn about the restored Church and why they need to be baptized as a post-age-eight person by someone with restored priesthood authority. Think how especially useful this is as the Church spreads through Central and South America (among the primary audience Mormon and Moroni intended the Book for).
Perhaps not as obvious, but certainly possible, is this purpose: Moroni gives us an EXAMPLE in infant baptism of a KIND of solemn mockery. If we apply Moroni chapter 8 ONLY in terms of infant baptism, perhaps we are missing additional applications to ourselves. I submit, therefore, that there are other solemn mockeries with which we should probably be concerned.
Again, a solemn mockery is an assertion that fill these two criteria: (1) it is a farce of an essential Gospel principle perpetuated by (2) people who are convinced it is God’s will based (most likely) on other less vital principles. Such mockery is mockery by virtue of a reordering of spiritual priorities.
Consider again infant baptism.
Assertion: infants need baptism
Justification: nobody can enter heaven without baptism
Principle it violates or ignores: no SIN can enter heaven (baptism merely makes sinless those who have sinned)
Why: infants CANNOT sin ergo they do not need remission of sin even through baptism
Reconciliation: people who die as infants go straight to heaven, for they are sinless
Consider these other solemn mockeries presented in the same manner
Assertion: We should avoid the things that LOOK like they’re evil
Justification: Paul and Nephi teach us to (respectively) abstain from or shake at the appearance of evil.
Essential principle it violates or ignores: “the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7
Why: based on a misinterpretation of Paul and Nephi
Reconciliation: see earlier essay on this blog “On Avoiding (the Appearance of) Evil”
Assertion: we must set numbered baptism goals (i.e. our ward will baptize twelve people this year)
Justification: goal-setting exercises faith. If prayerfully set, the goal (which may seem unattainable) will be accomplished with the Lord’s help
Essential principle it violates or ignores: agency of others
Why: “A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.” Dallin H. Oaks
Reconciliation: “Consequently a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others.” Dallin H. Oaks (both Oaks quotes are from “Timing,” BYU devotional address, January 29, 2002)
Assertion: vulgarity (i.e. a word like the F-bomb) is the same as taking (or using) the Lord’s name in vain
Justification: Vulgarity is “profane” and using the name of the Lord in vain is “swearing” – “profane” and “swearing” are the same, ergo vulgarity and breaking the Third Commandment are the same.
Essential principle this violates or ignores: Taking (or using) the name of the Lord in vain actually means using an appellate of Deity in an authoritative manner when in fact such authority is absent, as in D&C 63:60-62, “Behold, I am Alpha and Omega, even Jesus Christ. Wherefore, let all men beware how they take my name in their lips—For behold, verily I say, that many there be who are under this condemnation, who use the name of the Lord, and use it in vain, having not authority.”
Why: Confusing profane and swearing is a basic error of confusing synecdoche for synonym. To “swear” (in a negative sense) used to mean to use the name of Deity in a purposely inappropriate manner – which actually is literally using the name of the Lord in a vain manner. “Profane” used to mean that which is unholy, unhallowed, desecrated, pagan, etc. The F-bomb (a VERY old word) was originally profane in the sense that its usage implied a desecration of a sacred act (i.e. procreation). Using the name of the Lord in vain was also profane, for it desecrated the sacred act of invoking God’s authority. The umbrella concept (at least the way culture uses it) is “profane”. “Using the name of the Lord in vain” is profane, but not all that is profane is “using the name of the Lord in vain.” Eventually, sometime several centuries ago, people began interchanging “swearing” for “profanity” which, as I mentioned, are scripturally synecdochic – not synonymic.
Reconciliation: Language is essentially communicative. Some words in certain cultures communicate hurtful or demeaning messages. Don’t hurt or demean (which means, by and large, don't use the F-bomb - but notice this is different justification than saying people should not be vulgar because it's the same as using the Lord's name in vain). The flip side of this is that it might be possible to profane in a genuinely beneficial way – like profaning that which is already profane, i.e. making or identifying as unsacred that which is already unsacred. I’ll write another complete essay just on this idea later, but the basic idea is an exploration of the question, “what is more profane – the F-bomb or the cultural conceit which keeps the procreative act shrouded in vulgarity?”
Perhaps I’ll also post more solemn mockeries later. These could include:
- denying the beggar to encourage self-reliance, when in fact everbody is a beggar and everything belongs to God (see Mosiah 4 and Hugh Nibley’s “Work We Must but the Lunch is Free”)
- seeking personal wealth to help the Church (think what Jesus could have done with a big house)
- preparing as a Church congregation for a natural disaster with more fervency than preparing to meet the Son of God
We could come up with more, but the point of all of this is this: learning about one solemn mockery in the scriptures (e.g. infant baptism) should alert us to other practices or mindsets we may have that disorder principles and make farces out of essential Gospel principles.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Some Thoughts On Charity and Obedience
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail” Moroni 7:46
Extensions of the above in relation to obedience:
Obedience is not the same as charity. Hence, obedience will fail at some time.
If nothing else, the drama in the Garden shows us that disobedience may at times stem from (or lead to) charity.
To obey is greater than sacrifice, but nothing is greater than charity.
Obedience may be the first law of heaven, but charity is certainly the greatest.
Every true commandment is given in charity else the commandment is given in vain.
Every true act of obedience is done in charity else the act is committed in vain.
We would do well to remember that God is love.
Nowhere do we read God is obedience.
Extensions of the above in relation to obedience:
Obedience is not the same as charity. Hence, obedience will fail at some time.
If nothing else, the drama in the Garden shows us that disobedience may at times stem from (or lead to) charity.
To obey is greater than sacrifice, but nothing is greater than charity.
Obedience may be the first law of heaven, but charity is certainly the greatest.
Every true commandment is given in charity else the commandment is given in vain.
Every true act of obedience is done in charity else the act is committed in vain.
We would do well to remember that God is love.
Nowhere do we read God is obedience.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
President Hinckley
Gordon B. Hinckley died tonight at around 7 PM. I found out about an hour ago.
I remember when Howard W. Hunter died on March 3, 1995. I remember the date because it was three days before Libby’s 16th birthday – three days before we started dating (us being good Mormon kids and all – she more consistently than I). We skipped school that day for no other reason than we could (Libby had never done that before – I’ve always been a bad influence on her). We watched crappy daytime TV with some other sluffing friends until she and I got bored and walked from her house and climbed a foothill of Mt. Timpanogos. After enjoying the view, we walked back down to her panicked brother (who didn’t know where we had gone and thought we might have been attacked by a puma). We played video games and watched more crap until Libby, a friend named Michelle, and I decided to hijack Libby’s brother’s car to get some eats. Michelle got in the driver’s seat and started the engine, Libby called shotgun, and I was climbing in the back seat when Libby’s brother looked out of the window. I made eye contact with him, felt immediately guilty, and stepped out of the car so as to not take any more part in that tomfoolery. Michelle, though, had her mind on a quick getaway and gunned the car into reverse. The open back door I stood halfway out of scooped me along and crunched (I don’t have a better word) me into the post of the carport. I remember cognizing that I was going to hit the post, but the next thing I remember, I was lying on the driveway, holding my left arm against my chest, for any other position made it feel on fire. The door that crunched me remained open in an ungodly bent-backward shape. Michelle had stopped the car and everyone in and out of the house gathered around me. Long story short – I didn’t break a single bone – not even a bruise. We found out shortly after that President Hunter had died and that Gordon Hinckley was going to be our new Prophet.
