Happy Birthday, Steve.
Drink some sake for me.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A New England Tale
Ten fifty and my neck is tired of holding my heavy head. Ten fifty one and I'm only through my second sentence. If only I could write as fast as you could read, 'twould be better for the both of us. For me, it would mean getting to bed before my wife turns off all the downstairs lights. For you, it would mean I didn't take myself to seriously as a writer. If I were a better writer you would want me to take my time. But as it stands, with my skills painfully out of sorts, any attempt toward aesthetics comes off as dull and vapid and overinflated. Keep hammering at the keys David, keep hammering at the keys.
Yes, you heard me right. I am now living in a place that has a downstairs. How came I to live in a place that has a downstairs (and thus, of course, an upstairs)? Well, sit down a second, let me tell you a story.
Once ago, just a few months back we were. Sarah and I. The boys too. Sarah and I were sitting on the couch in the apartment on the campus of Gordon Conwell Seminary. The boys were sleeping. As it stood, I would plug on ahead and get two masters degrees (Theology and Church History), the second of which I was just beginning. The first was basically through. But here was the thing: as is typical of me, I was just realizing the enormity of the task ahead. Seven classes left with one J-Term and one semester to go. That and part time job and the boys boys boys. Too much, I said. Too much. And for what? And look how much money we're spending. For what? Sarah asked. You can't just turn tail and run with half a semester invested. Good point, yes, I said. But what if I just don't want to. I'm tired of education--at least education in the form it takes here at the Conwell? What then? What then? She asked. What then? Where would we live? We've got just months to go here and what would you propose we do? And, not that this should be a big factor, but how would we explain such a thing to our friends and family. Good point, yes, good questions, I said. I do not know. I do know I am tired of this place and we are spending a lot of money to be here, and that does not make sense. No it does not, she said. Let's pray, I said. I don't know what to do. Indeed, let's pray, she said.
Twice ago now, a week or so later (the lights are going out now, Sarah is turning out the downstairs lights, eleven oh six and she is turning out the lights). Sarah put in a call to the Hamilton housing people to ask about low-income renting options. Is there section eight? She asked. No, but there are some low income renting options. And there is this other thing. There is a lottery being held next month to afford qualified low income families the opportunity to purchase newly built condos at a greatly reduced price. Really? Sarah asked.
And so we applied. The condo development was just down the road, so we went to look at them. Beautiful, they were. They were brand new, three bedroom, two-thousand square foot condos. No way, we said. Could such a thing happen?
Yes, to cut a long two months of waiting down, we did come in high enough in the drawing to make the waiting list such that two months later we received a phone call telling us we had the opportunity to buy. And so we did (ha! if only the process of buying a house was as simple as those four words, but it is not). And so, yes, I am sitting in the downstairs with the lights out.
The boys are sleeping, I am looking toward another day of working from home as a web developer (I go in about once a week)/non-profit director (for the same company)--but more on that later. This was to get the ball rolling. This was to get me typing as fast as you could read until I got so tired I had to call it quits. And this is me calling it quits.
Yes, you heard me right. I am now living in a place that has a downstairs. How came I to live in a place that has a downstairs (and thus, of course, an upstairs)? Well, sit down a second, let me tell you a story.
Once ago, just a few months back we were. Sarah and I. The boys too. Sarah and I were sitting on the couch in the apartment on the campus of Gordon Conwell Seminary. The boys were sleeping. As it stood, I would plug on ahead and get two masters degrees (Theology and Church History), the second of which I was just beginning. The first was basically through. But here was the thing: as is typical of me, I was just realizing the enormity of the task ahead. Seven classes left with one J-Term and one semester to go. That and part time job and the boys boys boys. Too much, I said. Too much. And for what? And look how much money we're spending. For what? Sarah asked. You can't just turn tail and run with half a semester invested. Good point, yes, I said. But what if I just don't want to. I'm tired of education--at least education in the form it takes here at the Conwell? What then? What then? She asked. What then? Where would we live? We've got just months to go here and what would you propose we do? And, not that this should be a big factor, but how would we explain such a thing to our friends and family. Good point, yes, good questions, I said. I do not know. I do know I am tired of this place and we are spending a lot of money to be here, and that does not make sense. No it does not, she said. Let's pray, I said. I don't know what to do. Indeed, let's pray, she said.
