The bonds that good men share, like good bound books,
Reveal new enjoyments at each new encounter.
The object of friendship is not merrymaking
But a stern rebuking when friends go astray.
It is not constant meeting and companionship
But mutual sensibilities that confer the alliance of friendship.
Friendship is not seen on a friendly face,
But felt deep within a friendly heart.
-Tirukkural, 79:783-86
You know, Analog wasn’t really so bad.
I don’t know about you, but every once in a while (less so know that I’m approaching forty) I imagine what I’d do if I suddenly found myself with a need to flee for my life on foot, like an extra from a 70’s distaster movie or one of those unfortunate Japanese who had to scramble out of Godzilla’s way lest they be crushed to death. Would I be able to run fast, fueled by adrenaline? Would I be able to carry several of my children to safety? Would I have the presence of mind to remember to grab them? Would I make it halfway to safety and then look back and see my wife caught on a piece of disaster movie detritus and go back to help her? Would I be brave enough?
Doesn’t that kind of thing ever pop into your head, completely unbidden?
If so, does it ever affect your choice of footwear? Just wondering.
This is very good news. Not only does Mattel lose their frivolous and free-speech-enfringing lawsuit, but they have to pay the guy’s legal fees. Sweet.
So it’s not just that the world is safe to make fun of Barbie, no. Better yet is that the little guys can challenge the big guy and the big guy doesn’t always get to win because he has deeper pockets. A chink in the armor of corporate dominance. Score one for the artists.
The naive, the innocent, the self-taught,
the visionary, the intuitive, the eccentric;
The schizophrenic, the developmentally disabled,
the psychotic, the obsessive, the compulsive.
I’m not sure where I fit in that list, but with I am pleased to report that my Outsider Artist status remains intact.
An outsider artist is generously defined as an artist who is “fortunately impervious to being taught how to make art.” Yep, that’s me. The benefit of being an Outsider Artist is that I am supposed to be free to make art, “fortunately impervious” to the limits of technique and artistic convention. Yep that’s me. But what’s also me is that I am not “fortunately impervious” to the niggling desire to be recognized by artistic convention anyway.
Therein lies my problem. Always with the ego. Always.
I submitted three pieces of my own brand of Art Brut to our local rinky-dink art museum over the weekend. It was an open juried exhibition. I was denied. The sting of rejection lingers on my smarting ego like the bitter aftertaste of a shot of Campari. Not good enough for our provincial little art show? Sigh. Well, I kind of figured.
But hey, as Pema Chodron would tell me, now I have fodder for meditation. So I sit here at Overflow taking in feelings of rejection and sending out encouragement to all my compadres who aspire to extend themselves artstically and are rejected. Keep the faith.
“If you have really handed yourself over to Him it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you.” —– C.S. Lewis, *Christian Behavior*
I regard C.S. Lewis fondly, as he was one of the authors who opened me up to the idea that one could think for ones’ self and be a Christian too. He provided a “faint gleam” that drew me forward. Or maybe he just pointed out to me the “faint gleam of heaven” already inside me.
Imagine a future historian trying to figure out what life in turn of the 21st century America was like. She goes to look for records, but is puzzled by a tapering off of any hard records or written information after 1996 or so. She encounters vast amounts of what once must have been magnetic recordings of some kind, now degraded and inert. All she can do is conclude that we must have been very short-sighted to capture so much of our information on such a volatile medium.
That’s exactly what the The Long Now Foundation was created to address. A fascinating project. Just try thinking 10,000 years into the future.
This has to be, like, the coolest church in Houston. They have an organic co-op, a coffee house, and even a literary society.
So what the Christian Science Monitor calls ‘Superdad’, I’ve just been calling ‘Dad’ all this time.
Today, ‘good fathers’ must do more than earn a paycheck. They’re expected to nurture the kids and do housework, too.
Uh, well, yeah. Still the article has some good news about changing attitudes for fatherhood in society.
