I don't know the words...

My oldest son has a vast vocabulary. He's only 6, but he speaks well and knows even more than he can say (and trust me, he can say A LOT!).

Once in a while, however, he will be without the right words. Usually this is when he's in some extreme emotional state, most typically anger or sadness. He'll be crying or growling or throwing things in a tantrum, but when prodded, he can only apologize with, "Daddy, I don't have the words. I don't know enough words to tell you how I feel."

Now, we may say this when the words are slow-coming, or when we'd rather not articulate things...sometimes even grown ups have a hard time putting something into words, granted.

But when he says this, he means it. We've talked about it many times. "How come there are not good words for how you feel?" he will ask me, or "What is a word for when you want to [typically graphic violence] someone?"

I find it interesting that he has so many words and ideas, yet this is the limit of his language. For being such an expressive young man, he still struggles with verbalizing his emotion. Sometimes I wonder if kids have emotions that are off our charts, beyond our words. Maybe we all tend to pull down our person to fit societal norms, including our emotions? Maybe there truly are no words to articulate what he's experiencing, and for me to name it something mundane would be to rob it of its originality.

I know, some may read this and say, spank him and get it over with, he's throwing a fit. I may go there, but I likely take these many side roads along the way.

No ZIPPERS?

Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act = Utter Insanity



In this litigious world, I sometimes wonder just how safe we're going to have to get. I just learned from family that Goodwill and other thrift stores cannot sell clothing with zippers any more. Some law went into effect on Feb 1 that leaves vendors of zippered clothing liable for injury that might result from the deadly devices.



The CPSIA covers primarily lead paint issues, other related safety hazards. There are a great number of items to be pulled from the shelves unless they can be proven safe. Second hand stores cannot afford testing, processing, and propping themselves up legally like a mega-giant-big box retailer may. From everything I've read, it might just lead to the ruination of a great deal of small businesses resellers. Even if the CPS has let resellers off the hook, as I read allusions to, the word is not getting around locally.



Thrift stores in the Wichita area are taking wholesale safeguards. To prevent fines and litigation, they are ditching materials that even might be hazardous. (And this we have on good authority from a local thrift shop manager.) Thus pallets of perfectly good clothing is to be destroyed. Not given away. Not shipped to developing nations where people would enjoy the zippered clothes and have the good sense not to zip one's organ in the grinder. (And if they did, they would not sue someone for their own stupidity.)



Will there someday be a time when we are all wearing clothes fastened by velcro? Is there, perhaps, some inherent danger even in velcro?



Where does natural selection come in here, people? If someone is stupid enough to injure themselves with a zipper, do they not deserve it? Why should they be able to sue the manufacturer or vendor for a zipper catastrophe? How bad could it be, anyway? Have people died from zipper malfunction?



I know, I know, most of the hubbub is around lead that might be used in bangles, buttons and zippers...it's crazy that this even extends to children's books printed before 1985 which might have lead in their composition. Even libraries are affected!! I find this to be at the top of my 2009 list of STUPIDITY. I am a parent, and I'm all for the safety of my children. My kids aren't dumb enough to chew on zippers, buttons and books so very much they're getting lead poisoning. I'm sure I've even eaten my share of lead paint as a child, and ut dowuknd't uuufict mie yaaanni!



We should all just wear government-issue "safe" clothing and read only government-issued safe books.



Zippers were always too erotic anyway.

It took a long time to legislate them out!

What hurts a 3 year old...

(parental blathering, again)

I am protective of my kids, as most parents likely are...and when a bully gets to them or a television show scares them or...well, I'm there for them. Now sometimes my temper gets the best of me, and then I am the source of pain for my kids--that sends me into a tailspin of regret and gnashing of teeth.

The only time I get more angry is when some corporation (McDonalds, Wal-Mart, etc.) hurts my kids. They manipulate my kids all the time through ads, commercials, target marketing at knee-height, and so on. That, at least, I have learned to tolerate.

The other day, however, a large corporation that tours with Bob The Builder really chapped my hide. They were promoting Bob's big Wichita appearance, and that very day my wife liquidated my life insurance and bought us all tickets on row 2! Now, Carson, my 3 year old, loves Bob the Builder beyond measure. I think sometimes he patterns too much of his life around Bob, like those times when I find tools in bed with us...or times when he "fixes" things that do not need toddlers hammering on them. Bob, to Carson, is the icon of all things good and right with the world, and the chance to see Him Live--well, even Carson was speechless.

Alas, the corporate villains cancelled the show only a week later (thus, a week before the show) and my wife broke the news to Carson over supper. I have not seen him sob and weep like that EVER. (I don't think the other boys have ever been so distraught, either, for that matter.) It was terribly painful for us all.

So, what hurts a 3 year old? Broken promises. Cancelled appearances. Retracted offers. You should read my wife's blog to see just what the boys offered as their (violent) reactions and what they suggested for the show's promoters! This blog is too tame to list such things.

Dirt

I have found that I know next-to-nothing about dirt.

Every farmer/gardener worth his green thumb should know all about dirt. Even every-day folk who just have a flower pot on the porch ought to know a little something. Here I am, however, on a warm day in February and ready to get gardening--and I must admit I know nada.

Now, this is especially embarrassing as I did grow up on a farm. We had a large spread, however, over 3000 irrigated acres, and we tilled and fertilized Big Picture. I am not on that scale, and I do not want to use chemicals (herbicides and pesticides and fertilizers) unless I have to.

Thank goodness for the Internet.

I need to find an "ask stupid gardening questions" website. I have so many to pose...

For instance, yesterday my 3 year old and I discovered some very nice dirt, to my way of thinking. It was under leaves and decomposed branches and rot, altogether an area about the size of an average yard, I'd guess. The soil was black and what I'd call loamy (?). It resembled the stuff you buy in a bag, potting soil. I'm pretty sure it's The Good Stuff. Now I just have to figure out what to do with it.

We raked up a mighty pile of debris covering the Black Dirt. It seems like it would be good to help make my raised beds not so compacted. I'm thinking about doing a lasagna effect and alternating layers of the leafy decomposed stuff, the black dirt, some real bagged stuff, some top soil (I'm thinking to have a truckload delivered for multiple purposes) and maybe some of the grass clippings from the last 2 years...but I have no idea what order or how thick or if I'm making a bad mix...

...but I CAN read, and I WILL find out.

To me, this phase, the dirt, is the most essential. I really want to get it right.

I know real gardeners work on things year-around, but at least I've burned off an area in January and am now getting my dirt together in February...building raised beds in March (and likely starting to plant something maybe).

I cannot wait to get home and get raking/shoveling again today!

Virtual Victrola

...my internal iPod...

It annoys my spouse, I'm sure, and perhaps anyone else who's close enough to me to notice. I suppose I just Jones out once in a while, expressionless, maybe smiling. Sometimes I'm sure I hum...

Here's the thing. I always have music going in my head.

It's not like a voice in my head (though there are vocalists, so I guess...). It's not like I'm making things up, though I can take a tune, even a very complicated one, and twist and turn it around to recombobulate it, change the syncopation or the dynamics or the words or the instruments or...you get the idea.

At times I can get just a snippet of a tune I know, then I'm good for hours. Unlike my brother, the Rainman, I cannot tell you about artists, albums, eras--he can accurately recount all that for you. I cannot always recall lyrics with any shade of assurance. I can, most of the time, pull enough of a tune out that it keeps me occupied for a long while.

This is complicated by Jingles, which have more power over me than any other form of advertising, obviously. I can hear a Jingle once, and then be stuck with it all day. I can "accidentally" hear some song over a store's speakers, even elevator music, then find myself replaying it over and over, like it or not. I have to consciously rethink the tunes, change the mental playlist consciously, to over-ride the tune of the moment.

My music is also complicated by radio/channel changing friends/family. It hearkens back to Max Headroom's BlipVert issue. If someone is scanning through channels and I get just a clip of this, then that, then the other--eeesh. I may end up with a mash-up of it all going in my head. I can sometimes pick which one gets pulled to the front, or I can sometimes shut them all out with something more "popular" or well-known in my head, but other times I am simply overwhelmed.

