Dad Lessons.

Well hello, internet.

I know - we're both surprised to see me here, only I'm slightly less surprised because I know something that you don't.  It's already my father's birthday where I am, in Alaska.  In fact, it's been my father's birthday for nearly four hours in Ohio, where he is. 

And my father is an incredible man, one worth celebrating.  

To commemorate my Papa, I compiled a list of things I've learned from him.  It is as follows ...

51 Things I have learned from my father:

1. If you're in a situation where you can read someone's first name, use it.

2. Eric Clapton is the greatest guitarist of all time.

3. Love is non-negotiable.

4. Learning is a lifestyle.

5. Bread, condiment, cheese, then meat.

6. The difference between humor and comedy.

7. All the words to Bohemian Rhapsody.

8. Kindness is very least you can give of yourself. 

9. The fine art of nachos. 

10. Don't judge food by it's gas station.

11. Dancing doesn't require a reason.

12. Practically everything I know about math.

13. Happiness is a decision, not an equation. 

14. Singing is soul-nourishing.  

15. There are a lot of rules to the game of cribbage.

16. Ye who smelt it, dealt it. 

17. Not to pull fingers.

18. How to play guitar. 

19. How to sing harmony. 

20. That whoever I marry, man, woman, goat or alien, must have a job. 

21. Westerns, kung-fu, and noir films are fantastic.

22. There are things not worth being afraid of or worried about.

23. Be grateful always.

24. Everything there is to know about Superman.

25. Reading is the very best.

26. Writing is pretty swell too.

27. If you're hungry, quick whining about it and cook something.

28. But also be very gracious when someone feeds you anyway.

29. Let people know you love them.

30. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. 

31. Peanut butter does not just go with jelly.

32. There is no lower limit. 

33. All of the most hilarious things from the internet. 

34. You can dream/scheme for free. 

35. Don't knock it 'til you try it. 

36. Grammar is important, but not really. 

37. Doing the right thing is always priority. 

38. You can't predict the future - especially with a horoscope. 

39. Find satisfaction in all of your victories, including small ones.

40. But sometimes, you just gotta suck it up.

41. Nay-sayers are not worth listening to.

42. Be creative.

43. The value of listening.

44. Know and own who you are.

45. How to be cool.

46. How to make myself laugh.

47. Live with hope in your heart.

48. Ask big questions.

49. Be happy just to be here. 

50. Be aware of the blessings and good things in your life. 

51. My father will always and unconditionally love me. 

Frankly, the list goes on. 

My father is a rare individual; he is equal parts cool dude, smarty-pants, rock and roll, jack of literally all trades, and quality good man.  I cannot fathom his equal.  He has taught me more in my short life than anyone else.  He is cultivated and kind.  He is thoughtful.  He is a man with a plan.  He is true. 

He is a jolly good fellow, and I dare anyone to deny it. 

I love my father so very much.  Everyone should have one like mine. 

Dad, thank you for everything - including the things you haven't even done yet.  I love you, Dad. I truly think the world of you.

Readers, if you've learned something from this swell guy, might I ask that you share it here?  Pop down and leave a comment!  Having been a teacher for over 25 years, I'm sure he's imparted some gems out there.  

Or, if you're the mood for some sweet Don Dudding jams, check out his new album on iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/don-dudding/id392865574

Happy Birthday, Dad!

#23 "Double Standards"

According to a quick search of the web, the phrase “Double Standards” first appeared in some political commentary published in 1912.  This means, of course, that the idea of using these words while discussing the differences between how two groups get treated differently is sneaking up on its 100 birthday.  Wow, at first, it boggles my mind to think about all the groups who have a legitimate beef with how they are treated unfairly, and then, I tried to consider the even longer list of groups who feel they are being mistreated when perhaps they really need to suck it up and realize that nobody gets everything they want.

As a rhetorician, one of the ideas I cherish the most is the concept that we often refer to as “The Principal of Similar Cases.”  The basic thought behind this principal is that when two things are the same, they should be treated the same unless a reason is given for treating them differently.  One of the reasons this particular ideal resonates so deeply within me is that I grew up with a twin brother, and each of us was acutely aware (often painfully so) when we perceived that one of us was getting some kind of favor or break the other one wasn’t.

It didn’t matter that we were two completely different people in our abilities and attitudes; what did matter to us was that we were exactly the same age – so as far as we could comprehend the world, if one of us was given permission to do something, then, the other better receive permission as well or all bloody hell was going to break loose in the Dudding household.  Naturally, I understand much more now than I did when I was between the ages of say four to twelve, so I have much more sympathy for what my brother, Dan, and I put our mother through.

“It’s not fair,” one of us would bellow when we perceived the violation of “The Principal of Similar Cases” (we did not know it was called this then, but its expectation was apparently etched into our DNA).  Inevitably, our mother would respond with the phrase that pretty much became her mantra through our childhood, “Get used to it.  Life’s not fair.”

And that’s the rub when it comes to “Double Standards,” is it?  When all know that life is unfair, and yet we continue marching forward through the mire with the faint hope that somehow, somewhere down the road, it will be.

It would not be too far from wrong to say that my entire life has been spent trying to reconcile the cognitive dissidence that comes from wanting life to be reasonable while knowing that it’s often not.  The irony is recursive and paradoxical like when we see the reflection of one mirror in another mirror and we notice the long series of ever smaller replications.   We want (and often expect) life to be reasonable, but that desire is itself unreasonable.  Even when we can get all parties within a disagreement to agree upon the importance of using reason in settling a dispute, we still find ourselves with the conundrum of answering the question, “Who gets the final call on determining what is and what isn’t reasonable?”

While not everyone is a parent, we all have the experience of being children, and typically what we think is reasonable is an odd revision of what we were taught to think was reasonable as we grew up as a member of a family.  We don’t always see eye to eye with out parents, or our siblings, or our spouses, and (especially) with our children.  It’s not reasonable to expect that we will always see eye to eye with them.  The question, then, when we’re trying to work issues out, whose logic gets favored?  Whose rationale for what is or isn’t acceptable becomes the standard by which one or the other can rightly claim, “well, at least in this situation, I was right and you were wrong”?

The idea that there is a single right idea is not only irrational but it becomes comical when we try to revisit an argument later.  “When we were arguing about X the other day, you said Z” is often how we try to start.  “I never did say Z,” you or the other person will counter, “That’s what you thought you heard.  What I actually said was Y.”  And then, instead of trying to settle the rationales of the argument you thought you had, you can get all cranky and crazy over the argument you didn’t have.  “You didn’t say Y,” you might respond, “because if you had said Y, I wouldn’t have said W.”

The only solution is to keep moving forward and keep expecting that someday it will all get better.  Optimism may not be rational, but it’s soothing.  You can say optimism isn’t soothing if you want to, but I’ll have to fight you on that one.

Just remember, two things: first, after a big argument when all is said and done, more gets said than done.  And second, we don’t need a reason to love each other so it’s better if we just go ahead and do that (even if the other person will never admit in the heat of the last argument that she was adamant about Z, but now vehemently denies ever saying any such thing).

