Those of us who woke up in America woke up in a new nation.
Alright, it may be a little different from a room full of old, upper-class, white men, but I don't think it is very different from the ideals they posited for the United States.
Throughout this entire day, I have felt a warm swell of pride for a country I had almost lost hope in. But, mixed with that pride, I feel a muddled skepticism--I keep asking myself: "can it really be true?" To be honest, as good as it feels, I'm a little scared of what this all means. I cannot anticipate with a calm assurance what the next era will be like, and that scares me a lot. I felt a similar wash of anticipation and fear right before going off to college . . . and for that matter, both times I graduated college.
But, just like in those instances, I know that it is time. Like a grad student that spends years to finish his thesis or dissertation, it is time for the United States to be true to the vision put forth by the founding fathers and allow the most qualified man to take one of the most powerful positions in the world, regardless of the color of his skin or the foreign timbre of his name.
I also know that a great majority of the world celebrated this epic event with us. The united voice of the American people may have restored our dignity in front of the rest of the world.
As a philosopher interested in social justice, I would like to add that I am glad that we have regained some consistency with our nation's ideals and founding documents. Now, we are a country that has proven that all men are indeed equal, though we may not treat them that way. There is still work ahead for Obama and the rest of us (God knows not all causes important to me were successful yesterday), but today let us all celebrate a victory and a step in the right direction.
It has been a hard, uphill climb, but a black man will now enter the White House, not begrudgingly, but carried in by an overwhelming majority of American voters.
It is a very exciting time of year--pomegranate season!
While looking for some organic tomatoes at Kroger, I found that they are selling my favorite seasonal fruit. In a slow movement towards locavorism, I'm trying to be a seasonal vegetarian. (Seasonal as in "using what is in season," not "only vegetarian in certain seasons.") I didn't find the tomatoes, which is sad; but, I forgot about pomegranates. I love pomegranates. I know they are not quite the same thing, but "Chop Wood, Carry Water" and all that jazz.
Here is a list of good reasons why pomegranates should be loved by all--or at least by me.
1. Mrs. Shanks, my 6th grade World Civilization teacher. She is responsible for my first utterance of the Greek language and my first taste of pomegranates. On that day, look ago, I remember wiping my stained hands onto the moon of my over-sized, printed tee . The howling wolf looked almost sad that the moon was bleeding above its head. I still have that t-shirt . . . okay, the shirt stuff is all elaboration. But, Mrs. Shanks still rocks!
2. Healthy, healthy, healthy. Pomegranates give you 40% of your daily amount of potassium, vitamin c, vitamin e, vitamin a, folic acid, and other goodies.
3. Antioxidants. Because cancer is kind of bad.
4. Three pomegranate seeds can keep you in Tartarus for a substantial portion of the year. Honestly. Ask Persephone, she still remembers. But maybe, while you are waiting for spring, you can become an important underworld deity. Think of the Power!
5. You can use the seeds in tandem with toilet paper to throw on people's houses this Halloween. Though, the custom may then be referred to as "tamponing," due to the stains. Finger licking good.
6. Scholars suspect that the "apple" that Adam and Eve ate from was actually a "pomegranate." So, that means that you can eat of the Tree of knowledge for months at a time. Just don't tease God by saying: "Nah nah nah na boo boo, what are you going to do about it now?" Smiting may be the answer.
7. It is called Jewel of the Winter. And jewels are a gay's best friend. Also, there is Pama liqueur, and liqueur is a gay's best friend.
8. Pomegranate lassi. Nuff said.
9. What's good enough for Needle, is good enough for me. And, if you don't know Conan the Barbarian Cartoon series . . . well, yeah.
10. There is no ten. Winter sucks, and we should all take time to remember that it sucks, and that its sucking doesn't stop until spring. So, eat a pomegranate next to your space heater and remember that some people are curling up inside a dumpster because it is the only way they can stay warm this winter.
Japanese man divorces his wife on MMORPG; Japanese wife kills man . . . or at least his offending Avatar. [For those who don't know Geek Speak, MMORPG stands for Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game].
