Blog The Halls With Boughs of Folly

I handed in the second of my two final papers yesterday: "Are You In Or Are You Out: Clubhouses and Belonging in Mormonism and Brigham City." The day before that I sent off "Some Notes on Mormon Autuerism in 2007." Hot stuff, I tell you. Actually, there's a small chunk of both papers that was recycled from something I wrote last semester but, hey, other than that they're both pretty original.

As I write this, my students are all downstairs participating in our annual Kwanzaa celebration. I wriggled out of it last year and I hope to do the same this year. It just seems ludicrous for me, the whitest man on the planet, to take part in a celebration created by and for people of African heritage. I'm happy to attend any other celebration we have here at the school but Kwanzaa just makes me feel stupid. So instead I am answering the phones and monitoring a potential student who is taking his entrance exam.

Christmas shopping: done
Present wrapping: done
Papers for school: done
Maryn's birthday: done
9 year anniversary: we're going out tomorrow to celebrate

All in all, I am prepared to have a long, luxurious, responsibility-free vacation. I'm not due back here until January 2 and classes at Wayne don't start until after that. (When exactly, I'm not sure. Guess I should find that out.)

Over the break I want to do a few things:

I'd like to translate a page a day of Harry Potter y la piedra filosofal. I need to get serious about being able to pass the translation test when it comes around. Regular practice ought to help.

I'd like to carve a few new linoleum blocks. Just for fun. Because I like it and because I miss doing artistic things sometimes.

I'd like to take the girls to the Detroit Institute of the Arts. It's the 5th largest art museum in the country and just recently finished a multi-million dollar, several-years-in-the-making renovation and I'm excited to see it. The girls and I have gone there in the past and they loved it.

I'd like to go on a Christmas day drive with the ladies in the afternoon. We did it last year and it was really nice.

I'd like to go see Beowulf in IMAX 3-D with my brother-in-law, Ben. I mean, it's swords and dragons and monsters in IMAX 3-D. What more do you need?

I'd like to read some non-school related stuff. I read the first chapter of The Thirteenth Tale, a book my mother-in-law, Linda, lent (?) me last night and it seems interesting. I also have a copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell sitting on my shelf that I'm itching to take a crack at. It's big -- seven or eight hundred pages -- so we'll see what actually happens.

I'd like to blog every day -- you know, blogging Christmas -- but that won't happen. We don't have the Internet at home and so this blog probably won't be updated until after the New Year. Kinda lame, I know, but I figure if I've got better things to do than write it, you have better things to do than read it.

Anyway, I think I hear the celebration winding down so maybe I'll be out of here sooner than I thought. Yay for me.

Happy holidays everyone.

How I Spent My Sunday Morning

Nothing says Sabbath worship like nearly snapping my spine in two while shoveling ten inches of snow off my driveway. Happily, Suzanne and the girls helped. (Okay, Suzanne helped. The girls did exactly what little girls are supposed to do after the first big snow of the year and proceeded to get freezing cold and soaking wet while not listening to anything I said.)


The impressive overhang that accumulated above our front porch. Spoilsport that I am, I dragged it down with a rake. It's not as fun as waiting for it to collapse at just the wrong moment but, hey, who ever said I was fun?


Self-portrait.


In case you couldn't tell already, I'm deeply in love with late afternoon winter light.


The wonderful upside to the little winter onslaught was that Monday was a snow day for me and the girls. Poor Suzanne was not so fortunate. She may make the big bucks but, by golly, they're gonna make her come in every. single. day. Since I get paid next to nothing, when it snows my bosses just figure, "Ehh, what's the difference? Let's just look under the couch cushions and we'll find enough for his next paycheck."

Get a Cash Advance

Guest Post: Maryn's Birth

This is Suzanne's account of the day Maryn was born. Even though I come across as kind of an idiot in this version, it still sums up the day pretty well.