#22 Rituals - Olivia

The ritual is a rare bird.

It's the bizarre cousin of tradition and habit that fraternizes with a more serious edge.  It lacks the same nonchalance (in my estimation) as garden variety "routine," but it also seems more habitual and quirky than the idea of tradition.  The word ritual invokes a certain sacred nature for me.  I think of Egyptians, to be honest.  Rituals seem like they need outfits, but I'm probably just confusing that for basic preparation.

I suppose a ritual doesn't have to include virginal sacrifice, but I do think it should hold a little pomp.   Even the most seemingly trivial rituals can hold a note of ceremony if you do it right. 

While I hesitate to say that I don't have any personal rituals, they are certainly few and far between.  Perhaps writing on this blog counts as a ritual?  But even then, we can see I was thrown off by the holidays (don't worry folks, you'll get those posts back.)  Other than that, I'm stumped to think of my own rituals.  I feel like I had several when I was young, but some how grew out of them. 

When I was young, I remember after school rituals best.  After school, I would come to my grandparents house, pick up the remote and watch very specific television shows.  My sister and I would watch the same television shows until they stopped airing, and then we would move on and find something else.  I'm pretty sure I watched the entirety of The Power Rangers at my grandmother's house.  I also saw the rise and fall of The Rosie O'Donnell Show.  But what made this mere habit of watching shows after school into a full blown ritual would be presence and sanctity of the Schwann man treats. 

If I was aware of my grandparents being superb at something, it was their taste in treats for their grandchildren.  Otter pops, Push-pops, Creamsicles, Mini cups filled with all kinds of frozen delights, and most hallowed of all, the Mississippi Mud bar.  

But eventually, the after school ritual came to an abrupt end when I switched schools in 7th grade.  And really, nothing came to replace it.  Since then, I've been a "fly by the seat of my pants" kinda gal.  I get antsy with monotony.  I change my hair all the time and crave the thrill of something new. 

That said, I do admire the ritual and generally like the idea, but I'm just not sure where it would fit in my life. 

Maybe that should be a 2011 goal?

Goals of 2011 thus far:

1) Read constantly.
2) Write just as often.
3) Try foods I remember disliking.
4) Learn to sew.
5) Get hair cuts regularly.
6) Speak jive.
7) Get on a regular sleeping schedule.
8) Thoughtfully create rituals. 

#22 Rituals -- Don

There are two kinds of rituals: the religious ceremonies that follow a particular pattern and which are meant to produce a specific spiritual result and the secular routines we fall into by habit.  Because it’s a new year and I’m already feeling grumpy about what it’s going to take to survive the winter ahead, I’m going to stay away from discussing the religious type of rituals and stick to those ordinary habits that we so often fall into.  I figure that grumpy begets grumpy and if I grouse about religion today, I’ll only incur that much more grumpiness.

Like pretty much everything else in life, rituals are beneficial when they help us get through our day and are obnoxious when they stand in the way of where we want to go.  My morning rituals, for example, are good because by having a set pattern for my morning activities, I don’t have to think too much about what I need to do next.  Perhaps I’m like a lot of people, but my brain isn’t interested in doing any heavy lifting until it’s got a little coffee lubricating its gears. Furthermore, during the school year, I don’t allow myself to have any coffee until after I arrive at work (this practice helps to motivate me to get out the door and on the road), so I need my morning rituals to help me get through mornings without leaving behind the work keys or my wallet while, at the same time, not overtaxing a brain that is going to grind its transmission if I try to force it into first gear before it’s sufficiently warmed up.

My morning rituals help keep me moving forward without the need to try and remember what I’ve got to do next.  I never have to wonder if I brushed my teeth this morning because I always brush my teeth after I put on the deodorant.  I don’t have to wonder if I remembered to put on the deodorant because I always do that first thing after toweling off from the shower.  If I’m getting dressed and I’m not soaking wet, I can assume I’ve also brushed my teeth and put on the deodorant.  See?  No heavy lifting for the brain that still wants to go back to bed even when it only vaguely understands that there’s still breakfast and socks to deal with.

My best rituals come at the gas station.  If at all possible, I try to buy my gas at Speedway because I like the special routine of signing in at the pump with their customer rewards card.  Now, everyone who knows me knows that I can be cheap about a lot of things.  Back when I was a kid, gas stations used to give away plates and towels as customer loyalty reward gifts, but I’m grateful to live in the 21^st century because I don’t want a free towel or a plate (or even a roadmap), I want a free hot dog or a free slice of pizza.  And, from time to time, that’s what Speedway gives me. 

They also give me a free fountain drink about every five times I buy gas because part of my Speedway ritual is buying a Diet Pepsi at the fountain.  So while other people might find the whole extra motion of putting in an additional card into the pump a bother, I like it.  I like to stand there while the pump is thinking it over after I’ve put in my Speedy card and read the message, “Processing Customer Loyalty.”  It’s almost like the gas pump itself is an old friend when it flashes my name on its screen, “Welcome, Don Dudding.”  Of course, my old friend knows my name but goes on to tempt me to buy two bags of Fritos for an extra 200 points.  “Sorry, Gas Pump, not today.  I’m just here for the gas, the Diet Pepsi, and a free hot dog if you spit a coupon out at me for a free hot dog.”  Although the free hot dog (or slice of pizza) coupon only occasionally comes at the cash register after I’ve paid, it comes often enough to keep me coming back.  Sometimes that free hot dog is enough to persuade me to go ahead and get those two bags of Fritos so I can garner those 200 bonus points.  I mean it; anyone who doesn’t love bonus points is a communist.

I have on occasion tried to buy gas and not get the Diet Pepsi at the fountain.  It just doesn’t work.  I drive away feeling deprived and it’s difficult to steer through the tears streaming down my cheeks.  It’s as though the truck got its beverage so I need one too.  Of course, I can live without the hot dog or the pizza because I’m going to wait for a free one. 

I was going to stay away from commenting on religious rituals, but in closing I’m finding it hard to end this blog without pointing out that the spiritual benefits of religious ceremonies are sometimes difficult to point to and say definitively “this is what I got out of that,” but my gas station rituals, on the other hand, have had their ontology proven time and again with chili sauce, mustard, and onions.

#21 "It's a Gift" -- Don

‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the home, we regarded our waistlines, swollen like gnomes.

Ugh. Christmas is over.  Now let’s get ready for New Year’s Eve and the subsequent three months of dieting and scary, snowy roads.  Before, however, we pour the remaining eggnog down the drain, gobble up the last bit of Chex Mix (before it goes bad, ha!) and haul the crumpled wrapping paper to the curb, let’s take a moment and appreciate what we received through this past holiday, our Christmas gifts.

I suppose there are dozens of ways we could categorize Christmas gifts (big to small, most expensive to least expensive, sentimental to functional), but for now I’m going to organize them into the three categories: what we get from businesses, what we get from family and friends, and what we get from God.

