Stop! I Will Tell You What to Do

I’m at the sink, cleaning the dishes, when the following conversation occurs:

Kris: Since the Gingeriches aren’t doing their banquet on Valentine’s Day, do you wanna do something together?

J.D.: Sure. What do you have in mind? (Thinking: Dinner at Higgins or at Tong King Garden, or maybe even a quick trip the coast.)

Kris: Let’s go bowling!Sometimes I feel like I’m living with a stranger.

I’m grogging awake. Kris is folding and putting away the laundry. (We have an ongoing deal. I keep her car fueled, and she does my laundry, except for ironing. I hate to do laundry. Or, more precisely, I just never get around to it.)

Kris is trying to put away my “I agree with Tyler and Pete” t-shirt (and other recently purchased thrift store clothing), but there’s no room for it. Plus I’m giving her lip.

Kris: Alright, you’ve just earned a major chore for this weekend, boy-o. You’ve got to rearrange your clothes. Until you do, you’re not allowed to buy another piece of clothing. No pants. No shirts. No belts. No socks. Nothing. If you do, I’ll just start throwing things away. You’ve got t-shirts you never wear because they’re so far in the back of your drawers that you never see them. You only grab the top thing. [ed: It’s true.] You have friggin’ t-shirts coming out of your butt!

At this point, she notices that I’m transcribing the conversation.

Kris: Stop it! or I’m going to knock you down!Husband abuse! Husband abuse!

So, repeating to myself that mantra I developed oh-so-long ago (“Kris Gates is always right. Kris Gates is always right.”), I pull out my t-shirt drawers (of which there are three) and put them on the bed. We sort t-shirts.

We can agree that some t-shirts stay and that others must be purged, but on other t-shirts we have disagreements. For example, on our trip to Crater Lake last fall, I bought a bright red USA t-shirt for $4. I want to keep it, if only just for yardwork.

Kris: J.D., that shirt is very ugly. It is in your best interest not to wear it. It doesn’t matter what you wear it for.

Ultimately, it stays. “You’ve been very good,” Kris tells me. “I guess you can keep that for now.”

We’ve got a gallery of quotes taped to the inside of our front door. Many of you have seen them, but for those who haven’t, here are some of Kris’ gems:

I’m not bossy; I just like to tell you what to do.

I know you’re in here to be sweet, but I really don’t want to listen to Johnny Cash right now.

You complicate my life by thinking for yourself. Just do what I tell you.

Your happiness is dependent on my happiness.

Stop! I will tell you what to do.I love my wife. Sometimes our distinct individual goofinesses makes for amusing conversations, though.

Comments


On 07 February 2004 (10:01 AM),
J.D. Roth said:

Just to be clear: this entry is meant to be funny, not to be mean. I love Kris, and I find our interactions amusing. The reason she has to boss me around so much is that, in many ways, I act like a five-year-old…



On 07 February 2004 (10:35 AM),
dowingba said:

Wow, you two use hyperlinks when you talk to each other? Quite impressive.



On 07 February 2004 (11:01 AM),
Johnny Doe said:

It is of significant comfort to me to know that I’m not the only one with a She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Do you think it’s genetic? Maybe it’s on that odd chromosome that they have?



On 07 February 2004 (03:32 PM),
Tiffany said:

It is not genetic. I am very good at taking orders. All day I have been helping Rich, in the garage, put one of the cars back together. I stand there, very quietly, until Rich says, “Hold this” or “Hand me the hammer” etc.

However, when he is in my kitchen, I make all of the rules.



On 07 February 2004 (08:46 PM),
Tammy said:

Now this is an entry I can relate too. Greg has tons of shirts. Half of them he doesn’t even know exist. I was married for years before his mom and I decided enough is enough. He had this old orange courderoy (SP?) suit, mind you, from high school. It was ORANGE! He had only worn it a couple times. I said something about getting rid of it and he looked at me like I was nuts. So one day I grabbed his mom and showed her that suit. She was shocked that Greg still had it since it had been purchased in the early 70’s! She grabbed that thing and carted it to good will before Greg knew what was happening. Several years later he asked for it and I informed him that years ago his mom had gotten rid of it. What could he say? His mom had done it! There was nothing to say.

He just keeps things forever!

Ebony and Ivory

On our drive home from Yakima, we were each trying to remember the first rock concert we attended. That, coupled with yesterday’s entry, has me thinking about the first record albums I ever owned.

I think my first record album was a Christmas present from my parents: Paul McCartney’s Tug of War, which featured “Ebony and Ivory” and “Take it Away”. (My favorite song from the album was “Wanderlust” — oh, how I loved that song. I should download it.) That same Christmas, Jeff got Men at Work’s first album, Business as Usual (with “Who Can it Be Now?” and “Down Under”). The very first album Jeff and I bought (I think it was actually with his money) was Asia’s eponymous debut. From there the floodgates opened. I joined a record club, and soon we had all the latest from Journey, Styx, Stevie Nicks, Saga, Loverboy, and Duran Duran. Semi-regular trips to the Fred Meyer in Oregon City yielded a bountiful harvest of 45s, all of which I still own.

I can also remember my first CDs. In the fall of 1988, I joined a CD club before I even owned a CD player. My first four CDs were U2’s The Unforgettable Fire, Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, a Kinks greatest hits collection (which appears to be no longer available), and a fourth CD I’ve forgotten (possibly a compilation of Big Band music).

Can you remember your first album(s)?

Tammy entitled one of her recent entries “flotch”, which I found rather amusing. Flotch is a word that Paul and I invented early in high school. (Perhaps he can remember the exact genesis of the word; I cannot.) I seem to recall that we were just dinking around, making up words, and one of us came up with flotch. It came to be a catch-all word, and we’d use it in various parts of speech: “Get the flotch out of here!” “That movie was flotchy.” “I flotched up my test.” “I had a bit of flotch for lunch.” With time, I’ve come to use the word in the same way that others might use the word “stuff”. To me, flotch is just a random collection of things. Belly-button lint is a great example of flotch. I bring this up because a google search reveals a bastardization of the word flotch that is completely inappropriate. And gross.

Comments


On 05 February 2004 (09:14 AM),
Amanda said:

The first cassette I ever bought was “Faith” by George Michael (shut up!).

The first CDs I bought (a dual purchase) were U2’s “Achtung Baby” and “Chronicles” by Rush.

Good times.



On 05 February 2004 (09:46 AM),
Tammy said:

Too funny. I must have gotten the word from you somewhere along the line.Hmmm. Wouldn’t it be something if your little homespun word caught on in the blogging world? You could become famous! (Not that it will happen from my piddly little weblog) :)



On 05 February 2004 (10:56 AM),
J.D. said:

Nick says that his first albums were: Queen’s “A Night at the Opera”, an album by the Boston Pops, and an album by that piano sensation, Ferrante and Teicher. He says that after those three albums, it was a long time before he bought any others.

Nick never posts comments. He just walks over to my office to tell me them in person.



On 05 February 2004 (12:05 PM),
Aimee said:

Just a stumbled on a thought that Tammy’s comment inspired: Has the invention of a word ever made anyone famous? I’m not talking about proper nouns here; just regular ol’ verbs, adverbs, adjectives, and the like … What say you?



On 05 February 2004 (12:29 PM),
Paul said:

I don’t recall the day that “flotch” became a part of our high school lexicon. It was so appropriate , considering our environment, that the word was used often. In my world, the word just appeared one day to explain the amalgamation of culture around us.

The first record that I bought, with my parent’s money, was Michael Jackson’s Thriller. However, it was for my sister, I kinder act that I probably haven’t duplicated since, so I don’t count that as MY first record.

My first purchase was Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Welcome To The Pleasuredome. That was a work of art! FGtH were produced to such a level that I was hooked by everything about them. This was a folded album cover, with a painting of strange animal figures engagaged in numerous sexual positions. My mother found the whole album to be nearly pornographic, especially after she listened to the song Ballad of 32. Having more discipline than JD with my money, I didn’t buy anything from the catalog of FGtH products that was inserted in the sleeves of the album. Boy howdy did I ever want the whole lot of goods! This was all topped off by going to their concert. That was my first concert personally and my first of many with JD. Didn’t we camp out for tickets and end up in row 20 or something? We could see them lip-syncing from our seats!! I loved every Frankie moment of it. Who opened? OMD? If that were true, I may be reliving one of the greatest days of my teenage years.



On 05 February 2004 (01:37 PM),
Amy Jo said:

This is embarrassing to admit, but my first albums were disco collections put out by RONCO (70s), the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever (1977), and the soundtrack to Grease (1978). I had a pre-pubescent desire to be Olivia Newton John. She was soooo beautiful . . .I spent the seventies, my under-10 years, listening to 8-tracks that ran from disco to Zepplin and the Who to the Carpenters and my beloved Olivia (Have you never mellow?).

The first album of taste that I can recall buying was Synchronicity by the Police (1983). I feel like I was much younger than 13 when I bought this. I recall listening to it over and over again at slumber party my friend Heather Caldwell had. My first CD was Dream of the Blue Turtles in 1985. I had a thing for Sting (still do–he’s yummy!) I matured a lot between 83 and 85.



On 05 February 2004 (01:44 PM),
Denise said:

My first album (REAL music – not Disney stuff) was Van Halen, Van Halen. It was very good – I got it from my Aunt Terry who was a rocker for sure. She has now changed her name to Terin, though.



On 05 February 2004 (02:27 PM),
Lynn said:

I think Shakespeare’s rather famous for inventing a few words and/or phrases. :-)

I hate to say that I think Thriller was my first album purchase as well. But my brother – 11 years older than I – gave me a large box of his 45’s to which I listened with great enthusiasm. Black Betty by Ram Jam, We Are the Champions by Queen, Life is Good by Joe Walsh, and American Pie by Don McLean were among my favorites! As was a song called Mr. Jaws in which a reporter told some story about jaws and sampled many different famous songs to give the answer to his question. For example, “Mr Jaws, what are you going to do now?” Answer, “Do the hustle!” It was good fun.



On 05 February 2004 (02:40 PM),
mac said:

vinyl: Depeche Mode “Some Great Reward”
CD: Guns n’ Roses “Appetite for Destruction”

Same day as G n’ R– Skid Row’s self titled album.

All three are still near and dear to my heart



On 05 February 2004 (06:42 PM),
mart said:

JD: tug of war is an exceptionally fine album. my parents got divorced in germany to that album so for me it encapsulates everything about my strange early teens in a foreign land, driving back and forth between strange towns while they “sorted” things out, fielding emotional gut punches all the time. i still listen to it sometimes and it still gives me chills. i’d burn ebony and ivory off it though, what a crap song… “you can dress me up a a robber” is my fave.



On 05 February 2004 (06:45 PM),
mart said:

btw:

first album? queen “the game”

first cd? i bought 5 that day… john coltrane “ballads”, sgt peppers, philip glass “solo piano”, steely dan “gaucho” and janes addiction “nothing’s shocking”.



