Dance Night!

I can remember when the very thought of dancing would knot up my stomach. I would completely skip outings with friends for fear of the dreaded Dance. In my mind, dancing could only be accomplished if drunk, and if ever I were to combine the two (drinking and dancing) it was always disastrous.

I was raised on a farm, where, if feeling really randy, one might tap their toe when listening to Hank Williams. When I was in grade school, I tried (too hard) to be cool. I had a polyester shirt, bell bottoms, and I even stole my mom's platform shoes. I went to a 7th grade dance and really tried hard to wow the crowd. At one point, a circle formed around me, everyone clapping and urging me on...I thought I was the next John Travolta. (Later, I realized they were laughing at me, that I was the spectacle!) Coming down off of that experience wounded me for life. I would not even attempt a line dance, a square dance, not even a folk dance. (I would probably have even shunned a lap dance, so against dancing had I become!) I sided with fundamentalists that felt dancing to be the gyrations of the devil himself--It had to be bad if I couldn't do it. I was completely inept at it, so very, very awful at dancing that I even hated dance music! (That explains my country music period, I guess.)

NOW I HAVE KIDS and they have taught me that dancing is just busting loose. Every Monday night we dance, uninhibited, for over an hour. It is pure joyous expression in body of soul. We might look funny to anyone from the outside, but we have some of the most excellent fun! I'll never satisfy a judge on "Dancing with the Stars;" heck, I cannot even please my own internal critic. The only way to dance is with abandon, thumbing one's nose and wiggling one's arse at anyone even the slightest bit judgmental.

Tonight, we delve into disco, and after that, some kid's music CD's.

Got my Goat

Well, we've gone and gotten a goat. The thing is, what's one pygmy goat good for? Kind of like an appendix, I think, or a salad fork. Cruel as it may sound, we're actually using her as a guinea pig; if we can keep her fat and happy all winter, we'll then expand to a Tribe, Trip, Drove, Herd, Flock of goats. (Makes me wonder why the collective term for goats is so varied and undefined, compared to a "murder of crows" or "pack of dogs.") Anyway, she's being spoiled, which is a far cry from her former home, where she shared a much smaller area with geese, chickens, and a pig! Right now she's top dog, well, next to our beagle. (She even climbs on her house and sleeps there, like the famous beagle, Snoopy.)

She came with the name Precious (gag) and one of my boys is renaming her Sunset (peculiar). I'd like to find a more suitable name for her, but I guess I will let anything serve for this goat, then think all winter of great goat names for the coming Tribe.

Goats creep me out in some ways. Just Friday we were at the petting zoo (soon to be *yawn* nothing we don't have at home*)...and my 2 year old was treated to a head butt that then bounced the back of his head against the corral, too. He was hurt, but more, emotionally wounded, for our goat would never (at least has never, yet, in this one week we've had her) do such a thing.

I am going to explore why they are an icon of dark magic. One of the most frightening images of my childhood was from a movie, Altered States, in which a goat head was flashed on screen so much in such a way that I walked out of the theatre! What's so "evil" about a goat, anyhow? I will find out!

Meanwhile, I'll go with my boys when they take Sunset on walks around the farm. I'll wonder how they'd react to future meat goats or milk goats...and I'll learn lots about tending goats as we go.

Steampunk

This is my current desktop background, one I love so much I may never change it. It's from one of my treasured new websites, Steampunk wallpaper. I've long been fond of the general motif of all things steampunky, but I had not put the term to my tastes. That is, I've always been a motorhead, fascinated with sprockets and gears, Jules Verne and HG Welles. I used to make these "installations" of gears and cranks. One filled a 4x8 sheet of plywood, featuring meat grinders, cherry pitters, egg beaters, and a whole host of gears in all stages of rust and patina. (I should never have let that thing go!) I've always been a fan of Rube Goldberg and all his overly complicated design ideas.

I was first turned this direction, to this terminology, from my experiences in SecondLife. See this blog, the Heliograph! If my avatar could, I'm sure he'd live there (New Babbage) forever.

I just didn't know I was a steam punk until I finally learned what the term means. One could always go to Wikipedia for a bastardized cut/paste perspective. I suggest, instead, clicking to Brass Goggles (directly to their FAQ page) a great (and long-running) blog on the subject. Or, for a history of steampunk related more to literature, consult Steampunkopedia.

As with most things, I come to this late. The surge and popularity are long past. That suits me fine, anyway, for I am enthused regardless. The art and imagery attracts me more than anything else.