What We Get From Businesses

While most of us abhor the excessive and grotesque commercialization of Christmas, with the overly bright and glitzy displays and the endless paa rum pum pum pum blaring through the mall speakers, there are some aspects of the merchandizing of Christmas that I am actually grateful for.  I was in a store the other day, and the cashier said to the person in line before me, “Merry Christmas” and that customer growled at her as though she was either hopelessly naïve or socially awkward.  After the snarky shopper moved along, the cashier said to me, “I don’t care how others treat me, I’m going to be nice to people anyway.”  Her smile was genuine, her kindness was infectious, and she had already forgiven the grump in front of me for his rudeness.

And that, folks, is a real gift. 

Yes, yes, I know the lights are too bright, the music is too loud, and the parking lots are too crowded, but let’s remember that when people make it a special part of their jobs to be nice to others, it more than makes up for the cynical corporate marketing schemes that aim to squeeze out our last dimes.  While I’m sure this particular cashier is nice to people the other eleven months of the year, it’s a gift to be reminded that Christmas shopping is not just about going out to garner the stuff we will be trading with the people we know, it’s also about the cheerfulness and consideration we can exchange with absolute strangers.  Although at times we can all get cranky and sneering, we know we are better people when we are not.  It’s a gift to be reminded to be nice to one another (even if that reminder has a price tag hanging off of it).

What We Get From Family and Friends

The best gifts we get from our family and friends are not necessarily unwrapped on Christmas morning.  The best gift we get from the people we really know and care about in our lives is the certainty that (for reasons which may lie beyond our comprehension) we matter to them and they matter to us.

My daughter, Olivia, gave me a new board game for Christmas; as much as I appreciate the box full of tiny tokens, playing cards, and its impressive cardboard layout, the real gift is not the game so much as all the time we’ll eventually spend together playing it.  This Christmas among the spoils we offered each other, the family gave movies, music, and books.  For me, these presents are not the media itself, but the time we’ll spend together watching the films or talking about the books.

My wife, Ruth, was a bit disappointed, I think, that I started wearing the jacket she gave me before Christmas and that she didn’t get to wrap it up for me to open yesterday morning.  Her gift wasn’t really the jacket though.  It was the warmth it provided me last week when I couldn’t bear to go outside in my old coat. 

My daughter, Ellie, gave me a graphic novelization of The Wizard of Oz.  I love the book, but what I love even more is how this particular gift demonstrates how well Ellie knows me.  She knows what I like, and that’s the real gift: she knew I would like it.

So, for my friends and family who regularly drop by this blog and give Olivia and me a little bit of your time, thanks for taking a part of your life to be a part of our lives.  We appreciate this gift more than you’ll ever know.

What We Get From God

The best gifts, naturally, come from God.  I am completely grateful for the talents and abilities that I have.  Although I humbly admit I lack a lot of useful skills (I’m a terrible mechanic, a wretched carpenter, and nearly worthless plumber), I have been divinely gifted with a love for words and a keen appreciation for seeing the humor in most situations. 

I love music, and although I put many, many hours into learning to play a few instruments, I did not “learn” to be a songwriter, that was a gift from God.  I have no idea how many times I have been gifted while writing a song with a new melody from an inspired spiritual region that I have no right to claim ownership from.

Perhaps the best gift I get from God is the on-going mystery of it all.  As I’ve often said to my students, “a good question is better than a good answer, because a good question keeps us going.” 

Even though I may not understand a lot about God (nor much of what He or She is up to), I am grateful for the gift of simply being allowed to hang out here in this particular physical world to watch and see what I can make of it all.  I don’t think it’s just a linguistic coincidence that the word “present” means both “a gift” and “at this very moment.”

This present moment is the greatest gift we get from God; recognizing it’s endless mysteries of why we’re here and how we’re meant to be with each other is how we demonstrate our gratitude for this gift.  It’s the wonder that makes it wonderful.  Furthermore, whenever we are feeling blue or overwhelmed with our lives, it’s this awareness that holds the secret to finding our way back to happiness: “Who am I right now?” and “Why am I here?” 

It seems foolish to struggle with the petty complications of this life when we remember that we have been given the gift of this present moment. God has puts us on the cusp of the infinite to marvel at all we can behold while overlooking its rim.

Thank you, God, for everything.  I promise not to try and return it.

Sorry for the hold up!

I'm flying to Ohio today!  I know this post should've gone up yesterday, but I truly haven't had a chance.  You should see it tomorrow some time, thanks!

#20 "So Bad That It's Good" -- Don

I’m tempted to start off by riffing on the Platonic/Socratic discourse that separates “what is truly good from what is merely pleasurable.”  Plato, in several of his dialogs, has his teacher, Socrates, ramble on and on about how life offers us plenty of things that are bad for us that are nonetheless very pleasurable.  For instance, we might all enjoy it when someone flatters us, but Socrates would say the truth is more beneficial.  But, I’ll save my philosophic lectures for when I’m waxing eloquent about rhetoric in English class, and here in today’s blog, I want to stick to those things that are aesthetically not very good, but somehow, because of some weird gravitational effect, they rebound off the side of The Wall of Terrible and bounce back squarely into The Playground of Awesome.

Musically, it would be hard to find a better example of something that is “So Bad That It’s Good than this gem from The Lawrence Welk Show:

During my childhood, The Lawrence Welk Show was one of those TV shows that seemed like it was alway on.  Even as a child, I could not understand how anyone could watch this show and not notice how desperate the producers seemed to be to depict all American music as sanguine and banal.  While The Munsters and The Addams Family were parodying what was supposed to be creepy in America during the 1960's, I say the show that really gave me the creeps was this one.  One of my favorite SNL skits demonstrates this attitude perfectly as Kristen Wiig performs with doll hands and a massive forehead while her singing sisters work to appear as normal as possible.  Here's a link to the video, I don't have the mad blogger skills to figure out how to embed it like I did with the previous video above.

As far as movies go, I can think of plenty of films that somehow uses it's self-awareness of being second-rate material to move it somehow passed all those films that want to be great but can't quite make it.  One of my all-time favorite bad movies that just happens to be amazingly good is Mothra vs. Godzilla.  Seriously, as if the giant lizard fighting the giant moth does sufficiently satisfy the weirdness quotient for a movie, you have to admire the filmmaker's willingness to incorporate two Barbie-doll sized twin fairy girls who plead with the evil corporate executives to return an enormous egg to their homeland "Infant Island."

  

In my humble opinion, nobody can take material that is so weird that it makes you wonder if the writers were stoned when they cranked out their story and present it in a style that acts as though it's all as common as Wonder Bread as the Japanese can.  Yes, I know Lewis Carroll, Rolad Dahl, and Tim Burton can all do terrifically mad and beautiful work exploring this literary territory, but even as good as Alice in Wonderland, James and the Giant Peach, and Edward Scissorhands can be, they all pale in the exquisite shadows of Hayao Miyazaki's Spirited Away:

With its bouncing disembodied Russian heads, its child abandoned because Mom and Dad have been turned into swine, and the creepiest giant baby ever portrayed on film, Spirited Away couldn't have been weirder if the ghost of Walt Disney had showed up tripping on LSD.