On 05 February 2004 (08:21 PM),
Denise said:

Don’t ask Lynn the words to Black Betty, though, she never gets them right!



On 06 February 2004 (08:55 AM),
Lynn said:

Bam-a-lam, baby!



On 06 February 2004 (09:03 AM),
Dana said:

This is sort of embarrasing…

Vinyl: Switched On Bach 2 (Bach on a synthesizer)
Tape: Flood, They Might Be Giants
CD: Doctorin’ the Tardis (by ‘The Timelords’, aka KLF).

Hm. Speaking of Doctorin’ the Tardis, take a look at this! =)



On 06 February 2004 (10:50 AM),
Craig said:

First Vinyl (with my own money): Bruuuuuuuuce Springstein, “Born in the USA”

First Vinyl (not my own money, but which I caused to be purchased for me): Johnny Horton, “North to Alaska” (I experience not one bit of shame for this. Number two was Elvis, “Golden Records.”)

First CD: U2, “Achtung Baby” (Just had this on the other day.)

First Concert: Brian Adams, from a nosebleed seat, Sullivan Sports Arena. This was the concert event of the season in Anchorage that year (1987?). The Anchorage concert season was not impressive.



On 06 February 2004 (12:13 PM),
Kris said:

Okay, since Tiffany doesn’t seem inclined to share her story, I’ll tell it and she can correct me.

When I was 13 and she was 10, Thriller was at the Top O’ the Charts. Tiffany had saved up enough to go buy the album at the BX (Base Exchange on the Air Force Base). She arrived home very pleased with her independence, eager for a listen, but was soon crushed by the realization that she had purchased by mistake the all-instrumental extended version of the song “Thriller” instead of the complete album. Sobbing ensued. In my memory, my Mom took it back for an exchange and Tiffany was all smiles again. Is that right, Tiff?

Later, when my family lived in Hawaii, my Dad took regular business trips to South Korea. He brought back with him bootleg versions of the latest popular cassettes. I had bootleg Billy Joel, The Go-Go’s, Men at Work, Pat Benatar, Cyndi Lauper, Lionel Richie, etc. So, I guess you can blame my Dad for setting me on the twisted path of music pirating.

By the way, the first album I owned (gift from a friend– 5th grade slumber birthday party): Leif Garrett (ugh!!)
First album I ever bought myself: Hall & Oates (greatest hits, I think)– It had a purple & yellow cover.
I think I had met Jd by the time CD’s really became the thing, so I haven’t really had to buy my own music after that! Imagine! But I did get the Queen greatest hits double album a few years ago. Freddie Mercury was a friggin’ genius, right, Nick?



On 06 February 2004 (12:20 PM),
Nick said:

Absolutley!



On 06 February 2004 (01:21 PM),
Tiffany said:

Yes, Kris you are right. I think I shared that story on the blog at some time before.

First tape was Air Supply, Greatest Hits.

First CD, I think was a REM, but I may be wrong.

First concert Bon Jovi (I was given the ticket when a friend got sick)

First concert that I paid for, Depeche Mode.



On 06 February 2004 (04:20 PM),
Paul said:

First album (birthday present) “Ghost in the Machine” Police. Funny that both my album and my wife’s were by the Police.



On 07 February 2004 (11:16 AM),
Dave said:

First Album (vinyl): Star Wars Soundtrack
First CD: Yaz- Upstairs at Eric’s
First (Pop/Rock) Concert: Bonnie Raitt’s Nick of Time tour or The Crazy 8’s (I can’t remember which was first)



On 29 January 2005 (05:33 PM),
Larry said:

The word Flotch has a long history in my family. I first remember it in a song being sung to one of my smaller cousins. He was toilet training. The funny story that my uncle tells of his first encounter with the word is posted in my blog: http://flotchmaker.blogspot.com



On 29 January 2005 (05:33 PM),
Larry said:

The word Flotch has a long history in my family. I first remember it in a song being sung to one of my smaller cousins. He was toilet training. The funny story that my uncle tells of his first encounter with the word is posted in my blog: http://flotchmaker.blogspot.com

Child Development

Kris and I are atheists. We’re not shy about the fact, yet we don’t advertise it, either. As I’ve mentioned before, my atheism is informed by healthy doses of Mormonism and Mennonitism.

We don’t have any children of our own. We do spend a lot of time with our friends’ children, especially with Harrison and Emma, the Gingerich kids. Most of these children are raised in devoutly Christian families. How, then, do we handle this? Do we see it as our responsibility to sway these kids to the one true path of atheism?

Absolutely not.

Mostly, we avoid the subject. I believe that children, especially those under six, are not prepared to handle Big Topics like comparative religion and sexual orientation and gender identity and racial prejudice. Perhaps the basics can be shared — “other people believe in different gods” — but it’s not my place to educate these children. It’s my place to support their parents without compromising my own value system.

How do I do this?

I never proselytize. If a child asks me a question, I either answer it honestly or, if appropriate, I’m evasive. For example, when Harrison asks me to read to him from a book of Bible stories, I tell him, “I don’t want to read that book right now.” He’s completely satisfied with that answer. And when he tells me Bible stories, I just listen and nod my head.

It’s fascinating to watch these kids develop. I love to watch the evolution of the childhood egotism. Children are, by nature, complete egotists, purely selfish. It’s only with time and experience that they learn to consider other people. The oldest kid I know is nearly six. At what age will he be ready to learn about comparative religion? About gender identity? About slavery? About the Holocaust? When did I learn about these things? Is the curriculum of our educational institutions already properly constructed so that, in general, kids are exposed to material appropriate for their stage of development?

How do parents cope with friends who have different beliefs? Tammy’s unwilling to read certain weblogs because they’re written by lesbians; how much more strongly must she feel about the people with which her children have contact? Does it make a difference if the unsavory types are family rather than friends?

At what age are kids ready to see gunplay and fisticuffs on television and in films? (When did you first see this stuff — I can remember watching westerns at the age of four or five.) At what age are they ready to the stories of the Greek and Roman gods?

I’ve been re-reading Greek and Roman mythology lately. It’s great stuff. Suddenly, I’m excited to see Troy instead of dreading it.

My favorite so far is the story of Pallas Athene (a.k.a. Athena) and her weaving contest with the young woman, Arachne. Here’s an abbreviated version of the tale (the details of which are slightly different than others I’ve read):

Arachne was renowned throughout the region of Lydia (in ancient Greece), for her skill in spinning and weaving. Her teacher was Athene, the goddess of wisdom. As Arachne spun and weaved the finest tapestries and fabrics, a great rivalry grew between them. Athene became jealous of her pupil. So Athene disguised herself as a withered old woman and visited the country girl at her loom. Expressing admiration, the old woman asked who was her teacher.

When the boastful Arachne denied that it had been Athene, the goddess removed her disguise and revealed her true identity. Flushed with anger, she said, “Those who defy the gods must make good their words. We will have a spinning contest to see who weaves the finer tapestry!”

News of the contest spread quickly, and from all over Lydia people came to watch. Athene wove a tapestry featuring an Olympic scene in which Nemesis, the goddess of vengeance, carried away those who dared challenge the immortals. The tapestry was very fine. But Arachne’s tapestry was even more beautiful and elaborate. She depicted scenes of the misbehavior of the gods and goddesses, of seduction, and of the unworthy tricks they played when they wanted their way. The work was perfect. Even Athene could not find a flaw in it.

Angered by Arachne’s skill and impertinence, Athene became enraged. Her hands tore at the tapestry, and she hit Arachne on the head with her weaving tools. In distress, Arachne turned away from the horrified gaze of the onlookers. She ran to the woods, put a rope around her neck, and tried to end her life.

Then Athene took pity on her mortal rival, and being a powerful goddess, she granted her a new life as a spider, the weaver with the ultimate skill in spinning. “Live on, wicked one,” the angry Athene said, “but always hanging, and let your children share your punishment.” And because of the goddess’s wrath, Athene’s body changed into that of a spider and she was thus doomed to spin and weave forever.My reading is so tangential. I started the Rosenbaum book on Hitler, was sidetracked by Proust, but now I’ve been even further sidetracked by mythology�

Tammy’s trying to send a trackback to this entry, but it’s not working, so I’ll do it in reverse. Here entry is The Lines I Draw, and discusses how she, as a parent, determines what her children should be exposed to.

Comments


On 04 February 2004 (08:23 AM),
Tiffany said:

I remember Mom letting me spend the night at a friend�s and go to their church as early as 1st grade. Mom was far more concerned that I would act up in their church then that I would be influenced by anything that was said there. I do remember one friend was not allowed to go to our church, I think that was 4th grade. We had to take her home Sunday morning on the way to church. I have realized that some religions are more easy going then others.

As for violence on TV, I was watching MASH when I was 5 years old (with Dad) and reading �The Body� by Stephen King by 3rd grade. I do not ever remember being told that I could not watch something because it was too violent. I cannot say if that was because there was less violence on TV or Mom just did not see it as a problem. I did watch a movie (when I was 5 or 6) about spiders taking over a small, mountain town that gave me nightmares.



On 04 February 2004 (09:34 AM),
Kris said:

I concur with Tiffany’s memories. Our parents didn’t limit what we saw or heard, but maybe they should have. My mom actually took me to see the movie “Audrey Rose” when I was 6; in this film, a young girl graphically burns to death in a car accident and then is reincarnated. Many scary psychoanalysis/hypnotism scenes as well as the lingering shots of the girls palms pounding on the car window as the flames engulf her. I also read a whole series of VC Andrews “novels” in 4th grade, filled with incest, child abuse & murder, teenage sexuality, suicide, and, of course, surviving in the attic by drinking your brother’s blood because your grandmother is starving you. What fun! I was in a depressed funk for WEEKS. Naturally, I read the entire series several times over.



On 04 February 2004 (09:35 AM),
jenefer said:

We introduced our children to other religions as soon as we could. This usually took the form of fun things, carnivals, Buddha’s birthday, a Seder feast, bar mitzvah, etc. We have friends of many different religions. I always felt that the more our children, and we, knew about other religions, the more we could see the similarities and feel certain that the one we chose was the best for us. I believe it is all the same GOD, so the trappings and celebrations are just man-made. Liz was ready to assimilate the religion much earlier than Adam. She was confirmed at 8 or 9 after a year long class at church.

Adam is still not confirmed. No pressure from us or anyone else will make him ready. Adam enjoyed his comparative religion class at Mater Dei HS his senior year. They explored all the major and many minor religions. I realized that he wasn’t ready any sooner when he came home and chatised me for never exposing him to other religions. He had never seen the religious aspects of the celebrations we attended at the Mormon, Buddhist, Muslim, Unitarian, Lutheran, etc. churches. All he saw was the surface fun. Each child is different. Parents have to be sensitive to that. That’s why parenting is so hard.

Bob, my husband, was confirmed just a year after Liz. That’s when he was ready.

