Sorry about the delay; it's been a busy busy couple of weeks.
I must admit it: I'm a big fan of Doctor Who. Sometimes, I wish I were an American, with American science-fiction predilections. I'd be among the hordes and throngs who love to debate whether or not Han shot first in Klingon, while reading the collected works of Heinlein and Gibson. I suppose I'm more of a fantastical kind of guy: the science doesn't impress me as much as the adventure and the otherness does. I always enjoyed a good story that took me away from reality for a little while; thus, the comic nerd side of me is appeased with a good story, as long as it has some of the fantastic in it. Doctor Who incorporates three of the great cornerstones of science fiction: mad scientists, time travel, and killer robots.
I've seen at least a whole episode of each Doctor in action; I am indeed that big of a nerd. There have been eleven Doctors so far, starting with William Hartnell in 1963. The screen was small, the colors limited to black and white; however, in the very first episode of this show, the granddaughter of the Doctor predicted a day when British currency would be based on the decimal system. This was about thirty years before the Euro stormed the British markets.
My favorite episodes are the ones starring Tom Baker: the other-worldly, off-beat intensity that he gave the Doctor define the character in my mind. It was during his time as the Doctor that several other major figures coalesced on-screen: Sarah Jane Smith, K-9, Romana... The Key to Time story arc added substance to the mythos of the Doctor, and he took on his longest-staying traveling companion - Tegan - during one of the last story arcs.
If I had to talk about the story arcs that are important to the series, I really couldn't. I mean, it's not as though there's an over-arching storyline that has happened since the beginning of the series. Each little vignette is a snapshot of the character of the Doctor. I'd suggest, however, watching the following arcs of each Doctor for a decent overview of the series:
1st Doctor (William Hartnell) - the original two story arcs, as well as The Dalek Invasion of Earth and The Space Museum. We see his initial reluctance to take on companions replaced, eventually, by warmth and caring for these human stragglers.
2nd Doctor (Patrick Troughton) - The Tomb of the Cybermen, The Mind Robber, The Krotons, and The War Games. We see the good-natured, slightly scatterbrained Doctor take on all kinds of surreal and science fiction fiends. Most of the First and Second Doctors' adventures were destroyed by the BBC - each of the aforementioned story arcs have been preserved. (And are available to watch online, if you know where to go!)
3rd Doctor (Jon Pertwee) - Spearhead From Space, Terror of the Autons, The Three Doctors, The Time Warrior, and Planet of the Spiders. I really never liked this Doctor; he's tetchy, sexist, and prissy. However, he's also been exiled from his home planet, so he's bound to be a little insensitive.
4th Doctor (Tom Baker) - Any and all episodes you can get your hands on. Special attention, however, to Genesis of the Daleks, Pyramids of Mars, The Brain of Morbius, The Hand of Fear, The Talons of Weng-Chiang, Horror of Fang Rock, The Invasion of Time, the entire Key of Time story arc/season (especially the episode written by Doug Adams), Destiny of the Daleks, and City of Death. All of these stories are well written, show off the characters to their fullest, and touch on all kinds of issues. Tom Baker is, quite possibly, the best Doctor in my estimation, with David Tennant running a close second.
5th Doctor (Peter Davison) - Black Orchid, Time-Flight, Arc of Infinity, Enlightenment, and The Caves of Androzani. After Tom Baker's mania and intensity, the Fifth Doctor becomes a refreshing change of pace. He also doesn't rely on gadgets as much as the Fourth did, one time saving the world with a tea kettle and a piece of string, all while sporting a stalk of celery.
6th Doctor (Colin Baker) - The Twin Dilemma, The Two Doctors, and that's about it. This is my least favorite incarnation of the Doctor: he's aggressive, arrogant, loud, and dressed like a patchwork doll. Colin Baker also has the unfortunate standing of being the only Doctor ever fired. Apparently, in the audiobooks, he's quite good; however, I've not listened to enough of them to tell.
7th Doctor (Sylvester McCoy) - Time and the Rani, Dragonfire, The Greatest Show in the Galaxy, and Survival. I like this Doctor well enough; anyone who can run like Charlie Chaplin on television is entertaining enough for me. The original show ended with this Doctor, sadly; apparently, they just couldn't keep the ratings up.
8th Doctor (Paul McGann) - There was a television movie on Fox that attempted to bring the Doctor to life on American television; it didn't work, but this Doctor shows potential.
9th Doctor (Christopher Eccleston) - Rose, Dalek, The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, and Bad Wolf/The Parting of Ways. When the show was given a reboot, the character of the Doctor became a battle-weary, emotionally scarred time traveler, and Mr. Eccleston does an impressive job of it.
10th Doctor (David Tennant) - Any and every one of his episodes. As with Tom Baker, anything Mr. Tennant does on screen cannot go wrong. Entertaining to the last, all the later episodes build on the former, leaving the casual viewer wondering if they've missed an in-joke or thousand.
11th Doctor (Matt Smith) - The current Doctor. Although the first season builds on itself to the point of self-referential insanity, Amy's Choice and The Lodger are the two brightest points of light from last season.
As ever, I look forward to comments from anyone out there who has seen more episodes, has opinions of their own, or would like to just say something.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
27th Confession
I'll admit it: I'm a comics geek. I loved them as a child: the colors, stories, and characters captured my young imagination. I loved them up until about a year ago: the writing styles of a few of the authors, the simple expressions in anime and manga, and quite a few classic story arcs from before I could read.
Don't get me wrong: I still enjoy the characters a lot. I identify with the moody Batman of Frank Miller and Jeph Loeb, the angst-ridden yet wise-cracking Spiderman of J. Michael Starczynski, and the portrait of inscrutability that is Shoji Gatoh's Sousuke Sagara. Among other things, I proudly own the entire TV series of the Flash (with matching graffiti-style t-shirt!), both Iron Man movies (with matching vintage-style t-shirt!), the first two X-Men movies (the third one isn't worth owning), and the first two Spiderman movies (same justification as the X-Men movies). I'm seriously considering purchasing The Dark Knight and Batman Begins, as they are great adaptations of the mythos; I already own the 1966 Batman (Some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb!), just for laughs.