In the category of reading "So Bad It's Good," I'd put the series of pulp novels by Tarzan-creator Edgar Rice Burroughs about the prehistoric world that lies at the center of the Earth as my favorite.  

You can get a free ebook of At the Earth's Core here.  If you've never had the fun of reading any of the Doc Savage pulp novels (mostly written by Lester Dent) then as soon as you finish At the Earth's Core, you should jump in a read The Man of Bronze (most of the Doc Savage books are available as free ebooks from here).  

If you get an ebook reader for Christmas (such as a Kindle or a Nook), then you should know there are tons of free and awesome books waiting to be had; I particularly recommend the sci-fi and mystery pulp writers of the 30's and 40's including Robert Howard and H.P Lovecraft.  These writers are more accurately described as "So Bad They're Hard to Beat."

As I wrap this blog up, I think I'd be remiss if I didn't say something about food.  Ruth is always giving me a hard time about my dietary choices (as well as she should, it's her job to keep me on the straight and narrow), and know that their food is especially bad nutritionally, but in the category of "So Bad It's Good" I think it would hard to beat the delicious choices that are available at Speedway.  

Not only is their coffee the best deal anywhere, I'm a sucker for all the delectable delicacies that are in perpetual rotation on their spinning hot dog cooker.  If you haven't tried one of their meat and cheese pastry filled Tornadoes, then what are you waiting for?  Permission from your doctor? That'll never happen.  Be sure to use your Speedy Rewards Card because if you survive a few meals, they'll give you a free sandwich after you accumulate a few points.

Okay, Christmas is next weekend.  So Ho-ho-ho and all of that.  Don't overindulge too much (just overindulge enough not to get ill from it afterwards).

#19 God

Finding a picture I've taken that sums up "God" was harder than I thought it would be.   I'm still not really satisfied.

It looks cliche.

Why is God always summed up in a sunrise?  Obvious answers include the conspicuous "light" metaphor, or the even more noticeable "sun" metaphor, the source of everything.

Or perhaps, all those inspirational posters with God quotes also have sunrises because it suggests a peace or an awe that escorts the dawn into day.  How else would you describe that time but holy?  The reverence of morning reminds me of God.

However, I want more than that.  If I had more options, perhaps instead of a picture, I'd play a sound.

As much as images paint poignant and lasting impressions, nothing soaks in like something I've heard.  Music can be all encompassing in ways that cannot be replicated by the other senses.

When I picture God as a sound, I hear the Who-chorus singing to their spangle-stripped holy morning.  It's a song that makes the heart awaken.

"Fa who fo-raze!  Da who do-raze!"  They sing not because they have nothing left, but because life is too sacred not to.  Morning is here!  Their song is a sweet promise.  It is a simple wisdom.  It feels like a hallelujah use to.  I see it as nothing more or less than the purest, most unconditional and freeing love.

Love like gravity.  Love like color.

Love so full and complete that we cannot see it all or understand it all and so often we take it for granted or forget about it.

That's what I think of when I think of God.

While my father and I may disagree, I know my capacity to fathom God comes from my own mortal parents.

 I was always blessed by words like "Who loves you?"
To which I would smile back and say, "You do, Dad."
And he would say, "No matter what."
And I would repeat "No matter what."

It took very little imagination to imagine love of that nature coming from a Heavenly Father.

How did I know my Godly Father loved me?  Because I was given a body?  One that can see, hear, taste, smell and touch?  Because that body could grow?  Because I was given the capacity to learn and choose?   Because each day, I am given another sunrise?  Another breath?

Or because I can feel?  All those things being true, I knew because I could feel it.

And that changes everything.

I believe in a God who loves.  Simple as a s'more.  He loves us because He knows us.  And because He knows us, and loves us, He has provided us ways to be happy.  He wants it for us.

And I'm not talking about bubble-gum machine weekend part-time happiness.   I'm talking real, fine craftsmanship, home grown, worthy investment happiness.  The kind that not only serves you now, but the kind that can be passed down forever.  Heirloom happiness, perhaps.

While I cannot confirm nor deny a particular first name, I can tell you that when I talk to God, I feel a deep peaceful understanding of love.

It moves me to love others and seek after things that are good.  His love is one that rouses me to find truth.  His love spreads seeds of gratitude that has taken the deepest root in me.

There is so much that I know because of the love of God.  I know that as cliche as a sunrise is, like His love, it will always be there.

And it will always be the most brilliant thing I see all day.

Don Replies:


I'm glad that your experience with God is so pleasant.  I'm a bit jealous of that.  Somewhere along the line for me, other people's "religion" got in the way of my experience of God.  I've spent my entire adulthood trying to get to that space where it's just God and me, but what I heard in my childhood about a God who is often angry and vengeful almost always gets in the way.  On a rational, abstract level, I can separate what I was told from what makes sense to me today, but on an emotional level, I'm still often bitter and jaded.  And I don't just get angry at all the dogma and doctrine that's screwed up my ability to make peace with The Eternal, but I get angry that God would allow it to happen as well.  It seems to me that if God is an active force in the everyday lives of ordinary human beings, then the one thing He would care about (and take care of) is how He gets portrayed by the people who claim to know him the best.  So for me, I struggle to have a very simple faith -- that God is more kind, loving, and forgiving than the "official" script portrays Him to be.

#19 "God, Whose Name May or May Not Be Howard" -- Don

The topic of God is extraordinarily complicated, but that shouldn’t prevent us from discussing it. Although I’m not a prophet, a preacher, or a missionary, I have spent a great deal of my life thinking about the nature of God, and as a result, I have developed some very strong opinions about what I think about God.  Some of the regular readers of this blog may be surprised to find this out, but my primary interest in getting a PhD in Composition and Rhetoric was so I could better understand the mechanics of religious belief and improve my ability to articulate those aspects about religion that leave me befuddled, frustrated, and disturbed.

Have you ever had a popcorn husk get stuck between two back teeth and your tongue won’t leave it alone?  Perhaps you have felt like you wanted to stick your finger deep into your mouth and with the edge of a fingernail extract that annoyance, but you were hopelessly stuck in polite company, and you have been taught since childhood that sticking your fingers into your mouth while in public is generally considered rude and disgusting.  So, in this situation, you probably act as though nothing is wrong while the whole time you couldn’t wait to get a little privacy so you could deal with your oral irritation.  This scenario pretty much describes my long and exasperating relationship with organized religion.  It’s as though the dogmatic aspects of other people’s beliefs gets stuck between my teeth, and my brain won’t let it go and decorum requires I leave it alone until I’m by myself.

Okay, so polite or not, today I’m going to stick my fingers deep into my mouth and extirpate what bothers me about traditional religious beliefs.  You’ve been forewarned; it’s not going to be pretty.

