On Baptist Preachers Continuing the Invitation

Not because I can’t or wouldn’t or won’t share the gospel—including asking the question, “Have you decided to follow Jesus?” with my kids, but I really want my family to join me in attending a small-ish Baptist church which still sees the preacher invite the congregation to salvation before concluding the service. “Why?” you ask. “Why, Pete? Why go backwards? Everyone knows that denominations are dying/dead, and never to return. They are a failed experiment. It’s non-denominational, one-church-multiple-campuses-small-groups-for-those-interested-and-no-invitation-messages from here on out.”

I’ll tell you why. And this is close to the heart, so please go easy on me. I want my family to join me at the Baptist church because the invitation is my answer to the infamous “how do you know you’re saved?” zinger of a question.

Many, many Sundays of my childhood and youth, and nearly every time I heard the invitation ever since, Sunday after Sunday after Sunday (if I was in a Baptist church), I knew it was directed specifically to me. I knew I was the sinner. I knew I needed salvation. I knew Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life. Moreover, I knew I couldn’t hide behind anyone, nor did I want to hide. I wanted salvation. Who wouldn’t?

For most of my life, I have not treated this response as anything noteworthy or indicative of eternal spiritual matters. I had accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior at a young age and was baptized later on and the rest of these times I chalked up the feeling to “powerful preaching.”

As I have gotten older, as fewer people come forward, I have to say that it seems like most people don’t take the invitation as a literal invitation.

But as a father, I take my young daughter (A- this time, H- in times past) and the two of us sit there, and I imagine what H- and my step-son, both 14 and not present—would think during the invitation. Would they think, “My parents are good (believers), so I am too.” Or, “He’s not talking to me. This is just the end of the service.” Or maybe, “My phone, my phone, my phone, my phone…”?

I honestly cannot imagine them saying, “Uh, I am a sinner. I need Jesus. Dad, what do I do?” in any capacity. Mostly, that just seems in line with the more rare emotions, like achieving a lifelong goal, that I can’t imagine what it might look like. But we all talk such nonsense, so much of the time, that it feels fair for a kid to say, “Oh. You were serious about that? I thought that was just part of the ritual.”

Anyhow, we’ll see what the family decides to do. As for me, I am redeemed by the blood of the lamb, no turning back. So I’ll see you at the Baptist church.

Passing Tests: A Primer On Purpose

Certain unpleasant circumstances (whose ultimate superficiality are yet to be determined) have led to me taking back full control of my step-son’s education. Long story short, I had it once, lost it in hopes of marital bliss, and have now taken it back. The long game is back in view—marriage be damned.

He’s newly 14. And he does not think. “But I repeat myself,” by Twain applies here.

Pilots take many, many tests. Merely to become a pilot requires passing many tests. It stands to reason, then, that as a group, we pilots know a thing or two about passing tests. Relatedly, we know a thing or two about the skill of memorizing information. One example, before returning to the step-son bit, of these test-taking skills conveniently aligned to memory skills is when taking a multiple choice test, there is a general rule, “too long to be wrong.” Get it? If three of the four answers are tremendously shorter than the other, it is more than likely (but don’t blindly skip reading the long one—always read in full the answer you select) that the test creator did not suddenly choose to waste their time by typing out an unnecessarily long wrong answer. Take away from this tip that we pilots (among other test taking masters) put to use other factors than content when viewing a test. Think of it like the self-defense advice to not forget about all available ways to use your surroundings during attacks etc.

One task that I have my step-son accomplishing each day, then, is reading from the classics (currently on The Apology of Socrates) one paragraph at a time and writing as brief as possible an abstract of the paragraph. This is not easy—and that’s the point.

We skipped chatting about Tuesday’s and so yesterday we had to cover two paragraph’s worth. Both attempts were unsatisfactory (he seemed to have skipped reading in favor of using some commentary I had previously provided to accomplish the summaries—which I take as evidence that his culture’s ignorant and unfortunate reliance on oral tradition still outweighs his reading level). This was disappointing, but that’s okay—the process is half the point.