And yet, for all the art and good story arcs, the recent turns of events in both major universes (DC and Marvel) pretty much shocked me off comic books for a while (if not for good). DC, for those of you who aren't as into comics, is the one with Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman; Marvel's got Spiderman, the Hulk, and Captain America. In order to boost sales, both "universes" created major story arcs across multiple titles: nothing against business, but I'm not going to catch EVERY title in order to get the entire story. And the problem is, nowadays, you HAVE to read them all in order to catch the entire plot. Wikipedia is also a good source for such things; however, you miss all the pretty pictures that way. =(
After the entire "bring back the dead" arc in DC-land, as well as the political upheaval in the Marvel-verse, I decided that the good storytellers have gone away for a bit, and so should I. It's not just in the comics that this happened: look at the vast wasteland that TV has become. Heroes is a prime example of this: it started out BRILLIANTLY! Absolutely brilliant, in terms of casting, plot line, characters - everything had the makings of greatness on it. And then, the second season tanked. As did the third. And the fourth.
I only bring up superheroes today because ABC is in talks with Marvel to bring The Incredible Hulk back to television; DC already announced plans to create a Wonder Woman television series. While I'm excited to see comics taking on the small screen again (Smallville was a success, why not replicate it?), I'm also horrified at the prospect of the stories being horrible. With the rise of "unscripted" television - and people named "Snookie" - the networks are making less and less quality programming, and instead grinding out filler. It's a sad commentary on culture when we make celebrities of people whose behaviors we despise.
Next up: considering the Doctor.
Don't get me wrong: I still enjoy the characters a lot. I identify with the moody Batman of Frank Miller and Jeph Loeb, the angst-ridden yet wise-cracking Spiderman of J. Michael Starczynski, and the portrait of inscrutability that is Shoji Gatoh's Sousuke Sagara. Among other things, I proudly own the entire TV series of the Flash (with matching graffiti-style t-shirt!), both Iron Man movies (with matching vintage-style t-shirt!), the first two X-Men movies (the third one isn't worth owning), and the first two Spiderman movies (same justification as the X-Men movies). I'm seriously considering purchasing The Dark Knight and Batman Begins, as they are great adaptations of the mythos; I already own the 1966 Batman (Some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb!), just for laughs.
And yet, for all the art and good story arcs, the recent turns of events in both major universes (DC and Marvel) pretty much shocked me off comic books for a while (if not for good). DC, for those of you who aren't as into comics, is the one with Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman; Marvel's got Spiderman, the Hulk, and Captain America. In order to boost sales, both "universes" created major story arcs across multiple titles: nothing against business, but I'm not going to catch EVERY title in order to get the entire story. And the problem is, nowadays, you HAVE to read them all in order to catch the entire plot. Wikipedia is also a good source for such things; however, you miss all the pretty pictures that way. =(
After the entire "bring back the dead" arc in DC-land, as well as the political upheaval in the Marvel-verse, I decided that the good storytellers have gone away for a bit, and so should I. It's not just in the comics that this happened: look at the vast wasteland that TV has become. Heroes is a prime example of this: it started out BRILLIANTLY! Absolutely brilliant, in terms of casting, plot line, characters - everything had the makings of greatness on it. And then, the second season tanked. As did the third. And the fourth.
I only bring up superheroes today because ABC is in talks with Marvel to bring The Incredible Hulk back to television; DC already announced plans to create a Wonder Woman television series. While I'm excited to see comics taking on the small screen again (Smallville was a success, why not replicate it?), I'm also horrified at the prospect of the stories being horrible. With the rise of "unscripted" television - and people named "Snookie" - the networks are making less and less quality programming, and instead grinding out filler. It's a sad commentary on culture when we make celebrities of people whose behaviors we despise.
Next up: considering the Doctor.
Friday, October 15, 2010
26th Confession
So last week, I attended one of my son Edan's friend's birthday party at a roller skating rink. Amazingly enough, even after about nine years off of skates, I escaped with most of my dignity intact after a rough start.
Not that it was my first time on skates; far from it, actually. When I was smaller, Mom and Dad took my sister and me to roller skating rinks often; how often I cannot say. A child's memory is a capricious creature at best: fanciful and full of whimsy, often forgiving and forgetting portions. Mine, I'm afraid, is much too full of holes to be any kind of reliable witness. But I recall the place as best I can: in shades of twilight and garish colors, punctuated by glaring strobes and synthesized music, the tinny 8-bit music of the arcade in the background.
It was to this roller rink that I had my first "date" when I was...six? Seven, perhaps? I recall it was with Michelle, a classmate of mine in New York, and I was very young indeed. I remember holding hands during the couple skate, that Dad was our chaperone, that I had no earthly idea why this girl couldn't keep up with me, and I think I recall that I accidentally held her hand too tightly. Thankfully, I learned many things by the time I had my second date, and that one went much more smoothly; her hand didn't ache at the end of from my grip.
My earliest recollections of skating oddly enough are not on skates of my own, but rather from a Charlie Chaplin short: The Rink made an indelible impression on little five-year-old Ryan. The speed and grace with which he rolled around the rink, swinging around poles and knocking poor fat Eric Campbell down with his cane, and Chaplin hooking onto a car at the end of the short were all intoxicating and filled my head with all kinds of skating imaginations. Unfortunately, the closest I got to anything remotely resembling that in the film was falling down a lot, and sometimes pulling down the person by whom I was skating by their arm.
And now, a good twenty-odd years later, the scene has changed. The music is less Bowie and more country. The rink has seen better days. They play the awful Chicken Dance. And the arcade has fewer "pure" games and more games based on tickets and tokens. The day afterward, I have a deep gash above my ankle from where the plastic of the skate rubbed through my sock.
