"Your taste preferences created this row: Sentimental Feel-good Romantic Comedies."
Um, no. No, I don't think they did.
"Your taste preferences created this row: Violent Suspenseful Action and Adventure."
Is this some sort of joke? I watch Miss Marple. The old one, because the new one is too . . . new.
MISS. MARPLE.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Dreamers
Some day, my youngest son will ask me why I gave him a name that rhymes with an embarrassing body part and its attendant malodorous function.
I will tell him that his daddy wasn't terribly cooperative with the whole name-generating process, and that this was the best we could do while they were wheeling me into the operating room to deliver him.
And then I will read him (again) the book of the dreamer-shepherd Amos. And I will tell him that God hates injustice and cares for people who are hurting.
And I will tell him (again) the story of Saint Martin of Tours and his dream. And I will tell him that God cares for people who are hurting, and that the surest way to meet Jesus is to care for someone who is hurting.
And I will tell him (again) of another Martin who read the book of Amos and found there the assurance that God hates injustice and cares for people who are hurting. And I will tell him of Martin's dream that people who love God will also care for people who are hurting and will try to do something about the injustice.
And I will tell him that I gave him a beautiful name, and I didn't mean for people to make fun of it. And if kids make fun of his name, I will be sorry for his pain, and it will hurt me that he is hurting.
And I will tell him never, ever to forget that God cares for people who are hurting, and that God wants us to do something about it. And that whenever he dreams about his own future, he should ask God for dreams worth having.
I will tell him that his daddy wasn't terribly cooperative with the whole name-generating process, and that this was the best we could do while they were wheeling me into the operating room to deliver him.
And then I will read him (again) the book of the dreamer-shepherd Amos. And I will tell him that God hates injustice and cares for people who are hurting.
And I will tell him (again) the story of Saint Martin of Tours and his dream. And I will tell him that God cares for people who are hurting, and that the surest way to meet Jesus is to care for someone who is hurting.
And I will tell him (again) of another Martin who read the book of Amos and found there the assurance that God hates injustice and cares for people who are hurting. And I will tell him of Martin's dream that people who love God will also care for people who are hurting and will try to do something about the injustice.
And I will tell him that I gave him a beautiful name, and I didn't mean for people to make fun of it. And if kids make fun of his name, I will be sorry for his pain, and it will hurt me that he is hurting.
And I will tell him never, ever to forget that God cares for people who are hurting, and that God wants us to do something about it. And that whenever he dreams about his own future, he should ask God for dreams worth having.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
So, There Was Someone ELSE On The Stage, Right, People?
My dearest sons:
You all know that your mother is occasionally a little picky about things like table manners and homework and chores and saying nice things to your brothers, but not so picky about penmanship and getting your bed made every morning and wearing a coat when it's a little chilly out.
I haven't yet had occasion to be picky about this issue, so you may not know that it's in the Picky rather than Not Picky column. But it is, and you need to know this.
Treating Women Right is in the Picky column. Treating Hurting Women Right is in the Especially Picky column.
When you take a girl on a date, you give her your full attention and you don't ogle other girls. If Angelina Jolie walks into the room, the right answer is, "Who? Oh. Is she famous or something? Get back to what you were saying. I'm really interested."
That's Treating Women Right.
When your boss is a woman, you speak respectfully to her and you do what she says and you don't undermine her authority by using the belittling language that men like to use when they're embarrassed about taking orders from a woman.
That's Treating Women Right.
When you are the boss and a woman works for you, you speak respectfully to her and you keep your comments focused on her work, not on her person, and you don't try to keep her subservient and dependent on you by paying her less than you would pay a man for doing the same job.
That's Treating Women Right.
Also under this heading would be things like avoiding gendered pronouns and descriptions for issues that are not sex-determined (like pretty much everything but reproduction and having prostate cancer), assuming you'll be doing a lot of the housework if you ever get married, and teaching your daughter how to read in at least two languages before you teach her how to put on make up.
