Uncouth PerspectivesNot on the rug, man.

There comes a time to move on.

People move, relationships end, death happens.  Life doesn’t stop and entropy marches blindly onward.

TIME! Is marching on.
And time.. is still marching on.
This day will soon be at an end and now it’s even sooner.
And now it’s even sooner.
And now it’s even sooner.

They Might Be Giants, Older

As we all do, I have seen many of my relationships (family, friends, lovers) end.  When I was growing up, I moved every year or two.  These moves were always dramatic, to different cities and different states.  Rarely was it across town, but even when it was, it was to different schools with different friends.  I got really good at making new friends, but I also got really good at spending time with myself.  I also got really good at letting go.

My father died when I was 25. A good friend of mine died when he was 27–we were the same age.  All of my grand parents and great grand parents are gone, most of them within memory.  (My mom is alive and well–and, since I know you are reading this, you better stay that way!)  Death is not a stranger and in some ways that is comforting.  When I was in high school, I went through the stereotypical depressed years.  I, in fact, almost died in my sophomore year of high school when I had a misdiagnosed case of appendicitis.  I went for a week and a half with a ruptured appendix.  For those of you not paying attention, the typical life expectancy is something like 48 hours.

I went through a very weird period where I personified Death (yeah, capital “D” Death personified-booooy!).  I imagined Death as anthropomorphic figure who rationed, reasoned, and maybe even felt. I imagined what it would be like to die and converse with this person.  You might understand why the first Terry Pratchett books I fell in love with involved Death as a character–and if you don’t, then you simply haven’t read enough Terry Pratchett and I insist you stop reading my drivel this moment and go pick up one of his books.  Ahem, anyways…

When I moved to California, I felt very lost.  Even though I hated Texas, where we had lived before, I had really started to feel at home there.  I was in advanced classes, I had some good friends, I even had girls flirting with me.  I felt like things were starting to come together and I was also working off of the promise my parents made not to move me when once I got to high school.  I can still recall my mother telling me “I had to move my freshman year of high school and I never want to do that to you.”  For reason beyond most mortals control, we did end up moving, and, yes, it was in my freshman year.  I remember on my birthday, one of the girls in my Honors English class gave me a snickers bar wrapped around an old stuffed animal frog for my birthday, shyly, about a month before we were moving.  All I remember is blurting out “I’m moving!” and getting away as fast as I could.

Romantic relationships end.  While I’m open to sharing many things with you, my faceless readers, these are mine.  If you want to hear these stories, I doubt you’ll read them many of them here.  But they do–and those of you who know me, know some of those stories.  Relationships, even ones ending, are important to me.  People are important to me.  I strive to not have messy endings and I think I’ve done a pretty good job.  I’m still friends with many of the people I’ve dated–just because something doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t make something of it after enough time has passed.  Then again, sometimes you can’t and I recognize that too.

This is even more important to me when dealing with romantic relationships within social circles. I don’t tend to date random people–I’ve never been one to pick up on a random woman in the library or coffee shop or whatever.  And I try to be as honest as possible IN my relationships and part of that is working through problems.. and acknowledging when they’re probably unsolvable.  I prefer to break-up mutually and amicably.  This not only allows for, hopefully, no bad feelings, but then there’s not all this awkwardness in the social circles.  You’ve already lost a romantic partner, why lose friends as well?  And there’s a strong likelihood people in your social circle may date people you have, this is part of how social circles work.  If you date someone I have, I won’t begrudge you your shot at happiness, so don’t worry about feeling awkward about me.  I say more power to ya!

Emotions are hard things to wrangle sometimes, so I’m not suggesting that I’ve got good control over those all the time.  But I believe: you do good, you get good; so I try my best to do good, especially in all of my relationships (family, friends, lovers).  And this ties back to the whole death thing.  You never know when someone will leave you.  You never know when you will leave. So why mess around with it?  Get the best out of life.  When it’s worth it, hold on for dear life… and when it’s not, don’t hold on when you don’t need to.