But during the free skate, while Edan was not out on the rink (he inherited his father's susceptibility to arcade games), I was out on the rink and the DJ started playing the Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian." I sped up my skating just a little bit, felt the wind blow through my hair, and for just a couple minutes, I was eight again. The skates didn't hurt, the thrill was seeing how quickly I could go around the rink on these wheels, and I could feel a foolish grin plaster itself on my face.
May we all never grow up so much, that simple things like wind fail to bring back some measure of joy in our lives.
Not that it was my first time on skates; far from it, actually. When I was smaller, Mom and Dad took my sister and me to roller skating rinks often; how often I cannot say. A child's memory is a capricious creature at best: fanciful and full of whimsy, often forgiving and forgetting portions. Mine, I'm afraid, is much too full of holes to be any kind of reliable witness. But I recall the place as best I can: in shades of twilight and garish colors, punctuated by glaring strobes and synthesized music, the tinny 8-bit music of the arcade in the background.
It was to this roller rink that I had my first "date" when I was...six? Seven, perhaps? I recall it was with Michelle, a classmate of mine in New York, and I was very young indeed. I remember holding hands during the couple skate, that Dad was our chaperone, that I had no earthly idea why this girl couldn't keep up with me, and I think I recall that I accidentally held her hand too tightly. Thankfully, I learned many things by the time I had my second date, and that one went much more smoothly; her hand didn't ache at the end of from my grip.
My earliest recollections of skating oddly enough are not on skates of my own, but rather from a Charlie Chaplin short: The Rink made an indelible impression on little five-year-old Ryan. The speed and grace with which he rolled around the rink, swinging around poles and knocking poor fat Eric Campbell down with his cane, and Chaplin hooking onto a car at the end of the short were all intoxicating and filled my head with all kinds of skating imaginations. Unfortunately, the closest I got to anything remotely resembling that in the film was falling down a lot, and sometimes pulling down the person by whom I was skating by their arm.
And now, a good twenty-odd years later, the scene has changed. The music is less Bowie and more country. The rink has seen better days. They play the awful Chicken Dance. And the arcade has fewer "pure" games and more games based on tickets and tokens. The day afterward, I have a deep gash above my ankle from where the plastic of the skate rubbed through my sock.
But during the free skate, while Edan was not out on the rink (he inherited his father's susceptibility to arcade games), I was out on the rink and the DJ started playing the Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian." I sped up my skating just a little bit, felt the wind blow through my hair, and for just a couple minutes, I was eight again. The skates didn't hurt, the thrill was seeing how quickly I could go around the rink on these wheels, and I could feel a foolish grin plaster itself on my face.
May we all never grow up so much, that simple things like wind fail to bring back some measure of joy in our lives.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
25th Confession
One of my favorite lines from Dashiell Hammett comes from his novel The Thin Man, later made into a movie starring my favorite native Pittsburghers, William Powell: the wife, Nora Charles (later portrayed by Myrna Loy), says to her husband, "I love you, Nicky, because you smell nice and know such fascinating people." Although I've been complimented several times about how nice I smell, today's blog is more about the interesting people I know.
When I married into my wife's family, I inherited six nephews and nieces, as well as the parents to go along with them. My wife's sister, Grace, is the first very interesting person I'd like to celebrate today; her viewpoint is always refreshing, her insights continuously thought-provoking, and her cooking sublime. Today's posting finds its roots in her contemplation on the perverted nature of the modern American church; perverted not meaning "lurid" or "debased", but rather the classical definition of "twisted".
What started out as a genuine outpouring of love from God has been twisted at the very base into something almost unrecognizable. The career pulpiteer preaches "It was for freedom that Christ set us free, but within a strict set of laws and rules." The love that a congregation has for its own members eclipses the outreach that it has to the community; as soon as a member leaves a congregation, the circle closes its wound and shuns the new non-believer. The flock is weak from being fed pablum, mediocrity is rewarded, and the Kingdom of God is only for those who hold on until the bitter end. Anyone who has talent is milked dry of their enthusiasm by being overworked in the house, and God Himself help the person with a slightly different viewpoint than that of the particular house where the congregant is planted.
It's not really the fault of Americans; the system became flawed back in the days when clergy and laity needed to be clergy and laity. The clergy shared the good news with the laity because the laity weren't educated enough to read the words on a page. As has happened today, knowledge and power went hand in hand; those that have the knowledge obtain the power. And instead of doling out the knowledge freely, the clergy retained their power, even when it was obvious they shouldn't have it. The Church made itself an enemy of science starting even before the whole Galileo Galilei debacle, and therefore is directly responsible for atheism. The Church alienates the exceptional people who might be a threat to their personal corporate religious empire, if not consciously (through pressure and the like), then by celebrating the mediocre and the unexceptional.
Speaking of mediocre and unexceptional, did you realize that the most pervasive prejudice in the atheist world is the rampant stupidity of Christians? The most cynical view Christians as superstitious sheep, following a religion that worships a zombie, without a thought for themselves or others, considering science as something to be mistrusted. Apply the epithet of stupidity to any other people group - heck, apply ANY epithet to ANY other people group - and watch the hurt feelings pile up. And yet, as Christians, we feel the necessity to accept this abuse as a pious exercise in "turning the other cheek" or being blessed when people speak ill of you "on [His] account, for my sake."