Your daddy has given you a pretty good example to follow in this regard, and if you just ask What Would Dad Do?, you won't go too far wrong in life in general, nor in the Treating Women Right realm in particular.
You will meet a lot of hurting women in this world. You will not have been the one to hurt them, I hope, but you will meet them.
Treating Hurting Women Right is not markedly different than Treating Women Right, but it 1) is even more important and 2) requires even more courage.
Treating Hurting Women Right often means going even more against the grain, taking an even more public stand, and sometimes, even, confronting the Hurting Woman herself with her brokenness.
Treating Hurting Women Right means not participating in the sex industry, even if you're in Nevada and the woman is supposedly okay with it.
Treating Hurting Women Right means being ready to shelter an abused woman if she gets up the courage to leave the abuse, or at least offering a ride home to a girl that's getting chewed out by her boyfriend in public.
It means not laughing--pointedly not laughing--when your friends make rape jokes.
It means leaving the party if somebody gets the idea to call a stripper. It means offering to get the stripper to a safe place if the party next door gets out of hand.
It means being the one to bring up gender issues so that the women in the room don't have to feel like angry bitches all the time when they bring them up.
And when a girl is so hurting, so broken by her past or her present, so caught up in a destructive mix of unrestrained hedonism and even more unrestrained advantage-taking that she thinks performing a simulated sex act on national television is a good thing, it means refusing to be the guy she's grinding on stage.
Let me tell you, sons, if I ever see you doing what whatever-his-name-is did to a girl on live TV, I will not be telling the world how shocked I am at what she was doing. I will not be telling the world that I didn't expect her to put her butt so close to your groin. (Because, like, your groin was just innocently standing there when this girl's butt unexpectedly accosted it!)
And I will most especially not be commenting on how sharp your suit is.
You'd better get this one right, sons. Because the world will not be writing blog posts and tweets and ponderous articles on your behavior. They'll be heaping it all on the Hurting Woman and not asking themselves or anyone else how she found a guy so unchivalrous as to join her in her public self-degradation.
But I for damn sure will be asking that.
I will be in your face asking in very pointed words and at very loud volume why you weren't the guy telling her she didn't have to do this, asking her not to do it, giving her alternatives, giving her the healthy attention she needs rather than the poisonous attention she's become addicted to.
I love you, and I will love you no matter what, in life, you do wrong.
But don't get this thing wrong. If a woman is hurting, help her. If you can't, at least refuse to be the guy that keeps the hurt going.
Don't be that guy.
Don't. be. that. guy.
You all know that your mother is occasionally a little picky about things like table manners and homework and chores and saying nice things to your brothers, but not so picky about penmanship and getting your bed made every morning and wearing a coat when it's a little chilly out.
I haven't yet had occasion to be picky about this issue, so you may not know that it's in the Picky rather than Not Picky column. But it is, and you need to know this.
Treating Women Right is in the Picky column. Treating Hurting Women Right is in the Especially Picky column.
When you take a girl on a date, you give her your full attention and you don't ogle other girls. If Angelina Jolie walks into the room, the right answer is, "Who? Oh. Is she famous or something? Get back to what you were saying. I'm really interested."
That's Treating Women Right.
When your boss is a woman, you speak respectfully to her and you do what she says and you don't undermine her authority by using the belittling language that men like to use when they're embarrassed about taking orders from a woman.
That's Treating Women Right.
When you are the boss and a woman works for you, you speak respectfully to her and you keep your comments focused on her work, not on her person, and you don't try to keep her subservient and dependent on you by paying her less than you would pay a man for doing the same job.
That's Treating Women Right.
Also under this heading would be things like avoiding gendered pronouns and descriptions for issues that are not sex-determined (like pretty much everything but reproduction and having prostate cancer), assuming you'll be doing a lot of the housework if you ever get married, and teaching your daughter how to read in at least two languages before you teach her how to put on make up.