At first, I thought this story was funny, and it is. But, coming from a family of grinders [people that spend many hours on MMOs to build levels, currency, and skills], made me take a second look at this concern. Personally, I've only played Final Fantasy XI, and only for a week. Don't get me wrong: I loved it! But, a little too much. I tucked myself away every night into a private, study room on the 4th floor of the library. While sipping on Mountain Dew, and chewing absently on a cheese sandwich, I walked my cute little white mage around healing random adventurers, hoping they would give me a chance to earn some XP [experience points].
For that week of online euphoria, I gained five levels and bragged that I was the most attentive--if a little co-dependent--healer in all of Vana'diel. In the real world, of course, I was quickly becoming the creepy kid with bloodshot eyes that lurked in dark corners of the study rooms, nipping at Muggles. My boyfriend at the time, whose FF account I was using, became a little concerned about the amount of time we spent together . . . and more importantly, the lack thereof.
Quickly, I kicked the habit and have never gone back.
Though virtual life is not for me, a growing number of people receive a great deal of satisfaction from MMOs. My grandmother's hobby, for instance, is grinding on Runescape (she's level 99 in almost every skill. Eat that n00bs!). My aunt likes Guild Wars; my brother, World of Warcraft; my cousin, Maple Story. Which gets us back to this morning's article. Maple Story is the MMO in which all of these horrific facts took place.
The man divorced his wife on Maple Story, and the woman used his screenname and password to login as him and kill his character. The article is not specific, but I'm inferring that "kill" means "delete," as I don't think it is possible for a character to be completely destroyed in the game itself (Yay for re-spawning). The man's stupidity aside (what possesses you to online-divorce your tech-savvy partner and fail to change your password?), the woman's actions are both laughable and deplorable. She stands to be charged with a five year prison sentence or $5,000 for "illegally accessing a computer and manipulating electronic data." I'm sure laws against hacking have something more sinister in mind when they are prohibiting such actions. Further, bringing criminal charges against this woman seems ridiculous. First of all, criminal charges are typically committed against a person or an entity that is legally considered a person, like a business or a nation.
This woman did not attack her ex-husband; she attacked his avatar, which has not been deemed legally as a person . . . at least not to my knowledge. Still, this electronic avatar should probably be considered a piece of electronic property. The ex-husband did spend a great deal of time developing this avatar (though my cousin's avatar could probably have p00ned him). Add to this that some avatars are sold on e-bay for money. There is an EVE character that someone is selling on E-bay with a bid of $510. So, avatars have economic value like any piece of physical property.
The fact that this woman has criminal charges against her is ridiculous; but, she should be sued for property damage.
If anyone tried to delete any of my family's avatars, legal wrath would rain down upon there heads in the key of Ka-ching Ka-ching.
On an episode of Boston Legal (S. 4 Ep. 10 "Green Christmas"), one of my new favorite characters, Katie Lloyd (played by Tara Summers), argued that a man who champions a green organization was not being green while driving his hybrid. She claimed that the nickel used to make the batteries of the beloved hybrid Prius are mined at a Canadian site that throws off so much pollution that the area has become a dead zone. NASA now uses the surrounding miles of this nickel plant to emulate moon missions.
The horrors do go on. I've known Kelley's writing (who is the creator and head writer of the show) to be very preachy, but typically accurate; still, I was skeptical.
An internet search revealed several articles discussing the economic effect of the Prius on both sides. To be honest, whether it is cost effective or not doesn't interest me as much if there is even question whether it will be environmentally effective. Finally, I stumbled on a Canadian blog that quoted an article on the carbon footprint of manufacturing hybrids.
Success, I thought. But as I read the post, I realized that the quote was Katie Lloyd's speech--nearly verbatim. "For shame!" to some writer, but it is difficult to determine which one (Kelley, Blogger, journalist?).
Unfortunately, the link to the aforementioned article was broken, and I've tried to use the Wayback Machine, also to no avail.
I think I fell naively into the Green Fad without considering that even this supposedly green option comes with a substantial cost. Maybe it is worth it. And maybe the hybrid succeeded in the long run because it started loosening Big Oil's grip on the automobile industry (if it has even done that). Despite all of that, I think that I can't be satisfied that we are out of the woods because Toyota is successfully selling hybrids.