But then there was one of those moments which make ya lose all hope. As I tried to grease the wheels a bit for the next day (I had read ahead), I said something like, “So as you do tomorrow’s paragraph, keep in mind that yesterday’s had Socrates dealing with politicians, then today’s had him dealing with poets-” I was suddenly interrupted by a boastful, “-Yeah, tomorrow’s is a short paragraph.”

Hmm.

At least he knows what a paragraph is?

As evidenced in “too long to be wrong” and throwing office chairs at gunmen, he’s not wrong in hoping to draw a connection between paragraph length and difficulty of meaning. But he clearly stopped listening at “tomorrow’s paragraph”.

In the end, this whole experience of family and children seems to be an experiment on “purpose”. My revised hypothesis today is, “If there is no purpose, then there can be no test.” This updates what I now see as the laudable—but I’m suspecting will prove to be merely laughable—claim to “teach kids to think”.

Where does purpose originate? Easy: the living god. But who knows his ways?

Onward!

The Interesting News I Want to Read About Trump 2024

No news articles, op/eds, or even letters to the editors about Trump 2024 satisfy.

The cycle has been on repeat since before 2016. Nobody has anything new to say. In sum, …just kidding. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to repeat it once again.

Instead, I would like to offer and record my fantasy. Unbelievable as it is, despite all the coverage of Trump since before I was born, I want more. Isn’t that crazy? Crazy, but true.

This fantasy of mine isn’t knowing the outcome of the election ahead of time. It isn’t knowing some more details about Jan 6 that keep exonerating him of any wrongdoing or learning about more indictments which he uniformly evades unscathed or hearing more locker room talk that is fairly tame compared to any group of sporting men I have ever been among.

My fantasy is that some professional writer or journalist will research and write a long-form article about why and how Trump has consistently caused the news itself to resort to lying. Why do they lie?

Whether democracy can recover is boring. Whether Trump becomes worse than Hitler is boring. Whether Trump commits adultery is boring. But, for me, how one man caused every single journalist to lie is endlessly fascinating. Isn’t it?

From his political opponents who maliciously lie, to the mainstream journalists who lie to protect us, to his fan base who inflate every assertion into coming-of-Christ evangelism, the entire industry is unable to report the truth. Why?

I don’t know for sure. But I’m interested to learn.

Euphemism vs. Metaphor, A Joint Review of Collateral by Michael Mann and Parasite by Bong Joon-ho

Parasite is the more timely film, that’s certain. It also is the more biblical film of the two—so much so that it is fairly difficult to understand how it was ever mentioned by a wealthy person, let alone the winner of Best Picture. Albert Schweitzer’s “Men simply don’t think” is probably behind its uncommon success.

I have been putting off re-watching Collateral because with TGM and MI:42, and recent viewings of some easy to watch other TC fav’s, I had to do something in order to stop short of total devotion to the man. But last night I could feel the mood for a movie ebbing my way and I do love Michael Mann. Suddenly, however, a voice from outside myself sounded.

“Can I watch with you?”

It was my 14yo step-son. And it was at his bedtime, the very reason we stopped reading. In other words, I was taken aback at this development. Come to find out, tomorrow was no school.

“Uh. I wasn’t planning to watch a kid’s movie. But I guess we can take a look and see if there’s a compromise on Prime.”

There wasn’t.

“Sorry, man. I just don’t want to sit through a bad movie and I had already set my heart on a rated-R film. We’ll watch something this weekend. So that’ll have to do.”

I was racking my brain to determine just what made villainous TC a film for adults only. The violence was elite, but not gory. And there wasn’t even that much of it. As far as I could recall I wasn’t even sure what I liked about the movie so much. The problem that I have in these situations (deciding whether a movie is appropriate for uninitiated folks ), though, is I have been very wrong in the past. So I trusted my experience over my memory and did not think twice about my decision as I pressed play.

Elite is the word I would use again to describe Collateral. I like the “clean” aspect of that euphemism to “the best”. Then I remembered that’s what I like so much about it. It is no unstable hand at the teller. Whoever made the film had a story to tell and the power to demand it be told with precision. Every scene says as much.