Your daddy has given you a pretty good example to follow in this regard, and if you just ask What Would Dad Do?, you won't go too far wrong in life in general, nor in the Treating Women Right realm in particular.
You will meet a lot of hurting women in this world. You will not have been the one to hurt them, I hope, but you will meet them.
Treating Hurting Women Right is not markedly different than Treating Women Right, but it 1) is even more important and 2) requires even more courage.
Treating Hurting Women Right often means going even more against the grain, taking an even more public stand, and sometimes, even, confronting the Hurting Woman herself with her brokenness.
Treating Hurting Women Right means not participating in the sex industry, even if you're in Nevada and the woman is supposedly okay with it.
Treating Hurting Women Right means being ready to shelter an abused woman if she gets up the courage to leave the abuse, or at least offering a ride home to a girl that's getting chewed out by her boyfriend in public.
It means not laughing--pointedly not laughing--when your friends make rape jokes.
It means leaving the party if somebody gets the idea to call a stripper. It means offering to get the stripper to a safe place if the party next door gets out of hand.
It means being the one to bring up gender issues so that the women in the room don't have to feel like angry bitches all the time when they bring them up.
And when a girl is so hurting, so broken by her past or her present, so caught up in a destructive mix of unrestrained hedonism and even more unrestrained advantage-taking that she thinks performing a simulated sex act on national television is a good thing, it means refusing to be the guy she's grinding on stage.
Let me tell you, sons, if I ever see you doing what whatever-his-name-is did to a girl on live TV, I will not be telling the world how shocked I am at what she was doing. I will not be telling the world that I didn't expect her to put her butt so close to your groin. (Because, like, your groin was just innocently standing there when this girl's butt unexpectedly accosted it!)
And I will most especially not be commenting on how sharp your suit is.
You'd better get this one right, sons. Because the world will not be writing blog posts and tweets and ponderous articles on your behavior. They'll be heaping it all on the Hurting Woman and not asking themselves or anyone else how she found a guy so unchivalrous as to join her in her public self-degradation.
But I for damn sure will be asking that.
I will be in your face asking in very pointed words and at very loud volume why you weren't the guy telling her she didn't have to do this, asking her not to do it, giving her alternatives, giving her the healthy attention she needs rather than the poisonous attention she's become addicted to.
I love you, and I will love you no matter what, in life, you do wrong.
But don't get this thing wrong. If a woman is hurting, help her. If you can't, at least refuse to be the guy that keeps the hurt going.
Don't be that guy.
Don't. be. that. guy.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Active (Shooter) Response
One of the faculty workshops I attended this week--the last week before classes begin--was called Active Shooter Response Training.
I will admit that I did not quite appreciate either how forward-thinking and proactive my college was being in offering this training or what I might learn from it.
I did, by the end of the talk, come away with a renewed appreciation for the all-but-impossible task our law enforcement and public safety officers face and a feeling that I would not be entirely bereft of hope should the unthinkable occur.
I would encourage anyone to take advantage of such training, if the opportunity presents itself.
One tiny little niggling doubt, however, remains in my mind after the event.
One thing the presenter did over and over and over was to downplay, even ridicule, the possibility that someone who was engaged in or about to start a Columbine-type assault could be talked out of his or her plan.
I found it providential that this occurred the exact same day of our training:
Gunman Talked Into Surrendering By His Hostage
I understand how unlikely this sounds, and I appreciate that the probabilities are with the gentleman that did our training. People who become sufficiently unhinged to plan and execute large-scale assaults like this are not usually open to rational argument or pleas for mercy.
But perhaps they are still open to love. Perhaps they can still be reached by prayer.
Perhaps a people that still remembers to pray for the violent, the criminally insane, the sinner, the abuser--perhaps that people can still reach the violent, the insane, etc., when no one else can. Perhaps a people that prays not, "God, please don't let me die," but "God, please help me to help him," perhaps that people has more resources to hand than those who are merely trained how to survive an assault.
I will admit that I did not quite appreciate either how forward-thinking and proactive my college was being in offering this training or what I might learn from it.