Gordon Hinckley has been Prophet of the Church for the entirety of my relationship with Libby.
Today’s a Sunday. There’s too much I feel right now. I just spoke on the phone with my brother, my sister, and my best friend growing up (who’s been more Gospel-good to me than he’ll probably ever realize). I cried when I heard David Haight, and Neal Maxwell, and James Faust died. Tonight was no different. Look, I know the Church will go forward, I know President Hinckley was lonely and now he’s with his wife, I know all this, but I can’t help but feel a tremendous loss.
President Hinckley's been the behind-the-scenes and actual leader of the Church since the failing health of President Kimball in the 1980s (a leadership stretch outdone only by Brigham Young - David O. McKay was close). President Hinckley has dedicated more Houses of the Lord than any Prophet in any recorded history – EVER. He built the entire Church multimedia structure from the ground up. Radio, TV, internet, heck even the first filmed temple ceremonies were all under his direction. That a positive public image of Mormons even exists at all can largely be attributed to his early and consistent efforts in building the Church’s radio, TV, and other multimedia departments. He brought the Church its new Conference Center. He brought the Temple back to Nauvoo. He brought common sense back to Church governance (this’ll probably get me some flack). Three necessities for every member: friend, responsibility, and nurturing with the Word of God. Under his leadership, we got the Family Proclamation, the “Living Christ” testimony of the Apostles of the Church. We got the Perpetual Education Fund (possibly the MOST revolutionary economic practice of the church besides tithing and the Church’s sporadic dabbling with the United Order). There’s so much more, and other people and articles will laud him better than I.
The Church is so much greater now because of him and the world so much less now without him.
I remember when Howard W. Hunter died on March 3, 1995. I remember the date because it was three days before Libby’s 16th birthday – three days before we started dating (us being good Mormon kids and all – she more consistently than I). We skipped school that day for no other reason than we could (Libby had never done that before – I’ve always been a bad influence on her). We watched crappy daytime TV with some other sluffing friends until she and I got bored and walked from her house and climbed a foothill of Mt. Timpanogos. After enjoying the view, we walked back down to her panicked brother (who didn’t know where we had gone and thought we might have been attacked by a puma). We played video games and watched more crap until Libby, a friend named Michelle, and I decided to hijack Libby’s brother’s car to get some eats. Michelle got in the driver’s seat and started the engine, Libby called shotgun, and I was climbing in the back seat when Libby’s brother looked out of the window. I made eye contact with him, felt immediately guilty, and stepped out of the car so as to not take any more part in that tomfoolery. Michelle, though, had her mind on a quick getaway and gunned the car into reverse. The open back door I stood halfway out of scooped me along and crunched (I don’t have a better word) me into the post of the carport. I remember cognizing that I was going to hit the post, but the next thing I remember, I was lying on the driveway, holding my left arm against my chest, for any other position made it feel on fire. The door that crunched me remained open in an ungodly bent-backward shape. Michelle had stopped the car and everyone in and out of the house gathered around me. Long story short – I didn’t break a single bone – not even a bruise. We found out shortly after that President Hunter had died and that Gordon Hinckley was going to be our new Prophet.
Gordon Hinckley has been Prophet of the Church for the entirety of my relationship with Libby.
Today’s a Sunday. There’s too much I feel right now. I just spoke on the phone with my brother, my sister, and my best friend growing up (who’s been more Gospel-good to me than he’ll probably ever realize). I cried when I heard David Haight, and Neal Maxwell, and James Faust died. Tonight was no different. Look, I know the Church will go forward, I know President Hinckley was lonely and now he’s with his wife, I know all this, but I can’t help but feel a tremendous loss.
President Hinckley's been the behind-the-scenes and actual leader of the Church since the failing health of President Kimball in the 1980s (a leadership stretch outdone only by Brigham Young - David O. McKay was close). President Hinckley has dedicated more Houses of the Lord than any Prophet in any recorded history – EVER. He built the entire Church multimedia structure from the ground up. Radio, TV, internet, heck even the first filmed temple ceremonies were all under his direction. That a positive public image of Mormons even exists at all can largely be attributed to his early and consistent efforts in building the Church’s radio, TV, and other multimedia departments. He brought the Church its new Conference Center. He brought the Temple back to Nauvoo. He brought common sense back to Church governance (this’ll probably get me some flack). Three necessities for every member: friend, responsibility, and nurturing with the Word of God. Under his leadership, we got the Family Proclamation, the “Living Christ” testimony of the Apostles of the Church. We got the Perpetual Education Fund (possibly the MOST revolutionary economic practice of the church besides tithing and the Church’s sporadic dabbling with the United Order). There’s so much more, and other people and articles will laud him better than I.
The Church is so much greater now because of him and the world so much less now without him.
re-collecting how I've writhed
re-collecting how I’ve writhed
between
impulse and impossibility
I know now
why I called it a crush
and why it still
draws blood from a thirty year old quill
and why it fills
the memoirs of stable women
and married men
for at the time
nothing I did felt
school-boy
if it did
perhaps you would have met
at least one of my glances
instead of seeking
(an)others with your own
or if met
at least received
in the way I could
never show
I intended
but you didn’t
for I couldn’t
or you couldn’t
yet none
or some
certainly not all
of that
brought me
to where I think in sonnets
over the woman
I love
in whose arms I lie
as I re-collect
but no longer
writhe
between
impulse and impossibility
I know now
why I called it a crush
and why it still
draws blood from a thirty year old quill
and why it fills
the memoirs of stable women
and married men
for at the time
nothing I did felt
school-boy
if it did
perhaps you would have met
at least one of my glances
instead of seeking
(an)others with your own
or if met
at least received
in the way I could
never show
I intended
but you didn’t
for I couldn’t
or you couldn’t
yet none
or some
certainly not all
of that
brought me
to where I think in sonnets
over the woman
I love
in whose arms I lie
as I re-collect
but no longer
writhe
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Some thoughts from a three day weekend
A definition of futility:
Keeping your bag on your lap
stuffed between your belly
and the seat in front of you
in case any of the boarding bus riders
needs to sit down
but none do
---
sharing what's closest
with those farthest away:
a definition of exhibitionism
observing what's closest
from the farthest distance:
a definition of voyeurism
both: a defintion of blogging
---
You know you're in the phase
of serious dating before engagement
when you show each other your fillings
but just describe your birth marks
---
From a Canadian friend:
You know what I learned today?