Fortunately, that does not happen often. If I can attune myself to something else when the channel flipping is happening, then I'm okay.

I actually enjoy this bizarre "gift" of mine, most of the time. It allows me to wile away the hours and never be without a song in my heart. I worry, however, about getting older and losing more control of my head. I worry that songs may crowd out essentials (unless, perhaps, there is nothing more essential than a song in one's heart?). I agonize that I may get stuck on a Jingle, indefinitely. I wonder, more and more, if it's obvious to others that I'm listening to some soundtrack at the same time they are talking to me, that I'm having to consciously attend to them or let them be drown out my my music.

I worry, perhaps most of all, that I'm alone in this whole musical madness.

Clone my dog?

Headline on radio show today related a yellow lab was cloned in Korea for $150,000.

This is not the first instance of a pet being immortalized by being cloned. Apparently, this cloning generates a puppy that looks exactly like the original, even though it will grow up with a personality of its own. It truly IS the original, right down to the genetic makeup, but honestly folks, is there any being that's worth dubbing for $150,000? At my most arrogant, I would not want to be immortalized at any price.

I've been fond of some pets, sure, but I'd rather just go to the pound and save one from certain death. I'd rather just return to the kennel/breeder that brought me Roger , our beagle, than go to all the money, time and effort of having him cloned.

What's it say about our world when we're willing to sink that much cash into cloning a dog rather than feeding starving people or investing that money in education?

Jeepers!

Frank and Earnest

Before I was a parent, I would easily tire of proud parents yammering about their "special" children and gosh-darn cute things they'd say/do.

Now my wife and I grieve that we cannot capture everything. We want helmet cams to wear, and we'd like to wire the kids for 24/7 capture of those things they say, too. (Yes, even in their sleep.)

Something happened last Monday that inspired this entry: at the end of HomeSchool Group--a loose association of parents and kids who homeschool, getting together monthly for crafts and socializing--my son was saying bye to a buddy. The other guy hugged and kissed my son on the cheek. In that moment of embrace, when they were both so sincerely friends who'd miss each other, without a smidge of homophobia or reservations of public displays of affection, without any of the hands-off clutter that most of us in the USA are blocked by--they hugged and kissed.

Now, I could not do that with just anyone, no matter how much they meant to me, be they same sex/students, etc...there are Conditions on being old.

But for them, at that moment, being so frank in their friendship and feelings--beautiful.

Likewise, my boys are inclined to shout "Oh, Baby!" about the prospect of a bath or a walk on our trails...they are so excited, so earnest to live and move and Be...

...I've written in repeatedly, but we should all be more childlike.

I am utterly in Awe

In the course of this week, two folks sent me videos that astound me. Both of these give me cause to pause and marvel. The first is a floor routine that is like juggling, gymnastics, dance, and a whole lot of talent! At first I thought she was doing all this with a bowling ball!




This second video is exactly what I'd be doing with my time if I did not have any children depending on me for their future. What a trip it must be to "fly" like these folk! They are so very radical/crazy in what they do here! (I wonder if there is a military application for these suits, prolly so.)


wingsuit base jumping from Ali on Vimeo.

Altogether, I am inspired. About all I can do is walk and chew gum at the same time.

Random holiday reflections

So, I've been offline a week or two. It's now xmas eve and not what I'd like to have happening. Instead, it's loud and chaotic, last minute shopping and wrapping, hectic house cleaning (hopefully yet to come)...

...I wish it were a commercial free holiday. Lots of family reminiscing over something significant, something like a Rockwellian holiday, seen through a filter that blurs the edges, candle-lit charm, xmas music in the background, sipping cider...but it will be nothing of the sort all through the holiday.

Yesterday, for a brief interlude, I was in a store I loved, a health food store that was connected to an independent bookstore via a non-Starbucks coffee shop. It was just the kind of place consistent with my true core values and beliefs. It was what I really saw my life being like, going to poetry readings, writing short stories, rapping with peers over weighty subjects. I always wanted to buy things from developing nations, like from 10,0000 villages, the store. I figured I'd have cultivated friendships globally, perhaps served a term or two abroad myself, known hundreds of kindred spirits through Volunteers through Peace, Peace Corps, etc.

I guess, rather than getting sad over it, I should instead realize life takes turns, and that somehow this must be the turn for the best. It reminds me of "It's a Wonderful Life," and more recently, "Click" or "The Family Man" (or whatever it is, with Nicholas Cage). Their lives went west of center, not south, and they had come not to value what they had. It was not what they intended, and thus, it was deemed mediocre. They learned through the movie, what was truly of value.

I know that my family and what we're working on here is truly of value and consistent with my lifelong goals. It has very little semblance to what I visualized it being, but I guess that's okay. In essence, this is it, even if it's in disguise.

Curious.

I hope in the next year to really get into my Mother Earth News and start gardening and building with gusto. I want to cultivate comfortably w/n my means and values, from crops to friends. I want to begin into livestock, but I'm still wondering about living more conscientiously with the animal world (becoming vegetarian?), and I don't like thinking of what it would be like to raise a calf or pig to just slaughter. It's not that I don't acknowledge that it happens daily on my behalf for shoes, belts, and tons of meat right now, but at least I'm not doing it, directly. Maybe being that involved in what we eat will make us more appreciative of it (see slow food movement and related posts). I hope to find my niche in my head that embraces who I wanted to be more comfortably with who I am (it seems) left to be now. I want to see how I can make it all work out together. I am likely to have to work more and more this next year, especially if we are to ever build on or build outbuildings--all these things take money. Then again, more work is not consistent with more family, friends, farming, etc...but I'll work it out.

I hope everyone has a happy holiday and gets to reflect over the year, plan ahead for 2009. I may not get too worked up about these next three years until I see what happens to 2012, the next year prognosticated as the End of the World. After that, well, then maybe I'll start saving money. :)

Viral Video Highlights

There's little I can add to this, other than to restate how wonderful the world is with the Internet!

Enjoy...

It comes

Building, like the pressure and the silence when I dive deep in a pool, that feeling I get is coming again. Like the tangle of too much bedding and a night sweat to boot, I feel it enveloping me, early this year. It comes without regard, without reservation. It looms large, like a pressure system change, like a massive thunderhead. I have known weightlessness, having been bungee jumping, and I know that I will feel that, too, so very soon. The weightlessness of gloom, the darkness that follows the lightening storm. The End of the Semester Blues is creeping up on me like a high tide acid bath.

At least I know it is there, behind every door, waiting behind this monitor for when I send in the last grade. I can steel myself up against it this time, maybe, and avoid the funk, but it will still get on my shoes, in my hair, and stuck in the corners of my eyes. I'll be blowing it out of my sinuses for weeks, shaking it out of my shorts and shoes, too. About the time I shed that skin, a new semester will begin, and then...and THEN! Ahhhhh....it all begins again!




I could use a smoke!

On the eve of "knowing..."

...I'm not sure I want to. Tomorrow, through the marvels of modern medicine, we will come to learn a small bit of information. About noon tomorrow, another life will come into a clearer focus as we learn if that peanut in my wife's belly is to be a boy or girl. While my boys at home think this only matters as to whether she will sit or he will stand to pee, the +/- of it all is everything at once.

Having never had a daughter, I find it daunting.



Just considering the sex of the child is so very vast, so epic to me. I am so very glad that genetic engineering is still in its infancy, for I would not ever feel confident-enough to determine someone's destiny by what to predetermine they pack in their pants.

I think even if I were an old hand at fatherhood, if I'd birthed a brood of boys AND girls, myself--I don't think that even then I'd have the nerve to pin the tail on the donkey. To hang a penis on one or carve a niche for another--that's the stuff of God.

About as close as I dare imagine is to have a role in naming new beings that are my responsibility. My wife and I spend hours, days, years planning something so seemingly simple as a name. Sometimes I don't care, so far as even to let our firstborn name our third-born...knowing all the while that the kid can always have a name change down the road. Besides, they're likely to get stuck with some nickname, Skippy or Sparky or something, so perhaps the Power of Names is highly over-rated.