"I actually found myself giggling a little as I fell asleep last night thinking about what a day I had on December 14, 2000, the day that literally changed my life for good. I had gotten up for work…it was around 6:30 am. I remember rushing to the bathroom because it didn’t feel like I was going to make it in time and I didn’t. I thought I had wet my pants, but it was actually my water breaking. I remember sitting there (sorry, gross image) and the trickle not stopping. Hmmm…that’s strange. It’s still really early, I thought. I’m not due for another month practically. (Jan. 8 was my due date and it was Dec. 14th.) I told Mark about it and he mumbled something and rolled back over. I got in the shower. The trickle became a little stronger…with every movement. After I got out of the shower, I called my doctor. He said to go the hospital, that if it was my water breaking we’d have a baby by the end of the day and if not we’d go back home. I told Mark to get ready—grab my hospital bag and put the carseat in the car. He reluctantly agreed. He did not believe we’d have a baby by the end of the day, it was way too early. But I knew it was time…the contractions had started by this time and I was IN labor. We drove the 5 minutes to St. Luke’s and I checked in. It was thrilling, scary and intense all at the same time. I was pretty calm despite the fact that I knew that we were going to have a premature baby. I guess I didn’t understand what all of it would mean. After we got into the triage, the nurse checked to see if my water had broke and what had started as a slow leak was now in fact a waterfall. She basically finished the job and we were ready to go. Mark was in shock…he was both excited and a little overwhelmed at what we were embarking upon. We got a huge birthing room complete with a Jacuzzi, TV, birthing ball, etc. I tried out the Jacuzzi right away. It was nice and relaxing. I spent the next couple hours in and out of the tub. After that, I felt what it really meant to be in labor and breathed my way through another couple hours before I could get my epidural. Sweet epidural. After that I was happy as a clam. I laid in my bed, chatting with my nurse who was from Michigan, and Mark went off to eat lunch. When he got back I remember it was time to start pushing and he smelled like chocolate. I didn’t like him much at that moment. I hadn’t eaten since the night before and it was now around 2:30 pm. I pushed for 3 hours and nothing was happening. Finally the nurse figured it out and with a little adjusting and a vacuum suction cup placed on the baby’s head, out popped our little 5 lb. 12 ounce baby girl!! She started screaming bloody murder instantly and I remember seeing her beautiful rosebud lips curl into a sneer that made my heart sing and melt all at the same time. Even after they placed her on my chest, she screamed. It wasn’t until Mark started talking to her that she calmed down. She recognized his voice and quieted down for a moment and then continued on into her tirade. They cleaned her off, weighed her, and warmed her up. She was a preemie (born at 36 ½ weeks) and very small, but her apgar scores were great. She had strong lungs and good color. They let us keep her and she didn’t need to be whisked away to the NICU. I took a little time being stitched up (had to go back for surgery 3 mos. later anyway), and Mark got to talk some more with Maryn Elizabeth, now only a few minutes old. I held her as they wheeled us up to the recovery floor. We had a corner room and I remember not wanting to ever leave. The three of us there in that tiny little room felt like the most right thing I had ever done in my life. I had a baby by the end of that day, and began a life that I would never trade in a million years.

And as the years have past I have watched Maryn grow. She has always been such a cutie! She is curious and smart. She is affectionate and sensitive. She is social--friendly and warm. She is creative and constantly has marker-stained fingers from all her coloring and drawing. She has the funniest sense of humor and really gets a kick out of making us laugh (ask us about her "tooth" book sometime). She has always been a great big sister…from the time she wasn’t even two and we brought Avery home. She’s been a helper and a strong force for good in our family. She is learning so much this year and I am constantly surprised at how articulate and kind she is becoming. She is a sweetheart and I am thrilled to be celebrating #7 with her this year."

Seven Years Ago Today . . .

This little monkey was born. She was tiny, extremely loud, and yellow but still one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I am extremely grateful for my first-born daughter, Maryn.

Lunchtime Snapshots

Hold Your Breath, Count To Ten, Don't Completely Freak

It's Wednesday. The first three days of this week have been radioactive-hot with tension, fights, disappointments, and explosions. This new group of students I'm working with is not just rough around the edges -- it's all edges.

Actually, there's a core of good students underneath it all but the outer layer of thugs and (yes) idiots is obscuring those good ones. It's really frustrating to have to tell the same students the same things over and over and over again. Please stop yelling. Don't use those words. We're not talking about that right now. Please do your work. Shut up before I have to bodily throw your obnoxious, foul-mouthed, just-here-to-get-your-grandma-off-your-back self out of this second floor window.

You know, the usual teacher basics.

Anyway, the real source of my frustration today is my boss. Both bosses actually. It's one thing to have to struggle with the students when you have wise, competent employers who are attentive to the needs of the organization, who set a good example for others to follow, who demonstrate a grasp of what's required to do the work. But when you have to struggle with willfully, forcefully, aggressively ignorant students and have to contend with bosses who aren't here half the time, who do a poor job when they are here, and who constantly contradict themselves, each other, and the rest of the staff, it feels a little like you're on a small boat in big water and there's no dry land around for miles.

Sigh.

So that's where I am -- small boat, no dry land. I don't want to complain because just having a job in Detroit is a blessing. A job with benefits and a fair amount of flexibility is even more so. There are a lot of good things about working here. It's just that today, the students and the bosses aren't among those good things.

The thing I have to keep telling myself is that this job is not forever. I will not be here forever. This is not the best or last teaching job I will ever have. It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine.

For now I'm just going to sit here quietly and meditate and think of happier things.

The Golden Compass and Richard Dutcher: Some Thoughts

There has been hubbub around the release of The Golden Compass, the first film in a projected trilogy based on the His Dark Materials books by Philip Pullman. It seems Mr. Pullman is an avowed atheist and his books, reportedly, are an allegory about discovering that religion and God are essentially hoaxes. I haven't read the books so I can't really say one way or the other. I've read some pretty convincing arguments on both sides -- some saying the books encourage independent thought, curiosity, wonder, kindness, patience, etc. and others saying that a book by an atheist simply can't be faith affirming. All the talk has piqued my curiosity and the trailer of the film looks like a million bucks. Reviews generally have been mixed-to-poor. The best review tagline I've read so far said, "Compass Disappoints Fans and Censors," meaning it was neither here nor there enough to satisfy anyone.

