Tagged: Christianity

Efficiency as Divine Telos?

Did I mention my mother-in-law is staying with us?

Well, one thing that has become crystalized in my marriage to someone outside the dominant culture on Earth is that without communication, besides all the obvious examples of the profound inability to experience good things, efficiency goes right out the window. This occurs all day, every day.

To hear it is like listening to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in the round, but the words are, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? I guess we throw it away.”

And verse two, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? Well, we can’t get that time back either.”

But, and here’s an instance of why I sought this marriage in particular, the question remains, “So what? If we had a perfectly efficient marriage, what would that indicate? Is that what life is all about? Efficiency?”

I say, “No.”

Life On Pitch

There was this kinda scary dude that came to work at the car wash I was assistant manager at almost ten years ago. He was scary in the “didn’t get out much, but had a strong personality” kinda way. Not violent, buuuut ya never knew what may trigger him.

One day I learned that his favorite Batman, keep in mind that the trilogy was already out—TDKR and the shooting happened in 2012—anyhow his favorite was Batman and Robin.

I know, I know. He had to be kidding right?

That’s what I thought and that’s when I learned that he was out there, in his own special way. The George Clooney Batman is simply terrible. More than that, this opinion of mine is universal. It is so universal that when someone declares that their favorite Batman is Batman and Robin—-and the trilogy is already in existence—you take them as a new friend who can deliver deadpan sarcasm with ease. I mean, here was a new best friend.

But then I learned that he wasn’t kidding. He started quoting it and everything. In a way, he was still becoming my personal hero because he clearly had no fear, but there is a thing call “foolhardy” when you’re juuust a bit too courageous.

Later, at another gig where I was assistant manager again, still retail (wink wink), I met a dude that was essentially a tough guy, or that’s what he was paid to be, and he burst my bubble, much like the B&R fanboy, by declaring in all earnestness (and being completely shocked that I dared disagree) that Pitch Perfect was the greatest movie ever.

Those two guys were remarkable. I have never met any others in their class.

All this to tell you that when scrolling for a movie to watch with my wife and 13 yr old stepson tonight, when I saw Pitch Perfect on Prime, I immediately pressed “watch now”.

This decision surprisingly provided the funniest moment of my life—or at least in serious contention for that penultimate experience—as my poor ETL (English as Third Language, and low vocab at that) wife and mother of my stepson (himself laying on the couch nearby) asking, “What is a boner?” after the “Toner” joke. Hahahaha. Can you imagine his awkwardness?

But the reason for the post, the catalyst carrying the muse, is the main character—not sure you need the summary—is a child of divorce that pushes people away, but eventually realizes that that is not the way to live. And she is cool and good at what she likes to do.

In short, this little movie has me in better than normal spirits about H- and her future. Can’t complain about that.

My New Years Plans

You’re wondering what ol’ Pete is doing for New Year’s?

Aww. That’s so sweet!

Of course, men don’t use sweet to describe things, so you know the following is not written by yours truly and therefore cannot be firmly located in the realm of reality. But let’s play.

I’m on night shift tonight, which means—same for any first responder I presume—that I am hoping the life insurance actuarial tables are accurate and you folks hold on for one more holiday tonight thereby giving me an easy shift.

During the day, I plan to finish up breakfast, write and read a bit over coffee and day-old-doughnuts, and then head to Little Caesars for the normal EMB, brookie, and soda. I plan to indulge in this meal fit for kings whilst asking the blacks if they have any answers to my problems—as the whites surely do not. In other words, I am finally going to watch Fences. I have been terrified of that movie since I first heard of it, but today is the day.

Then it’s off to a NSDR-induced nap (hopefully I make it to actual sleep), after which the rat race begins again.

How about you? What are your plans?

Foucault’s Pendulum and Spheres and Earth and Friends and More!

Careful readers noticed yesterday that I used the words “pope” and “Copernicus” when dismantling Tesla-lovers’ desire to save the planet while they commute alongside me. I did this because my guided reading through the Great Books of the Western World has landed me in Ptolemy and Copernicus (and now Kepler).

I told a co-worker that I feel like I’m reading sacred scripture when I read these guys’ words. I mean they are it. These are the ones who tackled the big problems and won (and lost). I cannot emphasize enough how interesting and provocative the writings are—especially the ones that have been disproved. Just fascinating. For example, did you know that folks knew Earth was a sphere over 2000 years ago? They knew. And they knew through easy methods that even you and I can understand, the most simple being that during lunar eclipses, the shadow on the moon is always circular. And only a sphere object can do that.