The worst part about this is that the abuse isn't just heaped on by the world; it's heaped on by the very clergy that Christians go to for help. The very people that are called to cover and equip the people of God abuse, misuse, ignore, and mishandle the gifts and people that God gives them! Unbelievable! No wonder many people leave the churches where they are called to minister; there is no place given for them, just a bunch of rules. Because, God knows, it's easier to tell a bunch of people what to do or not to do in a given situation than it is to - Heaven forfend - BUILD ACTUAL RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM. Like the Great Commission calls us to do. There's enough material in THAT for another angry blog; however, let the following story speak to the situation at hand and be enough. Many and many a year ago, I saw an amateur production of Godspell, the classic 1970 musical adaptation of the gospel of Matthew. At the beginning, Jesus interacts with each of the twelve disciples in a personal manner: bumping knuckles with Luke, hugging John, secret-handshaking with Thomas, and so on. Just before the crucifixion sequence, Jesus interacted with each of the twelve disciples in the same manner, albeit a bit more solemnly: John's hug was more tearful on both parts, for example. I'd like to think that anyone who claims to be a personal Savior would be able to be personal with me; why is it that His Shepherds are too busy to build that kind of relationship with the sheep?
Hebrews 13:17 is used a lot to browbeat the laity into submission: OBEY YOUR LEADERS AND SUBMIT TO THEIR AUTHORITY. The latter half of this verse is nicely glossed over: they have to give an account of your souls. I wonder, when the great Judgment is passed, whether or not the sheep will be judged more harshly according to how they submitted to leaders, or whether the leaders will be judged more harshly on how they used the sheep that were under their aegis. Leaders also nicely forget a few verses earlier, where the sheep are called to consider the outcome of their leaders' way of life. If there's no fruit, why should I follow?
Sorry about the angry timbre of this post; the next one will be about roller skating. Honest.
When I married into my wife's family, I inherited six nephews and nieces, as well as the parents to go along with them. My wife's sister, Grace, is the first very interesting person I'd like to celebrate today; her viewpoint is always refreshing, her insights continuously thought-provoking, and her cooking sublime. Today's posting finds its roots in her contemplation on the perverted nature of the modern American church; perverted not meaning "lurid" or "debased", but rather the classical definition of "twisted".
What started out as a genuine outpouring of love from God has been twisted at the very base into something almost unrecognizable. The career pulpiteer preaches "It was for freedom that Christ set us free, but within a strict set of laws and rules." The love that a congregation has for its own members eclipses the outreach that it has to the community; as soon as a member leaves a congregation, the circle closes its wound and shuns the new non-believer. The flock is weak from being fed pablum, mediocrity is rewarded, and the Kingdom of God is only for those who hold on until the bitter end. Anyone who has talent is milked dry of their enthusiasm by being overworked in the house, and God Himself help the person with a slightly different viewpoint than that of the particular house where the congregant is planted.
It's not really the fault of Americans; the system became flawed back in the days when clergy and laity needed to be clergy and laity. The clergy shared the good news with the laity because the laity weren't educated enough to read the words on a page. As has happened today, knowledge and power went hand in hand; those that have the knowledge obtain the power. And instead of doling out the knowledge freely, the clergy retained their power, even when it was obvious they shouldn't have it. The Church made itself an enemy of science starting even before the whole Galileo Galilei debacle, and therefore is directly responsible for atheism. The Church alienates the exceptional people who might be a threat to their personal corporate religious empire, if not consciously (through pressure and the like), then by celebrating the mediocre and the unexceptional.
Speaking of mediocre and unexceptional, did you realize that the most pervasive prejudice in the atheist world is the rampant stupidity of Christians? The most cynical view Christians as superstitious sheep, following a religion that worships a zombie, without a thought for themselves or others, considering science as something to be mistrusted. Apply the epithet of stupidity to any other people group - heck, apply ANY epithet to ANY other people group - and watch the hurt feelings pile up. And yet, as Christians, we feel the necessity to accept this abuse as a pious exercise in "turning the other cheek" or being blessed when people speak ill of you "on [His] account, for my sake."
The worst part about this is that the abuse isn't just heaped on by the world; it's heaped on by the very clergy that Christians go to for help. The very people that are called to cover and equip the people of God abuse, misuse, ignore, and mishandle the gifts and people that God gives them! Unbelievable! No wonder many people leave the churches where they are called to minister; there is no place given for them, just a bunch of rules. Because, God knows, it's easier to tell a bunch of people what to do or not to do in a given situation than it is to - Heaven forfend - BUILD ACTUAL RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM. Like the Great Commission calls us to do. There's enough material in THAT for another angry blog; however, let the following story speak to the situation at hand and be enough. Many and many a year ago, I saw an amateur production of Godspell, the classic 1970 musical adaptation of the gospel of Matthew. At the beginning, Jesus interacts with each of the twelve disciples in a personal manner: bumping knuckles with Luke, hugging John, secret-handshaking with Thomas, and so on. Just before the crucifixion sequence, Jesus interacted with each of the twelve disciples in the same manner, albeit a bit more solemnly: John's hug was more tearful on both parts, for example. I'd like to think that anyone who claims to be a personal Savior would be able to be personal with me; why is it that His Shepherds are too busy to build that kind of relationship with the sheep?
Hebrews 13:17 is used a lot to browbeat the laity into submission: OBEY YOUR LEADERS AND SUBMIT TO THEIR AUTHORITY. The latter half of this verse is nicely glossed over: they have to give an account of your souls. I wonder, when the great Judgment is passed, whether or not the sheep will be judged more harshly according to how they submitted to leaders, or whether the leaders will be judged more harshly on how they used the sheep that were under their aegis. Leaders also nicely forget a few verses earlier, where the sheep are called to consider the outcome of their leaders' way of life. If there's no fruit, why should I follow?
Sorry about the angry timbre of this post; the next one will be about roller skating. Honest.
Monday, October 11, 2010
24th Confession
Recently, one commented to me that atheism is a religion as much as not smoking is a habit. I consider that an interesting proposition: after all, is a habit defined only by the observance? Or can the thousands of recovering smokers consider their "not smoking" to be a habit that they are creating day by day? Or perhaps a habit is more accurately called a force of personal choice, made unconscious by repetition, to one's benefit or detriment.