First and foremost, understand this: even though my mother passed away a few years ago, if someone said something disparaging about her, the comment would hurt my feelings.  Even if whoever made the comment felt they were speaking candidly and truthfully about my mother, because of my unique relationship with her, I would find the comment deeply offensive and I would want to argue for the truth of my own experience.  I feel exactly the same way about God. 

When I hear (or read) portrayals of God that depict Him as monstrous, barbaric, or irrational, I find those depictions odious and insulting, and furthermore, it matters not a whit to me whether those depictions are coming from the evening news or what other people consider sacred texts.  The Old Testament says God told Moses to command his men to kill all the women and children taken prisoner after a particular battle with the Midianites; Moses goes on to say that God said it was okay to spare any of the girls who were still virgins and take them into slavery to do whatever they wanted with them (Numbers 31).  The Book of Mormon says that God commanded Nephi to cut off the head off of Laban who had passed out from drinking too much (1 Nephi 4), and later, when Jesus came to America to minister to the people who were living here, he first killed several million of them by crushing their cities under earthquakes, tidal waves, fires and volcanoes (3 Nephi 9).  This part of the LDS narrative is written in the first person with Jesus saying, “I did this”; apologists can’t even make the argument that the millions of people who were killed were just victims of natural disasters that happened to coincide with Jesus’ arrival.  I don’t understand how anyone can reconcile the Jesus who forgave the people who actually drove nails through him (“Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.”) with the Jesus who takes his first opportunity in the New World to mass murder everyone in 16 cities (“And a many great destructions have I caused to come upon this land, and upon this people, because of their wickedness and their abominations.”)

I don’t know if I ultimately know anything about God, but when I hear someone say something about God that maligns his character, I am deeply offended by it, and I have a difficult time remaining quiet about it (even though most of the time, that’s what I feel I have to do).

Now here’s where it gets technical, but please, hang with me.  If anyone wants to dispute the soundness of my arguments about God, I would be glad to entertain those arguments as long the other person can show she gets the crux of my thesis.  I am not interested in arguing religion with anyone who is not willing to address the authenticity of my primary concerns.

Okay, so here goes: Aristotle would say that basically there’s two types of knowledge: Episteme and Endoxa.  Episteme is the type of knowledge that we gain from either scientific demonstrations or through strict logical deduction.  Endoxa is the type of knowledge that is useful but is based on what most people just happen to believe to be true (popular opinion) but would be impossible to show logically or scientifically.  Today, we might look at this Aristotelian classification as an attempt to separate knowledge into the two categories of what we can prove empirically (based on shared observations of our mutual physical reality) from what we can only understand constructively (based on our communal “socially constructed” ideas about meanings that are not open to physical experimentation).

This is to say, there are the things we can know because we can test the ideas scientifically and there are the things we can know because we have to agree we need to be able to talk about such things. Ideas like honesty, morality, justice, and spirituality all have a certain actuality in our shared reality, but anyone who would claim she could measure these terms and demonstrate their relationships empirically has a tenuous grasp of what we can really know through science.  I might say for example that scientists have proven they are entirely capable of splitting atoms to release enormous amounts of inherent energy, but their knowledge of the political and moral correctness of doing so remains outside of the scientific domain of expertise. 

Thus, moral pronouncements about right and wrong cannot be held to the same methods of discovery and verification as pronouncements about the speed of light.

Science can demonstrate that light travels at 186000 miles a second, but science cannot prove that it’s immoral to sneak into your neighbor’s house and take stuff that does not belong to you.  Even if we could achieve worldwide consensus that stealing from our neighbors is always wrong, this belief would still be epistemic rather than ontological; it would remain an idea that we accept rather than one we could prove.  Science could even demonstrate, perhaps, through psychological and sociological instruments that everyone gets along better when everyone agrees not to steal other people’s stuff, but science as a field of discourse is not equipped to demonstrate that stealing is immoral because the concept of immorality originates within the social acknowledgement that some behaviors are right and some behaviors are wrong.  Unless we agree that “immorality” exists, we cannot discuss how to manage the concept.

To sum this all up, the scientific authority that says, “two objects of different weights fall at precisely the same speed” is not the same moral authority that says, “you have an obligation not to take things that do not belong to you” because different types of knowledge require different models of authority.

Knowledge of God could never be empirically oriented because there is no way to scientifically control for God.  It is impossible to design an experiment that could factor God out because any explanation of God requires first a definition of God, and all definitions of God are linguistically limited to the words we can use to explain our relationships with Him.  Because God is beyond the limits of definition, God remains the mystery that lies beyond the physics of this world.

This is not to say that God doesn’t exist.  It is to say that our knowledge of God must always remain informed by our unique and personal experiences.

Now since God must be discussed as an ontological reality that exists beyond the scope of scientific devices, we must rely upon those who tell us about God to demonstrate their moral authority in ways that we can agree upon that by necessity lie beyond any physical or quantifiable evidence. 

I contend that whenever someone says something about God which conflicts with something else they said about God, then they have undermined the authority they were hoping to establish as “God’s spokesman.”

Think about it this way: If I were a cashier in a department store and someone handed me a credit card, the amount of credit available on the card is irrelevant to the process of establishing that the cardholder is authorized to use it.   If someone says, “Look, the person whose name on the card said I could use it; don’t you trust that person?” the issue of trust does not fall between me and the person whose name is on the card.  It’s between me and the person who is making the claim he is authorized to use the card.  Thus, if someone claims to be a Prophet of God and his claim to using God’s authority lies entirely within the argument that “if I don’t believe him, then I must not believe in God,” then the so-called Prophet of God seems to be missing the point.  It’s not about whether God has endless authority and credibility; it’s about whether that person who claims that God wants him to speak upon His behalf can prove to me he’s actually speaking with God’s authorization.

If God exists, then I expect He’s kinder, wiser, more intelligent, and more moral than I am. (Do I hear an “amen”?)  If God is more intelligent than I am, then He figured out eons ago something I learned within my first 50 years: that a motive to believe something is not the same as a reason to believe something.  If I offer to give you a million dollars to believe I have a unicorn in my basement, you have an excellent motive to believe in my unicorn, but you don’t have a rational reason to believe in it.

Even if I could show you the money is real, it would not have any relevancy for establishing the existence of the unicorn. If I threaten to shoot you in the head unless you say you believe in my unicorn, you have an excellent motive to say you believe in my unicorn, but you still don’t have a rational reason for believing in the unicorn.

So my argument goes like this: if God is more intelligent than I am (and I expect He is), then there can be no doubt that He’s known for a long, long time that while “promises of rewards” or “threats of tortures” may provide excellent motives for believing, they are irrelevant and irrational (and hence, immoral and unethical) reasons for believing.  Thus, if God were to choose someone to speak upon his behalf, the least I would expect is that God would carefully explain to that person that any messages the spokesman wants to claim comes from Him better be rational, relevant, and moral or else anyone who hear these messages will have excellent reasons to dismiss the claims as fraudulent.