There’s a lot more to life than carrying the past around with you.

It’s late Sunday morning and I’m sitting in my favorite grease-hole diner.  I think you know the type:  where the eggs are runny, the corned-beef hash is burnt on the outside and uncooked in the middle, the coffee is horrid, and the service is rude but reliable.  It really doesn’t get any better than this.

I’m by myself, reading a book.  Fork absently in one hand, book in the other, I am oblivious to everyone around me–that’s one of the reasons to come to a place like this, right?  Occasionally I chuckle from something I read.  I expertly scoop from from my plate into my mouth without much thought, a feat that comes from lots of experiences–and a few stained shirts and books.  Every once in a while I make the mistake of tasting the food, followed quickly by trying to fix this by drinking the coffee, which is of course also a mistake.  The delicate dance continues.

By some miracle, I make it through most of the food in front of me.  My stomach debates complaining, but it’s used to this and, in many ways, it is comforting to be full of greasy breakfast food.  At the end of a chapter, I put the book down and look around for the first time in a while.  I’m in the narrow window between breakfast and lunch rush and it’s quieted down since I first came in, though I know for the severs this is really the calm before the storm–this also means I’m on my own if I want a refill or to get my check.

I first notice the table across the aisle to my right.  It is an older man sitting with what appears to be his two daughters, who are maybe 6 and 9 respectively.  I notice him because he is ordering what I just ate, though he asks for his toast with extra butter.  This is, I assume, a polite way of saying “with any butter,” as the toast only comes in two ways:  traces of what might be the effort to put some butter on the toast but otherwise completely and absolutely dry or so sopping wet with butter that you could probably use a sham-wow before eating it and still have plenty left over to fill your butter snowmen molds.  I drift away for a moment, only to have my attention subtly pulled back.

“Ah, ha ha, what did the world do, uh, before text messaging,” he says, trying to appear clever, which only serves to highlight his discomfort at having what is probably the small time he gets to spend with his daughters taken up by one of them who is, yes, texting on her phone.  I think to myself that he would, perhaps, have better luck if he got a phone himself.  I try not to intrude long on his time with his daughters, but it is clear how uncomfortable he is and I feel bad.  This is highlighted more so when one of the girls says something starting with “my mom.”  I glance at him and you can see the pain he is trying to hide on his face:  “mom” shouldn’t need a “my” in front of it just like “wife” doesn’t need an “ex.”

I turn my attention elsewhere, letting the father have his short time with his girls.  Good luck, my friend.  In the next booth over from them is an older couple, perhaps early sixties, sitting opposite from each other in the bench.  The man is reading a book and wife is slowly chewing her food quietly.  After a few moments, the man chuckles and reads something aloud, which I assume he thinks is poignant but I am too far to hear, and the wife merely nods.  They sit quietly again for another minute or so and then he chuckles and reads something aloud, which I assume he thinks is poignant but I am too far to hear, and the wife merely nods.  This continues.  She is clearly bored and uninterested and he clearly does not care.  I wonder at how this can be, but before I get too far, I hear the ghosts of my own relationships past and being told not to bring the newspaper to the breakfast table (with clever retorts like “what better time to read the news than at breakfast?”), quickly feel guilty, and look away, giving them their privacy and shoving my ghosts and guilt back into the hole they belong in.

My eyes cross the aisle to the table in front of me.  Another couple, sitting across from each other, older than the last–perhaps in their late seventies?  Old enough to be noticeably old but not so frail that they require walkers or oxygen tanks or any of the lovely accoutrement which we earn on our final days before we turn in our return ticket.  They sit quietly, not talking at all.  I sit mesmerized.  Chew, chew, chew.  They do not even look at each other.  In fact, they do not even look up–well, I can only guess about the woman, whose back is to me.