Salmons' lives really suck...
...and then they die.
Keeping your bag on your lap
stuffed between your belly
and the seat in front of you
in case any of the boarding bus riders
needs to sit down
but none do
---
sharing what's closest
with those farthest away:
a definition of exhibitionism
observing what's closest
from the farthest distance:
a definition of voyeurism
both: a defintion of blogging
---
You know you're in the phase
of serious dating before engagement
when you show each other your fillings
but just describe your birth marks
---
From a Canadian friend:
You know what I learned today?
Salmons' lives really suck...
...and then they die.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
God minds the sparrows
God minds the sparrows
the cute little things
but I wonder about
the pigeons of Liverpool
that distract at best
annoy at times
and frequently
invoke a pitiable disgust
as they swarm around
the public squares
and outside the pastry shops
stubbing along on
toeless feet
and feetless legs
flapping featherless wings
and pecking at the detritus
of ten hundred thousand empty rubbish bins
with battle-scarred beaks and faces
or harsher
like that one at the bus stop
waiting with other world-weary
Liverpuddlians
pristinely purple with
immaculate green and blue trim
the most perfect of pigeons
except
this pigeon’s skull lacked
a dextral quadrant
the contents of its head
rubbery and gray with street dust
hung below its chin
flopping with
every pigeon strut
and step
and peck
defying sense
for it didn’t have the brains
to know it should die
yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool
at home and as homeless
as that girl on the step
with the forty year old face
and the twice as old burdens
and the thrice as old pain
her knees under her shirt
in January
her leathered right palm turned upward
in a rasp of a voice
can you spare 20 p?
or the one the Scouser kids
called Junior
who once we helped sit up
on the stone walk
near the bombed out church
in his alcoholic pain
and blubbering
through his incisorless gums
as the crowd swathed around him
on its way
until the ambulance
drivers finally arrived
breathing boredom
and annoyance for the drunks
who drank just barely enough not to die
and later maybe a fortnight
I met Junior
on campus
tipsy again (or still?)
and hearkened as he recited
the entire dialogue
between Alice
and the Mock Turtle
yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool
the cute little things
but I wonder about
the pigeons of Liverpool
that distract at best
annoy at times
and frequently
invoke a pitiable disgust
as they swarm around
the public squares
and outside the pastry shops
stubbing along on
toeless feet
and feetless legs
flapping featherless wings
and pecking at the detritus
of ten hundred thousand empty rubbish bins
with battle-scarred beaks and faces
or harsher
like that one at the bus stop
waiting with other world-weary
Liverpuddlians
pristinely purple with
immaculate green and blue trim
the most perfect of pigeons
except
this pigeon’s skull lacked
a dextral quadrant
the contents of its head
rubbery and gray with street dust
hung below its chin
flopping with
every pigeon strut
and step
and peck
defying sense
for it didn’t have the brains
to know it should die
yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool
at home and as homeless
as that girl on the step
with the forty year old face
and the twice as old burdens
and the thrice as old pain
her knees under her shirt
in January
her leathered right palm turned upward
in a rasp of a voice
can you spare 20 p?
or the one the Scouser kids
called Junior
who once we helped sit up
on the stone walk
near the bombed out church
in his alcoholic pain
and blubbering
through his incisorless gums
as the crowd swathed around him
on its way
until the ambulance
drivers finally arrived
breathing boredom
and annoyance for the drunks
who drank just barely enough not to die
and later maybe a fortnight
I met Junior
on campus
tipsy again (or still?)
and hearkened as he recited
the entire dialogue
between Alice
and the Mock Turtle
yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
the rhythm
the rhythm
from the ceiling
draws our smiles
after all, our
newly neighbored neighbors
are just
newly wed
but when it
doesn’t stop
nor slow
nor slacken
nor cease
for
thirty
minutes
we look at each other
my wife and I
at first amazed
then awed
for them
then respectful
for him
then
eventually
as those tens
of minutes
pass
fearful
for her
when it stops
after half
an hour
we still stare
at each other
my wife and I
eyes and mouth
wide
and unbelieving
the running shower
upstairs
confirming
our unbelief
so we take them cookies
of course
later that week
and ask how
they’re settling in
fine, oh, fine
they say
perhaps too kindly
unaccustomed
as they are
to married people talk
funny
I think
they don’t look
Olympian
maybe mildly athletic
but not what I
expected
then she
the other wife
says
oh so sincerely
I hope our
treadmill
doesn’t make
much racket
treadmill?
says she
that is
my wife
with the slightest
crease in her brow
oh yes
I jog
she
the other wife
says
twice a week
for thirty minutes
we laugh
of course
my wife and I
and they join in
uncomprehending
and a little confused
for these our
newly neighbored neighbors
are just
newly wed
from the ceiling
draws our smiles
after all, our
newly neighbored neighbors
are just
newly wed
but when it
doesn’t stop
nor slow
nor slacken
nor cease
for
thirty
minutes
we look at each other
my wife and I
at first amazed
then awed
for them
then respectful
for him
then
eventually
as those tens
of minutes
pass
fearful
for her
when it stops
after half
an hour
we still stare
at each other
my wife and I
eyes and mouth
wide
and unbelieving
the running shower
upstairs
confirming
our unbelief
so we take them cookies
of course
later that week
and ask how
they’re settling in
fine, oh, fine
they say
perhaps too kindly
unaccustomed
as they are
to married people talk
funny
I think
they don’t look
Olympian
maybe mildly athletic
but not what I
expected
then she
the other wife
says
oh so sincerely
I hope our
treadmill
doesn’t make
much racket
treadmill?
says she
that is
my wife
with the slightest
crease in her brow
oh yes
I jog
she
the other wife
says
twice a week
for thirty minutes
we laugh
of course
my wife and I
and they join in
uncomprehending
and a little confused
for these our
newly neighbored neighbors
are just
newly wed
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Old Shakespeare wrote his sonnets to be read
Old Shakespeare wrote his sonnets to be read
by countless generations not yet born.
His genius intellect speaks from the dead –
an immortality bereft and torn.
This shallow victory which Shakespeare won
against encroaching years and tides of time
lies unappreciated by the one
who tried to cheat his death with perfect rhyme
But we, my Love, possess what Shakespeare lacked:
a promise for each other which was dealt
in the Sure Place – unquestionably backed
by Kings and Queens in front of whom we knelt
So even after sonnets cease to be
I will have you, my Love, and you’ll have me.
by countless generations not yet born.
His genius intellect speaks from the dead –
an immortality bereft and torn.