Either way, the main focus of the argument was that atheism is not a religion. While I respect that point of view, I feel that I must disagree. The hallmarks of any religion are a set of rules, behaviors, rewards, and incentives based around a particular belief; most of the time, these include a creation myth, an explanation of world events, a view on the afterlife, and ethical standpoints. The rest of the trappings - the sacred texts, the relics, the vestments and music and so on - are peculiar to whichever sect you might study, and of little major relevance other than to enforce a sense of commonality and unity across a local establishment.
So, then, is atheism a religion? The main "rule" seems to be that there is no Deity, save perhaps the human mind. Logic, science, and humans seem to be the holy trinity, with the Big Bang Theory servicing as a creation myth. I use the term "myth" not as a slight against my atheist friends, but rather to serve as a reminder that any story told from that far back without some kind of physical proof must remain a story. I can no more explain the Christian creation story than they can explain how a precisely ordered everything came from a large explosive nothing. But it's these traditional stories that are accepted as history that shape and mold the entire worldview of both Christians, atheists, Muslims, Wiccans, and the like.
Thus, this chaotic creation story underpins some of the basic tenants of a world without a God: nothing is ever planned, everything is random, circumstances are accidents, and man has no intrinsic value except from being the last step (so far) in a great chain of evolutionary steps. After one dies, there is nothing but release and decay, so one ought to eat, drink, and be merry with the time that one has. There are no rewards save the earthly pleasures one has, there are no great "Reasons" or anything other than natural knowledge, and life is nothing more than a complex biological function.
There are prophets of atheism: Nietzsche, Darwin, Hawkings, Fry. There are zealots who will argue the non-existence of God for hours on end. Even the agnostics who have stopped searching are a subset of atheists; otherwise, it'd be an important enough decision that they'd come down on one side of the post or the other. There is a degree of faith involved in atheism, one to which I can only dream of aspiring: that nothing matters in the long run.
I wish I had enough time and wherewithal to refute each of these points. I'm tired, though; I can't really bring myself to argue with it anymore right now. Eventually, perhaps, but not today.
Either way, the main focus of the argument was that atheism is not a religion. While I respect that point of view, I feel that I must disagree. The hallmarks of any religion are a set of rules, behaviors, rewards, and incentives based around a particular belief; most of the time, these include a creation myth, an explanation of world events, a view on the afterlife, and ethical standpoints. The rest of the trappings - the sacred texts, the relics, the vestments and music and so on - are peculiar to whichever sect you might study, and of little major relevance other than to enforce a sense of commonality and unity across a local establishment.
So, then, is atheism a religion? The main "rule" seems to be that there is no Deity, save perhaps the human mind. Logic, science, and humans seem to be the holy trinity, with the Big Bang Theory servicing as a creation myth. I use the term "myth" not as a slight against my atheist friends, but rather to serve as a reminder that any story told from that far back without some kind of physical proof must remain a story. I can no more explain the Christian creation story than they can explain how a precisely ordered everything came from a large explosive nothing. But it's these traditional stories that are accepted as history that shape and mold the entire worldview of both Christians, atheists, Muslims, Wiccans, and the like.
Thus, this chaotic creation story underpins some of the basic tenants of a world without a God: nothing is ever planned, everything is random, circumstances are accidents, and man has no intrinsic value except from being the last step (so far) in a great chain of evolutionary steps. After one dies, there is nothing but release and decay, so one ought to eat, drink, and be merry with the time that one has. There are no rewards save the earthly pleasures one has, there are no great "Reasons" or anything other than natural knowledge, and life is nothing more than a complex biological function.
There are prophets of atheism: Nietzsche, Darwin, Hawkings, Fry. There are zealots who will argue the non-existence of God for hours on end. Even the agnostics who have stopped searching are a subset of atheists; otherwise, it'd be an important enough decision that they'd come down on one side of the post or the other. There is a degree of faith involved in atheism, one to which I can only dream of aspiring: that nothing matters in the long run.
I wish I had enough time and wherewithal to refute each of these points. I'm tired, though; I can't really bring myself to argue with it anymore right now. Eventually, perhaps, but not today.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
23rd Confession
There is nothing worse than incompetent leadership. Leaders are the people who are supposed to nurture talent, encourage risk taking, and eventually release into something greater. Whether that "greater" is retirement or a loftier position, leadership is not supposed to be threatened by upward mobility; rather, it is supposed to groom it and, in essence, put itself out of a job.
There aren't many fond memories I take with me from my time in prison....Did I say prison? I meant working at CallTech (later TelePerformance). The hours kept switching, the breakroom TV was always on TNT, and I'm fairly certain I developed digestive issues while there. The best parts of the job were the people; specifically, my old supervisor Shane. Shane did more than manage a dude who had lost five jobs within the span of four years. He modelled what a good supervisor was with impeccable behavior and panache beyond description. When he reviewed an employee, he looked for anything good to bolster their self-confidence, while gently encouraging development in the areas that were lacking. When he recognized someone with leadership potential, he made for darn sure that they were on his team. When he saw that someone had superior abilities, he tried to move them up as best he could. He is, still to this date, the one man I would gladly work for any day.
TelePerformance also taught me that different management styles are ok, but incompetent management always shows through. It taught me that yes, it is who you know that matters, as well as how to cultivate contacts to aid and abet in what you need done. I recall several times that I needed to do something for a customer, but "the rules" said I couldn't. At the time, I had another good supervisor, Travis, who said, "If you can do it, get it done." He encouraged risk-taking and problem-solving, no matter how far outside "the rules" I had to stray. In addition, he encouraged team-building and information sharing, which enabled me to make contacts in a whole lot of places where I'd not have otherwise gone. Of course, it also meant a whole lot of work, but I suppose that I'd rather be working too hard than not enough.
I've also been in situations where leadership has been less than supportive of either myself or my efforts. I've been in places where leadership has felt threatened by my abilities. I recall one place where I was relegated to grunt work, although holding the position and title of management. I was then expected to do my job, my boss's job, and my people's jobs. All at the same time. With excellence. And pride.