It’s then that I become aware of how much I’ve noticed when couples are sitting across from each other.  It makes sense to sit across from one another, right?  This way you can talk, you can look each other in the eye, maybe a passing caress as you each reach for the salt.  And yet.. there is a time and a place for that, but looking at these two couples, I realize how far apart they are.  The table might as well be a bottomless chasm which engulfs all conversation and emotion.  I feel bad for them and I feel bad for every person I cared about who I did not take the time to saddle up next to on the same side of the table.  I vow to never do this again and secretly vow to try to actually remember.

I feel an abrupt jar as the table on the other side of the divider gets new occupants.  You know this diner table type, right?  There is almost one table that is shared between two booths and when someone pushes down hard on their side, your jumps up accordingly.  Mine does this and I find myself back in the present.  Three teenage boys sit down and begin talking at unnecessarily loud levels before they are even situated in their seats.  It takes a moment to sort out what they are saying, but I quickly understand why they are so loud:  they are having three separate conversations and trying their best to get the other two to listen.  I can’t even figure out what they are each talking about, but I quickly realize that I don’t care.  Not only because I doubt I share the interests of a teenage boy, but I certainly have no interest in what someone who competes so loudly for attention has to say.  Perhaps that makes me a snob, but I’ve come to be okay with that.

The conversation is clearly a contest.  Each boy has no time or attention to listen to what the others are saying.  They calm down a little once they get menus and drinks to where a casual observer might thing there are pauses and dialogue which consists of a statement and a thoughtful retort, but really they fall into the pattern of conversation without the reality of conversation.  I’m sure I see myself better than I am, but I wonder if I was ever like this.  I try to take my time to listen, but do I always?  Can I do it better?  I try, I really do, to not feel better than these kids, but I do not succeed.  I know I can have a good conversation and I know I can listen.  The question I ask myself (and I am unable to answer) is: do I use this knowledge as a crutch and assume because I can be a good listener I assume I always am?

Like many times before, I decided then and there that I never want to pretend that I am happy.  I never want to have a relationship–friend, lover, whatever–where the act of being together becomes more important than actually having a relationship.  And, here, I try not make any more assumptions for any of these people.  Maybe there is nothing left to say, maybe they are happy not talking, or maybe just having someone around to compete with is enough; but that is not always the case and perhaps I have too much a idealized or romantic streak, but I believe we can have more, I believe we can do more with our lives and with our relationships.

I think I’ve lived this principle well, but it’s always hard to see at the time.  My life is full of mistakes, but I try my best to learn from them.  I feel like, sitting there along with my book, at least I am being honest with myself.  I may be sitting alone but I’m trying to do it honestly and with dignity.

What kind of dignity is that?  I’m not really sure.  But it’s the best I’ve got and that is good enough for me.

I wanted to talk a little about what I am reading.

I saw this idea over at Mind on Fire. Basically it’s about taking an excerpt out of a near book and sharing it.

For the record, I do not know what a meme is, I do not care what a meme is, and, in fact, I dislike the word on principle alone. That being said, let us continue.

1. Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. No cheating!
2. Find page 123
3. Find the first 5 sentences
4. Post the next 3 sentences
5. Tag 5 people

I am not going to do #5, because I refuse to send unsolicited message, chain-style letters to -anyone-. I thought this was interesting enough to do myself, but do not even think that I am going to attempt to perpetuate it to other people who are not interested.

I had two books on top of each other so I shall share both:

The first is The Electric Church, a book which I am borrowing and combines many favorites: a dystopian and sci-fi future, religion, and hired killers. Not a very interesting blurb.

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“Hover displacement!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Distant, but coming.”

She didn’t say anything.

The second is The Godless Constitution: A Moral Defense of the Secular State, one of my many books dealing with the intersection of politics and religion. Much more interesting excerpt.