Go here for a very thoughtful and in-depth discussion of steam punk ethic, literary genre and style. Go here for a manifesto that says it all!

Social Media Revolution

THIS video is an eye-opener. I showed it to some classes. I thought I was informed, but I am now so-much-more enlightened. Watch this video. Learn of the future. Are YOU connected? (I am woefully disengaged, at the moment.)

What's bugging me?

I may have written on this before, for I find them so very interesting--bugs. Technically they are "animals" in terms of classification: Animalia, Invertebrates, specifically Arthropoda (insects, spiders, crustaceans). Some claim if we were to identify all species in the tropical rain forests the ranks of Arthropoda would swell to over 10 million species! That's all good and well, but what I find so interesting about them includes:

They are so very, very diverse. Detroit could never generate so much variation on one chassis! If ever there was a reason to think that there might be a creator, it would well-be the creative genius behind all the clever designs showcased among insects. If I put my mind to it, I could likely find a new bug every day for a year, just on my farm.

They are built with intention. Insects have very particular niches in which they live, and they are built to endure the surroundings they habitate. (My office mate argues that they are found in the environs which best support them, but who's arguing chickens and eggs here.) I watched an episode of Earth recently in which they went into some very large, very deep caves and shared the wild life cycles w/n them. There were insects there w/o eyes who lived on bat guano. Their legs, wings, etc. were engineered to scale piles of bat poop and harvest food from it. Amazing.

They are a little creepy. I've met few people who do not cringe when a bug is crawling around on them, when they find a cockroach in the cupboard, or when they hear about dust mites in their pillow, bugs that thrive on the skin cells they leave in their laundry...fire worms. Insects have no qualms about being parasites or living in dung. That's part of why they are so prolific.

They are tough. I've encountered some that I simply cannot crush w/o a tool. (I'm not inclined to kill, kill, kill, but there are some ticks and such that I will kill on sight!) These typically tiny tough bugs are hard as a rock. Generally speaking, insects have a tough exoskeleton that protects them from harm, like armor. Entomologists claim that in the event of nuclear proliferation, cockroaches would still survive. We might die at an exposure of 800 rems, but a German cockroach can survive over 80,000 rems of exposure.

They are taken for granted. Always the champion of the underdog, I like to root for the little guy, and most insects are smaller in scale than us vertebrates. Most people, most of the time, simply consider insects to be "bugs" that are, well, bugging them. They may brush them away or reach for the insecticide on impulse. I'm always inclined to first check them out (and now my boys are growing up this same way, curious first).

My 4 year old received a bunch of bug toys for his birthday, including nets, magnifying glasses, little cages and playpens, even a vacuum to catch the bugs! I look forward to spending many hours with him just coming to appreciate these little things, these little, creepy-crawly things, in our own back yard.

FIXED

Too much information for you? Deal with it.
Well, any regular reader of this blog knows I am inclined to lament and regret, and this is surely a situation for just that: we are no longer in the business of baby-making.

Rejoice all ye champions of population control, common sense, reduced carbon footprint, etc.

I look across my desk at the family portrait, however, and sigh. *sigh* My wife and I make good kids, and though we have a bunch of them (4, for you new folk), it's killing me that we stopped there. Each of my children is so very unique, so very precious, so...cool. They have personalities that never-cease to astound me. They are independent little thinking machines that teach me daily. They seem--from my biased perspective--to be pretty smart.

I'd argue that we've been good for the collective gene pool, and it's sorrowful to have to stop now. I'd argue that our mad breeding has made the world a better place, and that there should be a nation of my offspring, like the sands of the--well, you get the idea. I like my kids, I think we're good folks, and I am having trouble adapting to this new hard line of "no more kids!"

I remember just a few years ago, I was baffled by my buddy who then had six kids and wanted more. I thought he was nuts. Now he and his wife are going to have a seventh, his oldest is something like 18. That means he's been doing diapers for almost two decades! What person in their right mind would do such a thing? A parent who really likes parenting--someone like me, now-a-days.

Heck, I can still remember not wanting ANY KIDS. I held that line for 20 years into my breeding years. According to a recent release, it's going to cost contemporary parents about $200 grand per child to bring their kid through age 17! Gadzooks! Who could AFFORD kids anymore?

On the other hand, when you feel the love, know the joy, reflect and bask regularly in all-things parenting, it's easy to come full-circle like I have, to wonder how one could NOT afford it, or how one might afford to live w/o parenting.

I know, I know, I'm still only 7 years into it. I've had a non-stop stream of people wagging their heads and forewarning me of how terrible it is yet to get. People laugh at me that my youngest will be graduating when I'm in my mid-sixties. Evil is coming, I am told.

