Something To Read

Who Killed the American Arts?

This is an… interesting read. Aside from being self-consciously abrasive in that “PC can’t boss me” way. To on the one hand lament Taylor Swift for emitting a bland album by committee while on the other hand lauding the assimilating of all kinds of greatness into one monolith seems to miss a decent amount of cause and effect. Isn’t it, after all, the end result of assimilation to flatten the field? To homogenize and make boring?

And I guess the writer gets there (but makes some weird statements along the way (like, “the study of cinema is reserved for college, by which time most students can read a book”–what on earth could this even mean? That we should teach movies in elementary school and insist on books later in life? That film and literature are somehow in competition with one subordinate to the other?). Still, I think there’s a leap he doesn’t make from assimilation and hegemony to decay. Where else is there to go but down once you’ve conquered, after all? Alexander the Great wept and all that (a quote I only know from DieHard).

Isn’t it possible that global influence is at best fleeting and at worst just a myth. Bait that lures a culture to sacrifice all of its goods (art, energy, thought) on the altar of power. While this writer is bemoaning the end of some halcyon age of American influence and (plagiarized? whitewashed?) quality, I’d say that maybe retreating into peculiarity, particularity, and place (geographic, not digital) might be exactly what culture needs to re-thrive (and, indeed, has always needed). Because I don’t disagree that a lot of stuff on the market is entertaining but familiar. But, for this guy, I’d say he’s charted clearly enough the course that leads to bigness and he doesn’t like what he found. Someone could maybe draw him a map back down to earth.

Dispatch From Fraud Class

Here’s a bit of irony. In one of my accounting classes this semester we’re talking fraud and control systems to make fraud require more creativity. In passing, the professor said that greed is a big driver of fraud. People get into the “C-Suite” (which, from context clues, I gather is business slang for the jobs orbiting the CEO in closest proximity) and get their hands on some power and access and they get greedy, start skimming and scheming. You can feel it rise in your chest, the disgust. The objection. Yeah, man. That’s wrong! Millionaires, right? The worst.

Moments later…(but, it’s class so the moments feel like eternity)…

The professor is in her daily schpiel about career trajectory. “In our industry [accounting], IT is the future. Block Chain. You get this CISA certification and you’re going to start out making $100K easy. I know this guy, with IT experience and management he probably pulls in $500K. This girl, $300K easy.” Et cetera and so on. You can feel it rise in your chest, the delight. The yearning. Yeah, man. I want that much money! I should be a millionaire, right? The best.

Money the carrot to chase. Greed the demon to exorcise. It’s little wonder that accounting ethics are a little murky. Motivation matters. It flows from character and leads you to places that further shape your character.

School’s Out Forev… Oh Wait, We’re Back

So I’m back in college. This is an unexpected turn of events, but (not counting a brief and semi-disastrous stint in a graduate English program) my somewhat meandering 20180823_172911professional arc has passed through a place where it actually makes concrete sense to go back. And on August 16th I found myself back in a classroom with people who are almost literally half my age. Let’s just say this 21st-century classroom is a lot different even than the 21st-century classroom I was in when I was 18.

In a sort of sequel to what I saw on campus during my brief tenure working at a college, here’s 5 bits of advice (read curmudgeonly opinionating) that I’d offer my classmates this time around.

  1. Close your laptop. This means you, guy who sits in front of me and plays solitaire through half the class. I mean, at least you’re not looking at pornography, at which point I’d have to whack you over the head with my textbook (see point 3 below). Anyway, you or someone you know has paid upwards of $2000 for you to sit in this course, which breaks down to this hour costing around $70. If you want to pay someone $70 for wifi and a place to sit for an hour, I’ll clean out my garage and get a Square swiper. Bring a friend.
  2. Seriously, close your laptop. Do the research. It’s not helping you learn and it’s likely inhibiting you from learning. Take notes on paper. You’ll remember them more clearly.
  3. Spring for the real textbook. This semester has been my first exposure to the abomination that is the eTextbook. At least the version I’m using from McGraw Hill seems to actually function as though reduced comprehension were an intended goal from the outset. For one, it greys out what it considers unnecessary text. Useless stuff like the intro paragraph to each chapter that frames everything you’re about to read and offers an outline. It’s a built-in layer of disengagement.
    McGraw Hill also offers something called Smartbook Learn Smart (Which, give me a break with the redundancy. If you have to insist twice in three words that your gadget is “smart”, well, color me dubious.) It’s basically a series of quiz questions that pop up while you’re reading. To keep you engaged, I guess. Some small quibbles, though. Like the questions run out before the chapter ends so you can “finish” without finishing. And there’s that issue of literally, in the book itself, teaching to the test. It actively trains your brain to glean just enough facts to escape its clutches. All told, it’s shallow comprehension and minimal retention. And it’s a pain in the ass to navigate, hence the longing to escape. You can keep your keyword searches and just let me scan the chapter. Learning happens in the fringes, too.