I was noodling around about this very issue early this morning, worrying that if we were to have a daughter, just how very challenging it is to come up with her first and middle names, irregardless of how well they may sound with our last name, since she would be likely to take the name of her husband in just a couple decades. So in naming her, one must think up something that goes well with everything, yet is not inconsistent with the naming conventions already established in our clan. Oh, the agony! So very tricky to even entertain! (So, on this note, I hope the newbie will be a boy, again.)

Once we do Know, it seems a whole chain reaction takes place, from wardrobe to sleeping arrangements. Even now, well, tomorrow, I will begin to assemble a world for him/her that is in his/her best interests. I will align the planets, set the galaxies in orbit around that child...and oddly, to me, so very, very much of what is to be established is indeed related to what's between the legs.

That's a crass way of saying it, but really--men and women are as different as species, at times. This news tomorrow will be the catalyst of a lifetime of sexism and typecasting, like it or not. The pink or the blue? The dolly or the gun? Though we have always encouraged our boys to be themselves (yeah, they have dolls and nurture them, so eat THAT)....I must admit, even now, that no matter how fairly I intend to operate things, there will be assumptions, accommodations, etc. that will be less-than-equitable, should peanut be a princess. I guess all I can do is try my best.

...but maybe all this angst is just for nothing. There is no knowing until the sonogram, and unfortunately, I'll be in class issuing a final when my newest creation issues his/her barbaric yawlp into the embryonic fluid and the ear of the sonographer.

*sigh*

So...Snow!

Don't I have anything better to write about than the weather? Not today. It's the first true snowfall of the year here, and I'm giddy. While I welcome every season change (that's why I stay here) I seem to be especially nostalgic when it comes to winter snow. I suppose it's got something to do with all the holiday clap-trap. I'm sure there's more being made of it all in my mind and memory than ever in reality...

I can remember scaling a snow drift that allowed easy access to the roof of our shop. I can still recall watching the weather man (on a black and white television) moving felt stick-on's that represented fronts, high and low pressure--all very technical sounding stuff by today's standards--and waiting for him to even hint at a snow day. I've been in my share of snow ball fights, built many-a snow fort, made a few snow angels. Having grown up in the country, we also were known to ride old pickup truck hoods as sleds behind the tractor. We used to come in from the cold to stand (on one foot, then the other), dripping, shivering over a floor furnace--warmth never felt so good!

I've been fascinated with what wind can do to snow. I'm sure it can sculpt sand and even stone over time--but snow drifting is glistening, sparkly and temporal. In eastern Kansas, where the wind is wimpy, I've been amazed at how snow can pile six inches high on a fence post.

I'm documenting all these warm-fuzzies, for I know there will be days this winter when I will curse the cold and snow. Today, however, while it's all fresh in my mind and new for the season, I rejoice!

Health is Wealth

Last week I had to go to a medical specialist for an *ahem* issue. Since it was my first visit, I had reams of paperwork to complete. As I am not one to go to doctors, it is rare that I fill all this out.

After something like 40 potential ailments and more family history--all checked off duly as "no" "no" "no" I began to feel better already! I may not even have needed to see the specialist, for after it was clarified that I was not hurting from x, y, z...I felt downright healthy!

I think many of us need to acknowledge just how healthy we are. I know that I take it for granted far too much. I've never had a surgery, never a broken bone (save knuckles). I've not been hospitalized, ever...until my kids were born, I'd never even spent the night in one, other than my own birth.

My three boys are all models of health. Every time one gets the sniffles or a belly ache, however, I become a worry-wort for them. My in-laws dealt with losing a boy at the age of 13 to lukemia--I do not think I could handle that. I just need to continue to be thankful and aware of the good health given to us. I need to celebrate it daily! It's so great to be healthy (even if pathetically out of shape) that it should be a national holiday! Health happiness should get its own day of the week, like the sabbath.

Yee-haw for Health!

The Road

I just finished a James Patterson novel in about two days, and while it was fun and engaging, it's gone. On the other hand, I read The Road, by Cormac McCarthy just last week before Thanksgiving, and it continues to resonate.

Set in a grizzly post-nuclear war wasteland, the novel can be read as a father and son travel tale. "The man" never is named, we never know his former profession, height, appearance--the story seems void of most of the conventional trappings of character development. "The boy" likewise is universally undefined; not even his age is clear. It's hard to tease out exactly how long ago the world was torched, but I'm guessing about six or seven years. Throughout the book, the two encounter a few other people, a lot of corpses, bones and skulls.

They are on a march south, to somewhere that may be warm and not overcast (from what I interpret to be Nuclear Winter). Everything seems hopeless, except the goal, and even that seems more of a mindset than a reality. They seem to be gritty survivors more than victims, but the man's wife argues they are not even that:

We're survivors he told her across the flame of the lamp.
Survivors? she said.
Yes.
What in God's name are you talking about? We're not survivors. We're the walking dead in a horror film.

The wife's description sums up everyone they meet. No one is well, suggesting that radiation, ash, no health care--all the above--is wearing everyone left on down to the bone. Description and imagery like made the book so seizing to me: Wearing masks and goggles , sitting in their rags by the side of the road like ruined aviators.

I've read many post-apocalyptic yarns, but this one is getting a place on my shelf next to Jonathan Schnell's non-fiction nuclear war scare book The Fate of the Earth. It has a degree of credibility and sensation to it like few I've read before, and yet it's speculative fiction, describing a world I hope we never come to know. McCarthy's depth of detail and creativity astound me.

This was most evident to me in the way the man and boy value things that we take for granted: a shopping cart, a blanket, a tarp, a Kool-aid pack. Little details of their lives take on seismic significance, like when the boy accidentally leaves the gas turned on a propane lamp, a recent find they treasured for its heat and light. They find a smattering of cornmeal in a cabinet and carefully sift the mouse feces and dirt from it before making little corn cakes which they savor. The attention to scarcity, the MacGuyver-like resourcefulness, and the unique approach to survival--all incredibly imaginative.

Had I read this book seven years ago, before I started down the path of fatherhood, I would have missed a great deal of the novel's potency. I might have offered something like the blurb on the cover, that The Road "is an unflinching meditation on the worst and the best of what we are capable of: ultimate destructiveness, desperate tenacity, and the tenderness that keeps two people alive in the face of total devastation."

Now, however, I find the book is truly all about fatherhood, in the absolute most challenging situation one might imagine. The man wakes at night to put his hand on his son's chest to feel his heart and breathing. Sometimes he does this when the boy is terribly ill or cold, times when life would seem to be fragile. Other times he does this in reverence. The man, I gather, has taught this boy everything he knows, and I believe the boy knew no other life before the bomb (sad as that is, the boy, under his father's leadership, has values and a good spirit). Still, the boy comes up with phrases and ideas that surprise his father (just like my boys do, but they are surrounded by inputs). Their relationship is the heart of the book, and it's a must-read for any dad.

In fact, for anyone who's needing a hero, I suggest reading The Road. While the man may not act like Mad Max or that Kostner character from Waterworld, his small acts, like giving a last morsel of food to his son, make him a hero. He tells his son they are the good guys, the keepers of the flame, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Now I find, while looking for a book jacket image, that this novel has been made into (what appears to be a respectable) film. It is scheduled for release in 2009!

Tough Guys have Big Hair

see famous look-a-like faces

I need bigger hair to look really tough! Now I have a goal I can reach. What's it take to grow hair?

Actually, I was just sharing this as a great time-wasting site to check out: Totally Looks Like

King me

I don't know why this iconic character has such an effect on me. I read a study on BK's King, and the gist of it was that it conveyed a sassy and bold, humorous and vivid image that appealed across demographics.









There are some of these commercials that just wig me out, like Waking up with the King. Others are mildly amusing and do not traumatize me psychologically.






The King is so popular that Halloween masks have been made in his likeness. Websites adore him and sell his merchandise. I have reported sightings of him on billboards, buses, television, etc...

I even have a bobble head of him in my office.