Twice ago now, a week or so later (the lights are going out now, Sarah is turning out the downstairs lights, eleven oh six and she is turning out the lights). Sarah put in a call to the Hamilton housing people to ask about low-income renting options. Is there section eight? She asked. No, but there are some low income renting options. And there is this other thing. There is a lottery being held next month to afford qualified low income families the opportunity to purchase newly built condos at a greatly reduced price. Really? Sarah asked.
And so we applied. The condo development was just down the road, so we went to look at them. Beautiful, they were. They were brand new, three bedroom, two-thousand square foot condos. No way, we said. Could such a thing happen?
Yes, to cut a long two months of waiting down, we did come in high enough in the drawing to make the waiting list such that two months later we received a phone call telling us we had the opportunity to buy. And so we did (ha! if only the process of buying a house was as simple as those four words, but it is not). And so, yes, I am sitting in the downstairs with the lights out.
The boys are sleeping, I am looking toward another day of working from home as a web developer (I go in about once a week)/non-profit director (for the same company)--but more on that later. This was to get the ball rolling. This was to get me typing as fast as you could read until I got so tired I had to call it quits. And this is me calling it quits.
Politics: Too Funny to Resist
By now, most of you have probably seen the Obama YouTube video that was viewed over a million times before Super Tuesday: "Yes We Can."
Now, a new one has surfaced that gives the same sort of treatment to McCain's speeches.
Enjoy.
Now, a new one has surfaced that gives the same sort of treatment to McCain's speeches.
Enjoy.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Religion and Politics: Conservatism
A NYT review of books by Michael Gerson and John Bolton:
Describing the Elephant, Michael Lind
A sampling of the Gerson section:
"Where social issues are concerned, Gerson’s heroic conservatism is actually closer to the Social Gospel Protestant tradition and its equivalents on the Catholic left than to Republican orthodoxies or to the “national greatness” declarations of the neoconservatives....As one might expect, a number of conservative reviewers have been hostile to such a point of view, and with them it is reasonable to ask why Gerson considers himself a conservative at all, inasmuch as his heroes are mostly progressives, liberals and radicals."
Describing the Elephant, Michael Lind
A sampling of the Gerson section:
"Where social issues are concerned, Gerson’s heroic conservatism is actually closer to the Social Gospel Protestant tradition and its equivalents on the Catholic left than to Republican orthodoxies or to the “national greatness” declarations of the neoconservatives....As one might expect, a number of conservative reviewers have been hostile to such a point of view, and with them it is reasonable to ask why Gerson considers himself a conservative at all, inasmuch as his heroes are mostly progressives, liberals and radicals."
Religion and Politics: Progressivism
I thought this was an interesting dual-book review from the Times about religious faith and the Democratic party:
Left Wing and a Prayer, R. Scott Appleby
Here's a sample:
"In short, the Democratic Party’s long string of counterproductive responses to the enduring influence of the religious right has had the cumulative effect of driving away any type of base with the word “faith” attached to it, and opening the door to the Republicans’ shrewd, if cynical, courting of religiously conservative white Christians. It’s been a self-defeating failure, since there are millions of moderate and progressive Christians ready to embrace a reasonable alternative...
"Are Sullivan and Dionne to be believed, or is this the triumph of wishful thinking over political reality?"
Left Wing and a Prayer, R. Scott Appleby
Here's a sample:
"In short, the Democratic Party’s long string of counterproductive responses to the enduring influence of the religious right has had the cumulative effect of driving away any type of base with the word “faith” attached to it, and opening the door to the Republicans’ shrewd, if cynical, courting of religiously conservative white Christians. It’s been a self-defeating failure, since there are millions of moderate and progressive Christians ready to embrace a reasonable alternative...