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The battle over Sunday mail began in the small market town of Washing, Pennsylvania, in 1809, the year Jefferson’s presidency ended. Its postmaster, Hugh Wyle, followed the widespread, though unofficial, practice of sorting the mail as well as keeping his post office open on Sundays to allow churchgoers from neighboring villages to pick up mail after church. The problem was that Wylie was also an elder in Washington’s Presbyterian church, and in 1809 the Pittsburgh synod of the church ruled that for such as egregious violation of the Sabbath Wylie was to be excluded from communion.

And because I know you are dying to see what my bedside pile of books looks like, here you are:

Let me tell you a little story.

So to Pope decides to visit an Italian University and give a speech.  This is not a churchy event, but is  the opening of the academic year and, in my opinion, a pretty big win for the University.  Say what you will about the Pope, it is a big deal for him to come give a speech, whether you agree or not, which, really, is what this story is about.

What is the response from the school, do you think?  Why for the students and faculty members to protest so loud that the Pope cancels the visit.

Here’s the story: http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-pope16jan16,0,296931.story?coll=la-home-center

And some choice quotes:

More than 60 professors signed a letter to the public school’s rector saying the pope’s appearance, which had been scheduled for the opening of the academic year Thursday, was an affront to people of science and to the “secular” nature of the institution.

…

The students who led the protests celebrated their “victory for laicism,” whereas the rector of La Sapienza, Renato Guarini, said he was dismayed that a “small publicity-seeking minority” had managed to derail a papal visit to an institution founded, as it happens, by one of Benedict’s predecessors, Pope Boniface VIII — 700 years ago.

Let me start by getting my feelings out in the open:  screw you.

One of the challenges the students and faculty put forward is legitimate:  the Pope was going to give a speech but was not open to a question and answer session.  Although, if I were the Pope (Oh, how I dream about it!  Where’s my hat?!), I think I would be disinclined to play hardball with people so determined to hate me on principle that they’ll cancel my appearance anyways.

But, seriously, I believe strongly in the Academic mission and, question and answer session or not, I think that having the Pope come speak is valuable and useful part of that mission.  When people are critical of Universities as “liberal brain washing” institutes, it’s this kind of asshat actions that they are talking about.  I am not saying that people should not be vocal against the Pope, or whoever, if they feel like it–I am certainly do not support the Catholic church–but let the man talk!  And use it as an opportunity to hold more sessions about the Science vs. Religion debate, or on the issue of morality in atheism, or whatever you want!  But do not silence a voice because they say things you do not like.  That, to me, goes against the entire idea of Academia.  Especially when that voice is the selected leader of a major world religion.

I just get so angry when I read or see this kind of hypocricy.   This is one of those ultimate opportunities for education, learning, and growth.  I mean, if the Dali Lama came, would these same people have protested… or is he western and modern enough?  What if the next one isn’t so interested in constitutions and has takes a hard line.  Well, too bad, same guy, just reincarnated.  Haha!  You fail!

Seriously, though, I expected in Academia, of all places, for any civilized voice to have a platform and opportunity to speak.  It’s not a victory to celebrate–you did not win a skirmish in the great war against religion;  you did not even fight.  Walk around with all the pride and prejudice you want.  It is not for me.

When Scott announced he was coming back, I looked around and said “Beauchemin or McDonald are the most at risk.”

Sadly, how true I was.

Andy McDonald was traded to the Blues today for Doug Weight (not a bad pick up), a minor leaguer, and a 7th round pick. In addition, Doug Weight is a UFA at the end of the year, so the stupid salary cap stuff is not an issue.