Each different religion is a teaching opportunity for those committed to their own belief. We cannot help our children on the “right path” if we don’t understand or at least know another religion enough to answer questions and discuss it with our children.



On 04 February 2004 (10:13 AM),
J.D. said:

I apologize if this gets long, but y’all have me thinking about when certain “firsts” happened for me. Based on what I can remember, I had early exposure to violence, but was relatively sheltered from sex. (And I regret his now — I would have liked a period of sexual experimentation, and think it would have been quite healthy.) Here’s the best I can reconstruct:

Before school (I was never in preschool or kindergarten): I had pneumonia at some point. First stitches. I can remember seeing Papillon (released in late 1973, so I would have been four, almost five) and being aghast at a man losing his head to a guillotine. Worse still was Westworld (also late 1973), my first exposure to Michael Crichton’s single plot (which he recycles endlessly), with its rampaging murderous robots. When I was five, dad took me to Where the Red Fern Grows, which was also traumatic. (Mom, why did you guys take me to these films? Couldn’t you find babysitters?) Also, I saw War of the Worlds, which scared the hell out of me. Also, I can remember the day I learned to tie my shoes when I was five. We didn’t have a television, but I remember watching at friends’ houses: Lone Ranger (and other westerns), war movies, and lots and lots of cartoons. Mom, can you contribute what you remember about my early childhood development?

1st grade (6yo, 75-76): phonics, rudimentary American history (Bicentennial year), watch Six Million Dollar Man at friends’ houses

2nd grade (7yo, 76-77): comic books in full force, first Hardy Boys, see Star Wars five times, watch Star Trek every chance I get, dad takes me to see my first James Bond film, join Cub Scouts

3rd grade (8yo, 77-78): learn about molecules, water cycle, fractions and basic algebra (“solve for x” — I was given a fifth grade math book), read The Lord of the Rings (though it was above my head), first knowledge of sex

4th grade (9yo, 78-79): back to grade-level math, but it’s tedious, first computer (Apple II), wrote first stories, first correction of teacher, first Oregon history, first geology, first exposure to Native American issues, first soccer team, first interest in astronomy (thanks partly to Andrew Parker’s father), first Piers Anthony and Stephen R. Donaldson, first self-conscious anxiety, first hand-held computer game (LED football)

5th grade (10yo, 79-80): first computer programming in BASIC, all my spare change into comic books, joined Science Fiction Book Club, first masturbation, first Dungeons & Dragons, first slumber party and Saturday Night Live, discover Tintin

6th grade (11yo, 80-81): began to take writing seriously (writing in my spare time), first girlfriend (Gina Hafner), begin to check out library books just for the sex scenes, self-conscious anxiety increases

7th grade (12yo, 81-82): an entire unit on Greek and Roman mythology, taught about Holocaust, beginning of self-guided music discovery (i.e. I begin to listen to rock)

8th grade (13yo, 82-83): computer programming in assembly language, first Shakespeare, wrote first poetry, Jeff and I buy our first record album (Asia’s self-titled debut)

9th grade (14yo, 83-84): reject my old self with intent of becoming a new person, cast off old friends (sorry, Dave!), first kiss, first questioning of Mormonism, first and last shoplifting, first job, obsessed with Hemingway, first (and only) fistfight (though it wasn’t much of a fight since I refused to throw a punch), first rock concert (if Chicago is rock)

10th grade (15yo, 84-85): first understanding of abortion, watch first porn flick, first opportunity for sex, first skip a night’s sleep

11th grade (16yo, 85-86): first alcohol, first Greek philosophy, first real sensitivity to racial issues, feel called to missionary work, first out all night gallivanting around

12th grade (17yo, 86-87): introduction to existentialism, first Ayn Rand, first Dostoevsky, spend some limited time with “popular” kids, first knee injury

Fresh (18yo, 87-88): first IBM-PC, first education classes (want to teach grade school), first questioning of religion in general, first marijuana, first real sensitivity to gender issues, first problems with weight gain, first Mexican food (seriously)

Soph (19yo, 88-89): first Macintosh, first sex, agnostic, last marijuana, first real sensitivity to sexual orientation issues, first Chinese food (seriously), leave home permanently over Christmas break after fight with Dad

Jun (20yo, 89-90): continue path to become grade school teacher

Sen (21yo, 90-91): atheist, foolishly cast aside plans for teaching grade school

More as I think of it…



On 04 February 2004 (11:04 AM),
Lynn said:

I can’t believe you remember all of that! Holy Cow! I can barely remember the names of my teachers, let alone what level of math I was learning! But it was quite an impressive list, despite the occasional overshare. ;-)



On 04 February 2004 (11:43 AM),
Tiffany said:

I remember learning a little about the Holocaust when I was 4. We were living in Germany then, I am sure that is why I heard about it so young. �Here is where a really bad man killed a man because he thought they prayed to the wrong God.� �Did they pray to the wrong God?� �No� �OK�.



On 04 February 2004 (11:51 AM),
Joel said:

Regarding the myth of Arachne as a student of Athene, I’m suddenly amused by the idea of the gods as weary high-school teachers. “Dude, who’d you get for Shop? Ah, man, Vulcan’s friggin’ brutal!”



On 04 February 2004 (12:40 PM),
Paul said:

I don’t understand your unwillingness to read the bible with the kid who asked. Can I assume that you weren’t going to be as entertained reading those stories as you would have been reading Dr. Seuss and therefore you didn’t follow through with the request? I would be suprised to find out that the subject matter of the story affected your decision to read the story or not.

I would be interested in a blog or link to a past blog in which you discussed how you relate to spirituality. The human spirit is a complex function and it has different connotations for me when compared to your atheism.



On 04 February 2004 (12:50 PM),
Dana said:

Well, with a lead-in like that…

(I’m going by ‘school years’ here. My birthday is in July, so in any given year, 197x, I am (x-1) during the first half, and x during the second half of it. Many of these memories are +/-1 year, as I can’t always place when two events happened in relation to one another, but I know *where* they happened, and we conveniently moved every few years).

2 yo/1972: We move from a rented house in the country with no kids around to our first house in a neighborhood filled with kids.

3 yo/1973: My brother is born.

4 yo/1974: Overdose on penicillin (mislabeled to give me two teaspoons an hour instead of one teaspoon every two hours), have an allergic reaction. Spend a couple days in the hospital having my tonsils out. Play ‘army’, ‘cops & robbers’, and ‘cowboys & indians’ in the neighborhood, all basically the same game. Around here, and over the next couple of years, SWAT, CHiPS, Barney Miller, Mash, and the like are on TV and I watch them.

5 yo/1975/kindergarden: Bret gets bronchitis, is in an oxygen tent for a week. My friend Danny gets called the ‘n-word’ in kindergarden. Danny lives kitty-corner across the street from me, and had been adopted by a white family. I stick by him and try to cheer him up after the incident. Begin phonetics. First and only bee-sting. Get involuntarily kissed at school. Catch chicken pox as a result. I remember Roots being on TV, but I don’t remember if it was ’75 or ’76. I didn’t completely understand it, but I did watch bits of it. Bret has to sleep with weird shoes on because of pigeon toes. Dress as Superman for Halloween. Mom makes the costume, and borrows an old pair of red tights from the girl next door (which, because of the snow, I have to wear over my courderoys — this didn’t work very well). I get weirdly nervous about wearing ‘girls clothes’.

6 yo/1976/first grade: I realize I want to be a girl. Interracial couple (wife from Botswana) move in next door. During the summer the high-school-aged moron on the other side of us tries to go after Grace with a baseball bat while me and a few friends watch from my porch. Interracial couple move. Get plowed into at school by kid running for his bus. Get a slight concussion, spend a couple days in the hospital, out of school about a week. Learn to ride a bike. Swimming lessons.

7 yo/1977/second grade: Big year — Get glasses, see Tutankhamen exhibit and Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. See Flash Gordon serials on TV. See Star Wars. More swimming lessons. Win 2nd place in the district in the pinewood derby. I read my very first ‘real’ book on my own (a scholastic book, “The Disappearance of Mr. Allen”). In my first fight. I’m winning when we’re split up by an adult on the playground. Nobody is hurt. I think this is also the year I first remember a true depressive episode — I know it happened in Michigan, and I know I had my Micronauts when it happened.

8 yo/1978/third grade: Begin reading in earnest. Bret in kindergarden. Teacher ruins me for life by teaching us to not trust my memory, and always write out my math longhand.
We move from the UP of Michigan to Moorhead, MN. First memories of seeing Star Trek (the episode with ‘Lurch’ sticks in my head for some reason).

9 yo/1979/fourth grade: Picked on and teased as the new kid and for being a ‘brain’. Reading at a nearly adult level (about a book a day for ‘young adult books’, two or three for an older audience – these books include Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll, even), including the Hobbit. Start LotR, but don’t finish it. First exposure to computers. Get to be in the STEP program midyear, once they realize I’m qualified. First exposure to Native American issues (although I know about them, as the Lake Place is fairly close to a Reservation). Learn about the Tassaday people in the Phillipines. Learn about optics and refraction. Start Drawing. Get in trouble when someone dares me to explain where babies come from and I explain about sperm, eggs, and fertilization. The Martian Chronicles miniseries is on TV, and I see parts of it. Read the book to fill in the bits I missed. Learn how to read maps, compasses, and how Orienteering works. Read most of H.G. Wells stories, including War of the Worlds. Learn about the existence of Sex Change operations. I’m in my second fight, which I do not win, and in fact run away from in tears, while my tormenter laughs at me.

10 yo/1980/fifth grade: Read the LotR. Take an Applesoft Basic programming class in summer school. Read Huckleberry Finn. Logic Problems in STEP. First exposure to Dr. Who (in novelized form). Play Dromio of Ephasus in a version of The Comedy of Errors in STEP. Know a guy who gets into trouble for bringing one of his Dad’s Playboys to school. Played intramural soccer terribly, but had fun anyway. First ‘m-word’ experience.

11 yo/1981/sixth grade: D&D. Frequent access to an apple II at school, begin programming in earnest, trying to write our own game. Realize that I read to avoid difficult emotional situations and depression. This doesn’t do me much good from a practical point of view. Join the School Crossing Guards, use the powers thereto appertaining to break up fights by intimidating them with my semi-official status. Several refugee families from Southeast Asia settle in Moorhead, we have several in my class. See the Blues Brothers on HBO at a friends. We get our dog, Betsy. Read Watership Down.

12/1982/7th grade (jr. hs) Lots more computer use, including Ultima II and the like. More getting picked on. Start learning to play the Oboe. Play Humpty Dumpty in a school play of Alice in Wonderland. See First Blood and Bladerunner at a sleepover. Grandma passes away from colon cancer. Learn to sew and cook. Also take shop. By this point I really hate gym. I’m usually second to last or last picked.