"Are Sullivan and Dionne to be believed, or is this the triumph of wishful thinking over political reality?"
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Help Me with My Writing Goals and You Could Win a Valuable, Signed First Edition!*
The personal update genre has gotten a fair bit of attention on this blog. We’ve had posts about weddings, children, travel, new houses… even TEFKAMS gets into the act every now and then (though he has been somewhat cagy about the actual details of his own personal life, I’ve noticed. Is there a Mrs. TEFKAMS, for instance? A significant other? Or even, heaven forbid, TEFKAMS progeny?). But, I’ve noticed that we don’t often speak about our professional lives; you know, the things we actually spend most of our waking hours doing. You might consider this post an experiment in this “professional update” genre. If discussion of these things interests you, feel free to contribute accounts of your own professional life, goals, observations, etc. If it doesn’t, I’m sure I can rustle up a YouTube video for your entertainment. Just let me know.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not writing today about my career goals, or why I do the things that I do, or any of that meta-theoretical stuff. That’s an interesting discussion for another day. No, today I want to be very practical. As you know, I am currently writing. Quite a lot, actually. Scripts for NPR, a dissertation, papers to present at conferences, articles to publish… It never ends. Some days I can sit down and produce pages of prose, volumes of verbosity, a welter of words, even (these are the sort of lame, alliterative phrases I’d cut out of my “real” writing). Others days, I can’t. It just doesn’t happen.
I’ve been reading recently that the best writers treat their writing as a discipline—something that improves with daily practice (like running, lifting weights, or golf, for instance). Inspired by this, I’ve decided to use the month of February to cultivate this discipline, to find out what would happen if I actually did write every day, instead of just when I have a deadline looming. What will happen? I have no idea. I’ll post regular updates to let you know how this little experiment progresses.
To be specific, here are my writing goals for February (the procedures for the experiment, if you will):
*Of my dissertation. It will be signed. But perhaps not that valuable.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not writing today about my career goals, or why I do the things that I do, or any of that meta-theoretical stuff. That’s an interesting discussion for another day. No, today I want to be very practical. As you know, I am currently writing. Quite a lot, actually. Scripts for NPR, a dissertation, papers to present at conferences, articles to publish… It never ends. Some days I can sit down and produce pages of prose, volumes of verbosity, a welter of words, even (these are the sort of lame, alliterative phrases I’d cut out of my “real” writing). Others days, I can’t. It just doesn’t happen.
I’ve been reading recently that the best writers treat their writing as a discipline—something that improves with daily practice (like running, lifting weights, or golf, for instance). Inspired by this, I’ve decided to use the month of February to cultivate this discipline, to find out what would happen if I actually did write every day, instead of just when I have a deadline looming. What will happen? I have no idea. I’ll post regular updates to let you know how this little experiment progresses.
To be specific, here are my writing goals for February (the procedures for the experiment, if you will):
- Get up at 4:30 every weekday morning.
- Write 4 pages of academic material every weekday (dissertation, conference paper, abstract, article, etc.).
- Write 3 NPR scripts every week.
*Of my dissertation. It will be signed. But perhaps not that valuable.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Evangelicals in the NYT
I just read an interesting op-ed by Nicholas Kristof in the Times about the changing shape of evangelical politics. I have to say I took some hope from this. Some of it I knew already, but I was surprised to see what topped the list of "issues" in the CBS poll.
Kristof.
Kristof.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
The Just, by Jorge Luis Borges
A man who cultivates his garden, as Voltaire wished.
He who is grateful for the existence of music.
He who takes pleasure in tracing an etymology.
Two workmen playing, in a cafe in the South, a silent game of chess.
The potter, contemplating a color and a form.
The typographer who sets this page well, though it may not please him.
A woman and a man, who read the last tercets of a certain canto.
He who strokes a sleeping animal.
He who justifies, or wishes to, a wrong done him.
He who is grateful for the existence of Stevenson.
He who prefers others to be right.
These people, unaware, are saving the world.
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