That lasted about a month.
In summary, I suppose I only respect leaders as far as they take the time to become interested in me. As they grow to know me and my strengths/weaknesses/limitations, etc., they earn more of my respect and trust. the less they know me? The less time I have for them, the less I care about their opinions, and the less likely I'm going to actively attempt to enable them to succeed.
There aren't many fond memories I take with me from my time in prison....Did I say prison? I meant working at CallTech (later TelePerformance). The hours kept switching, the breakroom TV was always on TNT, and I'm fairly certain I developed digestive issues while there. The best parts of the job were the people; specifically, my old supervisor Shane. Shane did more than manage a dude who had lost five jobs within the span of four years. He modelled what a good supervisor was with impeccable behavior and panache beyond description. When he reviewed an employee, he looked for anything good to bolster their self-confidence, while gently encouraging development in the areas that were lacking. When he recognized someone with leadership potential, he made for darn sure that they were on his team. When he saw that someone had superior abilities, he tried to move them up as best he could. He is, still to this date, the one man I would gladly work for any day.
TelePerformance also taught me that different management styles are ok, but incompetent management always shows through. It taught me that yes, it is who you know that matters, as well as how to cultivate contacts to aid and abet in what you need done. I recall several times that I needed to do something for a customer, but "the rules" said I couldn't. At the time, I had another good supervisor, Travis, who said, "If you can do it, get it done." He encouraged risk-taking and problem-solving, no matter how far outside "the rules" I had to stray. In addition, he encouraged team-building and information sharing, which enabled me to make contacts in a whole lot of places where I'd not have otherwise gone. Of course, it also meant a whole lot of work, but I suppose that I'd rather be working too hard than not enough.
I've also been in situations where leadership has been less than supportive of either myself or my efforts. I've been in places where leadership has felt threatened by my abilities. I recall one place where I was relegated to grunt work, although holding the position and title of management. I was then expected to do my job, my boss's job, and my people's jobs. All at the same time. With excellence. And pride.
That lasted about a month.
In summary, I suppose I only respect leaders as far as they take the time to become interested in me. As they grow to know me and my strengths/weaknesses/limitations, etc., they earn more of my respect and trust. the less they know me? The less time I have for them, the less I care about their opinions, and the less likely I'm going to actively attempt to enable them to succeed.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
22nd Confession
I'm really ashamed at the quality of my last blog. Maybe next time, I'll do better.
So I got rid of some boxes tonight, blessing another couple people and cleaning out my garage. My garage is what I pictured my attic would look like, with my garage and pantry added into it. It's cold, there is stuff everywhere, and it smells faintly of motor oil. I can count on two hands the number of bladed implements in there that I have never used. There are various and sundry pots and potsherds lying about, and the excess food is sprawled about on the ground.
And yet, there is some curious measure of pride that I have in this place. There's the ability to prune a tree, when I get up the energy to do it. I have a seeder to fix my nasty lawn, when we get rid of the dog. I can sharpen a blade, change oil, cut a piece of timber, drill holes in wood and metal...
So much potential. So little practical application. And on my worst days, it feels like it's a reflection of me.
So I got rid of some boxes tonight, blessing another couple people and cleaning out my garage. My garage is what I pictured my attic would look like, with my garage and pantry added into it. It's cold, there is stuff everywhere, and it smells faintly of motor oil. I can count on two hands the number of bladed implements in there that I have never used. There are various and sundry pots and potsherds lying about, and the excess food is sprawled about on the ground.
And yet, there is some curious measure of pride that I have in this place. There's the ability to prune a tree, when I get up the energy to do it. I have a seeder to fix my nasty lawn, when we get rid of the dog. I can sharpen a blade, change oil, cut a piece of timber, drill holes in wood and metal...
So much potential. So little practical application. And on my worst days, it feels like it's a reflection of me.
21st Confession
I'm going to take the plunge and write about God. I realize that, like all subjects of this scope and magnitude, a simple little blog is not going to do justice to Him or anything like that. I know that having a rational debate about metaphysics is almost on par with herding kittens and draining seas with teacups; therefore, instead of bringing the old arguments to the table, let's take a look at some of the common "proofs" that God cannot exist, and then see if we can move into the realms of how God does.
First things first, though not necessarily in that order. Let's define "God" as a term - that way, we can start tearing apart His existence. God is, in simplest terms, an omniscient, omnipresent entity whose major characteristic is love and whose motivations are purely life and goodness. We could go into the theological benchmarks of "God is a Spirit" and "God is restrained by his character," but instead of all that (it's a simple blog, people, and my degree isn't in theology), let's just picture Him as non-Lovecraftian otherness, too alien to be comprehended, but a very pro-life force.
So this definition automatically leads into the ages old question, "If God is so powerful and limitless, can He make a rock too heavy for Him to lift?" Simple logic mandates that if the answer is either yes or no, He is not omnipotent; therefore, since omnipotence is therefore a contradiction, it cannot exist. As omnipotence cannot exist, God cannot exist.
But let's look at the question a little more deeply: the heart of the question lies in the definition of omnipotence. If we merely restrain the question of omnipotence to the ability to "do" only two tasks, we subtract from the definition itself. Instead, I look at it as a valid paradox that a truly omnipotent being would have no trouble fulfilling. After all, what is omnipotence but unlimited ability? And why limit the ability by staying within the bounds of the comprehensible and rational? This tidily sums up the issue of the creation of evil, as well: a wholly "good" God can create "evil" through the same way that He can paradoxically create something that should not exist and yet does.