13/1983/8th grade: Move to Nevada mid-year. Get our first computer, Apple IIe. Read Black Like Me. Have friends with more diverse hardware (Commodores, IBM compatibles, and so forth). First actual conscious cross dressing, mostly a few skirts mom is storing in my closet because of a lack of closet space in our NV house. No lock on the door to my room, so I prop up my chair under the doorknob to keep anybody from discovering me. I remember lots of WW II in school in Nevada. Also, took an ‘acting’ class (as ‘acting’ as you can get in Jr. High, I suppose).

14/1984/9th grade: Algebra. See the video about the liberation of Auschwitz that I keep yapping about. Also get introduced to (effectively) comparitive religion covering Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. First exposure to gay people (although most are closeted and I’m a bit thick about it). Attend exactly one Debate tournament, and really enjoy it. Biology class, with frog dissection. See the ‘risque’ version of Romeo & Juliet. Get picked on a lot less, as I’ve mostly learned how to handle bullies so that I’m not a target. We get a 300 baud modem for the Apple. Have jewish friends that I’m aware of (that is, I was aware that judaism existed previously, but I didn’t know anybody who had identified themselves as jewish). Confirmed as a Lutheran (delayed ’cause we moved around a whole bunch).

15/1985/10th grade: More debate. Make ‘Senior’ in both individual events and debate. More algebra. Chemistry class. Take typing, too. Debate group contains a wide mix of religious attitudes (ranging from carrying a bible around to class to the athiests). Effectively agnostic at this point, although it’s been moving in that direction for years. First friends who smoke (cigarettes). Shuttle explodes when I’m home alone, sick.

16/1986/11th grade: More debate. Trig and precalc. Physics class. More computer programming classes, Pascal this time. I win a scientific pocket calculator for having the highest score on a standardized physics test in our school, and get to sit in on a lecture about Supernova 1987A, which is pretty cool. We move to Idaho. Learn to drive. First exposure to formalized logic. Existentialism and other philosophical things hit around here, too. Get to learn some SCUBA in a pool, as well as learn a bunch about electron microscopes and whatnot at a special “brainiac summer class” at UNR.

17/1987/12th grade: New kid again. Make friends, but don’t have much fun. Programming class uses IBM computers. First real experience using one on a nearly daily basis. First real exposure to Mormonism (I knew some Mormons in Nevada, but Idaho is different). Calculus, more chemistry. Read Crime and Punishment. Work at Shop-Ko during the summer. Get a National Merit Scholarship.

18/1988/frosh: Start at WU. New kid again. Get a 286 with a 20 MB HD for HS graduation. Room with a friend from HS in Nevada the first year, which is…ahem, interesting. First girlfriend, technically, although we never actually kiss. She broke up with me in a note. Calculus, ‘real’ programming on the PR1ME, again in pascal. Briefly consider trying a triple major (physics/math/computers), but rapidly realize that this is insane. Meet Dagny. Work on an assembly line at HP during the summer. First real exposure to people drinking around me. Not particularly fun. Vonnegut speaks at WU, which is pretty darn keen. See the theater departments production of Cloud 9, where several female characters are played by men, and vice versa.

19/1989/soph: Meet Andrew Cronk. Kris Gates is in my philosophy class taught by Moss. Linear Algebra. More physics. Actually kiss a girl this year. Took Japanese for no apparent reason for a semester. More roommate issues. My roommate from freshman year comes out as gay, to nobody’s surprise. Matt Long, also from our HS in NV is a freshman this year. I discover he’s also gay (I told you I was thick).

20/1990/junior: Get my first car. Move into a single, meet JD. Abstract Algebra. Get elected floor representative in the dorm, probably because nobody else actually bothers. JD takes up smoking a pipe because he’s dumb, and he with his pipe and Andrew with his clove cigarettes wander around pompously smoking and acting cool.

21/1991/senior: Move into off campus apartments, still in a single. Do not take Arnika and Tara up on their innocent offer to cross-dress me because there’s some CD party going on at the elk’s next door — I’m freaked out by it, in fact, because I’m afraid someone knows I want to be a girl. Coincidentally, first time wearing pantyhose…

I dunno if this is actually interesting to anybody. I was exposed to racial discrimination and hatred at about five or six. I was reading adult fiction with killing, sex, and aliens with weird sexuality and biology in fourth grade at the age of 9. I read Huckleberry Finn, which deals with slavery and whatnot when I was 10. I knew people who were gay (and despite my obtuseness, I did know *some* of them were gay) and who were of widely different religious faiths by the time I was in high school.

I know I was a conscious, thinking, empathetic person by the time I was five, because I had empathy (ie, non-egotism-driven) feelings for Danny in kindergarden. And I remember always trying to take care of my brother right from the moment he was born (I was three). That was My Job as an older sibling.



On 04 February 2004 (12:54 PM),
Dana said:

Dang, two additions.

In 2nd grade, my teacher’s son was killed in a motorcycle accident, and we had a sub for the last third of a year or so.

In 3rd grade, there was a solar eclipse, and I remember showing everybody in class how to make a simple pinhole viewer with a couple of index cards.



On 04 February 2004 (01:12 PM),
J.D. said:

Paul said: I don’t understand your unwillingness to read the bible with the kid who asked. Can I assume that you weren’t going to be as entertained reading those stories as you would have been reading Dr. Seuss and therefore you didn’t follow through with the request? I would be suprised to find out that the subject matter of the story affected your decision to read the story or not.

No, I chose not to read the Bible stories (not the Bible itself) out of principle. Harrison is exposed to Bible stories constantly, believes them to be true, and he doesn’t need me to read them to him in order to further his Christian education. Too, doing so might convey to him that I believe them. While I’m certainly not trying to make him understand that I don’t believe them, I don’t want to give him a false impression, either. Totally avoiding the issue seems like a solution that ought to be acceptable to all parties. I do condone cats, so I’m happy to read The Cat Club to him. :)



On 04 February 2004 (01:36 PM),
dowingba said:

I don’t believe in cats, personally.



On 04 February 2004 (02:40 PM),
Paul said:

I am suprised, as I said I would be. Harrison is too young to understand the complexities of your belief system, but he is old enough to understand that he can assume you condone the principles embedded in the bible to be your principles because you read the words to him? You appear to be subvertly proselytizing to Harrison by not enjoying the words on a printed page with him. Isn’t the power of the truth best identified when bright to the light of day or at least verbalized in a story between JD and Harrison? For god’s sake JD, read the kid the story he enjoys and don’t foist the false idol of a cat upon him!

I love the cult of JD.



On 04 February 2004 (02:56 PM),
Kris said:

Paul, in my mind the difference is this: Harrison (5) and Emma (3) can clearly understand the concept of “pretend”. They know Spiderman is pretend and they are amused by the idea that the cats are having their cat-friends over for a spaghetti party because they know that that, too, is just pretend. They know real cats don’t cook spaghetti. However, in Sunday school, the Bible stories are not presented as part of a myth or even as allegory; they are presented as truth. That’s fine with me; it’s up to their parents to decide when to expose H&E to alternative truths. But it is my choice to read or not read those stories as I see fit. I choose not to read the Berenstein Bears (or however you spell it), too (because I’ve always thought them dumb). The kids deal with my preferences just as I deal with theirs. There are plenty of books we all enjoy to quibble over a few.



On 04 February 2004 (02:59 PM),
J.D. said:

Harrison is not old enough to understand whether or not I condone his belief system by reading Bible stories to him. He is old enough to remember whether or not I’ve read them to him, though, and one day will be old enough to examine these memories with respect to a more complex examination of religious belief. Trust me: my decision is not capricious. Besides, isn’t it better to lead him to the Cult of J.D. through felinity?

Facts about The Cult of J.D.

Deity: Me.
Sacred food: Kalamata olive.
Sacred music: “Bad” by U2.
Sacred book: Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier.
Sacred film: Amelie.
Sacred day: March 25th.
Sacred rituals: daily writing, daily reading (but not Bible stories!), breaking bread with friends, yo-yo dieting, standing in line for films, discussing geeky topics ad nauseum, sitting on a log in the middle of the forest.
Sacred motto: “why do today what can be put off until tomorrow”.
Sacred scriptures: Timecube!
Sacred commandments: thou shalt not shop at big chain stores that invade your town; thou shalt not read Bible stories to children; thou shalt love your cat; thou shalt relax; thou shalt spend $50 for a bottle of whiskey but refuse to spend more than $20 for any one piece of clothing; thou shalt forgive all transgressions; thou shalt maintain contact, yada yada yada.

The cult of J.D. welcomes all members.

(And what will be really amusing is if this weblog is still operational four years from now (or six or eight), and Harrison rummages through it to stumble upon this post.)



On 04 February 2004 (03:53 PM),
Lynn said:

I’m with you on this, JD. Reading Bible stories with someone when you don’t agree with that belief system is hypocritical. He may not understand it now, but someday when Harrison is old enough to understand your beliefs, he will look back and realize why you chose not to read those books. I actually don’t see why this is such a difficult concept to understand? Just because it involves the sensitive subject of the Bible? What if it had to do with hunting, or war, and you didn’t believe in those activities? I’m sure others would think it fine to choose not to read those books.



On 04 February 2004 (04:29 PM),
Tammy said:

I don’t see what the big deal is about JD not reading Bible stories to the kids. Actually he should be applauded for this. If he believes the Bible stories to be fables of no value then why should he read them? I wouldn’t read Jehovahs Witness literature or the Book of Mormon to my kids because I think they’re wrong. I stand on the same principle as JD. The only difference between us is that my beliefs are right and his are wrong! :) (love ya JD)



On 04 February 2004 (05:47 PM),
Aimee said:

[Further Dana-Aimee coincidence: I played Maud in the Luther College production of Cloud 9 (nearly ten years after you saw it); Joel played Harry Bagley in the same show … You’re one of the few people I know who has mentioned that show in casual conversation (in this case, auto-bio opportunity). Nonetheless, incredibly significant piece of theatre – I highly recommend it to anyone who’d enjoy upsetting their teacups.]



On 04 February 2004 (06:36 PM),
Jennifer (Harrison’s Mom) said:

I feel compelled to respond. If you must know the Truth. Jd never actually reads stories to our kids. Yes, he opens up a book and begins with the first few written words. Then he adds a few of his own ideas, substitutes names and places for those of his own choosing, and sometimes reaches the end of the story (or not) with the same general plot line or theme. You can see why it would be nearly impossible for him to read a Bible story using this technique. The kids usually get frustrated with Jd’s rendition of their favorite story gone askew and respond by jumping on him… but they love him anyway.



On 04 February 2004 (07:34 PM),
Dana said:

I think it sounds like someone needs to write some children’s books…



On 04 February 2004 (08:09 PM),
Drew said:

As I go dottering off into middle age, I find myself still occasionally pompous and smoking – usually in J.D’s vicinity. Guilty as charged, madam! J.D. is probably a bad influence on me, but I like him anyway. I’d say more, but I’m busy writing Wizardry I in J#.



On 08 February 2004 (04:45 PM),
J.D. Roth said:

This weblog entry, at the always great Fussy, seems relevant to this disucssion.