Anyhow, in short, (because I know you aren’t going to rush out and get the set) Ptolemy (and many in his day, circa 100-200AD) thought the Earth was an unmoving sphere inside a larger rotating sphere which was lined with the stars and the other lights of the sky. To be clear, this is a ball within a ball scenario. Like if we go to a planetarium and lay back in the dome structure to “ooh and ahh” the night sky as projected digitally, that’s pretty much what they thought. I mean to emphasize that they did not see the night sky (or day sky for that matter) as “deep”. Had they thought to travel out to the lights, they apparently thought they would hit a wall/boundary. (Keep in mind, they didn’t conceive of traveling off earth.) This, of course, stands against everything we moderns believe, which includes that we can and will journey further and further and further away from the Sun/Earth or really anything out there.

With me?

Next, it was Copernicus who went through the Pope (and had to in 1543–life is so different today—so very different) to correct Ptolemy’s errant belief that Earth was the center of the larger sphere. The Sun was the center—and, put simply, for the reason that it makes the math simpler. Note here that Copernicus still did not believe that space went out and out and out. (He also showed other things, such as the Earth itself moves and this what makes the stars appears to move, not the other way around.)

In the guided reader, they make mention of the types of proofs that Ptolemy and Copernicus were concerned with and this is where it is mentioned that the Foucault Pendulum was finally invented and put to use in 1851. You can look it up yourself; I still don’t fully understand how it works. Maybe you will. But when you look it up, you’ll discover that these pendulums are all over the globe now at various science museums, and they report in to each other. It is this comparison of observations that is truly the mechanical proof of the rotational movement of the sphere earth.

This was a “Eureka!” moment for me.

To rehearse and summarize some of this trivia, Ptolemy really made his mark because he took into account past astronomical observations and added to them an extensive new amount of data. Then Copernicus did the same. (See the methodological trend?) By the time we get to Foucault’s Pendulum, we already have an established pattern of humans using other humans’ information, so the idea of sharing the results from these pendulums that are swinging all over the world is not entirely new.

Are you tracking yet?

(I enjoy leading folks to the conclusion rather than just bluntly stating it, but I’ll be blunt after one more clue.)

Put another way, Ptolemy alone didn’t suggest the Earth was the center and a sphere. Copernicus alone didn’t suggest the Sun was the center and the Earth rotated. Foucault alone didn’t prove that the Earth was a rotating sphere.

People need people! Get it?

We all have encountered Flat Earthers of late. Or most of us have. Guess what? They are alone. They have no friends. Even the others at the conventions aren’t friends. They don’t compare notes and use each others’ new and unique and accurate and confirmable measurable data to develop and defend their idea. They just bleat. Bah bah baaaa.

I am impassioned by this topic because a very good former friend of mine that I met at the seminary revealed his insanity when he one day decided to lob a joke about the earth being round into the fray. When I didn’t buy into his BS, he wouldn’t allow for any other topic of conversation to pass.

Keep in mind I told him, “I don’t care which mental construction of the universe you hold in your mind. I just think we should be able to talk about something else too.”

Nope. He wouldn’t move past it until I agreed with him.

I had invited him in for lunch in my seminary, Steinway-housing apartment. His wife and him (and baby) hosted H- and I for an afternoon meal and relaxing stroll at his place. We were at the seminary together. Man. It was/is frustrating. But it also proves my “newly learned” point. These folks have no friends. (Did I mention he was a green beret? Yeah. Unrelenting persistency does not always pay off.)

Anyhow. Crazy times we live in. The good part, as I have said and wrote time and time again, is we have books. I’m still with TJ, “I cannot live without books.”

Forest, Forrest Gump, A Joint Review of The Overstory by Richard Powers and Forrest Gump by Robert Zemeckis

The film Forrest Gump is simply a classic. I know it. You know it. And that’s all I have to say about it.

The Overstory, by Richard Powers, while provocative, was written with enough smugness to need this direct accusation of thematic plagiarism to ground it. Here is my accusation in full: In the end, Richard Powers’ The Overstory offers its readers little more than they already experienced in the film Forrest Gump—that is, a nostalgia-filled game of “memory”, though this new version is chemically-boosted by a fun combination of fabulist storytelling and apparently un-simpleton plants (or more accurately plantae or vegetation) as lens.

With that out of the way, let’s get to some detailed analysis. First up, I feel that I owe you, dear reader, an explanation of how I ended up reading this book. I owe this to you, faithful follower, because you know that I have stated many, many times that I have nearly vowed to never read anything newer than 100 years old, because the classics are the classics for a reason—they are better! Why waste time?

Life threw a curveball, however. I recently moved back to Colorado (mental note: never ever leave again) and this event saw me box up my nice library of classic books that I am diligently working through. As a reader and planner, I kept a couple books out, of course. But not enough, it turned out.

On one trip between Minnesota and Heaven, I stayed with my rich brother and his wife and planned to borrow the first of what I recall was a trilogy of fantasy books I had randomly given them at Christmas a few years back. I was jones’n for easy-to-read, escapist fiction. Unfortunately, and tellingly, they couldn’t recall the location of that box set.