I say, bring it.

I spoke briefly with my wife about becoming barren, and she told me that the kids we have provide an infinite opportunity to love and be loved. (She also said, eventually, we could always adopt!)

I know all that, too...but it does not make this new era any easier.

Potency of Infancy

Women are servants of men, have no rights. Children should be seen not heard. Certain races are not human and therefore subject to slavery. Certain religions are supreme and thus any act can be justified (ie war, crusades, genocide, etc). Nuclear fallout isn't any big deal (Bikini island experiments). Petroleum will last forever (muscle cars and American lifestyles). We live in a geo-centric universe.

The above ideas, and so very many more, have proven to be archaic. I would offer that, likewise, we will some day see that we did not take something else to heart: the potency of infancy. By this, I mean that the ages of birth to five are such significantly formative years! What does the world do about this knowledge?

Well, there are a few products out there (of course, if money can be made...) that supposedly stimulate the brain, engage the senses or motor skills. There are special cribs, gyms, toys...for older babies, there are CD's and DVD's that are sure to make a child smarter by exposing them to Mozart, etc.

Other than these stray product-oriented leanings, our culture does little. In the US, lucky parents are given a "generous" six weeks to get back on their feet after a child is born. (In some European nations, it ranges up to two years!) Our schools are still geared to industrial revolution standards of workforce development. We drop kids in daycare or kindergarten without a second thought...and have you seen what passes for "educational television" these days?

If we put the attention on those first five years, what could come of it? If we pressed like we did with the space race in the 1960's or the fear-driven new millennium (remember the threat of computers crashing?)...if we were thoughtful and intentional in our lifestyles and careers to put more and more spin, emphasis, and love into rearing children--what would the world be like later?

Regardless of whether there's any truth to the claim that we learn the most in the first 5 years, we'd still be generating kids that knew love and had respect ladled on them. One of my colleagues said that's what's wrong with the current generation, that they were so pampered and "loved" that they now feel entitled to always get "A's" and have the mentality they can do no wrong. I am not at all arguing to envelop kids in a bubble of warm-fuzzies. I am urging us to stand our culture on its head, to take infancy seriously. I really wonder what could come of it?

It's a conviction I have, yet I sit here at work twiddling my thumbs while my kids, my investment, go fallow. *sigh*

Wordle

I used this in my syllabus!

Turn off the moon, daddy

Not long ago, we went camping. It was a beautiful evening, the best weather all summer. We opted not to put the rainfly on the tent so we could watch the stars. It was a great decision. As I was dozing, I was enjoying the light show of the occasional falling star (the start, I later learned, of the Perseids meteor shower!). Some of the family was snoring. My youngest boy, however, was restless. He kept rolling around. Finally, exasperated, he asked sleepily: "Could you turn off the moon, daddy?"

That is so cool. No matter how powerless I may feel to prevent them from getting a skinned knee or a broken heart...no matter how weak and insecure I may be as a parent...they think I can control even the very Moon, itself! I remember them asking me, likewise, to make it day time again, to make the day last longer, to make it stop raining, snowing, etc...

I know, some day they will see me in my true colors and come to realize I am not omnipotent. They will likely think I'm something of a boob. For now, however, it's pretty cool that they look to me for all this. (And no, I don't deceive them and keep them believing I can rule the world, much as I'd like to--I'm honest with them...most of the time.)

New Desk--is it really ME?

A big new desk can make a guy feel pretty good. This one is big enough for a twin bed mattress, by the look of it. I also got a matching lateral file I'll never completely fill and a credenza that has been a good 2nd desk already. All of this is brand-spankin' new from my employer...otherwise, you who know me know I'd never have it. I couldn't afford it, and it's out of character for me.

So why did I request it? Well, I am not the same man as my teacher persona, and he thrives on such things (ties, new pens, retractable pointers...). For him, a new desk was a necessity, for the old one was hampering his style. It makes him think more of himself (like that was possible).

Like new tools or getting the car washed, a new desk is likely just a guy thing. I am coming to embrace it as my own, regardless of how garish, expensive, large...I'm learning to tolerate Mr. J's extravagances. I'm finding it's just cool to have something like it here in this otherwise humdrum office environment.

I've nothing much to compare this to, for most every office I've ever had was cramped and packed with old furniture salvaged from the hallways. There was one year I worked for a college that opened a new building, and they gave me a new office with all new trappings there--but it did not sit well with me, and I defected to a basement office I had to equip from garage sales (overall more consistent with the real me, who at that time was all-of-me, a bleeding heart volunteer manager).