Yakima 2004

Kris and I joined the Gingerich family for an extended weekend vacation, visiting Jenn’s parents in Yakima.

Yakima bills itself as “The Palm Springs of Washington”. I’m not sure that’s apt — how often does Palm Springs get snow? Yakima is located in central Washington, and is surrounded by low mountains; its climate is ideal for growing fruit. Apple orchards and pear orchards and cherry orchards abound. There’s even a small wine industry.

The last time we visited Yakima with the Gingeriches was three years ago in April. It was a shorter visit, and there was no snow on the ground. This time we stayed for three-and-a-half days, and there was plenty of snow.

Click a thumbnail to open a larger image in a new window.
[photo of Kris and Emma playing UNO]  [photo of Kris sledding in the backyard]  [photo of Harrison making snowballs]  [photo of Hank and Jenn on the swing]

On Saturday, I joined the women for a quick trip to Value Village. I picked up three t-shirts (including a real prize: an orange t-shirt with the puzzling slogan: “I agree with Tyler and Pete”) and, at the prompting of Kris and Jenn, two sweaters.

Jeremy wanted to go wine-tasting in the afternoon. I was reluctant at first, but had a lot more fun than I’d expected. We only visited three vineyards, but the wine was good, and, because of my reduced calorie intake, it didn’t take much tasting for me to get a little tipsy. I bought several bottles, including two of a black Muscat from Hyatt Vineyards. It’s a pleasant strawberry-tinted summer dessert wine — not too sweet. (I also picked up some cheese-stuffed kalamata olives soaked in garlic!) At Bonair Winery, the owners’ son waited upon us. He poured wine and chatted until we found ourselves late for our dinner reservations. Jeremy bought a case of wine from him, and I bought a couple of bottles of mead, a drink made from honey instead of grapes. “The beverage of Chaucer and Beowulf” — it’s great stuff!. We tried a fantastic chili mead ‐ mead with a single chili pepper soaking in the bottle — but Bonair had none to sell us. Jeremy and I hope to send Jenn’s parents up for a case of the stuff when it’s bottled again next summer.

(Also: Bonair Winery featured a display of small, over-priced quilts. Some of them were quite beautiful, it’s true, but the prices seemed outlandish (several hundred dollars each). My favorite part of the display were the signs next to the quilts: “Please do not touch art”. HA! “Please do not touch art” sounds like an admonition you’d give a child: “Art is to be viewed, not touched.”)

We eventually made it to dinner at Birchfield Manor only a few minutes late. We had a fine meal and pleasant conversation before retiring to the house for cigars and a dip in the hot tub.

On Sunday we drove north to see the elk-feeding. We were more excited by the birds. There were several eagles soaring around a nearby hill, and one which seemed to be feeding on a dead elk. Jenn’s parents are avid birders (they just returned from a birding trip in the Caribbean), and had brought their birding binoculars with them. After we watched the elk (and the eagles), we stopped at another location to look at big-horned sheep. There, we also saw several deer and some larger elk.

There was a bit of snowfall Sunday morning, but we woke to several inches on Monday. After the kids finished watching The Pink Panther (which they love), we spent some time sledding down the backyard slope. Because of my knee, I was reluctant to join, but once I did, I had a blast.

Other highlights from the weekend include: crab and roast for dinner, playing UNO with the kids, ripping CDs from Bruce and Janet’s collection, watching the second and third chapters of Undersea Kingdom with Hank, helping Bruce learn to edit home movies on his computer, making monochromatic photographs, and driving back over a snowy pass last night.

It was a relaxing weekend for everyone I think, even Jeremy (though his idea of relaxation involves things like clearing all the snow from the driveway). Kris and I are thankful to Jeremy and Jennifer for inviting us to join them, and to Bruce and Janet for their wonderful hospitality.

Comments


On 03 February 2004 (09:34 AM),
Tiffany said:

You are right; Palm Springs does not get snow. The mountains just south of PS have snow for amount 6 months every year, but not on the valley floor.



On 03 February 2004 (01:50 PM),
J.D. said:

Hm.

As it turns out, I strongly disagree with Tyler and Pete.



On 03 February 2004 (02:01 PM),
Joel said:

Buying t-shirts at random is SUCH a crapshoot.



On 03 February 2004 (02:38 PM),
J.D. said:

Er, it’s a little strange to be trackbacked by myself…



On 03 February 2004 (03:52 PM),
Tiffany said:

You should change the shirt with a Sharpie and wear it anyway.

Hitler’s Baby Pictures

Joel’s selection for February’s book group is Maus by Art Spiegelman.

From the book jacket:

Maus is the story of Vladek Spiegelman, a Jewish survivor of Hitler’s Europe, and his son, a cartoonist who tries to come to terms with his father, his father’s terrifying story, and History itself. Its form, the cartoon (the Nazis are cats, the Jews mice), succeeds perfectly in shocking us out of any lingering sense of familiarity with the events described…

Spiegelman became the first — and still only — comics creator to win the Pulitzer Prize, which he was awarded for Maus, a two-volume graphic novel. (“Graphic novel” is a term substituted for “comic book” to make them more palatable to non-comic readers.)

Maus will be challenging for many members, but for different reasons. It’s challenging for Mac and Jennifer because they don’t like comic books, and they’re both skeptical that this one might have achieved some level of greatness. It’s challenging for Lisa because Holocaust literature gives her nightmares, seriously messes with her mind. It’s challenging for me because I’m tired of Holocaust tales to the point that I avoid them (for example, I didn’t see last year’s Oscar-nominated The Pianist because it’s a Holocaust film). It’s not that I’m an anti-semite or don’t care about what happened; it’s just that I get the point by now, and I’m tired of having it hearing it over and over again.

(There are various web resources available to enhance your reading of Maus.)

Aimee’s book selection for March is a nice complement to Joel’s selection. We’ll be reading Explaining Hitler by Ron Rosenbaum.

I’m excited to read both of these books individually, but more especially as a pair. I’ve read Maus before, and it’s excellent. I’ve only read a few pages of the introduction to Explaining Hitler so far, but it too looks great, too:

Is it possible to find in the thinly distributed, heatedly disputed facts of Hitler’s life before he came to power some single transformative moment, some dramatic trauma, or some life-changing encounter with a Svengali-like figure — a moment of metamorphosis that made Hitler Hitler? It’s a search impelled by the absence of a coherent and convincing evolutionary account of Hitler’s psychological development, one that would explain his transformation from a shy, artistically minded youth, the dispirited denizen of a Viennese homeless shelter, from the dutiful but determinedly obscure army corporal, to the figure who, not long after his return to Munich from the war, suddenly leapt onto the stage of history as a terrifyingly incendiary, spellbinding street orator. One who proceeded to take a party whose members numbered in the dozens and used it to seize power over a nation of millions; made that nation and instrument of his will, a will that convulsed the world and left forty million corpses in its wake. Missing, metaphorically then, is something that will help us explain Hitler’s baby pictures.

Those baby pictures: If I had to choose a single defining moment in the course of researching and thinking about the search for Hitler, it might have to be that evening in Paris when I witnessed — when I was on the receiving end of — French filmmaker Claude Lanzmann‘s angry tirade over Hitler’s baby pictures. When I witnessed the way the acclaimed director of Shoah, the nine-and-a-half hour Holocaust documentary, metaphorically brandished the baby pictures, brandished the scandalizing idea of the baby pictures in my face as weapons in his personal, obsessive war against the question Why. It was a moment that exposed both the passion behind the controversy over the problem of explaining Hitler — and the question at its core.

It might come as a surprise to many that the very notion of attempting to explain Hitler should seem not merely difficult in itself but dangerous, forbidden, a transgression of near-biblical proportions to some. And, in fact, Lanzmann does represent an extreme position, the end point of a continuum, what I would call third-level despair over explaining Hitler. The point at which the despair turns to outright hostility to the process of explanation itself. The point at which the search for Hitler doubles back on its searchers.

I don’t know where Rosenbaum plans to lead me as he explores Hitler’s origins. I’m curious. I often wonder if his motives might have no more explanation than a Citizen Kane-like “Rosebud” moment. Perhaps when he was a young man he suffered some sort of teasing or torment at the hands of a Jewish boy. Perhaps this small event, or one similar, planted a seed of bitterness that grew into full-fledged forest of destruction that embroiled the entire world and killed forty million people. Who knows? Rosenbaum’s book should be a fascinating read.

It seems to me that there are three great defining moments in the American cultural mythos: the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and World War II. As World War II is the most recent, it plays the largest role in shaping our society. Of these three defining events, World War II is the setting we most commonly use to explain ourselves and the world around us. (The destruction of the World Trade Center certainly has the possibility to become a fourth defining moment in our mythos, and it is without question the event that dominates our current cultural mindset.)

Comments


On 25 January 2004 (02:28 PM),
Dana said:

I think there are at least a couple other events with equal amounts of impact, one of which isn’t largely acknowledged.

First, you left out Vietnam, which really kicked the baby-boomer generation into a very particular set of attitudes, actions, and behaviors. In many ways, it’s still at the heart of the split between Liberal and Conservative here in the US today, a split which has only become more entrenched over time.

The unacknowledged event, I think, is the Indian Wars and the coupled idea of Manifest Destiny. They both had an enormous impact on the nature of our culture, and the shape and composition of both the nation and the population. And we largely ignore it. It’s a 500 lb gorilla in the corner that nobody talks about. My grandfather was born in southern Minnesota in 1918, and the Indian Uprising over in South Dakota was still fresh in people’s minds when he was a kid.

The fact that the decimation of the Native Americans happened, and happened in ways we would now consider as bad or worse than what the Nazis did to the Jews, AND that we don’t discuss it at all, says a lot about the kind of nation we have, too. Just because we choose not to acknowledge it’s effects doesn’t mean it’s important. It suggests it’s important in a negative way, that we’d rather not focus on.

That’s just my opinion, obviously. I think the Labor movements of the early 20th century were nearly as important as WWII, too. Again, that’s just me.



On 25 January 2004 (03:32 PM),
mart said:

the wife and i are in complete agreement with your no-holocaust-tales-thing. ’round here we avoid them like the plague. i did let one slip last year: alain resnais’ “night and fog”. and at some point in my life i’ll be tempted by “shoah”, if only because of the joke in “annie hall”(?) where woody keeps taking dates to see it.

as a younger man i visited dachau. perhaps that frees me from having to watch these films anymore?



On 25 January 2004 (06:34 PM),
Dana said:

I bring this up whenever holocaust stuff comes up.

When the Allies went in to liberate Germany, there was a BBC documentary crew that went into Dachau with the troops.

After the documentary was completed, the Beeb decided it was too graphic, and shelved it. At some point in the 70s or 80s, it was located, they rerecorded the sound, and made it available.

I watched it in Social Studies in 9th grade. Holy Cow. It was worth seeing, but once is enough.