Anyway, because the people on the Association for Mormon Letters discussion board are people who are interested in religion and books and movies, it's sparked some discussion there as well. Recently, I posted some quotes from Philip Pullman that I thought were interesting and another writer, Thom Duncan who is a playwright, responded and brought up Richard Dutcher, the director of God's Army, Brigham City, and States of Grace. The following is some of what was written:

"There's an brief, interesting article on Time magazine's online version today about Philip Pullman. Here are a couple of excerpts:

'I suppose if you are interested in religious questions, that makes you religious," Pullman muses. 'I am. What I am not is a believer in the sorts of gods that seem to be on offer from the various major religions.'

Pullman sees himself as championing the universal human values of love and tolerance and curiosity, many of which are of course also embraced by Christianity, though not always, he argues, by Christian writers.
...
Atheism has had a best-selling moment of late with the success of books by Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, and Pullman runs the grave and improbable risk of becoming not just mainstream but fashionable. But he isn't a creature of fashion any more than he's a creature of Satan. 'I'm a great admirer of both men,' he says, 'but I wouldn't want to be part of any movement that had an agenda. I'm not arguing a case. I'm not preaching a sermon. I'm not giving a lecture. I'm telling a story. Any position I take is that of a storyteller who says, Once upon a time, this happened.'"
....

Thom Duncan: "'I'm telling a story. Any position I take is that of a storyteller who says, Once upon a time, this happened.'

Richard Dutcher should memorize Pullman's comment. In fact, I think he may have said something similar at one time or another.

Despite the clarity of this position, some LDS continue to be bothered by such superflous things as Dutcher's missionaries flouting the rules. Poetic license is someting that some people don't seem willing to grant to Mormon Artists. I wish I knew why. Current scholarship shows us that not all the history in the Bible is accurate, there are questions about the time line, and the literary allusions abound, and the official understanding of the Book of Mormons geography has changed in recent decades from a pan-American Nephite civilization to a localized group of people in Mezo-America. Yet none of that affects our appreciation, undestanding, and belief of the sriptures as valid moral guides. Why do we then, become so exercised when an LDS artist uses similar techniques to tell his/her story."

My response: "Good questions. Thom. I think a lot of it has to do with what I think of as the Paul H. Dunn Effect. We come from such an odd, obscure, unlikely history (boy sees God, gets plates made of gold, translates new scripture, men have dozens of wives, etc.) that I think Mormons as a people have long been hungry for mainstream acceptance and have long shunned anything that makes us seem shaky, shifty, weird, or less than firmly established as 100% true all the time.

I think the whole Paul H. Dunn thing had a lot to do with why The Friend will only accept stories 'based on actual events.' He wounded the institution's public persona of always telling the truth all the time, of always being factual despite the unlikelihood of the claim.

As members of the church we are taught early on that everything we do, say, and think is an extension of/representation of our membership in the church. We're taught to always set the best example because we never know who is watching. We are encouraged to avoid the appearance of evil, etc.

This combines with the fact that the church has always produced paintings, theater, literature, and film but has never produced art for art's sake. Many of the images, sounds, and stories members are exposed to early on are didactic in nature. I think this creates a powerful feeling in most mainstream members that tells them that any artistic creation they may make or consume should not only represent but actively promote the values, teaching, and doctrine of the church.

In other words, I think the whole 'I'm a member of the church first and a (fill in the blank with artist, writer, painter, plumber, etc.) second' is why many LDS people can't get past a Mormon artist who creates things that don't fit into the comfortable, easy to define world of didacticism. For many, you can't be just a storyteller if you're Mormon. You will always be a Mormon who tells stories and, as such, you have a responsibility to tell stories and tell them in a way that are in keeping with the greater knowledge and light that you have.

I think the problem comes in when an artist makes something that he/she feels is completely in keeping with that greater light and knowledge but the consumer doesn't see it. The (to my mind) ridiculous comments that were made about Dutcher's States of Grace along the lines of 'Who would want to go see a film about a missionary having sex with a porn star?!!' fall in this category. The film was about grace and redemption for everyone, particularly for the most flawed of sinners and that was the message. But because it showed a missionary falling to temptation and then symbolically suggesting his acceptance and redemption through Christ RATHER THAN depicting some narrow escape from the clutches of evil, some saw it as not in keeping with what we are taught in the 13th Article of Faith.

(I feel like I'm doing an awful lot of stumping for people whose POV I don't agree with.)

Anyway, a lot of it just comes down to taste and tolerance for complexity and darkness. For me, I need darkness in order for the light to have real meaning. Elder Farrell's fall in States of Grace reminds me of what a sinner I am and of how dependent on and grateful for Christ I am and need to be. If he had just avoided Holly and not given in, I would have thought, "Good for him" but there would have been no ending to the movie. States of Grace doesn't encourage us to sin. Rather, it suggested there was hope for when we do -- which we all do and always will.

But, back to the original point of this post, depicting a character who had a history in adult films and, worse yet, having that character sleep with a missionary doesn't fit in with some people's view of what a Mormon storyteller should do. Because he/she should know better (according to them).

This, of course, reminds me of my old saw about why Mormons will flock to see amoral trash produced by people who have nothing to do with their lives, beliefs, or cultural heritage but will stay away from God's Army because there are Priesthood blessings given on screen and a missionary sitting on the can.