But there is also a depth to the story that elite does not capture. And this is the rated-R part that I am glad I did not share with my step-son.

While Parasite puts wealthy people on blast, that film doesn’t dive below the surface, below macro-level societal questions. Collateral, on the other hand, has a cab driver and an attorney believably find reason to relate about whether they enjoy their work.

“Do you like what you do?”

What a simple question. And what a terrible question.

Terrible because of what you feel as you read this now. Terrible because if you confess that you do not like what you do, you next are forced to admit just what that implies. Maybe you are lying and do like what you do? Maybe you love misery? Maybe you are hiding an addiction that prevents you from doing something you like? Maybe you are lying to yourself about moving on to something you would enjoy someday? We could go on. And that’s the point.

Parasite is a metaphor. But Collateral is a euphemism. Parasite must be kept from the children because of the blood and gore and other adult scenes. Collateral must be kept from the children because Santa Claus is real, because Machiavelli cannot win.

Parasite must have that name to be great. Collateral must have that name to be attempted. But it really should be called, ‘Every Day You Prove You Are Meaningless’.” And since that issue is still up for debate, (unlike, Parasite’s, “Do wealthy people view the rest of us as parasites?” (answer: sure do)), then euphemism and Michael Mann win this battle.

I Need Security: Harmless Stupid vs. Insecure Stupid

Everyone knows there is a distinction between “stupid” and “ignorant”. The main difference being “stupid people who mean well” are different than “stupid people”. And we call “stupid people who mean well” “ignorant”.

In my experience, I have come to see one other division of the general category of “stupid”. I see “harmless stupid” as most humor and silly assumptions that do not negatively affect life, even if they do hinder success. One example of this that comes to mind is misattributing cause and effect—not ignorantly—but harmlessly. Like when the regularly scheduled sprinkler system goes off during the outdoor church service and people attribute it to the devil doing devil things. They aren’t ignorant of the situation, they just are stupid.

Different from this kind of stupid is the kind which causes insecurity in life. One easy example of this would be alcoholic parents. They may be great parents most of the time, but the weekly or monthly instances of uncontrollable outbursts or whatever particular scenes unfold (kids trying to wake up passed-out parents etc.) leads to insecurity in life.

With me? Make sense?

Routine, even if for harmlessly stupid reasons, is still secure. “Every Monday after dinner my parents drove exactly the number of miles as the calendar date. I never understood why. Still don’t. But we got ice cream afterwords and it was fun overall.” That’s a bizarre and stupid routine, but it is not problematic.

Put another way, and to get to the point of this post, I value security over intelligence.

Moreover, I do not believe that stupidity is necessarily insecure.

What I am not certain about is if I am actually right. All I know today is that I need security.

My wife hails from one of the most uneducated regions, continents, and countries on the Earth. While dating, I noted many harmlessly stupid comments and observations. (This was/is not too different than any other day, or any other interaction with folks.)

Little anecdotes about “everyone there believes all Americans are rich” were cute to hear and even carried an air of “why would they believe otherwise if the only source was Hollywood films?” intentionally-sympathetic soundness. Couple this with the fact that no educated American wants to admit the reality that, “What you just said is completely without thought at a level that is beyond ignorance and evidences some mixture of mental laziness and legitimate inability to think”—especially if the conversant is BIPOC.

To be clear—I have witnessed first-hand many, many American friends hear my wife tell the same anecdotes and they all respond the same way, ie, no one calls out what each of us plainly hears. And why not?

I cannot answer for anyone but myself, and my no-call was because I believed there was harmless stupidity.

But the other kind, the stupidity which leads to insecurity, that is now something I am dealing with every day. And I don’t know how to right the ship. I don’t know how to course correct.

Readers might offer advice about the big things, like kindness, compassion, empathy. And I wanted to believe those exist, but have slowly been convinced that those are culturally-based postures and so the problem in this culture-clash-called-my-family is not resolved.