In the meantime I will still be trying to walk as much as I can . . . though I have heard that this can have environmental effects as well, but that's just being greenly obsessed.
Post Script (10/24/08): Here is the hyperlink to the original article. The Wayback machine came through for me on a subsequent attempt.
This weekend I had the honor of judging the JCPS debate tournament. The debates were in Lincoln/Douglas format, and the topic was the following question: "Is it moral to kill one person to save many?"
I was stoked, and it turned out to be well worth getting there by eight thirty in the frickin' morning on a Saturday. For the most part, most of the debaters I judged either argued for utilitarianism or deontology, citing Mills and Kant respectively. My joy, however, didn't come from hearing new arguments, so much as seeing high schoolers and their bright eyes, awkward hand gestures and earnest dispositions. Most of the young adults I judged were over-joyed by my elaborate praises and thorough critique of their work. They hurriedly jotted notes, and two of them thanked me profusely for the detail and attention. To be honest, it made me a little sad to walk back in to teach a required course this morning. The attitudes are very disparate.
Some of the highlights of the debate tournament:
A 8th grade girl from a rural county that rocked the house. Her cross-examination was exhilarating, and I know that she has a career waiting for her in law.
A pair of brothers whose fast talking prose proved to be both practically significant and philosophically grounded.
A young man with a cute emo haircut who approached the debate with the most interesting and philosophically rigorous slant. He actually managed to convince me that John Rawls and Ayn Rand could agree in terms of this one issue. (That woman's visage still haunts my never-ending nightmares, however.)
The LSAT is coming up this weekend, so I've been a bit flustered. In my rush to get in a practice section before work this morning, I forgot my lunch, usually a can of beans. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just go to UofL's wonderful (and over-priced cafeteria).
Looking over my options, I thought about a salad. Paying anyone six dollars to throw vegetables into a bowl and hand it to me seemed a little ridiculous. If times were really hard I could gather grass and leaves into a bowl myself. Ultimately, I opted for sushi. Since, I allow myself to eat fish every now and then, and I thought having protein rich meal would keep me focused and functioning for tomorrow, I choose what looked like Crab Philadelphia Roll (Phili rolls with the salmon are my favorite when in fish-meat mode). Half-way through the meal, however, my stomach cramped up like it does when I'm eating something it hate (i.e. gluten). I stopped my meal and checked the ingredients sticker attached to my plastic sushi box (that must be what I pay so much for!). Sure enough the answer became clear:
Imitation Crab has wheat in it.
They use wheat among several other ingredients so that the pollock paste (that is a type of fish they grind up) can hold its shape. I am astounded by my lack of knowledge of what goes into my food.
I am amazed, sometimes, at the synchronicity I notice in my life. The synchronicity may only be constructed by my mind’s organizing structure; but, the pattern lies there before me just the same. In particular, I mean that separate areas of my life (family, profession, etc.) demand from me similar lessons before I can move freely. Troubles stand like identical, yet prismatic gates that all require the same bloodstained key.
This post comes from several events that happened to me over the past week, including visiting my brother’s birthday and the beginning of fall teaching. The lesson has something to do with the intentions of nurturing and the ends of such actions. But to be honest, I don’t know if I’ve reached any conclusions, so far.
More after the ‘port.
Dogen, the Zen master and philosopher, put forth the title quote of this post in his seminal work, Shobogenzo Genjokoan. Dogen left these writings as lectures and lessons to Zen monks, but the entire tradition holds up his words to a higher philosophical status. This specific quotation has a metaphysic dimension. Dogen could mean that there is a real disconnect between what happens and what we want to happen, but this is both too simplistic and inconsistent with his greater work. Zen Buddhist tradition holds that the world is interconnected, albeit illusory. Still, just as external events can cause ripples in internal states, the reverse can also be true.