But that's a post for another day."

Winter Light

All I Want For Christmas. . .

A good messenger bag to replace my old one. My mom's repair job prolonged its life by another year probably but it is now about to give up the ghost. It's remarkable that a 15 dollar bag from Old Navy lasted as long as it did. The bag above is neither from Old Navy nor is it only 15 dollars.



A "Made In Detroit" shirt. Not because I was made in Detroit, (I was made in Idaho, thankyewveddymuch!) but because I have some pride in living and working here. Also because I think the design of this shirt rocks.


Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window. Yes, Hitchcock was a genius. Yes, it's a brilliant movie that works on more levels (ha ha) than you can count. Yes, it is a terrific example of set design. Yes, it's an interesting piece of work by Jimmy Stewart as he was trying to darken and diversify his image as an actor. All true. But mostly I'm just madly in love with Grace Kelly. Or Lisa Carol Fremont, I'm not sure which.


A good compass. Because every good Boy Scout should have one.


A Blick 906 Etching Press. Okay, so it costs roughly the same as a small car but only a small car from Yugoslavia. Sure, I could pay half a month's rent with what it would cost to buy this bad boy but if I did have it, I could crank out dozens and dozens of lino prints at a time and wouldn't have to use the back of a steel spoon to make my mark!



Why not?

December is here

About ten years ago, I bought my first issue of Poets and Writer's magazine. I loved it because, in addition to writing about various author's work, the articles included information about where the writers lived, what their houses/offices/workspaces looked like, what kinds of jobs they had before they "made it," and what weird writing rituals they had. When I was in my MFA program, I would sometimes joke that I should have gone into anthropology instead because I was more interested in what writers did, where they did it, and how they did it than I was in reading anything they wrote. So PW fed that appetite for details that exist beyond the official text.

Additionally, there were pages and pages in the back of ads for journals, magazines, and anthologies looking for poems. I highlighted dozens of them without knowing a thing about any of the publications. I got a box of large manila envelopes and started sending poems out willy-nilly.

Within a month, I'd gotten an acceptance back from a journal called New Zoo Poetry Review and I was thrilled. "Hey," I thought, "this publication thing is easy!" and I secretly sneered at my friends and teachers at school who bemoaned the difficulty of getting published. Yes, I had the writing world by the tail.

Of course, I was just wildly lucky and that's all there was to it. The poem was pretty good, I think, and the journal turned out to be reputable in the way that small, short-lived journals are but the fact is, I was just lucky. I've gotten published in other places since then but a lot of it had to do with people I knew or being involved with the publication myself somehow. Getting a poem in NZPR was one of the only times I blindly sent in work that was read and accepted purely on its own merits. Ah, how early success ruins us!

Anyway, the whole point of this little reminiscence is that the poem in question was called "Nativity" and it was on my mind this weekend as the ladies and I went to the giant creche exhibit hosted by the Ann Arbor ward. Every room of the meetinghouse except for the bathrooms, janitor's closet, and chapel were stuffed with Nativity scenes from every corner of the globe. Some were sublime, some were mundane, but the display itself was really impressive and very worthwhile to visit.

With that show in mind, I thought I'd dig out one of my two complimentary issues of NZPR and reprint "Nativity" here for everyone who hasn't read it. (And that would be just about everybody. Needless to say, the journal didn't exactly have a large readership. More like, the editorial staff, the contributors, and the contributors' mothers.)

Nativity

On my knees in front of our altar-shaped table,
practicing the necessary reverence of fragile things,
I unpack the Nativity:

Mary in frozen worship,
Joseph next to her,
his arms gathering in his new wife,

broken and chipped camels and donkeys,
three bearded men,
one man with a lamb in his arms.

Hard, little, plaster Christ-child comes last,
set in the center of concentric circles
of wise men, shepherds, and sheep.

Outside, the wind moves
like herds of cold beasts
trundling past the door.

The altar-table washes
with the advance and retreat of fire light,
its battle with blue from the window.

Each figure performs
a motionless dance
with its shadow shivering behind it.

The child in the hard cradle
is ruddy dark, with too-blue of eyes.
Passive, unknowing, he reaches up.

In the palm of his barely defined hand,
a shadow gathers and then dissipates,
like faith in a windy heart.

Bundled in brick and stone of my house,
a fire banked and hot in its place,
my family quietly about,

I look at this village of figures,
their serene, permanent faces,
their inflexible and fragile existence.

How alike we are
with this holy family,
its onlookers and animals!

We too dance
with our chipped shadows
cast huge and grotesque behind us.

We too have something
at our center that reaches up and out,
something holy.



So there it is. Normally, I would be loathe to print my own poetry here but it's as close as any of my work comes to seasonal or festive so I thought I'd make an exception.