So far, my solution has been to try “let’s start with truth” and go from there. “Could we agree to say true things?” But the language barrier is such that even this seemingly simple request relies tremendously on ignoring reality and relying on hopeful intentions.

He said: “What did you buy?”

She said: “Groceries.”

So far so good.

He said: “What is this item?”

She said: “Oh, underwear.”

Setback.

He said: “In your culture is ‘underwear’ in the same category as ‘food and soap’ and other things that we use up?”

She said: “It’s wrong to buy underwear now?!!”

So even something as supposedly universal as “truth” seems out of reach.

Of course, the easy solution is to resign. To simply not care. To “let go and let God”. To choose a “non-fighting” version of “peace” as the higher ground in every moment of every day. But the problem with that is I tell the truth. I don’t tell it in a “I’m just keeping it one hundred” provocateur kinda way (mostly not at least). I just need my words to mean things, and I need my kids to mean the same things when they say the same words.

In other words, I need security.

Teacher Emails in 2024: Grandparents Don’t Know, But Now You Do

It was Facebook, yes? That was the first hegemonic message board of the internet? Some college kids using the latest radio to communicate—and it was free in the main sense?

Twenty-odd years later, college kids (now called teachers) use apps, like “ParentSquare” or “Gradelink” and there are others, I’m sure, to deliver messages to parents. Keep in mind, when we were kids, parents would hear directly from teachers a total of “near never”. Seriously. When did any of your teachers speak directly with your mom or dad? Parent teacher conferences offered an opportunity for the conversation to take place, but the parents had to show up. Some did, some did not. No big thing.

In 2024, teachers, at least two a day, post updates on these apps. Read that again. I’m telling you that on average two teachers each write messages to parents each and every day. The number of messages is staggering. By my thinking, the only parallel to draw is when someone that is lying talks on and on. Total time and energy spent creating and communicating the lie far outweighs whatever the lie is meant to conceal. But the words keep pouring out.

Let’s get to it. Here is the doozy that I received yesterday. (Nothing has been redacted—I wanted you to have the authentic experience.)

****

Quality of Play for Upper Division – Please talk with your student

Good afternoon Families,

Upper Division Teachers are asking for parents to have conversations with students early in this week about PLAY. Research and observations supports the value in play for learning, growth, and development. Both structured play (like organizing teams to play a soccer game, or run a game like 4-square, or playing UNO) and unstructured play (students imagining scenarios and acting out stories of their making with peers) are incredibly valuable experinences in growth and development. 

Teachers have noticed recently that some of the unstructured play students in which small groups of students are participating in at recess sometimes resemble their video gaming or media experiences. Some of the things we have observed recently involve pretend armies, weapons (swords, light sabers, guns), and while we understand that students may have different permissions and levels of supervision at home while playing these types of games, we are discouraging the expression of these games at school to ensure the actual safety and the protect the perception of safety of everyone in our school community.

Because we are an open campus and we are purposefully structuring our space and day for multi-age academic and social groupings, it is important that Upper Division students remember to code-switch, or filter their words and behaviors at school. We are an academic workplace where the focus is on learning. Quality play is necessary, but not sufficient, for learning.

As part of our focus on Leadership, we would ask that you remind your students that while we are mindful of their interests and want them to enjoy thier play times, we will ask them to modify or change their play if is seems inappropriate. We would like this discussion to continue, so please also talk to students about how to respond to adults who interrupt their play if it seems unsafe, disrespectful, or unkind for our K-8 school community. While they are encouraged to challenge the process and enable others to action, a positive tone of voice and body language that indicates respect is necessary for success when negotiating with adults about code-switching. Modifying their play to be appropriate for the place and space is a non-negotiable part of our Social Contract.

Our Upper Division students are charismatic leaders who make a difference in the lives of their peers and teachers. We are all so glad to get to work with them every day and we are grateful that you share them with us. Please let us know if you have questions or concerns. And thank you for your active partnership in raising them to be caring and thoughtful individuals. 


Thanks!


Upper Division Team

****

I have read and re-read this manifesto many times, too many times.