On 25 January 2004 (07:25 PM),
Nikchick said:

Maus was my first comic book. I’d never read comics, unless you count strips in the paper or Bazooka Joe, but Maus really opened my mind to the experience.

I’m still no regular comic reader, but I’ve enjoyed my fair share since then.

The Decemberists (Live in Concert)

I leave work at noon and swing by the high school to see Mac. There’s raucous laughter pouring from his room. Inside, Mac and Joe Ruwitch and Matt Sprague and three other teachers are seated around a table, eating lunch and playing dominoes. They’re loud and having fun. Mac makes a copy of the photography class handout for me, and we chat for a bit.

I head to the barber shop. Howard, the shop owner, is cutting Neal Martin’s hair. Neal’s family owns Martin’s Town and Country Furniture, which is just down the road from Custom Box Service. He and I were in the same class. Howard and Neal are talking about San Francisco. When his haircut’s finished, I take my place in the chair while Neal and I spend ten or fifteen minutes reminiscing about high school, discussing classmates seen and unseen. I mention that I’m having dinner with Paul Carlile and Tom Stewart tonight. After he’s gone, I regret not having asked him to join us.

When Paul arrives, we drive to Portland in the rainy dusk, oblivious to the stop-and-go traffic. We’re talking. We have time before dinner, so we stop at Powell’s where I pick up the next book group book. Paul bumps into a woman he knows and begins to chat with her while I continue to browse. When I return to them, he introduces me: “This is my friend, J.D.”

I wait for him to introduce her, but he seems to have forgotten, so I say, “And this is…”

“Exactly,” Paul says. But no more.

I shake the woman’s hand and say, “Nice to meet you, Exactly.” I figure that Paul’s just being goofy.

The conversation ends abruptly. The woman is walking in the same direction that we need to go, so I figure we’ll just walk with her, but she quickens her pace, leaving us behind. I am puzzled.

“Oh my god,” Paul says. “I can’t believe you didn’t pick up on my hint. I once dated her for a couple of weeks, but I just couldn’t remember her name. Oh god.”

I feel bad, but not nearly as bad as Paul feels!

We drive to the India Grill. The ten minute drive takes half an hour in rush hour traffic. While we wait for Tom, we share an appetizer of beef samosas and assorted pieces of chicken and lamb. It’s delicious, as usual.

Tom arrives. I haven’t seen him in several years. He used to be a skinny kid, but he’s filled out some now. His voice is much deeper than I remember. He has the same cheerful good-nature and fun personality as always, though. He talks about being married, about having a two-year-old son (Quinn), and a fifteen-year-old stepson. He talks about his new job. The conversation turns to friends from high school and what they’re doing now. Paul and Tom observe that in high school, Tom had the widest social circle of the three of us, and I had the smallest, but that now the roles seem to have been reversed. “I like to keep contact with people,” I say. And I do. It’s a nice chat and good food.

After dinner, we drive the ten blocks to Nocturnal. There’s already a line of young hipsters standing in the rain: sideburns, thick-framed glasses, thrift-store clothing. We feel old. We should have brought an umbrella. The doors open and the line move a little, but then it just stops. After several minutes in the cold rain, Paul figures out that they’re only letting in those over 21, so we’re able to get inside where it’s warm and dry. We head downstairs to the hip little bar where we stand in the corner, drinking beer and wine.

We stand in the back corner, next to a door marked “employees only”, and we continue to talk about old friends: Jonathan McDowell, Mitch Sherrard, David Sumpter, Matt English, Clint Latimer, Danny Mala, etc. We have to step aside to let a guy into the closet. “What are you, the janitor?” asks Paul.

The guy sighs, “Yeah. I’m the janitor.” But when he comes out again later, he’s drinking a beer.

The opening act starts, so we head upstairs to an intimate room no bigger than a grade school cafeteria. Corrina Repp has a strong voice, but I’m unimpressed by her spare guitar work. Paul and Tom head back downstairs midway through her set. We’ve been standing for two hours, and their legs are tired. Mine are tired, too, but I’d like to hear Repp’s act. I think she’d sound great in a band, but on her own she sounds a little lost. Her songs are all lethargic.

Tom has never heard The Decemberists; Paul only heard a few songs on the our drive to Portland; I’ve only been listening to them for a week. But from the opening of their first song, “Shanty for the Arethusa”, we’re hooked.

The Decemberists feature Colin Meloy — in a t-shirt which reads “Dorothy is Running” — on vocals and guitar; Chris Funk (the guy we thought was the janitor) on lead guitar (often with a country twang); Jesse Emerson on upright bass (which sounds awesome); Jenny Conlee on accordion (and occasional keyboards); and Rachel Blumberg on drums (with occasional vocals). It’s an eclectic mix of instruments, but the group is so tightly orchestrated that they’re able to produce a powerful, unified — and unique — sound. Meloy’s voice is distinctive, but in a good way.

A lot of The Decemberists’ charm is found in their clever lyrics. Fortunately, the lyrics are fairly recognizable during their performance. In fact, the songs sound much the same as they did on record, but not enough for me to feel cheated. Too, the members of the band branch off into improvisation on many of the songs, providing an added bonus to those familiar with their work.

The band gives a great performance, well worth the $8 we each spent to see the show. I’m glad to have gone.

When we get home, Paul and I spend some time at the computer, listening to songs by The Decemberists, and looking up information about the group.

Later, as I walk through the house, turning off the lights. I pass Paul, who is already spread out on the couch. “J.D.,” he says.

“What, Paul?”

“I remember now: Ione. Her name is Ione.”

Comments

On 25 January 2004 (07:46 AM),
Amy Jo said:

I like this entry very much. The Powell’s scene evokes a uniquely Portland experience for me–unexpectantly running into someone I known from a different time in my life.

On 25 January 2004 (08:43 AM),
Tammy said:

I like this entry too. It’s much more people friendly than those geeky ones. :)

When the bullet hits the bone!

I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing.

[Radar Men From the Moon]
Commando Cody will save the day!

From “Hills of Death”, episode six of the 1951 Republic Serial Radar Men From the Moon:

Graber and his henchman return to Krog’s cave hideout after escaping from Commando Cody. They’ve spent the past three episodes (unsuccessfully) trying to get money so that their employers, prospective invaders from the moon, can continue to finance their campaign of terror. As they give Krog the stolen payroll, a message comes over the radio.

Redik: Redik calling Krog. Redik calling Krog.
Krog: Yes, your excellency. I was about to call you to report that we’re just about to put our ray gun into operation again.
Redik: I have another mission for you first. Do you have an atomic bomb strong enough to start a volcanic eruption in the Mount Alta crater?
Krog: Yes, but an eruption in that mountainous area would do very little damage.
Redik: On the contrary! It will do a great deal of damage. The present atmospheric conditions on Earth indicate that an eruption would cause torrential rains, and the resulting floods should seriously disrupt transportation and defense measures.
Krog: Excellent idea. We shall carry it out at once.
Redik: Very well. Then start an intensified campaign with the ray gun. Earth’s defenses must be completely broken down before we can risk an invasion from the moon.
Krog: Yes, your excellency. [to Graber:] You heard the orders: charter a plane and drop one of our atomic bombs into the Alta crater. Nature will do the rest.
Graber: Okay. When do we do it?
Krog: At once! I will get you the bomb. [He gets a box from beneath his workbench, and pulls out an atomic bomb. He hands it to Graber.]

[photo of psychotic-looking Paul]
Would you share curry with this man?

[Bmidji!]

[the famous Limecat]

YOU are the lowest form.

YOU can’t procreate alone.

YOU destroyed the village.

YOU destroyedchildhood.

YOU don’t know the Truth.

YOU are educated stupid.

YOU are your own poison.

YOU worship cubeless word.

YOU ARE ALL DUMBYS!

[Jesus Quintana tongues his bowling ball]

[photo of man kissing a dolphin]

I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing. I find your lack of faith disturbing.

Comments


On 22 January 2004 (11:30 PM),
Dana said:

Help I’m stepping into the Twilight Zone…

Right?



On 23 January 2004 (08:23 AM),
Denise said:

Who sang that song “When the bullet hits the bone?” I know, I could look it up, but it will give you something to do.



On 23 January 2004 (08:27 AM),
Amanda said:

Denise, it’s Golden Earring.



On 23 January 2004 (08:28 AM),
Dana said:

Golden Earrings (or something like that) — follow the link in my first post for the lyrics =)

Oh, and JD? The Paul Bunyan picture is not Brainerd, it’s Bemidji…



On 23 January 2004 (08:38 AM),
Tiffany said:

Somehow this is geekier then the computer talk.



On 23 January 2004 (08:55 AM),
Lynn said:

WAY geekier.



On 23 January 2004 (09:09 AM),
J.D. said:

Dana, my love:

  • Of course it’s Bemidji. The link isn’t Bemidji, though. Doo-dooh-doo-dooh.
  • The song is “Twilight Zone” by Golden Earring. Not Golden Earrings. Not “Bullet Hits the Bone”.

Lyrics:
(Somewhere in a lonely hotel room there’s a guy starting to realize that eternal fate has turned its back on him.)

“It’s 2 a.m., the fear has gone. I’m sitting here waiting with the gun still warm. Maybe my connection is tired of taking chances. Yeah, there’s a storm on the loose: sirens in my head. Wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead. I cannot decode. My whole life spins into a frenzy.

“Help! I’m slipping into the Twilight Zone. The place is a madhouse; it feels like being cloned. My beacon’s been moved under moon and star. Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far?”

Soon you are gonna know — when the bullet hits the bone.

“I’m falling down a spiral, destination unknown: a double-crossed messenger, all alone. I can’t get no connection, can’t get through. Where are you?”

Well, the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind. This far from from the border line. And when the hitman comes, he knows damn well he has been cheated. And he says:

“Help! I’m slipping into the Twilight Zone. The place is a madhouse; it feels like being cloned. My beacon’s been moved under moon and star. Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far?”

Soon you are gonna know — when the bullet hits the bone.

Trivia:
When Kris and I were on our honeymoon in Victoria, B.C., we went to see a movie (The Fugitive with Harrison Ford). There was music playing in the theater before the film started, including this song, and now I always associate the song with that moment. (Well, that and the time me and Jeff danced around in the living room when we first heard the song.)



On 23 January 2004 (09:31 AM),
tammy said:

Yikes, this is scarey! Where’s JD? Somebody has taken over his blog. Oh, for the days when we could come here and read all that boring stuff about his latest geeky gadgets!



On 23 January 2004 (09:40 AM),
Dana said:

Dana, my love:

Shhhhh! Don’t tell Kris! ;)

Ming the Merciless



On 23 January 2004 (10:26 AM),
Denise said:

Golden Earring? Then who sang Radar Love? Did they sing that, too?



On 23 January 2004 (10:27 AM),
Denise said:

…and I must add, “When the Bullet Hits the Bone” is a GREAT choice to be playing in the back of my head as I look at your entry!



On 23 January 2004 (10:43 AM),
Kris said:

Did Jd really say “me & Jeff”?