This shallow victory which Shakespeare won
against encroaching years and tides of time
lies unappreciated by the one
who tried to cheat his death with perfect rhyme
But we, my Love, possess what Shakespeare lacked:
a promise for each other which was dealt
in the Sure Place – unquestionably backed
by Kings and Queens in front of whom we knelt
So even after sonnets cease to be
I will have you, my Love, and you’ll have me.
for it didn't mean much
I remember kissing the girl
not my wife
I didn’t know her
yet
though I’d learn
months later we’d met
around a guitar on some grass
But I remember kissing the girl
I knew but not too well
for who do you really know
at seventeen
But I kissed her anyway
though I don’t remember how to
spell her name
with an “e” somewhere
I think
a few of us knew
she kept the ultrasound
of her baby in her purse
the one that waste
put in her belly
like he did to the other girl
which she aborted, too
and finished the best
friendship he ever had
But I kissed her anyway
because I knew I could
and I knew it wouldn’t mean
much
in that moment
under the small pavilion on the beach
the one across the way
where the trouble kids smoked and
spat their nicotine on the cement
the sun hung somewhere to the right
maybe one o’clock
the two foot lagoon waves sighed
not fifty feet away
as she held a photo
not the one from her purse
but one I wanted
though I don’t remember which
she held away from me
I reached past her and grabbed it
my face just inches from hers
oh how she smelled
of dime-store perfume
and unconsummated dreams
her smile
coquettish and challenging
I knew in that moment I could
So I did
and for the briefest moment
her lips slackened against mine
in surprise?
in repulsion?
no, in surprise
though it couldn’t have
surprised her much
for her lips found their strength
and grabbed back
if only for a moment
I leaned away and saw her
feign shock and smile
through gaping mouth
What else to do
but pick up my bicycle
and pedal away
for it didn’t mean much
not my wife
I didn’t know her
yet
though I’d learn
months later we’d met
around a guitar on some grass
But I remember kissing the girl
I knew but not too well
for who do you really know
at seventeen
But I kissed her anyway
though I don’t remember how to
spell her name
with an “e” somewhere
I think
a few of us knew
she kept the ultrasound
of her baby in her purse
the one that waste
put in her belly
like he did to the other girl
which she aborted, too
and finished the best
friendship he ever had
But I kissed her anyway
because I knew I could
and I knew it wouldn’t mean
much
in that moment
under the small pavilion on the beach
the one across the way
where the trouble kids smoked and
spat their nicotine on the cement
the sun hung somewhere to the right
maybe one o’clock
the two foot lagoon waves sighed
not fifty feet away
as she held a photo
not the one from her purse
but one I wanted
though I don’t remember which
she held away from me
I reached past her and grabbed it
my face just inches from hers
oh how she smelled
of dime-store perfume
and unconsummated dreams
her smile
coquettish and challenging
I knew in that moment I could
So I did
and for the briefest moment
her lips slackened against mine
in surprise?
in repulsion?
no, in surprise
though it couldn’t have
surprised her much
for her lips found their strength
and grabbed back
if only for a moment
I leaned away and saw her
feign shock and smile
through gaping mouth
What else to do
but pick up my bicycle
and pedal away
for it didn’t mean much
A Rhyme
I’ve never had the hat
to tell Paul Simon that
“thyme”
doesn’t really rhyme
with “mine.”
Internal rhyme is fine,
a pleasant poetic pastime;
but the waste of a word
is the taste of a turd.
I want wine
but get grime.
Word-wealthy Walt Whitman,
he rhymed to his Captain
but not to himself.
His song of himself
was not on the shelf
in my den
which was then
my poetry playpen
when
I was ten
with my Little Red Hen.
Now the Dr. had Sam
and I am
and Green Ham.
His rhymes were not hard,
but he ranked with the Bard
in rhyming yard
after yard
of prose.
Who knows
what goes
behind nose
and pen
of such men?
The public may cheer
the rhymes here;
but my ear
is queer,
and prudent I’m near
to hear.
to tell Paul Simon that
“thyme”
doesn’t really rhyme
with “mine.”
Internal rhyme is fine,
a pleasant poetic pastime;
but the waste of a word
is the taste of a turd.
I want wine
but get grime.
Word-wealthy Walt Whitman,
he rhymed to his Captain
but not to himself.
His song of himself
was not on the shelf
in my den
which was then
my poetry playpen
when
I was ten
with my Little Red Hen.
Now the Dr. had Sam
and I am
and Green Ham.
His rhymes were not hard,
but he ranked with the Bard
in rhyming yard
after yard
of prose.
Who knows
what goes
behind nose
and pen
of such men?
The public may cheer
the rhymes here;
but my ear
is queer,
and prudent I’m near
to hear.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
New (and CHEAPER) t-shirt site
I changed my t-shirt shop from zazzle to Spreadshirt. Here's the new link: http://wasatchliberation.spreadshirt.com/
At the newly revamped Wasatch Liberation Front the prices are a LOT better (around $10). This is due to a few reasons. Spreadshirt charges less. Also, Spreadshirt allows me to zero out my commission (that's right - I make no money off of these - I guess that means my altruistic profit-donations to the Church's PEF go out the window, too - oh, well - everyone reading this should be donating regularly to the PEF anyway). Also, the new designs are all on lightweight t-shirts rather than heavyweight t-shirts. The heavyweight flavors go for about $5 more, so if you want me to make ones on heavier fabric, just let me know.
Some drawbacks: there aren't as many design, font, or t-shirt color options (without charging more).
But I just want to get these shirts out there. I'll keep both shops open for the time being in case people want the better quality (but doubly expensive) shirts at zazzle.
At the newly revamped Wasatch Liberation Front the prices are a LOT better (around $10). This is due to a few reasons. Spreadshirt charges less. Also, Spreadshirt allows me to zero out my commission (that's right - I make no money off of these - I guess that means my altruistic profit-donations to the Church's PEF go out the window, too - oh, well - everyone reading this should be donating regularly to the PEF anyway). Also, the new designs are all on lightweight t-shirts rather than heavyweight t-shirts. The heavyweight flavors go for about $5 more, so if you want me to make ones on heavier fabric, just let me know.
Some drawbacks: there aren't as many design, font, or t-shirt color options (without charging more).