This is to say, then, if God exists, then He is certainly more moral and rational than I am.  I would expect anyone who God has authorized to speak upon his behalf would totally get the part that immoral and irrational arguments only serve to demolish their credibility.

Anyone who says, “God wants you to know that if you don’t believe I’m actually speaking upon His behalf then He will burn you forever in hell” has proven he’s not actually speaking on God’s behalf because, you see, God (being wiser and more ethical than I am) would warn his official spokesmen not to make this type of threat. 

The Promise of Heaven and/or The Threat of Hell seems to me to be the primary rhetorical engine of most Biblical Prophets; and this is why I have to hand the credit card back to them and say, “I’m sorry, but just saying you have the cardholder’s authorization to use this unlimited credit is not the same as proving you have the owner’s authorization, and furthermore, trying to bribe me with the offer to buy me something if I’m willing to accept your story that you are sanctioned to use the card is precisely the unethical behavior that makes me think you’re probably a liar.  Furthermore, saying that unless I accept that you have the approved authority to use the card, then the real owner is going to come down to the store and set me on fire when I get off work also sounds like the type of threat someone who doesn’t really know the card owner very well would make. I can’t say how well I know the card owner, but He doesn’t strike me as the type who would use the vast resources He has at hand to promote violence and intolerance, and I certainly don’t see Him condoning bribes or threats.  Good day!”

I must end it here.  I’ve gone on too long.  I, naturally, have tons more to say about God but I’m guessing blog posts really shouldn’t run on this long.  I’m sure we’ll come back to this topic again someday.  So until then, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Howard be thy name. . .”

#18 Holidays-Wholly Dazed - Olivia

To those of you who talk to me regularly, I apologize for repeating myself, but I want the world to know that after years of just rocking Christmas, I finally added Hanukkah to the repertoire.  

Yes, it rocked my world.  Kwanzaa, next year is your year. 

Now, I'm guessing there will be some confusion.  Something in the form of, "You celebrated Hanukkah?  In Rexburg, Idaho??" followed by a, "And why ...?"  Good question, reader. 

Yes.  I celebrated Hanukkah in the isolating, overwhelmingly Christian, currently frozen state of Idaho.  I did it because I was invited to do so.  And it was awesome.  

We read a story about the havoc the Greek Syrians wrought on the Jews and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days, we lit the menorah, we sang about dreidels, and then ate latkes and chocolate coins.  

My favorite part was learning about miracles - or at least for me - re-introducing the idea of miracles in my life.  

Thanksgiving was literally last week, and already I have caught myself grumbling about what I don't have or can't do.  I had already forgotten that the reason we get off work on a Thursday in November is not to power nap after an unmentionable amount of calories, but because we have an opportunity to realize how truly good we have it.  

Now, while thinking about the struggles the Jews had to endure, I was given the opportunity to pause and reflect again.  

Folks, we celebrate holidays and traditions to remind ourselves of important things.  I wish I lived in such a way that I kept those things with me always, but I am always grateful for the reminder.  I am perhaps just beginning to realize how important tradition is.  

Christmas is coming soon and I want to be ready for it.  

I want to appreciate the gifts, and the fun side culture that comes with the whole ordeal, but I don't want to be caught once again forgetting.  With two holidays checked off my list, it would be embarrassing if I still failed to remember the quiet reminders, the traditions that teach small but great things, or the importance of the time we've been given.  

I mean, how ironic is it that we spend so much time thinking about getting a tree, wrapping gifts, going to holiday parties, and spending copious amounts of money, that after all is said and done, we're not rejuvenated, grateful, and more committed to live with love in our hearts.  We're exhausted, maybe jaded, and further isolated from what should keep us going.  

We're not getting the pay off from that investment and it happens so easily.  Suddenly holidays (holy days) truly does become time spent wholly dazed.  

Don't let it happen to you, dear readers.  Because you deserve better.  I just know it.  

On an unrelated parting note, check this piece of weirdom out!  Klingon Christmas Carol 

Don Replies:

This was an awesome post.  I can't wait to hear about your Hanukkah experience in person.  No doubt one of my best Christmas presents this year is simply that you're coming home.  Merry Christmas to me.

By the way, I hate how all the stores barely have the Hanukkah merchandise put away before they're dragging out the Kwanzaa.  Funny stuff.  See ya soon.

#18 Holidays -- Wholly dazed.

Woody Herb, my infamous ne’er-do-well uncle and mentor, always had this to say about Christmas: “The question isn’t whether Ol’ Santy Claus is real or not, the question is whether he’s going to bring you a little sumptin’ sumptin’ and stick’er in yer stockin’.” 

He’s right, of course.  Christmas and other holidays are not the appropriate time for delving too deeply into the metaphysics of reality; that is to say, looking for those lines that separate “fantasy” from “the real world.”  We refer to this in English class as “the willing suspension of disbelief,” and this means basically that as readers we need to be willing to trade whatever issues we may have with “that would never happen in real life” for the pleasures we can have from enjoying the story.

Thus, if we really want to take pleasure in a bit of fantasy, we must be willing to let some things go.  If you are bothered that in J.K. Rowling’s magical world, people can transform themselves into cats and mice, but Dumbledore, arguably the greatest wizard of all times, needs to wear glasses to correct his vision – you’ve got to learn to let it go.  Some people who have no problems with Superman being able to fly and see through walls get totally bent out of shape by the idea that Lois Lane, a prize-winning investigative reporter, can’t recognize that the superhero she has a crush on is the same awkward nerd she shares an office with. 

That Sigourney Weaver’s character in Avatar was a cigarette smoker nearly ruined the film for my wife, Ruth.  “Like a company is going to let people smoke in a building that took them trillion of dollars to build on a distant planet that needs to filter out the deadly atmosphere they found there,” she said to me as we walked to our car after we first left the theater.  “A company is not going to go to all the expense of sending a highly-trained expert to a distant planet than then let her damage her health with tobacco,” she said on the drive home.  And later that night, “This movie is supposed to take place in the future.  Does it seem very likely to you that that far in the future, someone as educated as Sigourney Weaver’s character is going to be dumb enough to smoke?”  I could have said, “Well, perhaps that far into the future, we’ll be able to cure cancer by swallowing a tiny pill shaped like a Flintstone,” but I didn’t.  I said, rather, “You’re right.  It doesn’t make sense to have a character smoking in this movie.  I don’t know what the director was thinking when he decided to let her smoke on screen.”  Now, even though I thought there were lots of places where the Fabric of Not Likely was beginning to fray in that movie, I didn’t initially have a problem with the smoking.  On the other hand, I don’t work for the Tobacco lobby or the Screen Writer’s Guild, and I love my wife – so that’s the point, see?  I can sincerely agree with her that the smoking in Avatar was bothersome because since it ended up bothering her so much, it ended up bothering me as well.

