Penny-sized Hail

These are my pictures from visiting Colorado for Bethany and Ben's wedding (mostly in reverse-chronological order and starting with my jar of honey that the airport confiscated because I forgot about the stupid liquids rule).

Cycling and Mustaches

Well, I had an interesting couple of days. I spent much of that time wondering how to spell mustache (with or without an O after the U? According to some, there is no definitive answer).

So, I started Friday with a little brushing up on my rules of the road and then went out to Melrose Park (near western suburb, south of O'Hare). Ellen drove me out there, I did the whole driver's test, written and practical and finished in time to grab some celebratory lunch with pie on the way back. I drove us back, but we didn't take the highway back. So, my first licensed drive was very stop and go, lame. We thought it would be faster. It's sort difficult to say.

Then, I did Critical Mass, which is actually an anti-drivers bike ride. It's usually about a thousand to two thousand bikers blocking all traffic for a while as they drive around downtown areas and general feel the freedom of open roadways. That was fun except right before the finish I popped a tire.

It actually started with a one song promotional performance by Tom Morello (sp?) from Rage Against the Machine, which was pretty random.

He's somewhere in that picture. Even cooooler, though, was the various people taking part. I could have taken some pretty ridiculous pictures, but it's hard to take pictures with a camera phone while you're riding a bike. So, I only have one for you. There are some skateboarders and rollerbladers there, but I was not expecting this:

Yesss, awesome...

Then, yesterday was mustache day at work. No pictures... sorry, but not really. I looked pretty ridiculous.

While I was at work, I did get to see this attempt at a parallel park and laugh about how that wasn't a part of my test.

The Same Old Debate

I've had too many discussions about predestination, fate, free will, to be able to really laugh at this comic. So many people I've talked to are totally wrapped up in it. I get really into the conversation when it heads in the direction of how our lives our practically different if we live in the knowledge that everything is predetermined or if we have free will (or something in between... or both). The conversation seems pointless or frustrating at times, but I just came across something that made it more interesting for me. Here's a passage from Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh:

"That was the cant phrase of the time, derived from heaven knows what misconception of popular science. 'There's something chemical between them' was used to explain the over-mastering hate or love of any two people. It was the old concept of determinism in a new form."

Reading this, it occurred to me that I had never thought about a scientific approach to predestination, a chemical attraction that forces two people together or any number of other little electrical signals that we don't have control over that determine whether or not we smile or look disappointed or take an instant disliking to a stranger. Now, I do believe in free will and I don't believe my actions are chemically or divinely predetermined. The interesting thing for me is that there is a connection between the scientifically discoverable free will and the divinely sanctioned free will that puts them at odds with the chemical and divine predeterminism.

Growing Pains

Not long ago, I decided to start a blog with a friend and called it, "Everything is Terrifying!" The idea started after he spent a whole morning drinking caffeine and reading frightening New York Times articles about E. coli and various toxins that we ingest daily. I arrived in the middle of his heightened state of environmental worry, ringing the doorbell. Having not yet figured out the buzzer system, he ran down from the third floor and threw the door open, eyes wide and breathing heavily:

"Garrett," he gasped, "Everything is Terrifying!"

Growing up, we become increasingly aware of the horrors of the world. I'm not trying to be dramatic, it's how I remember it and how I have observed it in others. We are introduced to various disturbing things as we grow up, slowly coming to terms with the things we don't understand. War is the easiest example because no one understands war. If you want to see a really good illustration of how no one really understands war, watch the documentary The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara. The title, Fog of War, is enough, for now, to illustrate what I mean. Defining the purpose or consequences of a single war is like trying to define the ocean; it doesn't matter what angle you approach it from, you will never understand it's vastness or depth, let alone explain it in tangible terms to the youngster who asks naive question.

When I was a young teenager, I asked Grandpa how many people he killed in World War 2. That's probably not true. My guilt over past naivety has rearranged my memory. I probably asked him something more like: "Do you know how many planes you shot down?" To which he replied that it was difficult to tell because at any given point several other gunners would have been shooting at the same plane. In this case, I can say that I am grateful for the fog of war, the chaos that makes ethical parameters shake like panes of glass in a hurricane.

I've talked to a lot of people now about how there is a trendiness right now in the attempt to recapture the innocence of youth. Childhood innocence certainly seems attractive when I think about violence on the news, on the streets of Chicago or in far off countries that I don't have the luxury of considering "far off". The truth is, that childhood innocence in adults is dangerous and the pursuit of it is mainly valuable as an artistic contrast to reality. I prefer some level of awareness, no matter the terror, and feel that the more accurate my big picture gets, the better equipped I am to deal with life as it comes at me.

The problem with that mentality is that the world never stops coming and I have to step back and breathe occasionally when my mind becomes too entangled in the problems I would like to tackle. In addition, for me, this overwhelmed state of powerlessness is brought about too easily, too quickly. For example, I have read a number of convincing articles about how vegetarianism (or some level of mindfulness in the selection meats) is necessary because of the state of the slaughterhouses and the food industry in general. I don't need to watch Food, inc to understand that I should stay away from boneless chicken wings, but I still eat them sometimes because I'm perpetually stuck between a desire to eat meat and a demoralizing sense that I really can't make a difference by changing my eating habits.