On 23 January 2004 (11:03 AM),
Lynn said:

Even with the egregious grammatical error, the mental picture of JD & Jeff dancing about the living room to that song is hilarious. So, was it Tom Cruise in his underwear in Risky Business kind of dancing? Or Patrick Dempsey doing a Discovery Channel dance in Can’t Buy Me Love kind of dancing? I just want the appropriate scenery to go along with the song in my head.



On 23 January 2004 (11:13 AM),
Tiffany said:

Golden Earring sang both ‘Radar Love’ and ‘Twilight Zone’ that had the line “When the Bullet hits the Bone”.



On 23 January 2004 (11:32 AM),
Dana said:

So, does anybody think JD will get around to explaining what exactly brought on this wave of surreality?



On 23 January 2004 (11:49 AM),
Amanda said:

Yikes, this is scarey! Where’s JD? Somebody has taken over his blog. Oh, for the days when we could come here and read all that boring stuff about his latest geeky gadgets!

*laughs at Tammy*



On 23 January 2004 (02:53 PM),
mart said:

prime example of why you shouldn’t blog when drunk



On 23 January 2004 (04:42 PM),
Joel said:

And hypoglycemic.

Only I Have the Power to Absorb All Data

I guess that title only makes sense if you’ve been hanging around here a while (and maybe not even then)…

My new G5 has turned me anal-retentive with my data.

Ever since my first computer (an Apple Macintosh SE) in 1989, I’ve simply dumped all of my old data onto a new hard drive without regard for organization. Over the past fifteen years, I’ve accumulated a lot of data, and it takes more and more time to transfer it to a new machine. And when it’s transferred using the Dump Method, it becomes very difficult to sort through it.

With this new machine, I’ve decided to be more methodical. I am slowly transferring the data, making certain that every file is in its proper place.

Of course, all I’ve really focused on so far is music: I’ve been ripping all of our CDs into iTunes. Didn’t I already rip them all onto the PC? Aren’t all of our songs already in mp3 format? Yes, they are. But when I did that first rip, several years ago, I had no concept of ID3 tags (the header information in an mp3 file). I made sure the file names were consistent (“U2 – I Will Follow.mp3”), but I didn’t do anything with the ID3 tags.

iTunes bases its entire organizational system on ID3 tags. It’s a wonderful organizational system: very flexible, easy to search, highly customizable, and, best of all, capable of creating amazingly complex “smart” playlists. (“Make a new playlist with all of the jazz songs between 1960 and 1970 but don’t include Dave Brubeck or any song with the word Love in the title.”) Without solid ID3 tags, this is impossible.

So, I’m being anal-retentive about my ID3 tags, especially the Genre tag. Sometimes it’s tough. Into which genre does Rickie Lee Jones fall? Are Wham! pop or synthpop? Is Elvis rock, pop, or, as I finally decided, oldies? I had to create some genres to match my collection. I have a lot of old-time radio shows, so Radio is a new genre. Kris and I think of an entire subclass of music (Natalie Merchant, Alanis Morrissette (whose name I can never spell correctly), Suzanne Vega) as “Chickrock” or “Bitchrock”. I have a huge collection of pre-1930s music, and despite its actual genre, I’ve classified it all as Vintage.

Over the past several days, I’ve managed to rip 5397 songs into iTunes. That’s 21.70gb of music, which would play for 16.4 days from start to finish. And I’m only to Hank Williams. I still have all of the compilations left, and all of the classical music, and all of the electronica, and the 101 CDs that are in our CD player.

After I finish absorbing all my music, I’ll absorb all my photographs.

Initially I feared that process would be long and arduous. I intend to re-scan many of my photographs, touching them up in Photoshop Elements before transferring them to iPhoto. Apparently the newest version of iPhoto (which I have not actually looked at yet) has several new iTunes-like features that help sort photographs.

Jeff came over yesterday and we scanned in some more recent photographs of Noah (the new photographs, when I’ve processed them, will be found here). I was shocked at how quickly we were able to scan them. On my iBook, it would have taken more than a minute for each photo, but on the G5 each took about ten to twelve seconds. Holy cats! This will certainly take the drudgery out of absorbing photographic data.

When I’m finished with the photos, it’ll be time to absorb all of my textual data: college essays, old web sites, e-mail I’ve saved since 1993, poems, stories, weblog entries. It would be nice if I could find an iTunes-like application for text documents, but I’m not holding my breath. I have fewer text files than music files anyhow, so sorting everything by hand ought to be okay.

Only I have the power to absorb all data!

Comments


On 18 January 2004 (11:08 AM),
Dana said:

What, you mean something like this (which wouldn’t work for you, as it runs in emacs), or this (which is a gnome tool, but should be useable under OS X)?



On 18 January 2004 (11:26 AM),
J.D. Roth said:

Hm. Thanks for the suggestions, Dana, but neither of those are anything like what I’m looking for.

What I want is an application to organize and group text documents, much as iTunes does for music.

The main view would comprise a “library” of all of the documents, which could be easily filtered, as in iTunes, based on document title, author, creation date, type, etc. “Playlists” of documents could be created so that it would be possible to, say, group all documents about money or about music.

I really doubt there’s anything like this available. (The closest I’ve seen is xPad, but it’s only got the germ of what I’m after.) I’m half-way tempted to write something myself. It’d be a good experience…



On 18 January 2004 (11:30 AM),
J.D. Roth said:

Like this but for text.



On 18 January 2004 (01:23 PM),
Dana said:

Hmmmm. By ‘playlist’, I assume what you *really* mean is what amounts to a folder, or perhaps ‘view’, right?

That sounds a *little* like piles, which is a rumored upcoming MacOS feature. I gather piles are primarily chronological, and organized less by type than by time (although perhaps I’m wrong on the details).

It also sounds a lot like the mystery “database filesystem” which is coming Real Soon Now in some version of Windows.

Of course, you could get a similar effect by storing all your text documents in a database with appropriate meta-data (which is all that iTunes is doing, really)…



On 20 January 2004 (07:45 AM),
Joel said:

My colleague Andy is currently scrolling through one of the many humorous photoshop contests on FARK, which made me suddenly want to photoshop a version of that wonderful Fantastic Four panel that this blog references. Dana could be Reed, JD could be J. Storm, but who would be the Thing, strapped onto that terrible melty thing?



On 20 January 2004 (09:20 AM),
Dana said:

Intertwingle – An old proposal of Jamie Zawinski that never came to anything, but also sounds rather related to what you are looking for…

(And Joel, I’d much rather be Sue than Reed… =) )



On 20 January 2004 (02:25 PM),
Joel said:

Of course, thoughtless of me. And I’m very glad you didn’t want to be Felicia- the whole superhero dating a handicapped person freaks me out.

Mystic River

I spent half of Saturday working on Sabino’s computers. I spent the other half of the day lying on the couch, suffering from a low-grade fever of unknown origin. I played Nintendo half-heartedly. I watched home improvement shows. Mainly, I stared into space.

Today, mysterious fever mysteriously gone, I was ready for an outing: Trader Joe’s! Powell’s! A movie! Dinner at a fancy restaurant!

We stopped at Trader Joe’s first. I loathe Trader Joe’s on weekends; it’s crowded and I get frustrated with all of the traffic.

On a whim, I sampled some cheese: raclette. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I knew instantly that I’d made a terrible mistake.

It was as if I had just eaten fresh fecal matter. Ugh. The stench! The taste! After one chew, the lump of cheese sat in my mouth, a gritty, slimy ball of crap. I looked in vain for someplace to spit it out. I decided to swallow the thing, but that only exacerbated the trouble; I gagged, could not get it down. My stomach heaved. I felt certain I was about to vomit all over the $2.99 bottles of Charles Shaw chardonnay (against which I was leaning).

At last I spied a stack of napkins on a sample table. I literally shoved a woman aside to grab a napkin. She glared at me — and rightfully so — but I didn’t care. I spat the hunk of cheese into the napkin and prayed the foul taste would leave my mouth quickly.

Later Kris told me that raclette isn’t designed to be eaten like that. “It’s a fondue cheese,” she said. Right. Everyone wants fondue that tastes like shit.

At Powell’s I spent money compulsively, picking up a Modern Library edition of Proust’s The Past Recaptured, a compilation of Dick Tracy comic strips, another Flash Gordon comic strip compilation (this one in color!) and volumes one, two, three, and eight of a Terry and the Pirates compilation. Oh — I also bought a librarian action figure to go with my Shakespeare action figure.

As we were driving away, Kris sighed. “I’m having one of those days where everyone looks familiar to me, even though I know they’re not,” she said. “Does that ever happen to you.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding in agreement.

“Like them,” she said, pointing to a couple waiting to cross the street. Then she did a double-take. “Oh! It’s Lance and Miriam.”

Lance Shipley and his wife, Miriam, whom we had not seen in fifteen years, and now we’ve seen twice in two months (though they’ve only seen us once). We were seated behind them at the David Sedaris lecture.

I understand that many, many people love the Lord of the Rings films, especially The Return of the King. That’s fine. They’re fun films.

I have trouble, though, when people start trying to pitch them as deserving of Best Picture. I want to ask them, “Have you seen all of the other nominees? If so, what makes you think this year’s Rings film is better than this year’s other films? If you haven’t seen the other nominees, how can you argue your point?” Last year, for example, Jen at the Very Big Blog was adamant that Peter Jackson’s Helms Deep should win, but I’m not sure she ever saw any of the other nominees (although, in retrospect, last year’s crop looks pretty week except for the winner, Chicago).

This year, there’s a good chance that The Return of the King will win as some sort of reward for the entire trilogy. If some other, better, film loses because of this, that’d be a shame. I realize that film preferences, like all preferences, are subjective, but I find it difficult to believe that many people could consider The Return of the King superior to Mystic River.

Mystic River is a fine film. It has a wonderful story, a wonderful script. It is well directed (by Clint Eastwood, who also wrote the music!?!?!?!). The acting is superlative (Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon, Tim Robbins, Marcia Gay Harden, Laura Linney, Laurence Fishburne — some cast, huh?). It’s a great film. (It’s only real flaws are some patches of flubbed editing and, like The Return of the King, an over-long ending.)

For my part, I still prefer Lost in Translation, though I think Mystic River is probably, in an objective sense, a better film.

Kris suggested a great solution: award The Lord of the Rings trilogy an unprecendented honorary award of merit, recognizing the achievement. Reward the accomplishment without taking away from other potentiall more deserving single films. What do you think?

Comments

On 12 January 2004 (07:26 AM),
J.D. said:

I just read Ebert’s review; it’s very good. In particular, I like what he has to say about the acting and directing:

To see strong acting like this is exhilarating. In a time of flashy directors who slice and dice their films in a dizzy editing rhythm, it is important to remember that films can look and listen and attentively sympathize with their characters. Directors grow great by subtracting, not adding, and Eastwood does nothing for show, everything for effect.