I wonder what it says about our culture that we find this character so... so... interesting? curiously engaging? off-beat and hip? What IS it about the King?

I don't know that I've referenced this site here at MPark, but I've shared it with many people through the years. I find it more-than-amazing, whatever that might be. It's so very boggling to me just how many bizarre things are submitted for patent. Take a tour through the site--you will NOT believe it!
Patently Silly - The Humor of Invention - presented by Daniel Wright

Sleep Calculus

I am of the belief that one hour of sleep before midnight is worth two hours after. That sure holds true in my lifestyle. If I sleep 9-midnight, I'm energized for the day--really! Typically I'll stay in bed and rest longer, but sometimes (about this time of year with hellish grading expectations) I sleep less and less.

When I was in college, I would visit my best friend in Hays, and he would not entertain the idea of sleep until nearly dawn (about when I typically get up). He would not let me sleep, either, until he was good and ready. Those visits about killed me.

Chalk it up to Ben Franklin (or whomever truly said it): Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. (I'd agree with healthy, anyway!)

Toward a more perfect Union

So I've been at this institution for about four years now. In this course of time I've been lucky enough to participate in the planning of this new student union, which had a ribbon cutting/grand opening today! My role was tiny, just conducting surveys in classes and offering input and doing a few walk throughs along the way...but actually being inside it today, full of folk--priceless!

I was reflecting with a colleague on how some of our finest memories of our college years were spent at the Union. It was a time to really get to know a professor as a person, to sometimes dive deep, sometimes go off the charts entirely. It was a place of fellowship and (for me, all too often) intense study.

I also must confess I spent my entire student loan there on pinball.

Today, I am feeling all warm and fuzzy, happy from head to toe, for I think this facility is just what this college needed at this site. I am going to hold a number of my office hours over there, and I hope to have some moments with my students like I once had with my profs.

Oh, and for the grand opening, they had some great finger food, too! I never missed any college function serving food, back in the day, and I've never been disappointed at the food served at this college, ever!

Well? Tell me!

I truly enjoy answering the "why" questions that my 3 sons throw at me constantly. I find it challenging to offer answers (and fun to make up answers, too). I looked forward to it from the time the oldest first began (and has never-since stopped) talking, and I will relish it as the last installment (due out in May) offers his questions, too.

Lately, however, the eldest has been asking real puzzlers. He has evolved to a new, very interesting, level of thinking.

Just this month he has asked me, while watching a video on firefighting, "Daddy, what happens if a firehouse catches on fire?" When I returned from the doctor the other day, "Daddy, what if the doctor gets sick?"

Soon he'll be posing really challenging conundrums. I'd better brace myself!

What's it all Mean?

I find teaching poetry in Intro to Lit to be liberating, for I am of the mind that most good poetry is more about experiencing the work than walking away with a single meaning. This, of course, drives some students mad. What does it matter, what it's all about?

I've long wondered why the Hokey Pokey espoused such self-importance.

What was the answer to the meaning of life in Monty Python?

Damning Recreation

This illustrates what NOT to do if you are a public figure.

The oldest man in the boat is my former Dean. I'll call him "Dean", here, to preserve whatever may be left of his reputation.

Once Dean had sat me down and lectured me forwards and back on how it was improper to have young college girls over to my house at all hours of the night. He made this claim after having observed my home through a privacy fence and about 100 yards that separated our properties. He said he was just looking out for me, but that I should not ever be seen w/students off the clock, especially at odd hours, especially at night, etc. It was quite the sermon. (At the time, I was just taken aback that he would be "spying" on me so much, that I was even a person of interest.)

Dean went on from my humble school to become President at another. His school became embroiled in the workstudy/college athlete scandal, but eventually after much gray hair and wrinkling, he emerged from that debacle okay.

Then, in August, this photo of him emerged, was published, and eventually led to his resignation. I wonder what happened to Dean's common sense, dignity, and sense of impropriety? I wonder what happens now to him, sans six-figure income?

That must have been one hell of a fun time to have cost him so very much.

Then again, why did it?

And for that matter, what was so improper about me having young ladies to my house back in the day? Maybe we were grant writing.

We are not clergy, not really of any office that should demand some kind of holier-than-thou lifestyle, right? Was pouring a drink for some young lass, off the clock, on the lake, such a crime? I would not have fired him for such an action, even if the whole crew of said boat were underage (which, in all likelihood, they were). So he wasn't a model of clean living at that moment. Maybe he wasn't living by his own advice...but so what?!

In this age, where cameras are ubiquitous, how can anyone expect to always be captured in a Norman Rockwellian moment? Who among us may occasionally sigh, "Whew, glad that wasn't on camera!"

I'm not proud of Dean getting caught with his shirt off there. I'm sure worse pictures of me are floating around (photoshopped, of course!)...and I know there are many moments of my life I'm not proud of, overall.

But really, morality police, get over it!

Fax me an iPod, will ya?

Rapid Prototyping has intrigued me for some time. I think I first saw a fictional version of it in action in the movie "Small Soldiers." In the film, Chip Hazard and other characters are formed with a laser-looking thing that squirts their image into 3-D.


I saw similar technology employed in Mission Impossible, when Tom Cruise has a mask made so he can infiltrate the bad guys' camp. Basically, it's a technology that builds up layer after layer of goop into a shape designed by a computer aided drafting/drawing (CAD) system. It's called "additive fabrication," for it builds by building on itself, one tiny layer at a time. Primitive versions of this actually use old ink jet printer technology, so renaming Rapid Prototyping "3-D printing" seems to be a good idea to me.

I've seen footage of an iPod case being manufactured via rapid prototyping. It reminded me of a monster-making kit I had when I was a kid, a "fright factory!"



I've read that in short order parts can be ordered via computer over long distances and then just "printed" at your location. This will require one to have the hardware, of course, but imagine if this were to catch on!? It could reduce transportation costs, eliminate the middle men, and generally speaking be pretty darn cool! From what I understand, as this technology evolves and is coupled with nanotechnology, even computer components will be "manufactured" by pouring substances as per advanced CAD directives. One may actually, someday, be able to order something like an iPod to be built on site, on demand!

I believe in Anxiety

I believe in anxiety, that is, I believe it is okay to be anxious, to embrace anxiety and squeeze the power from it. I have learned that painful uneasiness pushes me to perform. For all manner of things even remotely within my sphere of influence, anxiety has proven to be rocket fuel for my soul.

I was once self conscious of my anxiety. I would rarely confess it to anyone else, for I thought to be at all troubled was to be weak. The first time I learned that performance anxiety was not my own issue was when I shared my fear with a preacher. He sat me down on the edge of the stage and patted my shoulder. “Mark, if I were ever to take that pulpit and not be a little queasy, I’d flop.” It was a revelation to me. This man seemed so very charismatic, so large and in charge, so natural from the microphone (authentic, just like at that moment on the steps). He seemed strong and courageous, like there was nothing he could not talk about intelligently and forcefully.

I began to watch him closely. I started to notice the fidgeting leg as he sat waiting to take the pulpit after the choir. I watched him in his rituals, just like a major league ball player. First he would lay his bible on the pulpit, then smile at the crowd, then stroke the cover with an open palm. Every week he would do this same thing, and I could tell that somewhere in that ritual, he was finding his energy to combat his anxieties.

In college, it took me a while to harness the power of anxiety. I would flit from class to class, assignment to assignment, willy-nilly. I would never grapple with a calendar, what was due when…instead; I would constantly be surprised by deadlines, overwhelmed with homework. I would pull all-nighters and turn work in late. (This did, I suppose, help me with creativity, for I was able to manufacture some of the best excuses for late work I have ever heard!)

Finally, in my fifth year of college, I became an adrenaline junkie. I was doing my “teaching block” in a public school, and I had to ride the wave of anxiety daily. It would crest when I went into the classroom, and like my preacher, I had to grab it and pin it down for myself. I was able to learn to turn anxiousness to enthusiasm. Sure, I never knew how a class period would work out, and yes, some flopped. What happened, though, was that I was able to convert dread into power, failure into motive to do better.