Another interpretation of this quote is that it attacks the notion that our desires are important or influential. Just because I love flowers, I cannot stop them from withering away, and just because I detest weeds, I cannot stop them from growing. It is likely that Dogen is lecturing his monks here on the Stoic’s project—reigning in the mind and desires to gain better control of the self. But, for those of you who know Buddhist thought, there is not a self to pseak of, but instead, no-self (anatman in Sanskrit). Control is a skill taught and fostered in Zen, but it cannot be the ultimate goal. If control were the ultimate goal, then there probably exists a controller that desires control, since control is not a neutral display of power. That being said, control is contradictory to ideas of no-self. What Zen typically strives for (and not without its own paradoxes) is a cessation of control and a fostering of no-mind. You can understand this no-mind as a sort of living in the moment, similar to the Tao, but that simplifies the matter a bit.
Right now, I take up Dogen’s words as saying something cautionary about our passions, while at the same time, pointing in the direction of the best way to nurture.
First off, I believe that Dogen is warning against teleological thinking, which roughly means focusing on the end of action. One way that we engage in teleological th
inking is to see the end as the validation of the action, with which Zen Buddhism (not to mention Kant) would disagree. If the withering of the flower invalidates our affection for it, then it is the affection that is flawed. The same for the weed: if our affections are only positive in the absence of the weed, then it is the affection that is mistaken in the reality of the world, i.e. shit happens.
Teaching is a sort of nurturing. It requires the teacher to give to the students in hopes that the students will improve in general or gain a certain skill-set to put in her metaphoric tool kit. In philosophy, I hope to mostly give my students good training in analytical reasoning, but also general instruction on some of the great thinkers in our history. If I engaged in mostly teleological thinking, I would likely feel distraught or dissatisfied to learn that many students of intro level classes never read philosophy again, and may never pick up the analytical reasoning skill-set from her or his toolboxes after the semester ends.
Dogen’s answer would be that we must shift our thinking, but a full exploration that will have to wait until another day. Before I go, I will put forth a counter-argument prior to any paradigm shift.
Without abandoning teleological reasoning, I could argue that I at least left the student with the opportunity to pick up that skill set. Indeed, it would be a sadder affair if the student reached into the toolbox in her future and couldn’t pull that dusty reasoning when she wanted
and maybe needed it. However, if we are truly focused on the ends, we would have to consider the statistics (which may or may not be possible for predictions) and probably conclude that this explanation would not be strong enough. Would teachers still teach as fervently, if they not that it may avail nothing? If we are teleological, that seems unlikely. Do we pull weeds because we one day hope that they won’t return?
Not without being foolish.
And now a word from our humorous sponsors on the topic of "best intentions."
I’m trying to trudge my way through Mary Renault’s Persian Boy. I’m only up to page 40, and I can barely find the motivation to pick it up. My rule is this: I will read 50 pages of a book before deciding to put it down for good. I amend my rule, however, if the book comes highly recommended. This one did.
A friend of mine bought me this book because we have common interests: gay men, Greek history, tragedies, and concerns for civic problems. The idea behind the book is to tell the little known story of Alexander’s lover, Bagoas, and the triumphs and turmoils that probably affected his life in the Ancient world. Much to my disappointment, I think that Renault has failed to deliver this package in engaging or an inspired way.
Renault, a renowned lesbian living in South Africa during the early to mid 20th century, only wrote about gay love affairs in the distant past of the Ancient Mediterranean world. My friend presented this book to me as an accurate portrayal of the ancient Greek psychology and especially how the gay mentality is different from modern gay mentality. I agree that Renault is accurate, and I know my Mediterranean history—V and I studied it together in at least six different classes (more in her case) during our undergrad years. Renault’s problem isn’t her knowledge of Ancient Mediterran (not a word, but I think it should be…which by the way, translates from the Latin into “Middle Earth”). Renault, however, doesn’t give me a flourishing description of the gay, Greek mind-set.