And this is precisely what Christmas is, isn’t it?  It’s about picking and choosing which aspects of reality we’re going to let bug us and which aspects to let go.  Christmas asks us to temporarily put aside our cynical and critical “yes, buts” and let things go for the pleasure of the serenity that comes when we’re all getting along.  This temporary peacefulness may be as artificial as the sweeteners in the candy canes, but if you want to insist this serenity isn’t real, just hold that thought until January while we’re scraping the ice off our windshields to get back to work.  For right now, however, do me a favor and just let it go.  Hark the Herald Angels sing! Can’t you hear them?

Can a single person using flying reindeer visit every household in the world in a single night?  Yes, absolutely, and, furthermore, if you use the phrase “speed of light” to explain to me why I’m wrong, then you totally missed the point of the question.  Did God impregnate a virgin and send her miles and miles over rough terrain on the back of a donkey while simultaneously providing a star for others to find her and the baby later in a barn? Yes, absolutely, and if you want to say that stars are massive hydrogen reactions that exist light-years away and as such are not amenable to being drug across celestial space for the purpose of terrestrial navigation, then you may know plenty about particles and parsecs, but I’ll wager you don’t know much about what is significant to the human soul.

One of the aspects of Christmas I like the most is this communal understanding that the whole Peace on Earth business is only going to work as much as we’re willing to believe it’s going to work.  This is to say, we all need to make an effort to be extra nice about those things that bother us even if what’s bothering us is the need to be extra nice. 

Why do we do it? We do it because when we’re a little extra nice to others, we recognize and appreciate the effort others make to be a little extra nice to us.  If this requires us to willingly suspend our belief in the good intentions of others, then let’s do that.  It’s only for a month, so let’s filter out the question of what motivates people to do nice things for others, and let’s just focus instead on figuring out what can we do for them to make their life a little easier as well.

When the Ghost of Jacob Marley comes to visit his old business partner, Ebenezer Scrooge’s first response to this visit is to focus on the reality of Marley’s existence rather on the importance of his message.  Scrooge tells Marley’s ghost that perhaps he is a dreamlike hallucination brought on by some indigestion: "You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

This, for me, crystallizes fundamentally what Dickens was getting at in “A Christmas Carol,” and ultimately the “true meaning” of Christmas: we can only open ourselves up to transformative spiritual experiences when we put aside all the empirical proofs that would otherwise keep them from us. Does “Santa Claus” really exist?  Yes, he does, and he lives in my heart.  Furthermore, I promise you this: if until December 25^th you can practice the willing suspension of disbelief, you may or may not find a little sumptin’ sumptin’ in your stockin’ but you’ll certainly find a little extra room for tolerance in your heart.  God bless us, everyone.

Olivia says:


Did you happen to watch a Very Glee Christmas?  (Ok, the secret's out, world ...)   It was so touching.  Brittany still believes in Santa and everyone goes leaps and bounds to make sure she still does.   I may or may not have cried. 


And I am so excited to come home for Christmas.   I think Christmas reaches different peaks according to age.  When I was young, I dreamt about Santa even in April.  As I became older, it became about that one perfect morning where everyone is nice and happy.   Now, I'm at the age where I tear up a little bit when I hear "I'll be home for Christmas ... "  


I can't wait!

#17 Bargains - Olivia

Please forgive for my tardiness this week.  I've been sick, Thanksgiving reared it's glutenous head, and the first climatically seriously snowfall fell continuously throughout the week.  But without further ado, let's talk bargins.

First, I have another confession for this blog.

Somehow, I have been classically conditioned to feel the call of nature whilst in the presence of perceivably good deals.  I think the comes from a reoccurring experience I had as a little girl of going shopping with my mother, having to deal with a little girl bladder, and being almost to that finish line when she would get held up by a sale, a clearance sign, or a bargin bin.

I guess eventually I just began associating one with the other.

It's probably one of those extremely rare conditions.  Like never nudes.

Today, before I can even consider the potential of a thrift store, yard sale, or dollar store, I have to tend to a more pressing need.  This is easier said than done because businesses designed to save you money are also designed to cut corners, which translates to no public bathrooms nine times out of ten.   What is a girl to do?

Good question, reader.  If you're at a yard sale, you're fresh out of luck.  It took me at least three weeks to feel confortable enough to wander past the other cubicles on the way to washroom at work.  I just don't know if I have it in me to ask a stranger to let me use their facilities.  It's weird, I know.  But we must proceed.  You need to channel the pressure of the situation into a divide and conquer mode.  Be picky and honest.  Do I need this?  Is it worth $3?  Do I really look good in orange?  There is no lingering, only instantaneous decision making.  Stand by all the decisions you make.

If you find yourself at a thrift store, evaluate the situation.  Take in your whereabouts, consider your options, and act.  We all know that the best bargins exist, not so much in a geographical location, but in a state of mind.  If you are ready for deals, they will find you.   But you can't be ready to let those deals into your life if you're on a full tank.

Some thrift stores do have bathrooms.  Out here in the west, we have Deseret Industries instead of Salvation Armies and they're built near identical.  You can navigate both if you can navigate one.  They build Goodwills out of whatever they can find, so that's not always a guarantee.  The best thrift stores are of course holes in the wall.  My favorite, Re-Use Industries in Athens, is notoriously sketchy and cheap. And without a ladies room, but that goes without saying.   In those instances, I suggest going next door to take care of the emergency and move on with your life.   Luckily, New to You is not far at all from Re-Use, and it does have a public bathroom.  (Well, sort of.  It goes between being public and for employees only, but I use it regardless.)

The real trouble is in the dollar store.  First, let it be said that I adore the dollar store.  I am never disappointed by the whimsy of a dollar store.  Canned cheese doodles next to pizza flavored toothpase, behind glass figurines of clown-dogs?  What will they think of next?!  I could wander these aisles for hours, wondering who puts together the double feature DVDS that include one Marlon Brando western and a Betty Boop cartoon, or who creates the prototypes for the bizarre ceramic figures.  Dollar stores are brimming with wonder and fascination at a very affordable price.

But we all know my hold-up.  First thing is first.  If you can locate a loo, do it.  If not, you have a couple of options.  You can either grin and bear it, or you can distract yourself.  Start with a piece of gum.  Tune into the loudspeaker jamz, they're normally pretty fantastic.  Luckily, you're in a dollar store and you're surrounded by distractions.  You're going to be ok.

The only setting I can imagine real struggle with is Bargain Billy's in the Plains, Ohio.  It's the perfect storm of reuse, discount, and surplus.  I have no idea if it's still open (I have a sneaking suspicion it is), but my dusty memory only provides sensations of being overwhelmed.  It was crazy in there, from what I recall.  They had everything from memorabilia to garden decor.  There was no way to truly determine the worth of a deal because of how peculiar the items were.  I recall even their pop-machine having weird flavors.  And of course there would be no bathroom in sight.  Plus, you probably purchased a weird flavored pop.  You could walk down to the library, but you're pushing your lucky compadre.

You could say it was more than you bargained for.

HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA ha HA!  This is the part where you probably just peed your pants.

Sometimes you get the deal, and sometimes the deal gets you.