    1. This brings up a broader point about college as a whole. It’s a great place to learn and it’s filled with smart people from which to do so. But, the university as an institution cannot deliver learning. What it delivers institution wise is a GPA, which is a shorthand for performance that can be strikingly divorced from what you actually leave college knowing. It’s been my experience as a hiring manager out in The Real World that GPA doesn’t mean much on a resume. It really only matters to grad schools. Do what you have to do to keep your scholarships/athletic eligibility/position yourself for more education or whatever, but take it with a grain of salt. You’ll be out there building a life from what you learned long after anybody cares about your transcript.
  4. Don’t bother taking a picture of the white board with your phone at the end of class. If you can even find that photo in the avalanche of selfies and other ad hoc photojournalism of your college life, it’ll just be a meaningless bunch of scribble on a wall. Take your own notes. See point 2 above. And, because I love pointing people to Wendell Berry, give this a read. Especially the last 10 paragraphs or so.
  5. Ask questions. Forget the stuff about “No such thing as a stupid question” and “If you have a question, someone else probably does, too.” Filling in gaps is the lowest purpose a good question can serve. If not more importantly, at least more conscientiously, questions make professors feel like they’re in a room with fellow humans who care about what’s going on. Having done a stint in front of a classroom, engagement is one of the best services you can offer any teacher. But, also, asking questions disrupts the lecture in important ways. It opens the door into a different part of your professor’s brain. Not the part delivering prepared material, but the live creativity. Considering that your professor got their job for a reason, this is probably my only really good advice. Try to access that part of any professor’s mind as often as you can.

Outside the classroom, I can’t really help you. I’m doing by best to keep up with a marriage, two rowdy boys, two even rowdier dogs, the job for which I’m going back to school to do better, a first-floor renovation at my house, and occasionally writing something so I don’t get kicked out of my writing group. I can not even imagine the world of a true college freshman anymore so I won’t pretend to have anything worthwhile to say. But in that classroom, we’re on the same page together. Think about making it a paper one.

Excerpt: Blue Planet II

I recently wrote an essay about the excellent BBC documentary Blue Planet II for Think Christian. Here’s a snippet. You can read the full thing here. Viva la mer!

To understand the consequences of our authority and vulnerability run amok, we must start with a sense of the glory of our only world. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved nature documentaries. When I first encountered Blue Planet, the David Attenborough-narrated BBC masterpiece, I was captivated. Now, 17 years later, we have Blue Planet II, a fascinating sequel balancing delight in the wonder of creation, and lamenting the role humans have played in its destruction.

Each episode of Blue Planet II reveals a window into a world usually hidden from view below the water. Racing pods of dolphins joining schools of tuna and pods of whales to feast in the vast open ocean. Teams of sea lions hunting fish in the rocky lagoons of the Galapagos. The first glimpse ever at the teeming life on the Antarctic sea floor. The entire series resounds with the wonder and intricacy of God’s creation.

Olympic Dreams

Jacques Ellul once said that once a movement becomes an institution, it’s dead. He was talking about the dangers of locking faith up in a bureaucratic, self-preserving power structure, but I think his words have a ring to them when you think about the Olympics and other “amateur” sports organizations (ahem, NCAA anything).

There’s a charm to the idea of the Olympics–competitors from around the world gathering every few years to compete at games and showcase all the crazy and amazing things the human body can do. I mean, I mostly hate figure skating, but it’s still amazing that people can strap knife blades to their feet and zip around the ice jumping and spinning without breaking an ankle or cracking their skull open. (It’s all the arm waving and dancy fingers that lose me). And there’s the second-hand exhilaration watching a skier go airborn as they fly down a mountain right on the edge of disaster (not to mention the ugly thrill when someone crosses that border in a tumbling heap).

That’s the legend of the Olympics. The reality is a little less satisfying. The Olympics™ has become an ultra-competitive business. There’s the IOC, plagued with accusations of graft as less-than-reputable nations grease the wheels of the bidding system to get that legitimizing feather in the cap of Western media descending and fawning over their culture and turning a collective blind eye to whatever doesn’t fit the feel-good narrative packaged for the viewers back home. Then there’s weird decisions like barring the French skiing team from putting a small sticker on their helmets to honor their friend who died in training while over on the snowboard slopes, brand names and logos festoon the bottom of every board.