None taken.

Genuinely wanting to rectify the situation, my brother looked over a tiny bookshelf—so small—and, like Belle in the bookstore, chose, The Overstory.

“Here. You might like this one. It’s about-”

“-No need, S-,” I cut in. “As long as it’s fiction, I’ll figure it out.

“Oh. And thanks.”

I set off on the second half of my drive and later that week began to read.

It was miserable. Pulitzer Prize? I thought. This is garbage. I think it’s woke, too. Something is off about it. It feels a little too Greta and not enough William.

A few more pages in, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to read some of the critical acclaim and the previously forgone description from the back. I had to get some sort of context.

Eco-fiction? I knew it. This is garbage. It’s not even a novel. It’s propaganda. I feel like a card-carrying Nazi.

However, if there’s anything I hate more than eco-fiction antifa propoganda, it’s quitting on a book.

“S-. Did you actually read this? I’m finding it very hard to read.”

“Na. I only made it about 50 pages, if that.”

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I see. I’ll relax then. I was getting worried that you thought I needed to read it. Gotcha. Might still be propaganda, but at least it isn’t brother-on-brother crime.”

So I kept reading. Slowly it grew on me. Like most books tend to do.

Then something miraculous happened.

“But one day she’s reading Abbott’s Flatland…” Powers writes.

“No way!” I said to myself.

You see, on a previous work trip for the new job, I encountered the same problem of no easy fiction. So I found a sweet used bookstore in Denton, TX, of all places, and boldly asked the college dude behind the counter for recommendations in fantasy/sci-fi short stories. After he brought me to the appropriate section of the shelves, he lit up as he pulled down Flatland.

“This is a must read!” he explained.

I fully agree.

But how in the world can you explain my having just read Flatland after a random recommendation from a random bookstore I had no business stopping in, and then stumbling onto a second non-classic book which refers back to the previous one as if everyone would obviously have been aware of the merely cult favorite? It defies explanation. But it was all I needed to keep reading Powers.

And I am glad I did.

The Overstory is not poetry in the sense that Shelley meant. It is far too technical and, as mentioned, smug. Too naive. Too progressive. Too dry, at times. But the story is compelling, and buyer beware, if true, the stuff about vegetation’s intelligence and ability (not to mention old, old age) and the detailed accounts of eco-terrorists and their deluded—yet unshakable—belief that we’re all missing something feels authentic.

Onto the terrible. One example of the smug faults of the book must be offered. And it relates back to that used bookstore in Denton. Besides Flatland, the kid also handed me Fragile Things, by Neil Gaiman, accompanied by his opinion that Gaiman is the “greatest living writer”. Wow.

Juxtaposed against the author’s of the “classics”, I quickly noticed how this Gaiman would attempt to show-off his mental powers by summarizing enormous works of classic literature in a word, or worse, one emotion. Smug.

And Powers does the same. A sign of the times, I guess.

But what I am talking about, the one drop of oil that ruins the entire ships water supply, has to do with more than fancy-pants pith. My children are old enough to pick up The Overstory offy shelf. They would not know the references to literary greats. No harm, no foul. But what about this line,

She has told him about the Judean date palm seed, two thousand years old, found in Herod the Great’s palace on Masada—a date pit from a tree-

…wait for it…

–that Jesus himself might have sampled-

…not yet…

–the kind of tree that Muhammad said was made of the same stuff as Adam.

BOOM!

Are you kidding me?

Do you seriously want me to believe that you believe this?

Only a moron in the 21st century would equate Muhammad and Jesus—themselves separated by six centuries of time, not to mention the plane between heaven and hell. And more to the point, illiterate Muhammad most certainly did not offer any commentary—nor could he have—on some particular species of tree that most certainly was not distinguishable from any other tree to this ignorant man who couldn’t distinguish the biblical Trinity—Father, Son, Spirit—from whatever bastardized version he heard about and further twisted in his undiscerning, savage head into “father, son, Mary”. Give me a fucking break, Dick. You go too far.

Excuse me. Something comes out of me when it comes to the name of our Lord and Savior.

Want me to consider your point about deforestation? Okay.

Want me to overlook your hubristic take on religion while doing so? No can do.

But not every book can be a classic. So it’s forgivable. I forgive you, Mr. Powers. Both for the Muhammad thing and for the Forrest Gump thing.

Maybe next time.

As for me, back to the classics.

When It Comes to Israel, Please Try to Focus

Terrorists—not some internationally recognized State military—executed a terror attack on Israel.

How does the en vogue question, “Whose land is it?” relate to the war?

Debates are being had across the world regarding some idea of “a two-State solution”—has Hamas made such a demand? Have they suggested that they will cease hostilities if only…? Moreover, is anyone in Hamas actually in possession of enough integrity to believe, even if they have?