What a Wonderful (Disney) World

Day One: A pleasant flight with the girls. They watched Twelve Dancing Princesses and looked out the window while Suzanne and I read trash celebrity magazines. (My great vice when I travel. It's the only time I would ever think it's okay to pay money for things like People or US.)
Once we actually made it to sunny Florida, we rested for a bit in our 7th floor hotel room and decompressed. We got our bearings and walked the quarter mile to an area called Downtown Disney. It's a complex of shops and restaurants that enables people to blow tons of money on Disney merchandise without having to actually go to the park. As everything seems to in Florida, the place is centered around a lake. We walked to the dock and took a 20 minute ferry ride to one of the Disney resorts, Old Key West where we ate at a place called Olivia's. We figured we could afford to eat overpriced Disney fare once so we went for it. Prime rib for me, lime chicken for Suzanne. Kid food for the kids. Our waiter was named Brahim and he was from Morocco.

After the meal, we went back to Downtown Disney and wandered through the cavernous gift shops. There was also a stage area and, without question, the highlight of the entire day was the kids dance party that we held there. This schlubby looking guy with a ball cap, glasses, and a headset microphone led a mob of people (mostly young kids but also teenagers and "feeling young again" parents) through dance moves to the tunes of "Car Wash," "Respect," "Hey Ya," and others. Why was this the highlight, you ask? Well, let me tell you, my friend, my 5 year old loves to shake it. That's right, shake it. At first she was just sitting on my lap and trying to be subtle about the fact that she was following along with schlub-man up front. I asked her if she wanted to go down to the pint-sized mosh pit and she said no. But within 5 minutes, she's jumped up and went down there entirely on her own and was completely enveloped in the kid's dance party experience for the next twenty five minutes. It was the funniest, cutest thing I'd ever seen. This was good but the best part was when we sent Older Sister down to retrieve Younger Sister because it was getting late. We watched Maryn walk down, find Avery, talk into her ear, and then, almost instantly, get swept up in the rapture of Aretha Franklin's R-E-S-P-E-C-T, and start dancing too. It was like she'd gotten assimilated by a herd of dancing Borg or something. One minute she's the responsible older sister and the next she's shaking it. That's right, shaking it. It was hysterical.

We eventually pulled them away from the dancing, bought some Ghiardelli's hot chocolate (because it was a little chilly), and walked back to the hotel.

Day Two: Breakfast at Perkins and then off to the Magic Kingdom. It was bright and warm. 78 degrees feels pretty hot when there's 100% humidity and you just came from snow and 34 degrees.

Keep in mind, I'd been to Disneyland before when I was a kid and as a teenager. Suzanne, on the other hand, had never been to Disney-anything. It was all new for her and the girls so it was a thrill to be with them when they saw the ornate, cleverly laid-out Main Street U.S.A. and to hear Maryn shriek as she pointed, "There's Cinderella's castle!" It's cool to be around for stuff like that.

We spent a lot of time in Tomorrowland that day without doing a whole lot. It was a Saturday and, in retrospect, I realize that's probably not the best day to to to the park. Long lines were everywhere and, at times, it was hard just to walk. Avery and I rode the Astro Orbiter while our more weak-stomached companions, Suzanne and Maryn, went on the Carousel of Progress. After that, we made the very fateful mistake of taking the girls on Stitch's Great Escape. The whole premise is that you're a guard in the prison where Stitch, the blue dog-like alien from Lilo and Stitch, is being held. He escapes and causes mayhem. There are long periods in complete darkness, unexpected loud noises, spraying water, and at one point, the smell of chili dog burps being blown in your face. (I'm not kidding.) Our little guide book said the ride was mediocre and might frighten small children. Let this be a lesson to us all: believe your guidebook. Do not disregard what it tells you. The girls came out of there crying, screaming, and pretty much traumatized for the rest of the trip. From that point on, right when the line to a ride turned a corner to the unknown, Maryn would start crying and freaking out. It wasn't cool.

We bought a hot dog, chips, and a drink for each of us for lunch to the tune of 30 dollars and moved on to the Toon Town Fair. (We did ride the Tea Cup ride on the way though and it was pretty sweet. It was a precursor to what I discovered the next day -- the older rides are better than the newer rides.) We toured Mickey's house, Minnie's house, Donald's boat, and took the train around the park before returning to Toon Town. Both girls refused to go on Goofy's Barnstormer which is a small roller coaster for kids. There was no convincing them so we moved on.

It doesn't seem like we did all that much but it did take us five or six hours to get through all this. We ended the day by going to Mickey's PhilharMagic which is a computer generated 3-D movie about Donald Duck chasing the wizard's hat from Fantasia through four or five Disney movies. The 3-D effects were incredible and we all loved it. We figured that was a good note to end on so we headed out.

(Heading out involves a lot down there. We walked to the monorail that took us to the transportation center that brought us a bus that drove us to our hotel. The whole park-to-hotel experience took an hour with all the walking and waiting.)

Dinner at TGIFriday's and sleep.

Day Three: This was, by far, the best and most enjoyable day of the trip. We had a better sense of how to navigate the park and what not to do (don't backtrack, just keep moving). Plus, as much as I wouldn't ever advocate willful, purposeful Sabbath-breaking, Sunday is totally the day the attend the Magic Kingdom. Lines were short, crowds were thin, and it was just a much more enjoyable experience in general.