Then there are the athletes. The number of stories I’ve heard of athletes changing their citizenship to whichever country will give them the Olympic stage has been disenchanting to say the least. And what of the apparently high socioeconomic bar for Olympic athletes? How many athletes will we never see because they don’t have the money to build a ski slope in their back yard and they don’t have access to wind tunnel training to improve their aerodynamics and they don’t have someone to drive the 5 hours into the mountains for private training on the regular and they don’t have access to the array of nutritionists and trainers and balance coaches and personal sports psychologists and myriad other personnel that spread in the wake of elite athletes like the human train of an immense veil?

And this, I think, is Ellul’s point. The Olympics started as a movement, but the whiff of glory and, more alluringly, dollars has attracted a crippling amount of interests. Maybe this is simply the curse of human endeavor–every good thing eventually attracts the appetites that will crush it. And maybe this is the blessing of the human spirit–ever inventive enough to devise new good things that have not been discovered and mined yet. Sitting in front of whatever coverage NBC decides I’d find most attractive, I find the Olympic myth harder to see in the Olympic machine. It feels like time for a fresh movement. I wonder where the new thing will come from.

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In honor of the ragged Olympic spirit, here’s Pearl Jam at their most puerile offering their own thoughts on the ’96 Atlanta games.

Excerpt: Embodied Psalms

I recently wrote a short piece for Think Christian about a less recent mountain biking excursion with my oldest son. The ride was as near a perfect afternoon as I’ve had with him and I’m pleased with how my short essay turned out. Here’s a brief excerpt:

Riding in the slipstream of an almost 7-year-old’s exhilaration as we sped through Louisville’s Turkey Run Park, it clicked that mountain biking is like an embodied psalm. I watched my son, the boy whom, for better or worse, I am helping to mold, and I saw him in a way similar to how God my Father might see me when I, his child, take joy in what he provides. At the same time, I could look at the beauty of the land—the hills, the trees, the creek, the occasional panicked squirrel—and be humbled by the expanse of God’s promiscuous outpouring of creativity. And what are the psalms but attempts to see the world like God sees it, while also bowing before his greatness?

You can read the rest here. And while you’re there, check out their other good work.

Why Winter is the Best Season

Why Winter is the Best Season

People often look at me like I escaped from an asylum when I tell them Winter is my favorite season. These are usually the people who pledge their allegiance to the quasi-pagan sun worship that it is to choose Summer as your favorite. It’s madness, I tell you. And here’s five reasons why:

1) Summer is actually the beginning of the dying of the light.
That’s right, the Summer solstice may be the longest day of the year, but it’s also the beginning of the long descent into darkness. It is a grim day and filled with dread. The Winter Solstice, however, is filled with hope because that first cold dawn following is the first herald of renewal. And we haven’t even started in on the glory of Christmas lights in the neighborhood.

2) Snow is better than rain.
Can you make a rain fort? Have a rain ball fight? Build a rain man? Do you get rain days off from school? Can you shovel rain to earn extra money? No, No, Not unless you’re Dustin Hoffman, No, and No. Snow is the best of all precipitation and it is trademarked by Winter, Inc.

3) Winter has the best holidays.
You can’t beat Christmas. Especially not when combined with Advent. It’s got the best music. It’s got the best decorations. It’s the best. You may point to Easter, which is a good one, but I tell you there is no Easter without Christmas. And Easter comes in the Spring which is at least 50% Winter, anyways.

4) Winter is cold.
This may be a controversial point for some, but hear me out. You know what’s possibly the worst part of Summer (at least in Kentucky)? Mosquitoes. You know what you never see in Winter? Mosquitoes. And if it gets cold enough for long enough, the deep freeze kills off mosquito eggs and makes for a more pleasant Summer. And for the remaining skeptics, I ask you: can you shed enough clothes to cool off when it’s 95 degrees and 95% humidity? No. Can you put on enough blankets to be warm? Yes. Stop whining.

5) Winter is beautiful.
The night sky is never so sharp and clear as on a cold winter night. The sun hangs low in the sky even at midday which fills the south-facing rooms of your home with the best light they’ll get all year. Then there’s the birds. A red cardinal in a skeleton tree, especially one fringed with snow, is nearly unsurpassable. Not to mention chickadees and titmouses. Winter is a visual feast.

***BONUS*** 6) Winter has the best food.
Winter is the season of comfort foods. Steaming pots of chili and thick soups. Pot pies. Baked goods. An order of fish and chips from the Irish Rover tastes better and better the colder it gets outside. Do you sit down with a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese (the thick, casserole kind) in the dead-dog days of August? No.

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So that’s it. Winter is definitively the best. The facts are irrefutable. Enjoy the greatest season of them all.