Renault’s main problem is that she fails to get into the head of the main character, Bagoas, our Persian, eunuch-love-slave, hero. She lists the items at the Persian bazaar with a comparable amount of words as she describes Bagoas’ bitter attitude towards the men to which his first master loans him. I don’t mean that Renault is similar to the meandering prose of Dickens and Hawthorn. No, I mean she gives a paragraph for each to suffice when explaining the emotional weight of both the mundane and the existential descriptions. The same goes for Bagoas’ crush on a fellow eunuch, his promotion to his second master’s family, and his tryst with a Persian prostitute well-versed in the kama sutra. Roughly, a paragraph each. Human psychology is much more complicated than a Persian bazaar, but I’m given very little to chew on before Renault is shooing me on to the next entry in Bagoas’ saga.
Renault makes for a decent historical fiction writer, but so far, the Persian Boy is like a brief summary of a journal written by a Persian love-slave in a foreign language he picked up from traders. To add to that, this journal has been translated through a third language by a half-blind scholastic who only has dusty fragments of the original manuscript.
But, it could just be me.
I’ve also started re-reading Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. Completely different reaction. I know that it is probably unfair for me to expect Renault to compare to a great literist (also not a word. Do you think that “great author” is supposed to be synonymous with literary author? I hardly think that is fair. What if I want to talk about the greatest of literary authors? Germans can fix this by creating a new word…they probably already have.) But, I believe that this is what writers strive towards; so, why shouldn’t I hold her up to it? Not to mention the rest of us, for that matter. I say “Excellent effort, Mary Renault,” with sincere praise, “many enjoy your work and still buy your books, but you did not tell me about the complex human psyche. I must know what you thought about life, love, and messed-up relationships.”
Steinbeck, on the other hand, opens his short story with two characters, the witty George, and the lumbering Lennie. Steinbeck never tells us that George is annoyed with Lennie, he never tells us the depth of emotion that the two share. He doesn’t have to. The prose and dialogue in that first chapter tells the reader not only that the two men are fighting because of Lennie’s misdeeds, but that George, despite his brusque demeanor, deeply cares for Lennie and wants to take care of him. Not to mention that the observant reader already knows the direction of the plot and how the story will end.
*shiver*
There is nothing that beats good literature. Literature moves people in a subtle way because the reader thinks that she or he thought the story up themselves. The reader doesn’t read literature, she or he lives it. And, literist would be better served by the term “storyprojector,” as opposed to “storyteller.”
Steinbeck’s work is truer to life than Renault’s. People are complicated. Bagoas hates one master and loves another. Even the Persians behave like they respect Alexander, the man who comes to conquer them. They express confusion, but not conflict. The fathoms of the human psyche are not this simple for even the simplest of people (if even they can be called “simple.” Look at Lennie.) People are messy by themselves, and they are even messier in pairs. George needs Lennie; George loves Lennie. Even when Lennie has trouble living in a world that doesn’t have a place for him, even when George says that he would be better off without Lennie, George wants Lennie’s company, and he would suffer with any burden for the sake of Lennie’s well-being. This is how relationships are—complicated.
I like to consider myself a writer, as well. What I hope to take from Mary Renault is that I can’t depend on interesting history told through bloated prose to keep my readers interested. Let alone the methods I’ve used in my typical, egocentric and self-gratifying pieces of my own portfolio. We writers should get our readers to understand the story without having to tell it to them. My friend, Kagawa, always harps on me “show-y; no tell-y!” Unfortunately, I still have not mastered it in my fiction.
Non-fiction is a whole other topic, but that is for another discussion.
Speaking of inaccurate portrayals of Mediterranean History. I direct you to something fun:
US Soldiers Remake Telephone
-
Troops stationed in Afghanistan make their own cover version of Lady Gaga's
"Telephone". No kidding, it's the best video on the interwebs today..
tomorrow ...
I'm an indefinite man trying to make it in an unsure world . . . and vice versa. Similar to my sister, the Child-like Empress, I go through names like undergarments. Dissimilar from her, I do not have the good sense to withhold my judgment and keep my keester in a tower.
As a philosopher interested in social justice, I would like to add that I am glad that we have regained some consistency with our nation's ideals and founding documents. Now, we are a country that has proven that all men are indeed equal, though we may not treat them that way. There is still work ahead for Obama and the rest of us (God knows not all causes important to me were successful yesterday), but today let us all celebrate a victory and a step in the right direction.