Read more: http://ducks.nhl.com/team/app/?service=page&page=NewsPage&articleid=346678

I have been very lax in my study of religion of late. It turns out that when you have assignments and constant pressure that comes with grad school, it’s much easier for it to be hobby. I’m going to file that under ironic and move on. My focus when I was actively working on my Master’s Degree was apocalyptic cults. This is a subject I am very interested in and the recent news of a Russian doomsday cult has really sparked my interest again. Hopefully I can fan that into a real flame of interest.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/europe/11/16/doomsday.cult/index.html

What I find most interesting about this incident is that the leader is no longer with the group. He’s been arrestd and undergoing “psychiatric evaluation.” He told the group to hole up in their self built cave and they are doing it. One of the reasons I find this interest has to do what what a “cult” is and how it is formed. Or, rather, how hard it is to define those things. Like many things with religion, defining what makes something a cult is generally a subjective affair. Most often, a descriptive definition is used. I.e. a cult is something that has x, y, and z characteristics. For example, one might say that a cult does not have mainstream acceptance. However, there are people who call Mormonism a cult, yet it clearly has mass appeal. Even better, others, such as myself, would not agree that mainstream acceptance is a characteristic at all.

However, one that is widely adopted in this method of defining a cult is charismatic leadership. The Branch Dividians had David Koresh, Christianity had Paul, and the Insane Clown Posse have Violent J. One theory about containing/controlling cult behavior (if you would choose to do so) is that if you take out the leader, you take out the cult. I do not believe things are that black and white, but the theory is probably a good rule of thumb.

So, then, what kind of control did Kuznetsov have that his followers continue their practices and follow his commandments even after he is gone? They apparently communicating with him via letters but are mistrustful that he may be under the control of the authorities. It makes me think that a new leader has emerged with the remaining members that allows them to hold strong to their beliefs. If this is true, it poses an interesting twist to the idea of a charismatic leader’s role within a cult. It also shows one of the things at the root of cult behavior: a cult is sociological based “thing” which is guided by principles of the relationships between members more than the philosophical doctrine they supposedly cling to.

Very interesting case in the Sixth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals…don’t be surprised is this one go to the U.S. Supreme Court.

From the decision:

“In considering the factors for a preliminary injunction, the district court reasoned that e-mails held by an ISP were roughly analogous to sealed letters, in which the sender maintains an expectation of privacy. This privacy interest requires that law enforcement officials warrant, based on a showing of probable cause, as a prerequisite to a search of the e-mails.”

From an article:

A federal appeals court on Monday issued a landmark decision (.pdf) that holds that e-mail has similar constitutional privacy protections as telephone communications, meaning that federal investigators who search and seize emails without obtaining probable cause warrants will now have to do so.

“This decision is of inestimable importance in a world where most of us have webmail accounts,” said Kevin Bankston, a staff attorney for the Electronic Frontier Foundation.

The ruling by the Sixth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Ohio upheld a lower court ruling that placed a temporary injunction on e-mail searches in a fraud investigation against Steven Warshak, who runs a supplements company best known for a male enhancement product called Enzyte. Warshak hawks Enzyte using “Smiling Bob” ads that have gained some notoriety.

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The Anaheim Ducks beat the Ottawa Senators 4-1 to win the greatest prize in sports… the Stanley Cup!

We are in the so-called era of the “new NHL.” The new rules are in place to make the game faster, more exciting, and to see more goals scored. And it has worked (whether or not that will get the sport more viewers is another story). But even more interesting is that Brian Burke, Randy Carlyle, and the others decided to play the new rules from another angle. They developed a game that used strong physical and gritty play to shut down a team designed to be exemplary of the new rules–fast, lean, and highly technically skilled.

I do not think that this strategy will always work, but it will be worth watching the two types of play compete for success. The Ducks have obvious echoes of the Devils and I can’t wait to see what others team try this strategy out for success.

GO DUCKS!

Two girls were arrested in McHenry County, Illinois last week for distributing flyers at their school that depicted a male classmate kissing another classmate and had the words “God Hates Fags” on the flyers. One of the girls at her arraignment was denied bail for her actions, and the other was effectively placed on house arrest.

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Anaheim prevailed 4-2 in the best-of-seven NHL Western Conference final. The Ducks will meet the Ottawa Senators in the Cup final, with Game 1 set for May 28 (CBC, 7:30 p.m. ET).

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