I did, by the end of the talk, come away with a renewed appreciation for the all-but-impossible task our law enforcement and public safety officers face and a feeling that I would not be entirely bereft of hope should the unthinkable occur.
I would encourage anyone to take advantage of such training, if the opportunity presents itself.
One tiny little niggling doubt, however, remains in my mind after the event.
One thing the presenter did over and over and over was to downplay, even ridicule, the possibility that someone who was engaged in or about to start a Columbine-type assault could be talked out of his or her plan.
I found it providential that this occurred the exact same day of our training:
Gunman Talked Into Surrendering By His Hostage
I understand how unlikely this sounds, and I appreciate that the probabilities are with the gentleman that did our training. People who become sufficiently unhinged to plan and execute large-scale assaults like this are not usually open to rational argument or pleas for mercy.
But perhaps they are still open to love. Perhaps they can still be reached by prayer.
Perhaps a people that still remembers to pray for the violent, the criminally insane, the sinner, the abuser--perhaps that people can still reach the violent, the insane, etc., when no one else can. Perhaps a people that prays not, "God, please don't let me die," but "God, please help me to help him," perhaps that people has more resources to hand than those who are merely trained how to survive an assault.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Thoughts on a New Semester
I've begun to formulate a rule about teaching students.
That is to say, I think I'm starting to figure this teaching thing out--not just in terms of how to present material, but who students are.
Here’s what I’ve figured out.
I've discovered that about 10% of my students are going to learn and be excited about the class no matter who’s teaching it. They’re motivated, they’re interested, and they’re not going to be able not to learn. They do the homework not because they're afraid of getting a bad grade but because it sounds like they might learn something. They come to my office hours to ask me questions not to manipulate or play me, nor because I'm the awesomest being they've ever met, but because they want to talk about ideas. They're not always the smartest kids in the room (and some of them definitely aren't kids), but they're there to learn, and they manage to do it no matter who's doing the teaching.
I’m not there for them. They’re there for me, to put a little spring in my step, to give my tired eyes something to rest on during my fifth straight hour in the classroom, to make me smile when I'm tempted to let myself get grumpy about the job it is my privilege to do.
Another 10% are not going to learn, no matter who’s teaching. They’re determined not to be changed or to grow or to examine their mental lives for one single second. They don't come to my office hours because they don't go to anyone's office hours. They don't study for tests because they really don't care to know the material. They may or may not be intellectually challenged--indeed, some of them may be quite smart, and some of them even earn passing grades. But they are ruthless in their pursuit of non-learning, and it has nothing to do with me.
I’m not there for them. They’re there for me. The same way ulcers and traffic and rude telemarketers are--to build character. To give me the chance to develop patience, which is one of a few virtues that can only be developed through pain.
The 80% in the middle? They’re who I’m there for. I try to do the best job I can because of them.
Because my doing a good job might actually make a difference in their lives. They're the ones whom a good teacher can inspire, surprise, and motivate. They're the ones who might find themselves investing more than they intended because of the good humor or effective communication or personal interest of the person at the front of the room. They're the ones who look back on their college years as the most formative time in their lives because of, not in spite of, what happened in the classroom.
When I say that I teach to the middle 80%, that's whom I mean.
Class starts next week. I'm trying to get ready for class, for the work, for the expectations, for the grading, for the extra activities, for all that it means to be A Professor.
But I'm most especially trying to get ready for the students--especially that 80%.
That is to say, I think I'm starting to figure this teaching thing out--not just in terms of how to present material, but who students are.
Here’s what I’ve figured out.
I've discovered that about 10% of my students are going to learn and be excited about the class no matter who’s teaching it. They’re motivated, they’re interested, and they’re not going to be able not to learn. They do the homework not because they're afraid of getting a bad grade but because it sounds like they might learn something. They come to my office hours to ask me questions not to manipulate or play me, nor because I'm the awesomest being they've ever met, but because they want to talk about ideas. They're not always the smartest kids in the room (and some of them definitely aren't kids), but they're there to learn, and they manage to do it no matter who's doing the teaching.