Overtime, I became Mr. J, a persona of wild passion and caustic wit. I excised my anxiety by moving and by channeling it into charismatic delivery. I really have been able to burn white hot in class, and that’s likely why every day after class, I am exhausted.

Fly Naked

This image is from here which recently ran an article on Virtual Strip Search (backscatter) technology. A student brought this to my attention in a research paper, though x-ray searches have gone on since 9/11 in airports and even longer, so the articles say, in prisons.

The controversies surrounding this range from invasion of privacy to invasive technology, from kiddie "porn" to physical side effects. I've seen this in sci-fi movies for decades, and until I really thought about it, the whole thing seemed pretty cool.

My biology buddy even tells me the technology can detect drug running mules, seeing actually inside the body! Talk about invasive! I might not want my breast implants, colostomy bag, penile extensions, dirty laundry, etc. to be viewed by anyone w/o my express, immediate and intimate interest in them. I might not want my kids' neked images bandied about.

Thanks to terrorism scares, the Patriot Act, and the sheep that bleat consent at every legislative gesture, these days the technology is coming into the common place. My kids won't even balk at it, much like I don't think twice about being known by my social security number (something my father thought was a mark of the beast!)

I never knew I was so conservative until I started paying attention to just how many things are legislated for us, taken for granted. Privacy is no longer good form.

I think next time I fly I will cover myself in aluminum foil before going to the airport, you know, under my clothes, just to see what happens.

Hitler Youth to Brownshirts; Painted Babies to Beauty Queens

TLC premiered the pageant documentaries Painted Babies at 17 and Toddlers & Tiaras in September. I don't watch much TV, so I missed them.
I did, however, just watch this clip, and it makes me shudder. Kids are so very responsive to parent/guardian praise and punishment. They are so very eager to earn praise and to do good. I don't know if any other beastie in the animal kingdom is so hardwired for positive reinforcement. I do know that this kind of behavior on the part of a parent is deplorable.

Boys are far from immune, either. I've witnessed hapless youth manipulated into daddy's little (fill in the blank--mini-me). It was nationalized by the Germans when the Hitler Youth came into being, but it is widespread everywhere, even here in Kansas, today. Sporting events are the most obvious. I've seen parents at ballgames behaving in ways that would make even the Fuhrer embarrassed! I know of one daddy who drives his kids so very hard with insults that I have come close to intervening. It reminds me of an article I read last year about some parents pitting their kids against one another in a street fight, just to "toughen them up." I wouldn't be surprised if those same parents may have been taking side bets on the victor.

To me, it all goes back to letting kids be kids. Let them be little. Give them time to grow into whomever they are inclined to become. I hope I do not put too much of my direction on the shoulders of my little ones!

Reflections

*sap alert*

It's the end of October, a time of year my Trick or Treat bag is stuffed with jawbreakers, deal-busters, heart ache and mirror-shattering reflection. Irrevocable errors happened here, this date in history, events occurred in haunted houses now bull-dozed away (some of them literally).

Death haunts me in this season, when I feel the chill in the air and curse the ice to be scraped, when I mourn the loss of leaves and stare bleakly at the cold gray days—I remember vividly the last heart-to-heart I had with my late father. I return to that ghastly first Thanksgiving without him, and the funeral just days later. It’s the time of year things happen for a reason: rediscovering the ring my uncle pulled from my dad’s dead fingers and put into my palm, finding an old file box with journal entries from that first year without him. I feel the cold indifference and harsh wind of western Kansas, always pushing against me.

I revisited the campus and office and mentor of SLC, these three letters meaningless to any reader, though forever emblazoned on my soul. It was Service Learning Central, a cause I mistakenly gave my very life’s blood for a decade. I had no life to speak of, and I drove so many people so hard it’s a wonder I have any friends from that era. We did many great things, but the motive is always dubious in my memory and the blinding zeal I once had for it will never return. (Here, anyone who endured that with me is happy!)

It was bizarre to be back in that place at this time, almost five years since I left. I was working early in the morning on the first day of Thanksgiving break when a sheriff called me in the office to give me the bad news about my father. From there it was a whirlwind of decisions, of doors closing, of leaving and moving and mourning not only my loss of my father but also the shattering of my spiritual compass, my driving force. I was without rudder, without a soul it seemed, for the better part of a year.

To stand again in my old office, the birthplace of many great ideas, the forge which burned white hot so often with enthusiasm unbounded…to be me, now, unplugged, in that place that had once been more my home than my house…it was so very odd. I was just in an office, an old paneled and painted humble basement office. Very little of the original furnishings, photos, etc. remained—just enough to bring back a resonance I was not too sure I wanted to feel. I was all at once haunted, then relieved. My wife and three kids were with me there, and I was quickly able to distance myself from myself, to regain my traction and healthy perspective that I’ve worked at for these last few years.

The end of October also screams shrilly of the end of the semester, a time one should be relieved, a time to enjoy some vacation time. I tend (typically) to balloon up with regret and sorrow. I begin, about now, to miss the students I’ve just come to know. I start listing, last week in fact, my many shortcomings this fall that I would like to improve upon for next term (late return of work, not enough emphasis on textbook…). At the turn of the year, I do this same thing with my own self improvement inventory.

I know it’s football season, that it’s the time of scarecrows and bonfires and pumpkin carving fun. I love the color, the crispness, the upcoming Turkey feast! I like nesting for the winter some, not having to mow for a few months. I even like the challenge of getting from point A to point B in the snow, against the elements. Hopefully, whenever I am in the shadow of all the darker memories of this season I can find a focus to celebrate now and then.

Otherwise, it’s pretty grim!

' Verse

We may have lost the battle...okay, even the war...but you STILL can't take the sky from me. You can't even take my patriotism away. Like it or not, thousands of veterans pressed for this monument, our last stand, oddly enough a place I'd never visit (but love to know is there).

I could so easily get drawn into RPG's. Long ago, there was a little game we played on the big floppies called ZORG. It required one to have several disks on hand, to swap them out on command. It was purely a monochromatic screen with interactive text, but it wowed me at the time. I worked my way through a series of levels of that game, and had it not been for a computer failure, I might still be at it to this day--absorbing.

I do not know what it is that makes one so susceptible to such gaming, where one takes on a persona, lives and breathes in-character. Maybe it's a sort of frustrated acting urge. Maybe it's some dissatisfaction with real life (RL). In my case, it isn't either.

I think in my case it's that I like fiction. I really like being immersed in a good read, and for me, one step further is being interactive with a fiction. That's likely what the springboard has been that's stimulated my interest in Virtual Worlds, namely, currently, Second Life.

I am going to do some research on this whole thing, from RPG's to VW's overall.

Meanwhile, an update: I have now discovered how troubling it can be when one's avatar goes bad. Well, it was no one's doing but my own, of course, but it seems my avatar is forever changed. I was tinkering with various "looks" and now cannot return (without a great deal of rework and time) to his look of over a year. (I should have saved his likeness in-world, in my inventory, I now know.) Anyway, I'd read of how people became attached to their avatars, how they even developed relationships of a kind with them. When one finds too much of his/her identity in a cartoon (as my skeptical friends call them)likeness, something is, indeed, amiss. I would not say that I am mourning Gawain's lost appearance, but I am disturbed by it. This, too, would be a great area to research and report on: self-image and avatars.

For now, I will close with a thought (redundant for anyone who is a regular reader, I fear, or anyone who is a meatspace friend) on corporate greed. I have a deep, abiding dislike for corporate ownership, franchising, branding, naming...the works. I wish everything were mom and pop operations.

How refreshing to encounter, say, variations in our food at fast food restaurants. How great it would be to stumble upon the unexpected gem among greasy spoon cafes. I love to do this, but I am always out-voted in my family; they favor eating food in paper wrappings in a laminated environment that is likely cleaned with a garden hose.

Already advertising creeps into our every pore and pixel, and that is the first wave of corporate branding. Already some parents whore out their children to be branded by major corporations, models of theirs, sponsored by x, y, z company. The exchange is that the kid wears company gear, talks the company talk, etc. Already space launches have been sponsored by corporations--space, the final frontier! Space above countries is "owned" you know, and there are already lawyers who work exclusively on issues of air space and space law.