While I slowly work through that particular issue, my life decisions regarding career future surround me. The frequent biblical references to "gnashing of teeth" always made me laugh, but secretly gave me mental images of sharp teeth and raspy voices challenging me. So, now my inner voices challenge me to justify my path.

I'm off to study Literature at a Research University. While the atmosphere of a Research University appears perfect for Graduate studies, I am painfully aware that it is probably not where I want to teach. As a professor, I imagine myself more interested in teaching than research. I invested a lot of myself into my college experience and so much of me has been influenced by that experience. From the first professor's rant that the whole class's papers were "a steaming pile of excrement" to being locked in an elevator with my least favorite professor threatening me, I have had my share of negative experiences. Through various inspiring examples, however, I have come to admire the profession and the responsibility that is put on these individuals to shape the future. That's why I'm excited to start my Freshman Year Composition class in my second year at Notre Dame when many of my classmates will want to be over before it begins. I'm excited by the opportunity to be an example to others because nothing is more motivating for me than knowing that I can really make a difference in that person's life. As short as it may be, the hope to use my time with my students so that it is a thousand times more significant than adjusting my diet or holding a sign at a rally.

Instant Classic

When my professor, helping me with graduate school application prep, asked me why I wanted to study 18th century British literature, I talked about how I felt that period of thought and social development had many parallels with our own time. I felt legitimate in my opinion, but not confident enough to have expected her response. "Exactly!" she exclaimed, continuing into a familiar conversation to me that draws a line from the printing press to the internet. Suddenly, people popped up all over the place writing short publications like "The Spectator" where they wrote their little musings and said things were often pointless, but occasionally brilliant. Blogging and its various media brethren are affecting our culture in ways we don't understand.

How often have you heard someone say, "I was reading online the other day..." It's a good phrase because it's honest in its own way. It creates a foundation for any comment to be taken on its own merit. You can take any comment that comes after "I was reading online that..." and trust it or throw it away and no one will care.

The obscure writer's of our age will rarely make it to a noticeably powerful place in society and maybe that's a good thing, but it makes me wonder who will appear in 50 years as the genius of the early 2000s. Who have we already forgotten from the 20th century. If we go back to 19th century America, we'll find that Walt Whitman was one of the most influential and his contemporaries were Hawthorne, Emerson, Sigourney, Longfellow. Who remembers Longfellow? How much more famous is Emily Dickinson since she was discovered... what? 40 years ago?

Today's writers might disappear into forgotten corners of literary history, but someone always seems to show up and take the spotlight.

Feeeear, and other scaryness

Nothing about Halloween in scary. I even tried to watch the season's "scariest movie" that already made it onto scariest movies of all time lists and whatnot, Paranormal Activity. Anyway, it was weak. It makes you jump once or twice, there's a cool part where a table catches on fire, and the ending is disturbing... but those are distinctly separate experiences in an otherwise dull movie.

Back in real life, I dressed up as a miscellaneous character from Mad Men:

Yes, that is, in fact, me... almost smoking. Thrilling, isn't it? But even though that glass has coke in it, I think I looked like I work in the 1960s, especially since I put about a quart of gel in my hair (if only I could have found a matching hat). Also, I got to go to work like that...

Yep, it was pretty sweet. A good costume... a little hard to guess (only a couple people knew straight away). One person said I looked like a Young Republican, except that my tie was green and someone else said I was... some American celebrity from my pence days... or possibly my centimes days...

Best of costume of the night, though?

Legoman. Yes.

Corn... currency of the Midwest?

Apparently, there's a big difference between the things in my life that are worth taking pictures of and the pictures I actually take, which is why I haven't been posting much recently. But, for the Halloweeny-Fallness that just happened, there was a brief intersection. So, I went to Richardson Farm, which you can look up online as one of the biggest corn mazes in the world (woo.), with Ellen, Derrick, and Erica (Derrick's girlfriend).

Off we go...

...as Ellen stares at the Sun. I sort of assume there was something else to look at other than the Sun. You could pay $35 a head to go on a helicopter ride, which would have been cool because it's pretty hard to see the shapes of the maze while you're in it. This year it was Abraham Lincoln related because we're in Illinois and something important happened... 200 years ago? My American history is pretty sketchy in the 19th century.

So, this gesture intrigues me. To me it represents the spreading of peace and pure aggression. One of the things that's nice about being in the US is that I get to enjoy the positive side of it instead of wondering why everyone is so mad all the time. I remember waving from a bridge to drivers who were about to go under the bridge and receiving this as my response. Unfortunately, that was years ago, in England, before I could have pretended the driver was a hippy, or just a genuinely nice fellow.

You know, it occurs to me that I didn't ask for permission to put these pictures up, oh well.

Anyway, we had a good time and it was all very wholesome. Also, everyone else cheated, but we stuck to the path, which seems important somehow.

Now, let me find the Halloween pictures.