I’m not there for them. They’re there for me, to put a little spring in my step, to give my tired eyes something to rest on during my fifth straight hour in the classroom, to make me smile when I'm tempted to let myself get grumpy about the job it is my privilege to do.
Another 10% are not going to learn, no matter who’s teaching. They’re determined not to be changed or to grow or to examine their mental lives for one single second. They don't come to my office hours because they don't go to anyone's office hours. They don't study for tests because they really don't care to know the material. They may or may not be intellectually challenged--indeed, some of them may be quite smart, and some of them even earn passing grades. But they are ruthless in their pursuit of non-learning, and it has nothing to do with me.
I’m not there for them. They’re there for me. The same way ulcers and traffic and rude telemarketers are--to build character. To give me the chance to develop patience, which is one of a few virtues that can only be developed through pain.
The 80% in the middle? They’re who I’m there for. I try to do the best job I can because of them.
Because my doing a good job might actually make a difference in their lives. They're the ones whom a good teacher can inspire, surprise, and motivate. They're the ones who might find themselves investing more than they intended because of the good humor or effective communication or personal interest of the person at the front of the room. They're the ones who look back on their college years as the most formative time in their lives because of, not in spite of, what happened in the classroom.
When I say that I teach to the middle 80%, that's whom I mean.
Class starts next week. I'm trying to get ready for class, for the work, for the expectations, for the grading, for the extra activities, for all that it means to be A Professor.
But I'm most especially trying to get ready for the students--especially that 80%.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Man With a Chainsaw
A man with a chainsaw . . .
and some rope . . .
and a little help . . .
and an appreciative audience . . .
can get a tree down in his back yard.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Yard Work
Helping mama rake the mulch.
Yup. I can totally rake all this mulch.
Uh, Mama? Are you sure you want the whole pile raked?
Friday, August 9, 2013
Adventures in the World of Books and Movies, Part I
It's a well-known fact that my mother has great love in her heart for Jane Austen and her many literary works. It is also a well-known fact that my mother has memorized all of the aforementioned literary works and their various film adaptions.
It is a slightly less well-known fact that I actually enjoy reading only one of said literary works, thus eternally shaming and tormenting my English-major mother. But hey, Pride and Prejudice is the only one I've read in the past 8 years, so it's possible that my opinions have changed since I was still homeschooled.
Either way, that's why when I learned that a major portion of the assigned reading was in fact P&P, I didn't run away screaming: "Pages and pages of itty-bitty print! British girls complaining about men not falling in love with them! AIEEEEEEEEE!"
Having watched the BBC film adaptation at least 5 times through, and having read the book about the same number of times, it's safe to say I've reached my memory threshold for Bennet & Co. That is to say, I remember all the good lines, who (whom?) everybody is (does, loves, owes, has, is related to, etc.), and the plot (and setting, and theological arguments, and moral arguments, and feminist arguments, and all the other things my mother gushes about in her virtually nonexistent spare time).
Anyway, while at the grandparents a week ago, the Keira Knightley version of P&P was on. Keira Knightly is an actress. From somewhere that makes unfaithful adaptations of great literary novels. She is known for having a unique smile and the other female endowments necessary to be an actress. Anyhoo, she was Elizabeth Bennet in the non-BBC version of P&P. Mom said I should watch it.
-- "Why?"
-- "Because it's bad, and will allow you to fully appreciate all the wonderful plot pieces that it omits."
-- "Seems legit."
It was horrendous. I'm usually an expert at analyzing failure, wierdness, other people, or really anything else, but I couldn't get it. There were so many things wrong my brain hurt. I'm sure all the actors and actresses are wonderful people when they're not playing from a bad script, but I could get past the 17 times I said "Wait! That's not in the book!" in the 5 minutes that I watched the movie. I was told that the K.K. adaptation is the most unfaithful Austen film except for Mansfield Park, and I never really like Mansfield Park in the first place.