Some heavy hitters in academia suggest that the claims of Israel’s tie to the Land—especially as it regards the Messiah—within the books of the Bible are irrelevant, having clearly lost out to publicly recorded statements and votes by nearly all leaders, on nearly any level in favor of a two-state solution. Is any Israeli earnestly citing scripture in an attempt to denounce Hamas or secure their country?

Then we come to my personal favorite of the many distractions from the issue, being the cries against violence upon innocents. “But the IDF is killing innocent people!”, they wail.

When it comes to Israel, please try to focus.

There is a difference between an academic discussion, or put concretely, a classroom discussion, and war. By my thinking, the only people who don’t seem to understand this might be thought of analogous to the two apparently ugly and old flight attendants at United who are pissed because they haven’t ever been selected to work as supermodels on Dodger’s charter flights.

Talk that is focused on the war sounds like a yes/no answer to this question: should Israel have your support (indirect as it might be) in their war?

I say, “Yes.”

You may disagree. That doesn’t revoke your US Citizenship. Just please don’t skip to the nuanced reasons for your position before stating it. That’s lazy and cowardly. The question of war is not answered by debate. Focus. Answer the question. And stop pretending that “reasons” are the answer. Please, if you fancy talking about the topic, focus and answer.

My Favorite Part of the New War

My favorite part of the new war in the Middle East (totally serious—this is a new thought for me and I think it is worth your consideration) is the part where the bad guys take time to translate their words into English.

Hahahahahaha.

It’s like they secretly know what we all know (which is, “No one agrees with you!!”), but they can’t admit it. But if they don’t translate to the lingua franca, then they feel it too strongly. And that sucks. So instead they go ahead and neuter themselves with as great an effort as possible rather than die insignificantly.

Too funny.

The Special Psychosis Behind AI Fear Mongering

The “threat” of AI is no more and no less than the threat within the act of “texting while driving”.

I mean to apply this analogy in both the case of you texting while you’re driving—a risky endeavor which can end in tragedy for you and a few others if you cause a wreck—and also in the case of you (not texting and driving) being struck by someone else who was texting and driving.

That’s the “threat”—no more, no less.

Everyone calling for concern at the level of atom bombs and armageddon is suffering from a special psychosis.

In other words, ignore them.

Better yet, put down the phone. Focus on the road.

My Review of Oppenheimer, by Christopher Nolan

I’ve always heard that the newspaper USA Today was written at a third grade reading level. A reading level is an interesting concept. Try this sentence from USA Today’s The Weather Book by Jack Williams, “A fusion reaction fuses atoms together, creating other kinds of atoms and giving off energy.”

No third grader on earth could understand whatever that means. A few savants may sound smart trying, but keep in mind that they would never actually be explaining that sentence to us.

I also remember that in the 1950s children encyclopedia, so-called The Book of Knowledge, the author of the chapter on “atoms” began by having a child imagine cutting up a candle into smaller parts. And then smaller parts. And then smaller parts. Even then, you could still reform the candle parts back into shape. But, the author went on, there are even smaller parts, which when the candle is cut down to these teeny sizes, it wouldn’t matter what happened, they could not reassemble to build a candle.

Can anyone explain that concept? I feel like I get it. But it’s basically saying that there is something besides the obvious ingredients comprising the obvious objects. And that fact is something I can repeat, but I do not understand it.

The problem, so far as I can tell, is essentially one of “barrier to entry”. Atoms and Fusion Reactions require knowledge of such things as very few of us will ever think it worthwhile to learn and master.

Therefore, allow me to state the obvious: if you leave the theater believing that you now know something about atom bombs, you’re fooling yourself.

Mr. Nolan doesn’t abstain from attempting a layman’s explanation, but he also doesn’t belabor the point. Perhaps he doesn’t get it either.

The reason I open the review with this lengthy aside is because I, as I suspect you, had nursed the idea that maybe Nolan could succeed where others failed when I first heard he was making this movie. But he didn’t really even try. And I was a fool for thinking he might. The film is called, “Oppenheimer,” not, “Atom Bomb.”

Moving to my next hope for the movie.

Does Mr. Nolan satisfy my curiosity about the man Oppenheimer, which is bracketed by the following two questions:

1. What exactly was his role in the “invention”?

2. How would some nerdy academic handle being responsible for such death then and forevermore?

Yes. And no.

The way he accomplishes this paradox is by sticking to purely emotional storytelling where paradox is not forbidden. While there are many moments which caused me to wonder, “Did that really happen?,” there were many more which unexpectedly evoked near tears and kept me deep in contemplation about implications of what Nolan seemed to be trying to say rather than poised to fact check every seeming “they must have a record of this” moment.

On the whole, everything about the movie works. The chosen vessel for storytelling works. The casting works. The psycho-sapio sex scene works. The conveyance of palpable stress works. And, most importantly, the a-bomb test works.