In an English 101 course I enrolled in around 2013 at UCDenver, I learned the term “Discourse Community”. That is what you can call places like Starbucks and their odd size names. (Grande etc). Discourse communities occur everywhere and for many reasons—nearly zero of the reasons being nefarious.

Again, like my Report Cards in 2024 post, the trouble here is the teachers clearly know better. The writer of this email cannot be incompetent. The grammar is fine (subject-verb disagreement in second sentence and only one misspelling “thier” after the bold para). The flow is also fine (though a bit unaware of itself to be “good”). And most importantly, the entire message is focused and captured by the subject line. In other words, no one hijacked anything. It wasn’t a passive-aggressive, “Read Here How Great Your Child Is”, when the content is really saying, “They’re horrible and it’s your fault—do something.” Nope, it is focused and singular. These are rarities in 2024.

The problems, instead, are fourteen-fold and listed below for clarity:

1. What is “Quality of Play”?

2. What is “Upper Division”?

3. Why is “PLAY” capitalized?

4. No sources are provided for “Research and Observations”.

5. Did you just define “structured” and “unstructured”?

6. By “small groups” do you mean A. Only a few bad apples or B. Every time a small group forms? Follow-up: If “A”, what does research and observation show regarding putting everyone on blast, instead of using a “praise in public, criticize in private” type posture?

7. Do you look at my student’s browser or device history? Are you monitoring what we watch together (or separately) in our home? How would you know what their media experiences include?

8. What is an “open campus”?

9. What does “code-switch” mean?

10. Is “filter their words and behaviors” any different than “think”? If not, isn’t that more your role than mine?

11. Is, “Quality play is necessary, but not sufficient,” a threat to take away recess? Sub-question, why is “play” here not capitalized?

12. What does, “challenge the process and enable others to action,” mean?

13. You wrote, “Our Upper Division students are charismatic leaders who make a difference in the lives of their peers and teachers.” Is that different from saying, “These kids attend school in America in 2024”?

14. Finally, how would you distinguish an “active partnership” from a “partnership”?

In the end, why is there a “discourse community” for the parent/teacher relationship? Why? I don’t want the relationship in the first place, because in the first place it hides the teacher’s (possible) failure—nothing more. And in the second place, I do not have the time for it. This post took over an hour. Who has that much time each day? Certainly not teachers. Definitely no one but me.

Let’s stop wasting time, no? Is there anyone against that?

A Woman in 1899, Another in 1920, and One from 2024

Self-satisfaction begins with reading a variety of books. This morning, already, I have read from F Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise and Jack London’s short story “The White Silence.”

The necessary vital stats of these two giants for this post include London’s work preceding Fitzgerald’s by about 30 years; oh, and London wrote about life in the wild, whereas Fitzgerald wrote about life in, what later would be called, the concrete jungle—the city, specifically high society.

In writing about “life”, they also wrote about women. Women are everywhere, it seems. And not to be avoided.

In order of my reading today, here is a blurb from F Scott on women.

“I’ve got an adjective that just fits you.” This was one of his favorite starts—he seldom had a word in mind, but it was a curiosity provoker, and he could always produce something complimentary if he got in a tight corner.

“Oh—what?” Isabelle’s face was a study in enraptured curiosity.

And, now for the real test, from 30 years earlier and a world away, Jack London’s entry on women.

“Yes, Ruth,” continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronic jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other; “wait until we clean up and pull for the Outside. We’ll take the White Man’s canoe and go to the Salt Water. Yes, bad water, rough water—great mountains dance up and down all the time. And so big, so far, so far away—you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep”—he graphically enumerated the days on his fingers—“all the time water, bad water. Then you come to great village, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer. Wigwams oh, so high—ten, twenty pines. Hi-yu skookum!”

He paused impotently, cast an appealing glance at Malemute Kid, then laboriously placed twenty pines, end on end, by sign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism; but Ruth’s eyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for she half believed he was joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman’s heart.