These days, embracing my teacher-self and my old hippy nature, I don't see "us" putting this desk ensemble to the curb any time soon.

Cars--a chronology

1976 inherited a 1971 Ford Ranchero, 351 C, cobrajet heads
1978 bought a 1971 AMC Javelin
1979 bought a 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix
1980 bought an old Ford Pinto station wagon
1981 bought an older Ford Pinto hatchback
1991 bought a Chevy El Camino
1993 bought a Nissan Pickup
1996 borrowed a Chevy Pickup
1999 bought a GMC Suburban (at a garage sale)
2001 bought a Ford F150
2004 bought a Mazda 626
2004 borrowed a Chevy Pickup
2006 bought a Dodge Grand Caravan
2007 bought a Dodge Avenger
2007 bought a Chevy Blazer

Hollow Heads

I cannot (take the time to) count how many posts I've made about mediocrity and television, but I don't think I've put the two topics together yet, so here goes...

Television broadcasts, programs, "presentations," and what-have-you are really only the vehicle carrying the stock and trade of the industry: commercials. The entire medium is simply a conduit for commercial delivery. Reviewing old commercials and old broadcasts (or sadly, just recollecting them, being old enough to have seen early TV) reveals this truth pretty frankly. "We'll be back after these commercial messages..." was an honest transition into the meat of the matter. Commercials were blunt and straight forward, more product centered, more honest in their delivery, "Don't you want to drive a Buick?" It was an odd balance people tolerated because the medium was new and shiny. As time has passed, the content between the commercials has come to act like it owns the show. It feels to viewers like the commercials are interruptions.

TV has undergone an interesting evolution. Now (if you ask me) more time, talent and money is spent on the production of commercials than on what lies between. About all that's in the middle any more is reality shows, low budget competitions that dull the mind to even recount: Are you smarter than a 5th grader, Biggest Loser, Big Brother...

I rant about this because I know so many people who remain transfixed by television (some even in my own household). Last night I brought up that much of what they are addicted to can be viewed online, on demand, but it fell on deaf ears (I believe there was some funny commercial attracting attention).

I worry about my kids, as I know I've shared before, but I also worry about my older family members. When they finally rise up from the couch or easy chair, the conversation is either about television or some random gossip. There is no meat. There aren't even any potatoes. It's draft.

I sometimes think hard times would be better for America, right down to my own household. I'm talking really hard times, where all this blogging would have to again be in a journal, hardcopy. All our entertainment would be what fun we could make out of breaks in our back-breaking work, where gardening would be for survival instead of good karma. I wonder if then we'd somehow become better people, a better nation? Conversations might turn toward things of the spirit or at least real life.

I wish I could find some way, short of going back in time 100 years, to help people become the best they can be. A first step, in my thinking, is to be wary of the television, to own it rather than be owned by it.

Carnage: "Cash for Clunkers"

I had heard a little about this government scheme to bolster auto sales and get gas guzzlers replaced with fuel-efficient cars. The gimmick sounded okay, seemed like a win/win. It's obviously been a hit with consumers, for the first billion set aside for that went fast! Finally a stimulating stimulus that gets down to the grass roots, or at least hits the pavement of Everywhere, America.

Then I learned they crush the cars turned in.

This seems immoral to me. What about the carbon foot print of that vehicle, to produce, distribute, etc. it in the first place? If it had another 10 years in it, why not wring that out of it? Ohhhhhhh that just chaps my hide.

I am, of course, a fan of old cars, one who idealizes salvage yards...generally, I'm a pack rat. I know there's talk of "recycling" the raw material of these cars.

It's just such wholesale destruction. Carnage!

What will kids drive? What will poor folk like me drive? If all the clunkers are crushed, then what cars will populate the lots of "Rent a Wreck?"

Behold, my first car, my grandfather's Ranchero:



I wish I could fire up a militant group of motor heads, but, alas, there are few shade tree mechanics who would flame over disposing of "modern day" cars of the 80's or 90's--things of plastic and tin that are too computerized to play with. Real motor heads are contentedly working on their muscle cars and vintage autos.

Nonetheless, it feels like we're disposing of cars with life left in them. Similarly, people are put out to pasture (some day to be crushed?) when they are at an age deemed "retirement." I have a couple retired folks under my roof...I think it's a death sentence. It makes one feel old. I don't believe in retirement of anything, I guess, not people, not cars, not even clothes. (Give them to Goodwill!)