Some companies are so vast we are not commonly aware of them. They have ownership and market controls of everything from food products to auto parts, from pencils to porn (I'm just speculating on the porn). Altria, PepsiCo, Sony...

In my 'verse, there's an even bigger corporate presence, Blue Sun.

Music--so Interesting!

I thought I had a good grasp of music, that I knew what I liked, until I began twiddling around with online tools that give me free access like Seeqpod and now Pandora. I've used iTunes and LastFM and LimeWire for various purposes, and I have surfed my way into some very interesting music at such spots...but Pandora, part of the "Music Genome Project" is my favorite musical tool online. Through it, I have found bone-wracking interest in Ska, some Punk, and a broad variety of Electronica that I would never have paid for upfront w/o a listen.

Right now I'm listening to LostProphets and Reel Big Fish. Earlier, I was on my own channel for Irish instrumental music of Tempest and Runrig. First thing this morning, I started the day with some interesting "surf revival" music from my friends, "Man-or Astroman." and Hellecasters.

I've quadrupled my musical horizons, if one could measure such a thing, in just a few months. I've made some very unique playlists, and if only I had time, there's a great deal I'd like to do with some of the music I've discovered, from using it for podcast sound beds to making overlapping mixes and such...even to just do something artistic (shadowbox, sculpt in clay, weld) to some of this music would be very liberating and fun!

The radio is so boring by comparison.

What is it?

I'm mechanical, and I like this site, "What is it?"
I frequent the site and am constantly challenged. See what you think!

The Jag-Wolves Pack

Grass growing high,
Vultures laying low.
Wolves laying on their left side;
Jaguars laying on their right side.
Footprints washing away
Rain swooping down with hail.
Bears hibernating.
Dingoes off for their evening fish hike.
Lions off for their evening dingo talk.
Tigers off for their talk about the city.
Cheetahs talking with alligators about the tiger plan.

A poem by Jaxson Jarvis, age 5

CLICK

I've written of this repeatedly, so I guess it's a theme now. I so wish I could stop time, like in the movie, Click. I was just recalling a special effect of the Matrix series, in which one could zoom 360 around an action scene slowed to a stop...I wish I could do that.

Ever been in a car wreck? There is a moment of, "Oh, boy!" when you tend to know you're wrecking, when your car is upside down or your head's penetrating the windshield--and you stop time then.

A car wreck also leaves me with that terrible feeling that things are out of control, that I cannot reverse course now but must instead ride it out. Things are churning, chaotic, and chitty.

Such is this moment in my life, when everything from personal finances to national elections seems out of control. It's a time when I am away from my family so much it grieves my soul (even though I'm with them far more than most fathers get to be).

I am on a gut-wrenching merry-go-round, and I'm about to puke.

Usually, I'm pretty handy at fixing things. That's just it. Give me a plugged up toilet or a dead car, and I'm ready to go to work. Give me my personal life, and I don't even know where to begin. I need a therapist with some really innovative approaches to fix this broken machine, someone like MacGyver...

Haunting

YESTERDAY, my family made scarecrows. It was a great bonding experience, though we did have meltdowns, feuds, and some discussion over artistic license. Just as I was warming up, seeing scarecrow potential in everything from rakes to scoop shovels, trunk lids to tomato stands--we were done. (I made another one, later that day, just because!)

There is something in me that seeks expression in the crafting of beings--not my kids, here--scarecrows, sandsculptures, effigies, stick people...I do not know why this is a tendency I have. I don't remember anything profound from my childhood.

Deeper, I also find I am very good at crafting "scares" for others. This has some roots in April Fool's pranks, but it goes farther and farther from center. I operated a haunted house for two or three years, giving MONTHS of my life to its success. It consumed me. I was part of something large-scale scary, so much so that I could not tour my own haunt w/o screaming like a little girl. I was engaged in online chats with the operators of haunts in St. Louis, Salt Lake City, and on the outskirts of Hollywood. I toured a factory in Greeley, Colorado, makers of those life-like, life-sized creepy robotic things. We literally bought out a haunted house in Topeka, and 8 of us and a semi-tractor trailer hauled it back and adapted it to our purposes.

Now, for any new readers, I am not into the occult nor black arts. I don't even like Black Sabbath. (I don't even like the color black, if you really care.) There were no pentagrams nor strange worship services at our haunt.

A pinnacle, however, was the larger-than-life Grim Reaper we crafted. It was shockingly realistic (though, how could a mythic figure be realistic?). I hope I still have photos of it somewhere.

Building scarecrows reminded me of building that Grim Reaper. I could populate my whole 11 acres with such things and invite the public, but I don't think my family would like it much.

I still don't know why it gives me such a charge.

There be monsters...

I waffle on this, for to acknowledge anything beyond flesh and into the supernatural opens opportunity and responsibility to reckon with all things ethereal. While I have been at the deep end of the pool on this before, of late I've been treading water.

That said, I find the theory that kids see into this beyond to be a very engaging theory, one that I have had a good deal of exposure to and one that my kids evidence regularly (without being prompted, coached, educated, etc. in this).

My wife chronicles this often in her blog. One kid or another over the years has sighted, had conversations with, is afraid of...someone who is not tangibly present. I'm not writing of your typical "imaginary friend" here, but someone who can cause a boy to stop in his tracks and wet himself in fear. These are the invisible visitors that may make a five year old (or a toddler) weep, cling to a parent, etc.

Sure, they have been inclined to put blame on these "ghosts" for their own misbehavior at times, and (even though we do our best to regard their notices of visitors as just another conversation) they might have mentioned a hobgoblin for attention sometime or another. All three do have very vivid imaginations and all three do have (readily acknowledged) imaginary friends and episodes of monologues (and dialogues) which would lead any outside observer to question their their perceptions of reality if not their sanity.

But none of their imaginary friends, Nobody, Jeff, etc...even the one legged man with the hat--none of these regular "folk" cause the reactions that other, more sinister apparitions seem to.

Many argue that we limit our perceptions as we grow older. It is said that this is vital to our coping with all the sensory overload we increasingly-encounter. We also are very responsive to social conditioning that tells us what is real and true, what is accepted behavior (even observation). We are beaten over the head with, "That's just pretend" and "You're making that up," and other conditioning that (so they say) numbs us to potential supernatural perception.

I intend to make this an object of study beyond my own kids. I wonder if most young children have such sightings. I want to find out! Meanwhile, we continue to listen to our kids express themselves (with as little judgement, coercion, etc... as we can) to better understand what it is they may see that we cannot.

An ignorant voice on the Bail Out

See the title? I admit I know virtually nothing about this. Established? Good.

I do know that when politicians and the media begin shifting semantics and spinning euphemisms that it is time to be wary. What began as a bailout has become a rescue plan. By the time it is signed, sealed and delivered, it will likely be further blurred to "The Financial Support" law or something equally non-descript.

I do know that when farmers were going through bankruptcy there was no bail out from the feds. Any good farmer would have rejected it anyway, on principle, but too many of us had already sold out our principles to the FHA to stay in business. Remember farmers, those folk who feed you? Not some sneely, squirmy, white collar criminals shuffling paper all day.

I know that, under whatever pretense, once the government "owns" most business, industry, enterprise, etc...that we're in deep dip. All we need now is some charismatic hero to raise the homeland to new heights. Then all the predictions of my professor regarding fascism shall come to pass in my lifetime, as he would daily rant to us over 20 years ago.

I know that I am not yet at the point of self-sufficiency, self-reliance and self-defense that I need to be. I may have seeds, arms, skills, etc...but dependants in my household are also drug dependent. We have no stockpile of fuel (well, wood I guess).

Which, while I'm ranting, gets me to dependency in general. I have shaken the chains of tobacco and television. I gave up culinary delights and would just-as-soon eat cornbread every day for the rest of my life. (mmmmmm....cornbread!) I have escaped a prescription mood enhancing drug (...the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention looked at 2.4 billion drugs prescribed in visits to doctors and hospitals in 2005. Of those, 118 million were for antidepressants.) I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be for financial ruination. Bring down the grid. Let weeds grow in the cracks of our highways. Let freedom ring...oh, but...what about my Internet. I can't live without that!