#17 Bargains -- Don

It’s about 8 pm on a Sunday night as I write this.  I’m flying home from a few days in Orlando where I was attending an English teachers’ conference and the National Writing Project’s annual meeting.  It’s been a busy few days, and considering how late I’m going to be getting home tonight, I’ll be dragging quite a bit through work for the next couple of days. So, I guess, the first bargain I want to talk about is the bargain I’m going to make with myself where I agree to just hold on a couple of days and then I’ll rest up on Wednesday (which is the first day of my nearly week-long Thanksgiving break).

In addition to going to some great (and few not-so-great) sessions at the conference on how to be a better English teacher and/or workshop facilitator, Ruth and I took in three theme parks, the new Harry Potter movie, and an outlet mall.  As we like to say back in the hill country, “my dogs are a barkin’.”  Of course, my feet would probably be even a little bit more tender had I not went ahead and bought myself a new pair of comfortable shoes at the outlet mall.

When I think of the word “bargain,” I think of two different meanings.  The first is the type when we get a good deal for our money (in other words, the bargains we get when we see a good deal).  The new Mickey Mouse watch that I only paid $10 for at the outlet mall is a pretty good example of the first kind of bargain.  The other kind of bargain I think of is when we make a deal with someone after negotiating with them over something we both want.   For example, while we’re deciding what to do next in the theme park, we work out the deal that I’ll ride this ride with you if you agree to ride the next ride with me.

So after the last few days I’ve had, I guess I want to yak about where I’ve been and if I thought the expense of the theme parks was worth it or not.  Are the Disney parks a bargain?  Is it worth $10 to have a butterbeer in Hogsmead under the shadow of the Harry Potter ride?  What’s the best deal on a meal I made this week?

Okay, Question #1: Are the Disney Parks worth the expense? (I’m sure as my kids are reading this, they are sucking in their breath waiting for the answer because for nearly 10 years now I’ve been grumbling loudly that I’d never go to Disney because it cost too much; I think Ruth was more than a little bit surprised when I agree to purchase not one but two half-day tickets at Disney parks from the conference website on the night before we left for our trip). 

My answer is a qualified yes.   By “qualified” I mean the cost of the tickets to get into the parks are a pretty good deal; however, because of how easy it is to lose track of how much you’re spending once you are in the parks (on food, drinks, and souvenirs) it’s very easy to slip from good deal to bad deal if you are not very careful about how much you actually want to spend.  There’s a strange mentality that gets engendered in the park where you end up saying to yourself, “Well, it’s pretty special to be here so I’m going to go ahead and spend $22 for an éclair and another French dessert whose name I’m not exactly sure of.”  Now, one fancy “let’s splurge on a dessert” moment wouldn’t be so bad, but these parks are designed for you to have these “let’s spurge” moments every 12 minutes or so.   The bag of Japanese salty snow peas snack (they were like potato chips but made from snow peas) were a lot of fun and so was the caramel brownie from Germany; but I’m not sure I needed to spend the $8 for the beer from Norway (or was it Italy?).  Just what were we noshing on as we passed through Morocco and Canada? I don’t remember, but I’m sure Discover card never forgets.

But, like they say in the ads, “A week hanging out with my favorite person on Earth – Priceless.”  (We’re 39000 feet in the air and by now, hundreds of miles away from Orlando and we’re still snacking on Disney fare – chocolate covered almonds from “Ghirardelli.”  Yum!)  I guess the next bargain I make is with the exercise machine in the basement.

Question #2: Is it worth $10 to have a butterbeer in Hogsmeed (this is at the Harry Potter land at Universal Studios)?  Absolutely.  Until that first sip, I could only imagine what a butterbeer tasted like.  I would be glad to tell you what it tasted like, but I’d feel obligated to charge you a consulting fee (hey, it’s not like the IRS is going to let me deduct this just because I’m an English teacher and this is really literary research.  See – you’re not buying it either.)

My family knows I’m a bit of a tightwad (although I prefer the word “Frugal”).  I’d like to say how much we blew at the Harry Potter gift shops, but I can’t.  First of all, some of the stuff we bought are Christmas surprises and so I can’t talk about them lest a certain couple daughters find out about a good reason to come home for Christmas, and secondly, I can’t say I really know.  Ruth has her own copy of the credit card.  Could be scary.

Question #3: The best deal on a meal I had this week was the Baja Fish tacos from a restaurant in “Downtown Disney.”  They were delicious and very reasonably priced.

Disney, by the way, has their own shopping center (“Downtown Disney”) that has free bus service from all of their hotels/resorts.   “Free bus service” to go and spend more money on stuff after the theme parks are closed – now there’s a bargain for you.  Who doesn’t like free?  Only my Visa card knows how much those free trips cost me, but until I get the bill next month, I’m going to keep saying it was worth it.

#16 Haircuts - Olivia

Congratulations, readers.  Today, you get three polaroids instead of one.  Because this is a very short photo essay on haircuts.  You could say it was trimmed.  Har har har, knee-slap, har har.   You're so welcome.

This is my last haircut, circa April of this year.  

Gasp! Choke! Sputter! What?!  I know.  It's practically Thanksgiving.  I'm beyond overdue. 

My hair looks nothing like this now, due to the fact that two summers ago I dyed my hair a striking Marilyn Monroe blonde and it has since lightened up every time I dye it.  Even though I've cut most of those locks, the blonde seeps back through.  What was left of the blonde is pretty much just the tips, but you can still see it.  

And really, I don't mind.  Right now my hair is like Neapolitan ice-cream.  Blonde on the bottom, red remaining from this dark color, and my natural milk chocolate hair blending in from the roots.  

Due to the angled cut, my hair has these two long pieces in the front now.  It's like I'm from Middle Earth.  What do my Elven eyes see??

Only that next paycheck, I'm getting a haircut. 

This is was the best hair cut I've ever had, or at least my favorite. 

I loved everything about it.  This was my subsequent trade-off from the crazy golden locks of summer.  The warm brunette made me feel like myself again, just a better, more styled version.  

This is also when I tried bangs and loved it.  This has not always been my experience, as hair is always an experiment. 

Nothing reminds you that there are no rehearsals for life like haircuts.  One learns this by experience, such as wishing for a perm in sixth grade.  Readers, be careful with what you wish for.  

This also may have been the most expensive haircut of my short life.  Do you think that fact subconsciously contributes to it being my favorite?   

This is the best haircut I ever gave.  (Thus far)

My mother, father, and I were snowed into the Dudding Manor in January.  School was canceled, the roads were forbidden, and the electricity was sketchy.  

We did all the things people do when the forces of nature keep you from going anywhere.   Exhausted from Monopoly, playing in snow, reading, playing music, dancing around the wood stove, we collapsed onto the floor, the couch, and the large corduroy chair respectively.   

"Well," I recall my dad saying with a sigh, "I guess you guys can give me a haircut." 

What we gave him was a real punk rock mohawk and Teddy Roosevelt chops.  Which gave way to a photo shoot.  And entertainment for hours.

Man, I wish I had traced that shadow.  

This has been a short photo essay about haircuts.  Thank you and come again.