So, apparently scientists can make a promiscuous rodent into a monogamous one simply by injecting a gene for vassopressin receptors into the pleasure center of the brain where the dopamine receptors are. Vassopressin is associated with social learning, dopamine associated with feeling good. When the two types of receptors are located apart from one another, the pleasure of mating activity is not associated with a particular relationship. When the two types of recptors are located together, they are associated, producing monogamous behavior. Viola. Genetic neurological “hacking” to produce altered social behavior may be possible.
Of course, any applications to humans are far from clear. But scientists are excited anyway.
Back in grad school, I produced a number of futures scenarios in which neurological programming was developed as a technology to address social ills – social engineering at the “operating system” level. Setting aside for now the obvious Orwellian uses for such a technology and the range of negative scenarios involving neurological “hacking” crimes, just think of the range of positive scenarios that could be opened up by being able to rewire the brain to cirumvent destructive human impulses like, well, the “seven deadly sins.”
I have kind of a personal wish list of stuff I’d like to rewire in myself along those lines. I’d like to:
Reduce or eliminate the delay between my food intake and my brain’s sateity signals.
Increase the association of endorphin receptors with things that are good for me physically (like eating vegetables and exercising)
Attenuate the endorphin reception for activities that are not good for me.
Introduce delays in my behavior cycles involving impusivity.
Lower my sateity levels for my basic physical desires.
You get the idea. My actual list is about twice as long as that, actually, but the programs get increasingly complicated to describe.
Now I know this kind of wishful thinking is just spiritual laziness – wishing for a technological quick fix for all of my toughest spiritual challenges. But it is a rather fun way to do an examination of one’s conscience or take one’s personal “inventory,” to put it in 12 step terms. What root behaviors and impulses would you like to rewire in your brain to “fix” yourself?
“For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the beatitudes. But, often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And of course that’s Moses, not Jesus. I haven’t heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the beatitudes, be posted anywhere.”
- Kurt Vonnegut
I could not resist posting this quote. What an incredible idea! I say we replace every publicly posted Ten Commandments with a copy of the Sermon on the Mount. Or better yet, take them all down and just live them instead.
“When couples struggle, it is seldom over who does what. Far more often, it is over the giving and receiving of gratitude. The struggle for marriage in the contemporary context is the struggle to cultivate gratitude between men and women.” – Arlie Hoschild, The Second Shift
Gratitude grows out attention, appreciation, and humility. Acknowledging the importance of the Other. Taking time to notice what they do, the little things, the tiny ordinary graces. These are the soil of a fertile marriage. My greatest Achilles heel is that I get spun up in cloud of activities and distractions so that I fail to stop and notice, pay attention to little things, and appreciate. Prayer in my life needs to serve that function – slowing down, paying attention, appreciation.
Along those lines, reading Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson has been a prayerful experience. It has done wonders in that it has connected my left brained engineering side to my sense of wonder at the ordinary stuff of domestic life. It makes me want to go home at lunch and hug my wife, air the bed, dust under the couch, and read care labels. I read along this morning in gape-mouthed fascination at the unlocked mysteries of such things as dusting, ironing, and folding laundry. It made me want to go home and try my hand at folding a fitted sheet.
Reading all this was pretty overwhelming. Any manual pf proper care sets a standard that the limits of life, time, and space make it impossible to measure up to. But reading Home Comforts so far has mostly been an exercise in increasing my attention, appreciation, and humility about things domestic. And gratitude for the wonder that is my wife.
Chris Corrigan has been busy writing a series of posts on storytelling and facilitation which he should really write up and formalize (hint hint).
More and more lately I see the applicability of storytelling in my technical work environment, from requirements analysis to process improvement to tacit knowledge capture. His posts are very timely for me. He also pointed me to this very useful site about facilitating storytelling for work. Thanks, Chris.
Yes, I’m back from Oklahoma. More later. Meanwhile…
I love poetry about devotion, especially between spouses.
“The Shipfitter’s Wife”
I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I would go to him where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles,
his calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I’d open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me – the ship’s
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the first man clanging
off the hull’s silver ribs, spark of lead
kissing metal, the clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle
and the long drive home.
– Dorianne Laux