Stop the press and let me vote. I'll not be without my Internet!

This, I think, models what we need to do for all of voting age. Drill down. (Not like JMc and Palin, per se.) Drill down to what matters to people, whether it's the daily fix of Dr. Phil or the constant contact of a cell phone. Whether it's (gov't supported) Meals on Wheels or (gov't dependent) school sports. Wherever it hurts, we must touch with some catalytic vigor to drive all the sheep to the polls.

Even if they're ignorant, like me.

Sensitivity Training

In its original context alone, this phrase "sensitivity training" is interesting. It is used to help people better relate/identify with people who are differently abled. In my former life as a volunteer coordinator, we would host sensitivity training events in which able-bodied students would don gear to simulate disabilities, everything from visual impairment to numbed limbs. It was a 'walk a mile in my shoes' object lesson, and it was potent. We also had a campaign in which we would get ahold of a dozen wheelchairs and spend the day trying to navigate town/campus from that vantage point--VERY eye-opening. We reflected not only on the challenges, but also on the way we were treated differently by others.

Sensitivity training could also be offered between spouses. Usually one thinks of the insensitive male, though my wife accuses me of crying at movies (a blasted lie, I say).

It's really kind of silly trying to amp up one's sensitivity. At the physical level, I've heard it can be done temporarily with various substances abused in entertaining fashions. I know, too, that when one gets a burn or chips a tooth, they become more sensitive at this physical level. I've even participated in some meditative exercises that brought sensation to my heightened attention.

HOWEVER, what I'm writing about is my personal need to be more sensitive to my own children. Last night proved this out fully. First, we live in the country and do not have anyone in a cul de sac or otherwise on our land/in our driveway unless they have reason to be there. Unsolicited, as we had a visitor last night, leads us to cracking open the armory, as we did last night. A loud vehicle pulled into our driveway (as too damn many do to turn around) and did NOT beat a hasty retreat. The headlights poured into our family room. People reacted differently. Roger (beagle) howled. Some of us joked around coarsely. One actually did secure arms. The surprising thing was the reaction of our 20 month old. He ran to his aunt and clutched her, his heart pounding. He would not be put down for a 1/2 hour. He then would stand at the window and look out with great anxiety for the longest time....and he can't even talk about it. Poor kid. He absorbed everyone else's varied angst and amplified it for himself. He is very empathetic.

Child number two will cry big crocodile tears and be wounded of spirit if you nag, poke fun, sometimes even mention or question him wetting his pants.

Child number one, last night, had his own thermonuclear meltdown. We watched "America's Got Talent" this season (sorry, I must confess this most embarrassing truth). He had a chosen favorite that made it to the final two...but when the "piano man" lost out to the opera singer--WOW! My son flopped out of his chair, rolled on the floor, cried until he could not breathe nor speak, got very worked up in bowels and generally contorted his whole person into a hateful, vengeful anger. I mean, c'mon son, it's only a game show. He would NOT be consoled. He would NOT listen to reason. He was mad.

It's very interesting (and often alarming) to see raw emotion, absorbed emotion, and other such things coming unvarnished from my kids. Such an interesting study. I do not mean to take their emotions lightly, and I do not intend to objectively study them like lab monkeys--I'm just saying, it's outright fascinating.

I'm glad, after these recent exposures (and in spite of what I said a few entries back) that adults harness back some of this emotive blast.

Entropy

The sky is falling.

Online Etymology Dictionary
entropy

1868, from Ger. Entropie "measure of the disorder of a system," coined 1865 (on analogy of Ger. Energie) by physicist Rudolph Clausius (1822-1888) from Gk. entropia "a turning toward," from en- "in" + trope "a turning" (see trope).

American Heritage Dictionary
entropy
4. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.
5. Inevitable and steady deterioration of a system or society

It truly seems to me (yes, even me, the eternal optimist!)that we are at a nexus, a crossroad, a point of no return--something big here, anyway. I don't know what to call it, and I don't have ample evidence for anything, but I feel it. Don't you?

The stock market is more volitile than it has been in history. We're spending more as a nation and in debt more as individuals than ever before. We have bizarre doings in abundance in politics, global inequities, and general unrest.

At the same time, we have a population of sheep that is inclined toward "inert uniformity" locked in the doldrums of television and a pop culture that's lost its poop.

This is an uneasy time to be a parent. It makes one sometimes regret those moments of reproductive rhapsody, for what have conceived and borne must bear out this strange new world, and we (parents) are too-soon going to leave them to it, to fend for themselves.

Hell, it's an uneasy time to be anyone. If I were only a pet owner, I'd have misgivings about what my poor beagle was to be subjected to in his 12 years.

Students must have a terrible time sleeping at night, for they are less insulated from/more immersed in the wild New World. Apparently, they have grown up with it and have a degree of immunity or deniability, for they cope amazingly well with pressures of the media, of peer groups, of the economy that won't let them enjoy childhood, let alone their college years.

Too much pressure. I just wonder how long it can all endure w/out some collapse and restructuring...and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, that would actually be a good thing.

Serenity/Firefly character...buggy display but fun!

Your results:
You are Wash (Ship Pilot)

Wash (Ship Pilot) 75% Jayne Cobb (Mercenary) 75% Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command) 70% Malcolm Reynolds (Captain) 65% Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic) 60% Derrial Book (Shepherd) 45% Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic) 35% Alliance 35% Inara Serra (Companion) 25% River (Stowaway) 25% A Reaver (Cannibal) 20%

You are a pilot with a good if not silly sense of humor. You take pride in your collection of toys. You love your significant other.

Click here to take the Serenity Personality Quiz

Second Life -- who says you can't have a do-over?

I am referring here, of course, to the immersive, 3-D, first-person "player" online presence known as Second Life. A great deal of educational theory is being tested in-world these days, and I'm happy to become a part of secondary ed's toe-dip into that environment.

I am too lazy to provide extensive links right here/now for my 3 readers, but I will suggest this one 'portal' to so many more: Pathfinder Linden (John Lester)'s Education Bookmarks

I know it is not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but I do think some students will find a home there, take classes w/n Second Life, etc. I hope to offer at least office hours if not whole courses w/n SL sometime in the near future.

My most public avatar is Gawain Grut.

Come into Second Life and look me up.

SNL makes me LOL in the early AM

Man, I've got to start staying up later!

Blended Learning

I am involved in yet another academic experiment, blended learning. Truly, this is only a buzz word, like "active learning" or "experiential learning" or any number of other phrases for common sense pedagogy...or more importantly, andragogy. All that jazz has to do with making learning engaging, memorable, fun, etc...and that's what I'd be doing even if I were sans computer. I always have made efforts to make learning palatable for all comers. (I do not always succeed, but I do try.)

Blended Learning is the practice of integrating tools of distance learning and face-to-face technique. I'm sure there are better definitions out there. For me, it is something I've practiced since I first started teaching online and via tele-courses and interactive television. Students are responsible for book-learnin' and for all manner of content absorption outside of/in advance of class. (I made a big deal of this during the first week this term, and a guy asked, "Mr. J, aren't you talking about...homework?" ...and yes I am.) When together in person, we then have the opportunity to share, digest, practice, work together, etc. in any variety of exercises, etc. to enhance, reinforce, restate, etc. what should be happening outside the classroom.

Leave it to my sick, twisted way of thinking. The first thing coming to mind when blended anything is mentioned is the classic bass-o-matic commercial.



Recently, I have had two sections of class that has "gone blended" and I hope never to go back. While students have been slow taking hold of it, those who do seem thrilled. The strategy reminds me of a format my old history prof used, lectures twice weekly (in which he had masses of students and he did not know/care who was there) and then a recitation/discussion break out every other week. The accountability was high in those small sessions, and I would say my learning was far accelerated via that venue than any other in my college experience. (It was over twenty years ago, so no high-tech distance learning technology allowed him to do anything but lecture to drive out content, back then. Now we have online learning management systems, like ANGEL, WebCT, Blackboard, etc. Now we have podcasting, TeacherTube, etc...what Dr. Linder could have done with all that!)