We started back in Fantasy Land and got in line to Ariel's Grotto. There's a little splash park for the kids to play in while parents hold their place in line so they can meet an actress dressed in what must be a the world's most uncomfortable costume. Really, it's the worst of two worlds -- she is simultaneously overdressed and underdressed. She's in a super-heavy wig that's made to not budge an inch and her bottom half is wrapped in a faux fishtail. Can't be comfortable, right? But besides that, all she has up top is a seashell bikini so she's pretty vulnerable. How would you like to sit for four hours at a time so strangers could look at your bare abdomen? Not I, said the jelly-bellied Mark.

Anyway, the girls were pretty enchanted with her and enthusiastically waved good-bye when we left. Then we moved on to two classics in a row -- It's a Small World and Peter Pan's Flight. Both were just sort of deliriously great in how old-school they were. I mean, the Small World ride is really uncomplicated but the music and the colors and all the change that people have thrown into the water -- it's just cool. Plus, I loved it when midway through Maryn looked me and said with sudden understanding, "Dad, they're singing to us in the words from the different countries!" I was pleased that she was paying close enough attention to notice that the song was being sung in a different language in each room. She's such a little smarty pants.

Peter Pan's Flight was awesome just because of the way they mess with reality using really basic technology. The sprawling but tiny model of London as you fly over in your individual pirate ship is just freakin' magic.

We ate lunch at Pinochio's Haus and I thought it was really funny that we ate pizza, salad, and a Philly cheese steak in a German-themed restaurant while being served by people from Peru and Puerto Rico. Disney World really is a surreal place in many ways.

After lunch, we tried to get the girls to go through the Haunted Mansion. I can't say this with enough emphasis: It. Did. Not. Go. Well. I tried to casually walk them up to the door and get them in so they could see that it wasn't a big deal. But the recording of a howling wolf that was coming from a hidden speaker near the door sort of gave it away and the whole affair ended in a wrought-iron-fence-clutching, crying, screaming, wailing, terror-stricken fit. I tried to convince them that it was fun scary rather than scary scary but they would not be swayed. So we walked back through the entrance line, passing curious onlookers as we went, tear-stained daughters being led by the hand.

So we headed to Adventureland and, overall, it rocked. The Swiss Family Robinson tree house, the Jungle Cruise, and the new addition of Aladdin's Flying Carpets were all a lot of fun and had short lines. The Jungle Cruise might as well be made from pure Velveeta but I loved it. The animatronic lions eat the animatronic zebra while the animatronic (and seemingly politically incorrect) headhunters look on. It's awesome.

There was some sort of live Pirates of the Carribbean show going on outside the ride itself. Some Johnny Depp-lookalike was having a sword fight with someone else and there was a whole, mesmerized crowd watching. We were not mesmerized so we just kept walking and walking and walking until our little stroll led us right to the boats of the P of the C ride without so much as a pause for breath. No lines. At all. Do you know how rare that is? It was like finding a 20 dollar bill in my pocket (which, if I had found, I promptly would have spent on one ice cream cone and a box of peanuts from Disney vendors. I would have had .75 cents left over.) Anyway, all that joy was stymied when the ride stopped for ten or fifteen minutes right at the "Dead Men Tell No Tales" part before the big drop off. That long pause sapped a little of the magic but once we actually dropped down and went into the fort attack room, I was happy. It was a lot for the girls to take in so I'm not sure how much they really enjoyed it. Once we got out into the well-placed gift shop, they definitely enjoyed sword fighting with each other.

We went to Tom Sawyer's island for a while and the girls took turns leading us through the various caves and mines. Standing on the dock to go back, I was certain I was directly across from Miguel Ferrer, the actor from Crossing Jordan, Bionic Woman, Traffic, and the Kevin Costner festival of badness, Revenge. I couldn't tell if the guy was looking at me in a "Please, don't make a big deal of who I am" sort of way or a "Why is this jug-headed guy staring at me" sort of way. I've looked at photos of him on the Web and I'm still not sure. Suzanne says no but I would love the brush-with-fame mediocrity of it. I'm never impressed with people who have had dinner or spent real time with celebrities. I'm always more interested when I meet someone who cleaned Jamie Lee Curtis's cabin at Red Fish Lake or someone who delivered a custom shower door to Bruce Willis's house.

I digress.

We watched Fairy Godmother light up Cinderella's castle for Christmas and then had a terrific view of the fireworks show while we waited in line for the Tomorrowland Indy cars. Avery was a driving machine and loved being at the wheel. She purposefully banged the car into the guide track and then would say, "I can't help it, Dad. It's just the wheel."

We finished off the night by going on Buzz Lightyear's Space Spin (or something.) I still think the old-school rides are superior but this one is a worthy addition. You're in a spaceship that you can make spin left or right and it carries you through a series of shooting galleries. Each ship is equipped with two laser guns and you fire at the targets in the galleries and accrue points. You fight the evil Emperor Zurg from Toy Story 2 and just generally have a great time. Maryn scored 800 points, Avery scored 2000 points, I had 80,000 and Suzanne, freakishly, had something like 400,000 points. I don't know how she did it but I know that she was the Zurg-slaying queen.

Avery fell asleep in my arms as I carried her to the monorail that night and slept until we were almost to the hotel. Maryn slumped against me on the bus and fell asleep too. For the record, though she may only be 5, carrying Avery is like carrying a small NBA player or a newborn Clydesdale. Seriously, it's like she's made out of sandbags and leftover legs from the giant-making factory. She's a long, tall Sally for sure.