But I just want to get these shirts out there. I'll keep both shops open for the time being in case people want the better quality (but doubly expensive) shirts at zazzle.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
On Avoiding (the Appearance of) Evil
Back in the fall of 1998, after my mission and during my first semester of college at UVSC, I took an institute course in the Book of Mormon from a guy I’ll call Jack. Jack was well known at the time in the Utah-preaching circuit (otherwise known as young single adult firesides). And he treated his institute classrooms as proving grounds for his fireside sermons. In this particular class we busied ourselves with the first half of the Book of Mormon. When we covered Nephi’s psalm (the second half of 2 Nephi 4), Jack made it apparent that one of his favorite passages in this sublime lyric was the last sentence of 2 Nephi 4:31. “Wilt thou make me that I may shake at the appearance of sin?” Jack interpreted this passage in a way I had unfortunately seen before – several times as a missionary (from other Elders and Sisters), more than a handful of times from Seminary teachers, and a few times from church talks or lessons. Jack’s interpretation (and the others before him) amounts to this:
[begin fallacious interpretation] In this passage Nephi pleads with the Lord to make him (Nephi) shake at the things that even LOOK like they are sinful. See how righteous Nephi is? He not only wants to avoid the things that are sinful; he wants to avoid the things that even LOOK like they’re sinful! We should be like Nephi in this regard. So don’t even step into a bar with friends, for that LOOKS like you’re breaking the Word of Wisdom. [end fallacious interpretation]
One other scripture (and only one) in the LDS cannon would appear to support this. Paul writing to the Thessalonians encouraged them to, “Abstain from all appearance of evil” (1 Thessalonians 5:22).
The problem with Jack’s interpretation is that it flies in the face of other scriptures that mention appearance. Take for example
But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart. (1 Samuel 16:7)
Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment. (John 7:24)
And shall make him of quick understanding in the fear of the LORD: and he shall not ajudge bafter the sight of his eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of his ears. (Isaiah 11:3)
For we commend not ourselves again unto you, but give you occasion to glory on our behalf, that ye may have somewhat to answer them which glory in appearance, and not in heart. (2 Corinthians 5:12)
Do ye look on things after the outward appearance? If any man trust to himself that he is Christ’s, let him of himself think this again, that, as he is Christ’s, even so are we Christ’s. (2 Corinthians 10:7)
And my personal favorite:
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. (Matthew 23:27)
How to reconcile these?
First, more scriptures lean toward the notion that the Lord actually is NOT concerned with how things LOOK; He’s concerned with how things actually ARE. So, go with the majority of scriptural evidence. Don’t be concerned with how things LOOK; be concerned with whether something really IS good or evil.
Second (and most convincing to me), there is no contradiction from a certain semantic/linguistic standpoint.
Look at the Greek word that “appearance” comes from in the 1 Thessalonians verse (“Abstain from all appearance of evil”). The Greek word is closer to “kinds.” So the verse should read “Abstain from all kinds of evil.” So, Paul is consistent with his own writings and other scripture. Avoid things that are actually evil.
And what of Nephi? We don’t have any “reformed Egyptian” translation to work from with him. In light of every other passage in regards to appearance, we have to assume that Nephi is using “appearance” in terms of “presents itself” – like a car suddenly appearing in the intersection ahead of you – and NOT in terms of “looks like.” In this interpretation, Nephi wants the Lord to make him (Nephi) shake when sin actually appears – when sin presents itself – so he can know the difference. This is the only interpretation of Nephi’s use of the word “appearance” that makes sense in light of every other scriptural example.
Besides, think of what Nephi had to do earlier in life. In the dead of night, on a dark city street, Nephi took someone else’s sword and clothes, DECAPITATED the unarmed and defenseless man, stole the dead man’s property, and forced the dead man’s servant out of the city. You have to admit, all of these actions LOOK pretty sinful. If Nephi really were concerned about avoiding the things that LOOK like they’re sinful, he would not have been able to do the things necessary to get the brass plates, his family would have dwindled in unbelief, there would be no record on gold plates to give to Joseph Smith, and there would have been no tangible evidence of the Restoration of the Gospel. Nephi was not concerned about how things LOOK to others; he was only concerned with what the Lord said was actually virtuous or sinful…
…which is a lot healthier than concerning ourselves with what shade of whitewash we should use to cover our sepulchers.
[begin fallacious interpretation] In this passage Nephi pleads with the Lord to make him (Nephi) shake at the things that even LOOK like they are sinful. See how righteous Nephi is? He not only wants to avoid the things that are sinful; he wants to avoid the things that even LOOK like they’re sinful! We should be like Nephi in this regard. So don’t even step into a bar with friends, for that LOOKS like you’re breaking the Word of Wisdom. [end fallacious interpretation]
One other scripture (and only one) in the LDS cannon would appear to support this. Paul writing to the Thessalonians encouraged them to, “Abstain from all appearance of evil” (1 Thessalonians 5:22).
The problem with Jack’s interpretation is that it flies in the face of other scriptures that mention appearance. Take for example
But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart. (1 Samuel 16:7)
Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment. (John 7:24)
And shall make him of quick understanding in the fear of the LORD: and he shall not ajudge bafter the sight of his eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of his ears. (Isaiah 11:3)
For we commend not ourselves again unto you, but give you occasion to glory on our behalf, that ye may have somewhat to answer them which glory in appearance, and not in heart. (2 Corinthians 5:12)
Do ye look on things after the outward appearance? If any man trust to himself that he is Christ’s, let him of himself think this again, that, as he is Christ’s, even so are we Christ’s. (2 Corinthians 10:7)
And my personal favorite:
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. (Matthew 23:27)
How to reconcile these?
First, more scriptures lean toward the notion that the Lord actually is NOT concerned with how things LOOK; He’s concerned with how things actually ARE. So, go with the majority of scriptural evidence. Don’t be concerned with how things LOOK; be concerned with whether something really IS good or evil.
Second (and most convincing to me), there is no contradiction from a certain semantic/linguistic standpoint.
Look at the Greek word that “appearance” comes from in the 1 Thessalonians verse (“Abstain from all appearance of evil”). The Greek word is closer to “kinds.” So the verse should read “Abstain from all kinds of evil.” So, Paul is consistent with his own writings and other scripture. Avoid things that are actually evil.
And what of Nephi? We don’t have any “reformed Egyptian” translation to work from with him. In light of every other passage in regards to appearance, we have to assume that Nephi is using “appearance” in terms of “presents itself” – like a car suddenly appearing in the intersection ahead of you – and NOT in terms of “looks like.” In this interpretation, Nephi wants the Lord to make him (Nephi) shake when sin actually appears – when sin presents itself – so he can know the difference. This is the only interpretation of Nephi’s use of the word “appearance” that makes sense in light of every other scriptural example.
Besides, think of what Nephi had to do earlier in life. In the dead of night, on a dark city street, Nephi took someone else’s sword and clothes, DECAPITATED the unarmed and defenseless man, stole the dead man’s property, and forced the dead man’s servant out of the city. You have to admit, all of these actions LOOK pretty sinful. If Nephi really were concerned about avoiding the things that LOOK like they’re sinful, he would not have been able to do the things necessary to get the brass plates, his family would have dwindled in unbelief, there would be no record on gold plates to give to Joseph Smith, and there would have been no tangible evidence of the Restoration of the Gospel. Nephi was not concerned about how things LOOK to others; he was only concerned with what the Lord said was actually virtuous or sinful…
…which is a lot healthier than concerning ourselves with what shade of whitewash we should use to cover our sepulchers.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
I Now Purvey T-Shirts
Encouraged by my wife and a few friends, I put some of the t-shirt designs on a do-it-yourself site
http://www.zazzle.com/wasatch_liberation
I name my shop the Wasatch Liberation Front in tribute to an obscure Pat Bagley comic (one of these days, I'll scan it and post it). Maybe I'll track down his email and send him the link to my shop...