I, too, hope to amp up the accountability and learning curve in those face-to-face sessions. I hope that they will learn to come loaded for bear. I hope they will stump me daily. I, as stated all over this blog, hope to be their coach, and if they show up to practice all hot for English, well then, we can get something accomplished.

Getting folks there, primed, is the trick.

I hope to post more on this in the future as my adventures in Blended Learning continue.

Birth Order

I've not done any research on this, yet, but I am intrigued by birth order and personality development. Seems I remember somewhere that first-borns are often the Alpha type, and that would hold true from my personal experience and that which I'm seeing in my boys.

I know historically the first born would be first-entitled to inherit the wealth and responsibilities of an estate. I know (generally...often) first-borns are expected to shoulder the load, escort their younger siblings, set the example.

I could whine about this, that first-borns have so much put upon them. How could it be fair that we, simply by being first down the chute are thus expected to do more, be more, bear more?!

On the other hand, it must suck being second in line, second fiddle, always on the back burner. It must really bite hard being the kid foisted off on the older sibling when mom/dad has no time to manage whatever crisis that second one brings up.

I know my second born is struggling for his position in the pecking order, becoming ever-more vocal to compete with the non-stop stream of consciousness think-speak of his older brother.

My third in line uses his brawn rather than his bawl to assert himself.

Makes me wonder how it will all shake down as they grow up.

Anyway, I'm going to give this birth order issue more attention. Any suggestions are appreciated.

FRT's

Go here for the story on fish farts, then come back for more. So little that we know! I am fascinated by nature, and I'm happy to keep company with biologists that can enlighten me on a regular basis. I ask them questions like a 5 year old, and like a kind parent, they are always happy to lift the veil and make me smart.

The story linked above is not new news, but it's new to me. I guess I did not think much about fish flatulence prior to reading that piece. Now, considering how many fish are in the ocean, I wonder why it is not always churning like a bubbling jacuzzi. (I also thought fish, if they did fart, would contribute to the methane problem, but it turns out they fart nitrogen. I wonder what it would be like to fart nitrogen instead of propane? I'll have to ask a biologist.)

The article discusses a form of communication that routs from the fish's swim bladder out their south pole. I find it curious that the sound is almost an exclusive for that species, that other fish cannot hear their farting communication. That would be interesting. I wonder if my beagle can hear it when I pass gas on one of our walks. I wonder if fish make profound speeches in fart talk....state of the union addresses? proposals for marriage? polite conversation? water cooler--oh, well, their world's a water cooler, I guess...

I also wonder, as I do whenever I read such articles, just who has the time to listen to fish fart? Who's paying these jokers for their troubles? What potential application might this revelation have for our life/times? The article made me think that perhaps one might hone in on various kinds of fish and lure them in (or at least find them grouped, a shoal.) If we learn to communicate with them, maybe we can learn something new from their kind.

I was also taken aback by the potential problem of human-generated noise pollution. The scientists speculated it may have some adverse affect on fish communication. How often does one think about noise pollution to begin with...and then to think of it underwater? (!) I'll confess my ignorance--I'd never given it much thought. I figured a speed boat roaring over a lake might cause some annoyance for those below the water line, just as it does for those of us shore-side. I've always thought deep sea tests of nuclear bombs would not likely be well-received by marine life. But I've not often (well, maybe when swimming underwater) thought of noise pollution under the sea.

The "Family Bed"

The very idea of a “family bed” used to give me the willies. When I thought of kids sharing a bed with parents, my mind was drawn to Monty Python’s “Every Sperm is Sacred.”



When I heard the phrase, “the family bed,” I envisioned the scene from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, in which Charlie has conversations with all four of his grandparents, who share what must be a filthy bed.

These sentiments were, of course, before parenthood. My wife introduced me to the idea just as our first child was born, and it was not long before we were debating what most parents must—do we let the kid cry it out in a crib or comfort him between us? Young parents are always on edge, eager to do What’s Right. The practice of sharing a family bed, also known as “co-sleeping” in the literature, or as night parenting among the Attachment Parenting crowd is an increasingly-common point of discussion.

According to James J. McKenna, Ph.D., an anthropologist and internationally-known expert on infant sleep, the parental urge to take junior aboard may stem from the thousands of years of human evolution during which family co-sleeping was the standard. In a winter, 1996 article in Mothering magazine, McKenna summarizes his views on the anthropological relevance of family sleep sharing, noting that "nighttime parent-infant co-sleeping during at least the first year of life is the universal, species-wide normative context for infant sleep, to which both parents and infants are biologically and psychosocially adapted...Solitary infant sleep is an exceedingly recent, novel and alien experience for the human infant."

Sources claim that what is taken as the norm now--solitary infant sleep and separate bedrooms for parents and children—truly is a phenomena of western culture and only about 150 years old. Most families of the developing world still share beds today. (93% of families in India co-sleep, while only 2% of American families regularly do.) Family beds (or at least bedrooms) are not so far removed from our common culture that terms like “sleeping lofts” or porches are alien to many of us. Back when warmth was hard to come by at night, families snuggled together under one quilt in one bed.

Some theorize that the move to pull apart families at night was one that advanced with affluence; as we could more readily afford more rooms, we did. Others claim a largely patriarchal psychological platform took nighttime parenting in a perverse direction. Consider this advice from the standard American baby handbook, What to Expect the First Year: "If you can tolerate an hour or more of vigorous crying and screaming, don't go to the baby, soothe him, feed him, or talk to him when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Just let him cry until he's exhausted himself-and the possibility, in his mind, that he's going to get anywhere, or anyone, by crying-and has fallen back to sleep.” Rationale for this behavior often returns to Dr. Benjamin Spock, whose book ''Baby and Child Care'' is considered the parental bible, warns against taking children into bed, because it fosters dependency and insecurity. There are also those who argue both ways as to the safety of a baby between two adults in bed.

The Family Bed is not something that bachelors really ever hear much about, and few men are eager to share their nuptial bed with a squirming, squalling reminder of birth control. There is little to be said in favor of sharing a wet family bed, and a new father need only be christened in spit up breast milk once—it’s enough to make any self-respecting man picket against the very idea of sharing a bed with a baby!

No, it’s not really an issue that gets much air time. Usually proponents of the Family bed are also those same individuals who “wear” their baby, grinding their own baby food, milk goats for fun and profit and candle ears for whatever ails ya. Naysayers might be the building trades (why have a 5 bedroom house if one room will do?), bachelors (see above) or the baby industry. I do not mean, here, the parents accused of being baby factories, but instead the commerce that has blossomed around babies, from shower gifts to furniture, accessories, and, of course, the ubiquitous: toys.

The industry has even come up with a device (look it up!) called Nature’s Cradle.” Katie Allison Granju, in her (1996) book, “Attachment Parenting: Instinctive Care for Your Baby and Young Child” shared some ad copy from a recent edition of the OneStepAhead baby catalog:

Nature's Cradle -- the most natural place for your new baby to sleep! This truly revolutionary sleeping and nurturing environment gives baby the familiar, comforting, soothing sensations of the womb, and even includes a maternal heartbeat. Nature's Cradle: Is it magic? Or just a brilliant new way to love your baby? The basic Nature's Cradle looks and feels like...a crib mattress. But it holds a unique secret -- a sophisticated system that simulates a pregnant mother's natural walking motion and rhythm, as well as her internal sounds and the gentle cushioning pressure of the last trimester...the mattress moves in a smooth, rhythmic rocking motion, accompanied by soft "whooshing" similar to the sounds of amniotic fluid and the beat of mother's heart...proven to be the most nurturing, calming place for your new baby to sleep. The Baby Bolster is an essential part of the system...three foam-filled positioning cushions properly swaddle your infant to keep him sleeping safely.


Reminds me of the old adage: “you can’t buy love.”