Anyway, the next day was uneventful. The girls swam in the hotel pool, we checked out, and went back to Downtown Disney to buy souvenirs. Suzanne and I got a set of Christmas ornaments (our tradition is to buy an ornament whenever we go on a trip so our tree will represent places we've gone together). Maryn got a Polly Pocket Tinkerbell doll and Avery, ever the surprising little girl, got a sword, eye patch, and telescope.

We returned our car, waited for our delayed flight, crossed the continent from south to north, and returned to snow and 34 degree weather. It was a great time and I'm glad we went.

Don't you feel well rested and tan just for having read the blogging equivalent of a neighbor's slide show of their vacation?

P.S. As an ironic afterword, I want to point out that the first movie the girls wanted to watch when we got home was Lilo and Stitch.

29 Things

So it's been over a week since I last posted. In the last seven days, I have eaten a lot of really good holiday food, traveled to Florida, spent a ridiculous amount of money on park admission and food, walked all over Uncle Walt's creation, had a wonderfully good time with my family, traveled back to freezing Michigan, written a paper on Arendtian Action and the African concept of ubuntu, watched a lame film adaptation of Athol Fugard's Tsotsi, and taught my students about the proper use of quotation marks using a homemade worksheet about Snoop Dogg drinking Kool-Aid from his gold-encrusted goblet. Yes, it's been a full week.

Consequently, there's much to write about. I kept notes on our trip to Disney World and I'll offer a few highlights later once I have access to the photos but for now I think I'll post a couple of random things. First of all, something I stole from Tracy's website:

29 Things About Suzanne

1. Who is your woman?
I can’t really claim ownership, but my sweetheart is the one and only, Suzanne Marie Day Brown.

2. How long have you been together?
If you count our dating time, it's been close to ten years. Officially, our 9th wedding anniversary is December 19th.

3. How long did you date?
We knew each other for four years before we actually started dating. Once we became a couple, we dated for less than a year.

4. How old is your woman?
33

5. Who eats more?

Me. Easily. Hands down. In fact, if you put your hands down on the table, I may eat them too.

6. Who said “I love you” first?
Hmmm. I think it was me.

7. Who is taller?
Me, although not by much. It's pretty cool being with a tall woman. She's powerful, y'know?

8. Who sings better?
Neither of us. Singing time at FHE is pretty rocky at our house. (Although if I was allowed to sing hymns Mel Torme-style, I'd totally be the better singer. I sound great when I do that.)

9. Who is smarter?

We're both pretty intelligent people. Suzanne has a very clear, logical mind and she can organize with almost alarming efficiency. I think we're equally smart, just about different subjects.

10. Whose temper is worse?
Hers.

11. Who does the laundry?
We both do but I'm swiftly losing my laundry privileges. I ruined a sweater and a shirt of hers last week by drying them when they weren't meant to be dried. Maybe we're not equally intelligent after all.

12. Who takes out the garbage?
Me.

13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
If you're looking at the bed or laying in the bed?

14. Who pays the bills?
Me

15. Who is better with the computer?
She is.

16. Who mows the lawn?
I do.

17. Who cooks dinner?
Usually her. She's infinitely better at it. I am the king of homemade cheese burgers, soups, and chocolate chip cookies but Suzanne is better at everything else. (Actually, she's probably better at those too but they just happen to be the things I don't mind making.)

18. Who drives when you are together?

Me. "It's not a 'man thang,' it's just how I get down." (Name that movie folks.)

19. Who pays when you go out?
Depends on who has money in their account that day and who paid last.

20. Who is most stubborn?
Uhhhhhhh

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
Hmm. Probably me.

22. Whose parents do you see the most?
Hers but I talk to mine more often.

23. Who kissed who first?
I kissed her after she goaded me into it.

24. Who asked who out?

Me, I guess but there is much debate as to what qualifies as our first date. According to Suzanne, it took place in 1993. According to me, it didn't happen until 1998.

25. Who proposed?

I did. In a cemetery.

26. Who is more sensitive?
Her. But I have my moments.

27. Who has more friends?
Here? Probably Suzanne. I don't really have friends. Sniff sniff.

28. Who has more siblings?
She does. 6 kids in her family, 4 in mine. But my siblings are all boys and most of her siblings are scrawny girls so if we ever got into a family to family rumble, the Browns would totally win.

29. Who wears the pants in the family?
We work on sharing the pants. Co-pants.

Pre-Thanksgiving

Pre-Thanksgiving. Tomorrow we head up to Commerce Township for the big meal with Suzanne's family and then on Friday we load onto a plane and head for (hopefully) sunny Florida. Actually, the weather forecast says it will be overcast but in the high 70s. Seeing as how it's in the 40s and raining like crazy outside here, almost anything is an improvement.