If you have any ideas how any of the designs/colors/layouts could look cooler, let me know. I am certainly not one for design, so I'll welcome any feedback. And if you like any of them, go ahead and purchase. I'm going to give all of my royalties on these to the Church's Perpetual Education Fund. It's only 10% on each (Zazzle's making a killing). I tried to do 0% but Zazzle's system wouldn't proceed unless I put at least 10%. When I griped to my wife earlier today about not caring about the royalties, she said, "Why not just give it to the Perpetual Education Fund?" A little nova went off in my head. I agreed right away. Whatever pennies I get from Zazzle go straight to the Church's Perpetual Education Fund. It made (and still makes) perfect sense to me.
You see, putting the designs up actually got me thinking about the commodified culture we live in. Sure I came up with some ideas for pithy shirts that may sell (or more likely not), but the people who actually make the darn things (whom I will likely never meet) I guarantee get paid less per shirt than I will. Doesn't seem right. Most of these people live in mind-boggling poor countries. Yeah, I've heard all the guilt-reducing arguments ranging from trickle-down theory to the value of mind-over-production, but none of those arguments resolve the central issue for me which is this: capitalized production is and forever will be a practice of Babylon not Zion.
When Karl Marx was 26, he wrote, "The worker becomes all the poorer the more wealth he produces, the more his production increases in power and size. The worker becomes an ever cheaper commodity the more commodities he creates. The devaluation of the world of men is in direct proportion to the increasing value of the world of things. Labor produces not only commodities: it produces itself and the worker as a commodity - and this at the same rate at which it produces commodities in general."
I actually used that third sentence in a church talk five or six months ago (I just introduced it as a "German philosopher").
Anyway, I figured that since most of the beneficiaries of the Perpetual Education Fund live in the kinds of countries that get economically raped by first-world capitalism, it made sense for me to put the money I earn from these commodities back to those communities.
I know - still rationalization. But I'll get to sleep a bit better tonight anyway.
So, enjoy the shirts and don't forget to give me any tips/suggestions/pointers about the designs. If I eventually see just one person I don't know wearing one of these, I'll die happy.
http://www.zazzle.com/wasatch_liberation
I name my shop the Wasatch Liberation Front in tribute to an obscure Pat Bagley comic (one of these days, I'll scan it and post it). Maybe I'll track down his email and send him the link to my shop...
If you have any ideas how any of the designs/colors/layouts could look cooler, let me know. I am certainly not one for design, so I'll welcome any feedback. And if you like any of them, go ahead and purchase. I'm going to give all of my royalties on these to the Church's Perpetual Education Fund. It's only 10% on each (Zazzle's making a killing). I tried to do 0% but Zazzle's system wouldn't proceed unless I put at least 10%. When I griped to my wife earlier today about not caring about the royalties, she said, "Why not just give it to the Perpetual Education Fund?" A little nova went off in my head. I agreed right away. Whatever pennies I get from Zazzle go straight to the Church's Perpetual Education Fund. It made (and still makes) perfect sense to me.
You see, putting the designs up actually got me thinking about the commodified culture we live in. Sure I came up with some ideas for pithy shirts that may sell (or more likely not), but the people who actually make the darn things (whom I will likely never meet) I guarantee get paid less per shirt than I will. Doesn't seem right. Most of these people live in mind-boggling poor countries. Yeah, I've heard all the guilt-reducing arguments ranging from trickle-down theory to the value of mind-over-production, but none of those arguments resolve the central issue for me which is this: capitalized production is and forever will be a practice of Babylon not Zion.
When Karl Marx was 26, he wrote, "The worker becomes all the poorer the more wealth he produces, the more his production increases in power and size. The worker becomes an ever cheaper commodity the more commodities he creates. The devaluation of the world of men is in direct proportion to the increasing value of the world of things. Labor produces not only commodities: it produces itself and the worker as a commodity - and this at the same rate at which it produces commodities in general."
I actually used that third sentence in a church talk five or six months ago (I just introduced it as a "German philosopher").
Anyway, I figured that since most of the beneficiaries of the Perpetual Education Fund live in the kinds of countries that get economically raped by first-world capitalism, it made sense for me to put the money I earn from these commodities back to those communities.
I know - still rationalization. But I'll get to sleep a bit better tonight anyway.
So, enjoy the shirts and don't forget to give me any tips/suggestions/pointers about the designs. If I eventually see just one person I don't know wearing one of these, I'll die happy.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Let's make some t-shirts
I should start a t-shirt business on the side. Here are some ideas I've had for t-shirts that I think would sell well to (some kinds of) Mormon customers, but would probably not sell at Deseret Book or the BYU Bookstore. I've grouped them into five different groups: (1) Old General Authority Quotes, (2) J. Golden Kimball Quotes, (3) Mormon Humor, (4) Support Dress and Grooming Standards (at BYU) and (5) Wasatch Liberation Front
Remember, you saw them here first. Which ones would you buy?
(1) Old General Aythority Quotes:
GO TO PROVO
or
GO TO HELL!
Brigham Young, ca. 1868
Work less, wear less, eat less,
and we shall be a great deal
wiser, healthier, and wealthier
people than by taking
the course we do now.
Brigham Young, JD 12:122
There is too much of a
SAMENESS
in this community.
Brigham Young, JD 13:153
I am NOT
a stereotyped
Latter-day Saint!
Brigham Young, JD 8:185
AWAY WITH
STEREOTYPED
“MORMONS”!
Brigham Young, JD 8:185
DAMN
THE
WORLD!
Heber C. Kimball, JD 5:181
WE MUST
GROW HEMP
or
WE MUST
GO NAKED
Gearge A. Smith, JD 10:122
“DAMN”
is not swearing…
it is only emphasis
Heber J. Grant, General Conference, 10/6/1922
(2) J. Golden Kimball Quotes
Cut me off from the church?
They can't do that!
I repent too damn fast.
J. Golden Kimball
I may not walk
the straight and the narrow,
but I sure in hell try
to cross it as often as I can!
J. Golden Kimball
There are not enough
general authorities
to do all the thinking
for the membership of the church.
J. Golden Kimball
I love all of the brethren,
but I love some
a hell of a lot more
than I do others.
J. Golden Kimball
If I had a house in St. George
and a house in Hell,
I'd rent out the one in St. George
and move straight to Hell.
J. Golden Kimball
I understand you brethren
can't go on missions
because you swear too much.
You can overcome it.
Hell, I did.
J. Golden Kimball
(3) Mormon Humor
[Note: I didn't come up with any of these.]