The nature of evil ties into the paradox suggested by Epicurus. This noted Greek logician supposed the following: "Either God wants to abolish evil, and cannot; or he can, but does not want to. If he wants to, but cannot, he is impotent. If he can, but does not want to, he is wicked. If God can abolish evil, and God really wants to do it, why is there evil in the world?" (Source) I see this often, especially in people who have been hurt by a death of a good person or a child. Heck, I see it in myself almost daily: how could a good God allow my child to have died? I believe in a God who named Himself "The Lord Who Heals," I can quote Scriptural proofs of healing with the best of them, but where was He when my daughter was born? Where was He when my daughter died? What kind of "good" is it when so much personal pain exists in my life? The history of humanity throws up this question many times: 9-11, the Holocaust, any number of deaths that happen to "good" young people who are taken before their time.
It's not my place to salve over these personal tragedies. I cannot say that God is fair. But this much I do know: He darn well better exist, if only to set things right like He promises.
On to proofs of existence: they've all been done before. The causality of creation, the extreme improbability of EVERYTHING happening "just so" only on this planet, man's ability to only explain and create things up to a point... All of these have been used in the past to prove supernatural, and by people smarter than I. I might explore some of them later, but before I do, I feel I need to tag this blog with a disclaimer.
I believe in science. I am a rational person. I cannot discount or disprove anything that has been factually laid out in front of me. However, science is not, and cannot be, the ultimate authority on anything, just because it is always changing. Man couldn't fly until about a century ago, and before that, science believed that Listerine cured gonorrhea. Science, by nature, must continuously evolve and measure that which was immeasurable until technology caught up with it. But how much can science measure now? How accurately? How much detail slips through their fingers, despite their protestations to the contrary? And how much more is there to measure that hasn't even been conceived by the minds of scientists?
First things first, though not necessarily in that order. Let's define "God" as a term - that way, we can start tearing apart His existence. God is, in simplest terms, an omniscient, omnipresent entity whose major characteristic is love and whose motivations are purely life and goodness. We could go into the theological benchmarks of "God is a Spirit" and "God is restrained by his character," but instead of all that (it's a simple blog, people, and my degree isn't in theology), let's just picture Him as non-Lovecraftian otherness, too alien to be comprehended, but a very pro-life force.
So this definition automatically leads into the ages old question, "If God is so powerful and limitless, can He make a rock too heavy for Him to lift?" Simple logic mandates that if the answer is either yes or no, He is not omnipotent; therefore, since omnipotence is therefore a contradiction, it cannot exist. As omnipotence cannot exist, God cannot exist.
But let's look at the question a little more deeply: the heart of the question lies in the definition of omnipotence. If we merely restrain the question of omnipotence to the ability to "do" only two tasks, we subtract from the definition itself. Instead, I look at it as a valid paradox that a truly omnipotent being would have no trouble fulfilling. After all, what is omnipotence but unlimited ability? And why limit the ability by staying within the bounds of the comprehensible and rational? This tidily sums up the issue of the creation of evil, as well: a wholly "good" God can create "evil" through the same way that He can paradoxically create something that should not exist and yet does.
The nature of evil ties into the paradox suggested by Epicurus. This noted Greek logician supposed the following: "Either God wants to abolish evil, and cannot; or he can, but does not want to. If he wants to, but cannot, he is impotent. If he can, but does not want to, he is wicked. If God can abolish evil, and God really wants to do it, why is there evil in the world?" (Source) I see this often, especially in people who have been hurt by a death of a good person or a child. Heck, I see it in myself almost daily: how could a good God allow my child to have died? I believe in a God who named Himself "The Lord Who Heals," I can quote Scriptural proofs of healing with the best of them, but where was He when my daughter was born? Where was He when my daughter died? What kind of "good" is it when so much personal pain exists in my life? The history of humanity throws up this question many times: 9-11, the Holocaust, any number of deaths that happen to "good" young people who are taken before their time.
It's not my place to salve over these personal tragedies. I cannot say that God is fair. But this much I do know: He darn well better exist, if only to set things right like He promises.
On to proofs of existence: they've all been done before. The causality of creation, the extreme improbability of EVERYTHING happening "just so" only on this planet, man's ability to only explain and create things up to a point... All of these have been used in the past to prove supernatural, and by people smarter than I. I might explore some of them later, but before I do, I feel I need to tag this blog with a disclaimer.
I believe in science. I am a rational person. I cannot discount or disprove anything that has been factually laid out in front of me. However, science is not, and cannot be, the ultimate authority on anything, just because it is always changing. Man couldn't fly until about a century ago, and before that, science believed that Listerine cured gonorrhea. Science, by nature, must continuously evolve and measure that which was immeasurable until technology caught up with it. But how much can science measure now? How accurately? How much detail slips through their fingers, despite their protestations to the contrary? And how much more is there to measure that hasn't even been conceived by the minds of scientists?
Monday, October 4, 2010
20th Confession
Hello again, and welcome back to Confessions! Joy has threatened to buy me Dove for Men if I didn't get off Facebook and blog like I promised her I'd do. And you know how ... Wait. That's not much of a threat at all....
Our special of the house tonight is a meditation on yards; yards and lawns and the modern American value placed on a "beautiful" lawn are some of the most incomprehensible things in modern life today. While I certainly enjoy a good patch of grass for lying upon, I really don't understand why Joy won't let me pave the thing and let us be done with it.
Lawns, according to legend and Wikipedia, are an import from the Middle Ages' aristocracies. They'd take a section of grassland, have their peasant charges go out and cut down the over-tall sections with scythes and such, and then go out and enjoy. Eventually, with the invention of the power mower, the lawn became something semi-enjoyable, with the invention of the lawn party and the whiskey and soda. Finally, the lawn became such a barometer of gentility and social status, it became fashionable in America.
Personally, I hate it.
Don't get me wrong: I love a good meadow. I don't mind the yardwork of raking and mulching and mowing and pruning and clipping and suchlike. What I hate is the emphasis placed on the aesthetics of cow food.
Today, I mowed for the last time in the season. I usually enjoy the last mow of a season, as it means no more wandering around pushing the mower. I also usually hate the last mow of a season, as it means the next thing I do is shovel the snow. I don't mind the mower maintenance bits: running the gas out, draining the oil, scrubbing the rust spots off.