Last night in film class, we were subjected to Abel Ferrara's New Rose Hotel. The professor prefaced our viewing by saying, "I've never heard of anyone besides myself liking this movie -- but I do think it's kind of wonderful." When the teacher made that comment, I wanted to share his vision, you know? I wanted to be one of the few, brilliant students who could appreciate this hidden gem, right? Well, unfortunately, I hated that movie -- hated it the way I hate Zach Braff. It was all ambition and no talent, all directorial back-patting and self-congratulation for being so clever and complicated. It was ugly to look at, boring to follow, and a failure at being any kind of science fiction (which is supposedly was). Once it was over and we took a mid-class break, one of my classmates asked me what I thought. I told him I'd had more pleasant experiences at the urologist's office.

But it did get me thinking about my teacher's taste in movies. I think academia sort of fetishizes complication and makes it a virtue unto itself. That was certainly true in the Boise State MFA program. The more difficult something was, generally the more praised it was, at least on the poetry side of things. Inscrutability was this high art. If someone had to scratch their head over your work, that meant they were paying attention. Though it was never articulated in this way, getting a reader to Pay Close Attention was regarded as the Holy Grail of writing. That's what you want. Basic pleasure was always viewed as a lowly, less brainy, and therefore less admirable second-stringer reaction to writing.

Pleasure in reading wasn't outright denied but it was always spoken of in connection with difficulty and complexity. The idea was that being required to think really, really hard and being made to look at a poem or story (or film or book) as some sort of puzzle to be solved or some sort of inexplicable experience that can't ever really be captured or articulated is what gives a reader pleasure. There's certainly something to that and I'm not opposed to complicated ideas or works of art. But ultimately, pleasure for me comes from feeling something more than thinking something. Most complicated, academic writing just doesn't make me feel anything.

Anyway, back to my teacher's taste in movies: as I sat there resenting him for making us watch this terrible piece of junk, I wondered what his favorites movies are. Asking a person what their one favorite movie is isn't that useful. I never have an answer for it. There are too many choices, too many different films for different moods. Even when you ask people what their favorite food is, they usually answer with "Mexican" or "Italian" or something like that. It's a whole genre of food rather than one specific dish.

So, rather than trying to narrow it down to one favorite movie, I wondered the old desert island question: if you were stranded on a desert island but got to bring ten movies to watch (presumably on a coconut and bamboo tv and dvd player invented by the Professor), what would you choose? I didn't ask Dr. Shaviro but, being the narcissist that I am, I asked myself.

In no particular order, my essential ten are:

Always (Spielberg, 1989)

Rear Window (Hitchcock, 1954)

Liar, Liar (Shadyac, 1997)

The Mormon Trilogy (Dutcher, 2000, 2001, 2005)

The original Star Wars Trilogy (Lucas, Kershner, Marquand, 1977, 1980, 1983)

The Incredibles (Bird, 2004)

A River Runs Through It (Redford, 1992)

Dead Poets Society (Weir, 1989)

Grosse Point Blank (Armitage, 1997)

Rushmore (Anderson, 1998)

I can elaborate on these choices another day but for now, I tag Suzanne, Darlene, Tony, Tracy, Dan, Ellen, and Tawnya. What are your ten desert island movies?

Friday Randomness

Even though it's Friday, I don't have the usual sense of relief. The end of the semester is approaching and there's less and less time to do less and less. I have an eight page position paper on how the African concept of ubuntu figures into western concepts of rhetoric that's due after Thanksgiving and then two 15 page papers, one on Richard Dutcher as an auteur and one on identity and Mormon film, are due in about three weeks. They'll get done; they always do. But man, it makes me look forward to Christmas break quite a bit.

Four Random Facts About Me:

1. One of my childhood preoccupations was cleaning out the caps to Elmer's Glue bottles. In grade school when there would be a dozen bottles of white paste clogged with dried glue, I was the go-to kid. I got a lot of satisfaction out of prying the sheets of dry gunk off and pushing out the gummy plugs that were stopping the free and unobstructed flow of glue for kids everywhere. My tools were a straightened paper clip, a pencil, and sometimes a pair of scissors. Writing it down now, it sounds immensely nerdy and weird but, frankly, even now when I use PVA glue for a book project, I spend the first five minutes cleaning the lid of the jug off before I do anything else. I'm a freak. Sue me.


2. I dressed up as the Scarecrow and teamed with three other Ricks College students who were dressed as Dorothy, Cowardly Lion, and the Tin Man to be part of the Grand Opening festivities when Wal-Mart came to Rexburg. I saw several people I knew (including my smirking father) as I flopped around on the hard tile floors for three hours and sang "We're off to see the wizard" with Loreen "Dorothy" Muhlstein. For all that, I got paid fifty bucks. It was awful. I don't know what's worse -- dressing up as a scarecrow for money or the fact that I had some small part in welcoming Wal-Mart to my town.







3. I once got to hold and wear an Olympic gold medal when I interviewed pole vault champion Stacey Dragila for NPR in Boise. It was heavy and, though she was tiny, Stacey Dragila could have easily killed me just by flexing her calf muscles and crushing me against a nearby wall with them.

4. As a waiter at the dearly-departed Pocatello Big Jud's, I sold 24 Big Jud burgers in one night. Missy Cummins says she won the who-can-sell-more contest that night but I know that I did.

Acer Palmatum

Just a couple of photos of the Japanese maple that's growing in our backyard. From the looks of things, yesterday was the last warm day of fall so I'm glad I got these shots when I did.