Front of Shirt: What do you get when you cross Spencer W. Kimball with J. Golden Kimball?
Back of Shirt: Do it, damn it.
Front of Shirt: Why do Mormon women stop having children at thirty-five?
Back of Shirt: Because thirty-six is just too damn many.
Front of Shirt: What do you get when you cross a Mormon and a Kleptomaniac?
Back of Shirt: A basement full of stolen food.
(4) Support Dress and Grooming Standards (at BYU)
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
Because it’s what’s on the OUTSIDE that counts
1 Samuel 16:7
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
As long as I LOOK the part…
Matthew 23:27
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
The Honor Code – isn’t it about…Appearance?
2 Corinthians 10:7
(5) Wasatch Liberation Front
[Note: I got the ideas for the Wasatch Liberation Front shirts after reading a Pat Bagely comic. Further note: all of these shirts will have this design on their backs - a beehive with a clenched fist over it and the logo "Join the Wasatch Liberation Front!" The following are different options for the front of the shirt.]
Ice Cream is the Opiate of the Masses
Scrap-booking is the Opiate of the Masses
Scrap-booking is a Bourgeois Conspiracy
Abolition of Knee-Shorts!
Multi-Level Marketing is a Bourgeois Conspiracy
Relief Society Sisters, Arise! You have nothing to lose but your pedestals!
A specter is haunting Utah…
Multiply and Replenish ≠ Procreate with Reckless Abandon
From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.
The production of too many useful programs results in too many useless people.
Remember, you saw them here first. Which ones would you buy?
(1) Old General Aythority Quotes:
GO TO PROVO
or
GO TO HELL!
Brigham Young, ca. 1868
Work less, wear less, eat less,
and we shall be a great deal
wiser, healthier, and wealthier
people than by taking
the course we do now.
Brigham Young, JD 12:122
There is too much of a
SAMENESS
in this community.
Brigham Young, JD 13:153
I am NOT
a stereotyped
Latter-day Saint!
Brigham Young, JD 8:185
AWAY WITH
STEREOTYPED
“MORMONS”!
Brigham Young, JD 8:185
DAMN
THE
WORLD!
Heber C. Kimball, JD 5:181
WE MUST
GROW HEMP
or
WE MUST
GO NAKED
Gearge A. Smith, JD 10:122
“DAMN”
is not swearing…
it is only emphasis
Heber J. Grant, General Conference, 10/6/1922
(2) J. Golden Kimball Quotes
Cut me off from the church?
They can't do that!
I repent too damn fast.
J. Golden Kimball
I may not walk
the straight and the narrow,
but I sure in hell try
to cross it as often as I can!
J. Golden Kimball
There are not enough
general authorities
to do all the thinking
for the membership of the church.
J. Golden Kimball
I love all of the brethren,
but I love some
a hell of a lot more
than I do others.
J. Golden Kimball
If I had a house in St. George
and a house in Hell,
I'd rent out the one in St. George
and move straight to Hell.
J. Golden Kimball
I understand you brethren
can't go on missions
because you swear too much.
You can overcome it.
Hell, I did.
J. Golden Kimball
(3) Mormon Humor
[Note: I didn't come up with any of these.]
Front of Shirt: What do you get when you cross Spencer W. Kimball with J. Golden Kimball?
Back of Shirt: Do it, damn it.
Front of Shirt: Why do Mormon women stop having children at thirty-five?
Back of Shirt: Because thirty-six is just too damn many.
Front of Shirt: What do you get when you cross a Mormon and a Kleptomaniac?
Back of Shirt: A basement full of stolen food.
(4) Support Dress and Grooming Standards (at BYU)
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
Because it’s what’s on the OUTSIDE that counts
1 Samuel 16:7
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
As long as I LOOK the part…
Matthew 23:27
Support Dress and Grooming Standards!
The Honor Code – isn’t it about…Appearance?
2 Corinthians 10:7
(5) Wasatch Liberation Front
[Note: I got the ideas for the Wasatch Liberation Front shirts after reading a Pat Bagely comic. Further note: all of these shirts will have this design on their backs - a beehive with a clenched fist over it and the logo "Join the Wasatch Liberation Front!" The following are different options for the front of the shirt.]
Ice Cream is the Opiate of the Masses
Scrap-booking is the Opiate of the Masses
Scrap-booking is a Bourgeois Conspiracy
Abolition of Knee-Shorts!
Multi-Level Marketing is a Bourgeois Conspiracy
Relief Society Sisters, Arise! You have nothing to lose but your pedestals!
A specter is haunting Utah…
Multiply and Replenish ≠ Procreate with Reckless Abandon
From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.
The production of too many useful programs results in too many useless people.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Of New Years and Nancy
My wife and I aren't really "new years countdown" people. A few years ago, we decided to start ringing in new years with movies that would finish after midnight. Last night, with a couple friends, we settled on the 10PM showing of "Juno" down at the Wynnsong in Provo (more on this amazing movie in a moment). It actually ended five and a half minutes before midnight which turned me into a last-minute reluctant new years countdowner. Libby, our friends, and I gathered in the hallway as soon as the credits ended - less than three minutes before midnight (by my watch).
I should clarify, while I'm not necessarily drawn to new years countdowns, I do find myself throughout a day drawn into countdowns in general. For instance, I love that so many crossing signals now sport a numerical countdown. Sometimes, while crossing a street, I'll even slow down so I'll step onto the curb just as the countdown reaches zero. I also enjoy catching the odometer transitioning into patterns (thousand mile marks are big, of course, but not as momentous as 6666 or 1234 or 4321). Yes, odometer countdowns are technically countups, but trifle me not. Also, a movie (ANY movie) increases in enjoyability for me if it includes some sort of countdown (to an explosion or hostage deadline or election day or the big competition). Not that I conscientiously seek out movies with countdowns, I just know that when a countdown presents itself in a movie, I settle into my seat more comfortably and attentively anticipate the consumating zero-moment. So why doesn't this taste for ticking temporality transition to new years? I don't quite know. It could stem from my reactionary non-conformity (which I realize is stupid). But seriously, the new years eve countdown gets more people chanting in unison at one time than have all the mindless litanies throughout all of human history.
Anyway. So, in the theater hallway, gathering around my watch, we shuffled toward the door, waiting for the new year to roll in. I think we all silently agreed that any waiting for the new year would have to happen indoors since last night Utah met the coldest temperatures of the season thus far. Right at about two minutes to zero-moment, some theater employee around the corner vociferated his new year jubilation scaring a coworker. I know this because she screamed and said, "Oh my gosh, you scared me!" Then she said, "Is it new year already?" To which the howler retorted, "Yeah, it's like 12:02." To which I smiled. You see my watch is set to the clocks on UTA busses, which are the only clocks (within a five-minute margin of error) that really matter. About twenty feet from the door, my watch finally tripped over midnight. The one's position in the hour, both minutes positions, both seconds position, and all the date positions changed at the same time. Ah, chronological consumation. Better than any ball in any Times Square in any New York anytime.