“And then you step into a—a box, and pouf! up you go.” He tossed his empty cup in the air by way of illustration and. As he deftly caught it, cried: “And biff! down you come. Oh, great medicine men! You go Fort Yukon, I go Arctic City—twenty five sleep—big string, all the time—I catch him string—I say, ‘Hello, Ruth! How are ye?’—and you say, ‘Is that my good husband?’—and I say, ‘Yes’—and you say, ‘No can bake good bread, no more soda’—then I say, ‘Look in cache, under flour; good-by.’ You look and catch plenty soda. All the time you Fort Yukon, me Arctic City. Hi-yu medicine man!”

Ruth smiled so ingenuously at the fairy story that both men burst into laughter. A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of the Outside, and by the time the snarling combatants were separated, she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail.

I know, I know. Way more from London. But it’s to serve a point, my point.

The earlier-dated passage from London required more words as the task before him included also announcing the different cultures.

But they both offer the same comment—and oh, how detestable the situation!

They both convey a man telling a fairy tale to their woman, and they both convey that women are beholden to men.

We are now one hundred years from F Scott and this question is, by my thinking, the pre-eminent question of our time. My generation has no other issue of more importance on the docket.

And for my part, I have determined resolution of the question. This will not shock regular readers.

I can put the matter in one of two ways, a kind of “glass is half-full” version and a kind of “glass is half-empty” version.

Half-empty: Women are no longer beholden to men. And without men, women are actively disintegrating civilization.

Half-full: Wise women would do well to choose to live as if beholden to men, regardless the true nature of their plight.

****

For the record, Ruth is infinitely more attractive to me. According to the text, she displays taking “pleasure” and “ smiles ingenuously.” (Look it up, if you don’t know. I had to.) She also lashed the sleds.

What did Isabelle do? Nothing that an animal in heat couldn’t.

Blind Aliens vs. Blind Cave Monsters, A Joint Review of A Quiet Place(s), by John Krasinski and The Descent, By Neil Marshall

I think I have a knack for learning foreign languages. In my heart of hearts, I don’t think it is an inborn or god-given talent, because I never enjoyed learning French in high-school and college. But at the seminary as we learned Biblical Hebrew and Koine Greek, I was more open to the idea and the professors began at the beginning. The beginning of language, naturally, are the sounds of the language. And with the table set so pleasingly, I was ready to give it my best and have since been rewarded.

Back in French, the teacher just started with all these new words and the tables of verb tenses etc. But in Hebrew and Greek, the professors began (and were kinda compelled too) with the sounds of the letters and the fact that there were no equivalent sounds in English. This was especially true for Hebrew’s “clearing the throat” sound. Once I understood that languages were not about trying to add vocabulary to English, but about trying to utter a totally new set of sounds, things became interesting (and easy).

Before leaving this lengthy introduction and the topic of sounds, I want to share that in full Pete-personality, I did get tired of the professor’s casual “this how this letter (of a dead language) sounds” claims and finally asked, “But if nobody speaks it, how could we possibly know?” And the answer was, (can you guess?) “Well, sometimes writers would assert that this particular letter sounded like the sound a sheep makes.” So the Greek “Beta” for example, sounds like, “Baaaa”. Kidding. It sounds like “Beeey”. The actual sound a sheep makes. Super interesting, in my opinion.

Let’s get to the joint movie review.

Not too different from the name “Trump”, for as long as I can remember, I have heard about some book called “Dune”. Always being terrified of confirming irrevocably my membership in the “nerd” category, I never gave in to curiosity. But these days even otherwise nerdy movies are pretty high quality and so I finally gave in and watched the new movie Dune. (Don’t tell anyone.)

Dune is great. The way it relates to these two (three) films today is that I used Dune to finally motivate me to do something I have long been interested to do: learn ASL.

I found there is a professor dude, Dr. Bill Vicars who has amazing content on YouTube and I have begun a really fun project of learning the letters (quite simple) and now the language as a whole. This is in addition to learning my wife’s language, Amharic, to try to find that ever elusive marital bliss. In fact, I have the whole family working on ASL with Dr. V videos. It is terrifically rewarding.