Comparatively, I liked the non-BBC Collins better than the BBC one, but I think that's kind of the point. You're not supposed to like him. As for everybody else... meh. BBC is just so perfect. You can't top that. So don't try beating Brits at their own game. That's today's lesson.
Cheers,
Isaac
It is a slightly less well-known fact that I actually enjoy reading only one of said literary works, thus eternally shaming and tormenting my English-major mother. But hey, Pride and Prejudice is the only one I've read in the past 8 years, so it's possible that my opinions have changed since I was still homeschooled.
Either way, that's why when I learned that a major portion of the assigned reading was in fact P&P, I didn't run away screaming: "Pages and pages of itty-bitty print! British girls complaining about men not falling in love with them! AIEEEEEEEEE!"
Having watched the BBC film adaptation at least 5 times through, and having read the book about the same number of times, it's safe to say I've reached my memory threshold for Bennet & Co. That is to say, I remember all the good lines, who (whom?) everybody is (does, loves, owes, has, is related to, etc.), and the plot (and setting, and theological arguments, and moral arguments, and feminist arguments, and all the other things my mother gushes about in her virtually nonexistent spare time).
Anyway, while at the grandparents a week ago, the Keira Knightley version of P&P was on. Keira Knightly is an actress. From somewhere that makes unfaithful adaptations of great literary novels. She is known for having a unique smile and the other female endowments necessary to be an actress. Anyhoo, she was Elizabeth Bennet in the non-BBC version of P&P. Mom said I should watch it.
-- "Why?"
-- "Because it's bad, and will allow you to fully appreciate all the wonderful plot pieces that it omits."
-- "Seems legit."
It was horrendous. I'm usually an expert at analyzing failure, wierdness, other people, or really anything else, but I couldn't get it. There were so many things wrong my brain hurt. I'm sure all the actors and actresses are wonderful people when they're not playing from a bad script, but I could get past the 17 times I said "Wait! That's not in the book!" in the 5 minutes that I watched the movie. I was told that the K.K. adaptation is the most unfaithful Austen film except for Mansfield Park, and I never really like Mansfield Park in the first place.
Comparatively, I liked the non-BBC Collins better than the BBC one, but I think that's kind of the point. You're not supposed to like him. As for everybody else... meh. BBC is just so perfect. You can't top that. So don't try beating Brits at their own game. That's today's lesson.
Cheers,
Isaac
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Bird Call
Hey, look who's here!
A little hummingbird, perched outside my window!
He even turned and waved at me!
But then he stuck his tongue out at me.
Hm.
A little hummingbird, perched outside my window!
He even turned and waved at me!
But then he stuck his tongue out at me.
Hm.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch . . .
We've been away from our house for the last week (not just away from the blog).
I was really hoping it would rain. I mean, it rained every day in July, practically, and I was really hoping the weather wouldn't pick the week we were gone to stop watering my garden for me.
Happily, it did rain a little, and my plants survived. (Well, the outdoor plants did. The indoor plants are another story . . .)
I think the watermelon missed me so much it tried to come knock on the back door and find me.
Tomatoes are looking . . . okay. They're not growing as fast as I would have thought.
The pumpkin is vining out nicely.
And the green beans are great.
The collards, on the other hand . . .
Well, we had some uninvited visitors while I was away. :hostile stare:
I was really hoping it would rain. I mean, it rained every day in July, practically, and I was really hoping the weather wouldn't pick the week we were gone to stop watering my garden for me.
Happily, it did rain a little, and my plants survived. (Well, the outdoor plants did. The indoor plants are another story . . .)
I think the watermelon missed me so much it tried to come knock on the back door and find me.
Tomatoes are looking . . . okay. They're not growing as fast as I would have thought.
The pumpkin is vining out nicely.
And the green beans are great.
The collards, on the other hand . . .
Well, we had some uninvited visitors while I was away. :hostile stare:
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