Driving back to our place, we passed five kids alone (not a one over ten) crossing Orem Center Street (a five lane road) at an intersection without a light. Scary, right? We also passed the Orem Community Church in the parking lot of which two early teens (a boy and a girl) took turns sliding accross what looked like a two-foot square patch of ice. And then, of course, we passed the obligatory midnight jogger complete with reflective vest and headstrap light bobbing in the darkness.
But about "Juno."
Well, another aside first. 2007 has been a very good year for movies. I've certainly seen some keepers this year from "Stardust" (hands down the greatest romance/comedy/fantasy since "Princess Bride") to "Michael Clayton" (corporate crime drama with a conscience) to "Charlie Wilson's War" (with another jaw-dropping performance from Philip Seymore Hoffman - go see the movie just for his first scene castigating his CIA beaurocratic boss) to the beyond intense "No Country for Old Men" (Javier Bardem plays the SCARY-est villain I've ever seen in any movie - believe me I've seen some doozies) to the nigh-perfect "Sweeney Todd" (the best thing to hit cinematic musicals since "Fiddler on the Roof" - with "Moulin Rouge" close behind).
"Juno" was the perfect movie to end the year with. Just give Ellen Page an oscar now (assuming of course that oscars get handed out by virtue of talent and not by where in the hollywood orgy pile you happen to be at the time of ballot counting). Her performance and Diablo Cody's incredibly dialogue-driven script (this is really a writer's movie) convinced me to drop my "Nancy" story. It's kind of like that moment when I played trumpet in high school band and I heard a recording of Wynton Marsalis and realized that God gave that gift to someone else, so I picked up the guitar to blend in with the rest of the musically mediocre. "Juno" is probably the closest we'll come to the perfect dramedy of a young woman dealing with the full term of an unwanted pregnancy and giving the child away. You probably won't want to go see this for Family Home Evening, but go see it sometime.
Now about "Nancy." "Nancy" represents my first concerted attempt to write a female protagonist. Don't know if I totally like the results. For now, I think I'll step away from "Nancy" for a while. See reasons above. Besides, I don't know quite where to take the story (up to Alaska? I dunno), and there are some parts I'm not too proud of that I should probably rework (like more fully exploring her motivation - I admit, I cheated out of those parts), but I'll let them age instead. Maybe it would be best to let the story end here. After all, the story is really just a gimmick (put a surrogate mother on BYU campus, see what happens). Meh. I'll let it age.
Happy New Year, all.
I should clarify, while I'm not necessarily drawn to new years countdowns, I do find myself throughout a day drawn into countdowns in general. For instance, I love that so many crossing signals now sport a numerical countdown. Sometimes, while crossing a street, I'll even slow down so I'll step onto the curb just as the countdown reaches zero. I also enjoy catching the odometer transitioning into patterns (thousand mile marks are big, of course, but not as momentous as 6666 or 1234 or 4321). Yes, odometer countdowns are technically countups, but trifle me not. Also, a movie (ANY movie) increases in enjoyability for me if it includes some sort of countdown (to an explosion or hostage deadline or election day or the big competition). Not that I conscientiously seek out movies with countdowns, I just know that when a countdown presents itself in a movie, I settle into my seat more comfortably and attentively anticipate the consumating zero-moment. So why doesn't this taste for ticking temporality transition to new years? I don't quite know. It could stem from my reactionary non-conformity (which I realize is stupid). But seriously, the new years eve countdown gets more people chanting in unison at one time than have all the mindless litanies throughout all of human history.
Anyway. So, in the theater hallway, gathering around my watch, we shuffled toward the door, waiting for the new year to roll in. I think we all silently agreed that any waiting for the new year would have to happen indoors since last night Utah met the coldest temperatures of the season thus far. Right at about two minutes to zero-moment, some theater employee around the corner vociferated his new year jubilation scaring a coworker. I know this because she screamed and said, "Oh my gosh, you scared me!" Then she said, "Is it new year already?" To which the howler retorted, "Yeah, it's like 12:02." To which I smiled. You see my watch is set to the clocks on UTA busses, which are the only clocks (within a five-minute margin of error) that really matter. About twenty feet from the door, my watch finally tripped over midnight. The one's position in the hour, both minutes positions, both seconds position, and all the date positions changed at the same time. Ah, chronological consumation. Better than any ball in any Times Square in any New York anytime.
Driving back to our place, we passed five kids alone (not a one over ten) crossing Orem Center Street (a five lane road) at an intersection without a light. Scary, right? We also passed the Orem Community Church in the parking lot of which two early teens (a boy and a girl) took turns sliding accross what looked like a two-foot square patch of ice. And then, of course, we passed the obligatory midnight jogger complete with reflective vest and headstrap light bobbing in the darkness.
But about "Juno."
Well, another aside first. 2007 has been a very good year for movies. I've certainly seen some keepers this year from "Stardust" (hands down the greatest romance/comedy/fantasy since "Princess Bride") to "Michael Clayton" (corporate crime drama with a conscience) to "Charlie Wilson's War" (with another jaw-dropping performance from Philip Seymore Hoffman - go see the movie just for his first scene castigating his CIA beaurocratic boss) to the beyond intense "No Country for Old Men" (Javier Bardem plays the SCARY-est villain I've ever seen in any movie - believe me I've seen some doozies) to the nigh-perfect "Sweeney Todd" (the best thing to hit cinematic musicals since "Fiddler on the Roof" - with "Moulin Rouge" close behind).
"Juno" was the perfect movie to end the year with. Just give Ellen Page an oscar now (assuming of course that oscars get handed out by virtue of talent and not by where in the hollywood orgy pile you happen to be at the time of ballot counting). Her performance and Diablo Cody's incredibly dialogue-driven script (this is really a writer's movie) convinced me to drop my "Nancy" story. It's kind of like that moment when I played trumpet in high school band and I heard a recording of Wynton Marsalis and realized that God gave that gift to someone else, so I picked up the guitar to blend in with the rest of the musically mediocre. "Juno" is probably the closest we'll come to the perfect dramedy of a young woman dealing with the full term of an unwanted pregnancy and giving the child away. You probably won't want to go see this for Family Home Evening, but go see it sometime.
Now about "Nancy." "Nancy" represents my first concerted attempt to write a female protagonist. Don't know if I totally like the results. For now, I think I'll step away from "Nancy" for a while. See reasons above. Besides, I don't know quite where to take the story (up to Alaska? I dunno), and there are some parts I'm not too proud of that I should probably rework (like more fully exploring her motivation - I admit, I cheated out of those parts), but I'll let them age instead. Maybe it would be best to let the story end here. After all, the story is really just a gimmick (put a surrogate mother on BYU campus, see what happens). Meh. I'll let it age.
Happy New Year, all.
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