What I do mind, though, is the ChemLawn dude, coming up to my door and offering a free lawn analysis, with option to buy their services. Analyze my yard? Dude, I know it's a mess! Between the bare patches, the dandelions, the odd clumps, and the irregular texture of the ground, I'm ashamed to show it off! AND THAT'S THE FRONT YARD! The back yard, comparatively, makes the front yard look as professionally manicured as Gleneagles Golf Course (site of the 1921 Ryder's Cup).
And why am I ashamed? Because of a cultural bias that has pervaded the "American Dream". The home should have a plush, green lawn, free from weeds and other growth, that treads like carpet and smells faintly of apple pie. Mine is infested with several types of foreign flora, dog mines (anyone want to buy an older neurotic dog, cheap?), trenches, ditches, dead branches, low-lying places that are monuments to former garden plots and raspberry bushes, and a swimming pool.
Word to the wise: if you're considering buying a swimming pool, don't. Just don't. We thought that ours would provide a fun, cooling respite to hot summer days, and perhaps a cozy romantic rendezvous point for moonlit nights.
The water temperature never raised above 40 degrees. Ever. Not exactly the cooling that one is looking for on a hot summer's day, nor the shivers one wants to experience during a moonlit rendezvous.
Next year, I hope to do better. I hope to be rid of the dog (possibly by casting her in a local production of "Old Yeller," real bullets only please), thereby possibly eliminating some of the trenches and dog mines. I hope to chip and shred the dead branches, and erect a shed in the back corner. It'll be slightly sunk into the ground, making it bigger on the inside than presumed on the outside. It'll be blue, and in the shape of a Police Box, and I shall call it my TARDIS. I'll borrow a tiller, and dig up plots for my wife to plant tomatoes and zucchini and pumpkins and gourds and peppers and berries and sunflowers. I'll reseed and fertilizer the lawn, especially the parts where the dog has ruined it.
But that's only if Joy doesn't let me pave the thing before winter.
Our special of the house tonight is a meditation on yards; yards and lawns and the modern American value placed on a "beautiful" lawn are some of the most incomprehensible things in modern life today. While I certainly enjoy a good patch of grass for lying upon, I really don't understand why Joy won't let me pave the thing and let us be done with it.
Lawns, according to legend and Wikipedia, are an import from the Middle Ages' aristocracies. They'd take a section of grassland, have their peasant charges go out and cut down the over-tall sections with scythes and such, and then go out and enjoy. Eventually, with the invention of the power mower, the lawn became something semi-enjoyable, with the invention of the lawn party and the whiskey and soda. Finally, the lawn became such a barometer of gentility and social status, it became fashionable in America.
Personally, I hate it.
Don't get me wrong: I love a good meadow. I don't mind the yardwork of raking and mulching and mowing and pruning and clipping and suchlike. What I hate is the emphasis placed on the aesthetics of cow food.
Today, I mowed for the last time in the season. I usually enjoy the last mow of a season, as it means no more wandering around pushing the mower. I also usually hate the last mow of a season, as it means the next thing I do is shovel the snow. I don't mind the mower maintenance bits: running the gas out, draining the oil, scrubbing the rust spots off.
What I do mind, though, is the ChemLawn dude, coming up to my door and offering a free lawn analysis, with option to buy their services. Analyze my yard? Dude, I know it's a mess! Between the bare patches, the dandelions, the odd clumps, and the irregular texture of the ground, I'm ashamed to show it off! AND THAT'S THE FRONT YARD! The back yard, comparatively, makes the front yard look as professionally manicured as Gleneagles Golf Course (site of the 1921 Ryder's Cup).
And why am I ashamed? Because of a cultural bias that has pervaded the "American Dream". The home should have a plush, green lawn, free from weeds and other growth, that treads like carpet and smells faintly of apple pie. Mine is infested with several types of foreign flora, dog mines (anyone want to buy an older neurotic dog, cheap?), trenches, ditches, dead branches, low-lying places that are monuments to former garden plots and raspberry bushes, and a swimming pool.
Word to the wise: if you're considering buying a swimming pool, don't. Just don't. We thought that ours would provide a fun, cooling respite to hot summer days, and perhaps a cozy romantic rendezvous point for moonlit nights.
The water temperature never raised above 40 degrees. Ever. Not exactly the cooling that one is looking for on a hot summer's day, nor the shivers one wants to experience during a moonlit rendezvous.
Next year, I hope to do better. I hope to be rid of the dog (possibly by casting her in a local production of "Old Yeller," real bullets only please), thereby possibly eliminating some of the trenches and dog mines. I hope to chip and shred the dead branches, and erect a shed in the back corner. It'll be slightly sunk into the ground, making it bigger on the inside than presumed on the outside. It'll be blue, and in the shape of a Police Box, and I shall call it my TARDIS. I'll borrow a tiller, and dig up plots for my wife to plant tomatoes and zucchini and pumpkins and gourds and peppers and berries and sunflowers. I'll reseed and fertilizer the lawn, especially the parts where the dog has ruined it.
But that's only if Joy doesn't let me pave the thing before winter.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Nineteenth Confession
If you're in the market to support a really good cause for no money? This is one I highly recommend. Pepsi is giving away grants to refresh communities, and this center is a great place to get them to give money. It is run by a friend who genuinely cares for the kids who come in. It's also mentioned in a news article here; the reporter, when leaving, told my friend that they "wished they'd had a place like this, growing up." Voting goes through the end of the month; to vote, you have to register an e-mail address.
Normally, I don't advertise. I don't do testimonials, and I don't believe anything I hear on any ad. However, I'm asking that whoever reads this post would take the time to vote for the center.
Thanks!
Normally, I don't advertise. I don't do testimonials, and I don't believe anything I hear on any ad. However, I'm asking that whoever reads this post would take the time to vote for the center.
Thanks!
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