“Focus, Pete. Blind Aliens vs. Blind Cave Monsters. Where does ASL fit in?”

Funny you should ask.

Nothing at all to do with learning ASL, the other day I had three hours available for a movie. And I couldn’t find a good epic to settle into, so I decided to just watch two 1.5 hr films. Never having watched A Quiet Place, those were my choice. Wouldn’t you know it? ASL requires no sound! So somehow, as I am being introduced to the benefits of ASL, I also stumble upon a film that affords some practical testing. Weird.

The movies are held together by Emily Blunt, of Sicario. She will never top Sicario, so don’t expect that. But the movies aren’t bad. The sequel didn’t really lose much steam either—a rarity if you ask anyone. But I wanted to capture my thoughts on them in a blog post because I did notice something about them that is worthy of sharing.

The end of A Quiet Place: Part Two is good because it moves along at a good clip. It never dwells. Just keep moving the story forward. It recognizes exactly what kind of movie it is, and exactly what the viewers came to see, and it delivers. But in that delivery, it also is a bit too mathematical. That’s my complaint. There are two or three different locations of simultaneous action and the time spent at each location is almost perfectly matched. It’d be interesting to actually time it and see. “Start time: the monster is closing in…stop time. Move to other location. Start time: the duo is about to save the day…stop time. Move back to… Start time…” etc. You get the point. But the bigger criticism is that the precision detracts from the humanity of film.

Mr. Krasinski: I don’t want to know that you have studied me perfectly and given me exactly what I would find palatable. I want you to tell me a story. I want to see what the Muse gave you. As the chick says in The Descent, “If there’s no risk, what is the point?” There is no risk in mathematics. Besides concluding that, I feel it. And so I felt that your films lacked risk. For that reason, they are not great films.

Today, then, I had 2.5 hrs to watch a movie and decided to watch The Descent, which I had only seen once or twice since it came out in 2005. Besides the fact that I remembered it as very good, I had just commended it to my step-son, for when he is older as we scrolled past it on Prime for something to watch.

Best “female empowerment” movie ever made, if you ask me. I’m not saying that it portrays an ideal woman. I am saying that of all the ridiculous displays and forced “girls don’t have to play only with dolls anymore” roles in both movies and sports that we are forced to endure if we seek new entertainment, this one gets the actual job of “empowering” done the best.

And oddly enough I found myself thinking, “What is with me these days? Two (three) blind (but hearing) monster movies in two days? And precisely when I am learning the singular way to survive (ASL)? Crazy affirmations from La Ooniversa, I guess. ‘Thank you, Mr. Universe, Sir! May I have another!’”

In the end, The Descent ranks in the category of “perfect film” (right alongside Sicario and Ford vs. Ferrari). Besides moving at a good clip, it is perfectly efficient, perfectly toned, perfectly cast, perfectly acted, and perfectly climatic. There are also a couple of perfectly surprising “make you jump” frights. I found myself laughing at how I jumped. Not many movies have that effect on me these days. But this one got me. Probably for the last time of viewing it. But it was worth it. Sitting all alone and drawing closer and closer to the story and the screen, when “Blam!”, you’re three feet in the air and land laughing. A wonderful feeling.

I’ll end by saying this: after due consideration, I can still imagine happily exploring Space and other worlds—even hosting aliens, if given the opportunity; I cannot imagine descending into an uncharted cave—flashlight or otherwise.

Report Cards in 2024: Grandparents Don’t Know—But Now You Do

I want to homeschool my step-son. His mother wants him to go to school. Naturally, she wins.

Here’s the rub. I actually do care about the boy. I actually do know that he has a bright future ahead of him—economically and in the ability to become fully man. I actually do want him to have a good life—something totally within his grasp as both an American and as my step-son. But especially as my step-son.

The image above is from his first report card (of course it not called that anymore—one up-vote for truth) at this new school.

I speak and read (and write) English very well. In fact, my communication abilities are excellent, as you can surely tell. Furthermore, I believe that I understand and can explain to you what this image states about my step-son.