Over the past three months I have gained a profound respect for Eastwood as a director, and have even begun to admire his acting abilities.

On 12 January 2004 (08:38 AM),
Tiffany said:

I often hunt out an award-winning movie, and I find that I am often disappointed. I am better off know very little of what others thing so that I am not �expecting� a great movie. I enjoyed �Lost� but never got to see �Mystic River�. I have always been confused how you can compare a movie like �Lost� to �Rings�. They have nothing in common, so all you can say is which one you liked better.

On 12 January 2004 (08:44 AM),
Denise said:

Having watched many a Spaghetti Western with my father when I was young, Clint Eastwood has always been one of my favorite actors. The one thing I like about Eastwood is he doesn’t try to take on roles that he cannot be convincing in.

As a director, I think he has improved and continues to do so.

I look at Eastwood as the John Wayne of our generation (and not just because they both made a lot of westerns), and will miss him when he is gone.

On 12 January 2004 (09:58 AM),
Dana said:

My taste is so eclectic that I don’t bother to pay much attention to awards or critics. And, as Tiffany says, movies can be so dissimilar, and yet in the same category, that it becomes like comparing apples and hot dogs. Just too different to be very useful of a comparison.

I think giving the LotR a collective award would be quite nice. At the same time, I think the third film also shows a certain deftness of composition that the other two were still struggling to find. I think Jackson sort of hit his stride with the material and everything in the third film. And I didn’t find the ending to be overlong at all. If anything, I thought it a bit too short…

On 12 January 2004 (10:18 AM),
mart said:

i think NO on giving them a special award. why reward such incredible mediocrity? it only encourages them to make more crap like that. i know this is horribly naive of me, but shouldn’t GREAT movies be given awards? or is an oscar just another stop on the hollywood publicity train now? oh yeah… it is and has been for a long long time.

me? i tend to cast my lot with cannes and the palme d’or, which is a real sign of filmmaking talent.

ok, ok, let peter jackson and his whole pathetic trilogy have all the oscars they want. that just means fewer people in imamura movies irritating me.

On 12 January 2004 (10:52 AM),
Kris said:

http://www.raclette-fondue.com/html/fondue.html

On 12 January 2004 (11:22 AM),
J.D. said:

Mart said: shouldn’t GREAT movies be given awards? or is an oscar just another stop on the hollywood publicity train now? oh yeah… it is and has been for a long long time.

Mart, you’re a good man. While I’m not quite as down on the film version of LOTR as you are, it’s no secret that I’m disappointed by it. Mostly, I weep at the amount of money that was put into these films and how little there is to actually show for that money. Yes, there are a lot of digitally animated battle scenes, but so what? I wish more of the series was like Fellowship (the extended version).

I became disenchanted wtih the Oscars when Shakespeare in Love beat Saving Private Ryan for Best Picture. And Titanic over L.A. Confidential? Gladiator? The woefully mediocre A Beautiful Mind?

Still, the naive idealistic J.D. holds out hope that truly great films can win Best Picture…

On 12 January 2004 (01:34 PM),
Lynn said:

Aren’t the Oscars really just about ripping on the ugly dresses and hair that people have the gall to think are attractive?

Mart hit it on the head when he stated that it is impossible to compare and judge two or more dissimilar movies. It’s all a matter of taste.

On 12 January 2004 (03:33 PM),
Lisa said:

Excellent! Craig and I have days like yours too–where everyone looks familiar. It’s a strange thing, and we feel it more in Oregon than anywhere else.

On 12 January 2004 (04:27 PM),
Paul said:

J.D.,

LOTR vs. Cold Mountain.

I like LOTR better than you. I am hesitant to admit that I never read the trilogy. I think that might be the crux of the matter: familiarity with the raw material(the books). Because you read the trilogy you have your own opinion as to what would have made the movies better. You probably also have your own idea of how you would have filmed them (or portions of them); which scenes to delete, which to amplify etc. What I don’t think you’ve been able to do is try to imagine them as if experiencing them for the first time (as I did). I guess you have a need to critique the films.

[Now to talk out of the other side of my mouth.]

Having read Cold Mountain I have a deep fear that it will disappoint me. A movie can never duplicate the feel of language, it can of course tell a story but it can’t be the words themselves. I remember when I first read Cold Mountain, it took me an hour for the first 20 pages! I am a painfully slow reader but I was savoring the writing, the words he chose.

Ice World

We woke to a world encased in ice. Here in Canby it was twenty-seven degrees with a light freezing rain. A quick check of the television and the web revealed that most of the Portland metropolitan area would remain closed today.

 

As we drowsed through the next couple of hours we could, from time-to-time, hear the crunch crunch crunch of tires on ice. Traffic was infrequent.

At eight I called Jeff and we decided to cancel work at Custom Box Service. That done, I grabbed my camera and ventured outside.

It was like walking on a sheet of ice. What had been a thin rime yesterday was now nearly an inch thick. In some places the ice was thick enough that my steps did not break through the crust, but in most spots my footsteps created small craters with cracks that spiderwebbed outward.

The layer of ice on the magnolia caught my eye, and on the arborvitae. The daphne, too, was coated in ice (and may not survive), and the rosemary, and the rhododendrons, and the dogwood, and the maple. When I broke a piece of ice off a fern, a large piece of the plant broke off with it.

 

Our neighbor came outside and began to shovel his walk. Why? (He has been shoveling his walk for an hour-and-a-half now.) His dog sat with him, watching patiently.

I walked around the house, photographing icicles and frozen plants. Then I walked down the street, photographing the ice. The temperature increased perceptibly. A thin layer of water melted on top of the ice, and the footing became even more treacherous.

Some of the neighbors’ trees had been destroyed by the storm; the weight of the ice had become too much, and limbs had been ripped from tree trunks. I was admiring an tall hedge which, coated in ice, had dipped to the ground without breaking, when a man with a cigarette and a cup of coffee wandered down the street to join me.

“I ain’t seen nothing like this,” he said. I mentioned the storm of 1996. “Yeah, but that wasn’t nothing like this. I was in Lewiston, Idaho, for that storm. I was picking up paper at the potlach mill. My load was delayed, though. The floodwaters had swept away a herd of cattle and one of the damn things had got stuck in an intake someplace. Burned out a piece of equipment worth a hundred grand. Killed the cow. I had to wait at the mill an extra day, and the flood waters rose.

“Bunch of us were trapped in Lewiston. Truckdrivers. I wanted out of there, though. I’d had enough of that truckstop shit. We lined up at the only bridge out of town and we watched the river. It was so high that it was sweeping over the bridge. But every once in a while the guy in front would decide he could make it, so he’d take a chance and cross the bridge.

“When it was my turn, they told me not to go. ‘Don’t do it, man,’ they said, but I wanted out of there, so I just went. It was dicey, but I made it.”

Then, as I was walking home, I passed another fellow out walking on the ice. He was having trouble, slipping and sliding all over the place. He wasn’t taking ice-sized baby steps; he was taking abnormally long strides, and it wasn’t working. He nodded at me. “I’m not used to this shit,” he said. “I’m from Arizona.”

I laughed. “We’re not that used to it, either. This is a rare thing around here.”

I came back home and made myself some Abuelita (a brand of Mexican hot chocolate).

Update: It’s eleven. I just took the mail out, and the ice, as it begins to melt, is slick. Yikes. Twice, my right leg (and its bad knee) went shooting out. I’m staying inside the rest of the day, playing Nintendo.

Comments

On 07 January 2004 (11:34 AM),
mac said:

we have a thin layer of ice covering our thick layer of snow here…not nearly as much ice as you guys have down there. be careful

On 07 January 2004 (11:38 AM),
J.D. said:

Ah. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. We just had a power surge which was followed by a boom in the distance. I suspect that power is now off in parts of the city. We’re right on the corner of the power grid; when the power is off across the street, it’s on here, and vice versa.

On 07 January 2004 (12:05 PM),
Paul said:

It is a balmy 37 degrees in the tropical south. The University of Oregon has only completely closed twice in its 127 years due to weather conditions. These last two days have not caused a closure of any sort. I guess they anticipate that we will bike to campus regardless of the weather. I don’t have a Nintendo, so I am content to be at work.

On 07 January 2004 (01:25 PM),
Denise said:

I was hoping you would take some pictures. I have a great tree in my backyard that is covered with ice (much like the picture on the right of your second set), but I am not going to venture out just yet. I actually got my garbage and recycling cans out to the curb last night (just in case the garbage trucks were coming this morning) and almost fell on my rear more than once.

Ice is SO fun.

On 07 January 2004 (01:39 PM),
Dana said:

What sort of boom? I wonder if it was a big ice-covered tree collapsing onto some lines, or if it was a transformer actually exploding?

I keep telling you, JD — you need to come out here to Minnesota in January or February to experience actual cold, ice, and snow. Granted, we don’t get that kind of ice often either, but I have seen it before.

Too bad none of you has ice skates. Sounds like a near-perfect environment. Of course, I suppose that assumes you know how to ice skate.

Isn’t weather fun? =) Hope your leg is okay! (And I particularly like the close-up picture of the bare branch encased in ice.)

On 07 January 2004 (02:20 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

I just looked out a little bit ago to see that I have lost another big limb off the oak tree out back. That must have been a recent occurrence because I didn’t see it when I looked out earlier. Jake VanPelt is probably going to be happy about that, as it will mean more free firewood for him if he wants it. :-) I’m not ready to go walking around outside yet — that snow coated with ice looks too dicey, even though it is warmer.

Also, something weird about this site, J.D. — I posted that last entry on the blog page before this one a couple of hours ago and then as usual the comment didn’t show up when I checked foldedspace.org a few minutes ago, although that page was still the home page. Then there was another momentary power shut-off — the second one today — and after that, I had trouble getting back online for a few minutes. Now it is about 10 minutes later and there is a whole new home page and lots of comments! Almost instantaneously, it seems. Very strange! (I suspect it has more to do with AOL than your blog, though; I know to expect the unexpected with this server.)

On 07 January 2004 (08:57 PM),
Rich &Tiff said:

Nice pics. I have seen this once before, in Xenia, Ohio. Sometime in January we had a freezing rain a few days after a warm spell that had melted most of the snow. We had planted a Christmas tree in the front yard, and virtually every pine needle was sheathed in a perfect little ice coating like some kind of glistening echo of the green needle itself. Like you, I walked around taking pictures of everything I could find, though admittedly I slipped far more than I walked. The pine and the neighbor’s silver elm were the most impressive I saw. None of the pictures came out. I had no idea when I was a kid that flash plus shiny ice plus sunlight equaled blank white photo. I’m glad yours came out better. Live and learn.
Incidentally, we had the aurora that year as well.

On 08 January 2004 (10:29 AM),
pril said:

wow those are some nice pictures!

Aw, its just boring ol’ rain here, still. If it was icy like that, i’d be outside. My driveway makes a perfect sled run. There’s a dip as you hit the street, and you catch air going over the crown and land in the across-the-street neighbors parking area.