Because of that, I know with certainty that it does not tell me anything about how my step-son is performing. According to this document, there is no standard. There is no benchmark. There is no measure.

This document is worse than a teacher grading on a curve to pass the class rather than admitting failure and reteaching the concept. It is also worse than just failing the students and dealing with whatever consequence is already designated in the rulebooks.

As an American, and former military officer, what really pisses me off though is how the document seems to indicate some amount of success to folks that cannot read English—vis-à-vis his mother.

The catalyst for this post is that the human bloggers who sometimes read my posts likely have not seen this type of performance document. They hear about climate change, CRT, book banning, soft standards, social justice, and all the other hot button cable news cycle topics which fall under the “education” umbrella. But they do not see or hear that the real problem is actually much worse. They do not see that there is actually no measure of performance anymore. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Keep in mind, to be clear, I am not claiming that this is a case of “the blind leading the blind”. Or “stupid is as stupid does”. I am pointedly claiming that this is knowingly wrong. It would be better if the school did what “developing” countries (third world) do and just gives “A’s” to everyone, regardless of performance, with the reasoning that an A is the best grade, so it must be desirable.

The American Black Church has a proverb you can hear from the pulpit almost every Sunday: “People who know better, do better.”

The American Education system resoundingly proves that that proverb is merely trite, wishful thinking. In fact, the schools prove it is a stupid saying. The teachers’ proverb is, “People who know better, submit without resistance.”

Because You’re Not a Moron

Thinking about any one child of mine (see earlier post today) naturally causes my thoughts to return to H-.

Want to know what some folks advise? I wish I was kidding. There are, supposedly, well-educated and well-trained men and women in the business of divorce that suggest, “Send cards and letters over the next 5 years or so at least for birthdays and holidays etc. That way, when she is 18 and maybe thinks differently and is free to do as she pleases, she won’t be able to (fact-check-proof) say, ‘You never even…’”

As I receive this advice, I always poo poo it, saying agreeably, “Yeah. I know. Of course I will.” But that’s a lie. Not the part about whether or not I will use the USPS to attempt to parent, but the part about my belief that it somehow works. My kid, H-, would have to be some kind of moron to think, “Oh, he actually did love me,” because she received some one dozen articles of mail each year for five years.

Seriously, can you imagine an adult woman falling in love with a man who did the same?

“But he sent me a Hallmark card every major holiday!!” the imaginary imbecile woman’s response to friends, after they chide her for ever having confessed that she nursed a dream of real relationship with a pen pal.

That woman would be a moron!!

And so would H- if the greeting card thing had any effect, by my thinking. And I’m not looking to raise morons here. Marry them? Yup. Divorce them? Yup. Produce them? Nope.

I have far too much hope placed on H-’s inborn ability to get to the bottom of the situation before she turns 18 (or after, for that matter) to waste any on the experts’ advice.

No, to be clear, the truth still lay where it always has.

After 12+ years of rocky, but never hopeless co-parenting (and more money transfers than sanity permits to reckon, both in total dollars and percentage of income), H- has recently been kidnapped by her mom (and any others over there who don’t actively work for H-’s freedom). Right now she has developed Stockholm Syndrome, which, when put plainly as if for 14 yr olds, means: she prefers the company and agenda of her kidnapper—despite the crime—than the terror that she now surely believes, wrongly, comes with freedom and knowing the truth.

Oh. And her mom is a money-grubbing whore. Always has been and always will be. The future for H- will include a realization of all this, followed by a tepid-at-first, then common-to-perhaps-loving-even return to me (including apologizing for ever doubting), plus a daily and disastrous relationship with her mother that is anything but encouraged by little ol’ me after said realization. Then, maybe later, the two will talk it out through the glass on those phones at a prison—as her mom is locked up for the what is illegal in the future—the general crime of allowing a heart of absolute moral blackness to continue to pump blood throughout her body.

(The fantasy sustains me; what do you want me to say?)

****

Post recap: Don’t be a moron. Cards and gifts alone could only ever serve as “Exhibit A” of the dysfunction and moral crimes you live under.