Saturday, 28 August 2010

This morning, Owen and I ventured over to Battle Creek Regional Park (which straddles St. Paul and Maplewood) to do some cave exploring with the Happy Trails Nature Club.

While waiting around for the hike to begin, I bumped into one of the instructors from the birthing class Jennifer and I had attended earlier in the summer. Huh. What a coincidence. Or is it…?

Then later, while Owen was playing with some other kids in a small creek, Jodi, the Happy Trails organizer came over to me and asked what was new in my life. So I told her about my new daughter, and this attracted the attention of a few other parents who congratulated me. Jodi asked how Owen likes being a big brother, and I mentioned a few things and, in doing so, said something that indicated Isla was born at home. I just said it in passing, but immediately two moms began asking questions: who was the attending midwife? one of them asked, and she knew who I was talking about. Another mom began relating her home birth story, comparing notes, as it were.

Here’s my point (and I’ve taken heat for pointing this out before, but I stand by my observation): People who are attracted to certain kinds of activities can be counted on to be attracted to certain other – seemingly unrelated – kinds of activities. In this instance, it appears that people who feel it’s important to get their kids out exploring nature are the same people who are ‘into’ natural childbirth.

A similar observation was made by my wife some nine years ago: we were waiting in line to get into the brand-spanking new Apple Store (at the Mall of America), and the people standing in line around us were making all sorts of Star Trek and Simpsons references. Ergo: people who like Star Trek and the Simpsons generally prefer Macs to PCs. My wife even noted that, if we were not Witnesses, we could’ve been good friends with just about anyone in line that morning. And here’s the funny thing: we didn’t like being Witnesses, anyway (and besides, Witnesses are more likely to be found waiting in line for the grand opening of Burlington Coat Factory than Apple). I could go on, and I think I will:

People who like motorcycles also like to wear leather. People who like Wal-Mart also like spandex. People who like guns also like Sarah Palin. People who are assholes are also lawyers. People who like Mason Jennings’ music, also like pot. See? There’s no end.

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Today Owen and I paid another visit to the Twin Cities’ Model Railroad Museum (TCMRM). I say “another visit,” because he and I had first visited there two years ago, whilst Jennifer was on a trip (as in, ‘out of town,’ not as in, ‘acid’).

When we went two years ago, we showed up with a library pass to get in for free. Unfortunately, the TCMRM doesn’t participate in that program anymore. Oh – wait – maybe they do participate in that program, but only if you live in Isanti County. But I digress. So not only did we have to pay this time, but we had to pay a lot. Back in ’08, the cost was only $5 per person. Now it’s $6 and…more bad news…Owen, now that he’s five years old, costs full price. Oh well.

Actually, in the end, I didn’t mind paying $12, even though that was an infinite amount more than I paid last time, because now the museum is twice the size it used to be. The main building houses an amazing scale-model railroad system that features a detailed model of Minneapolis and St. Paul (including the flour mills, St. Anthony Falls, the Midway Yards and several other landmarks). The trains also pass through the city of Mattlin. It’s a cute little town…but, Mattlin? Is that even a city in Minnesota? I’ve never heard of it.

Another building houses several more model trains, including one that kids can operate and another one with loads of buttons to push. One button operates the roller coaster, another one operates the merry-go-round and another one – Owen’s favorite – operated a tiny model train inside a tiny model toy store. It was like a play within a play. I think it blew our minds. And we weren’t even on a trip!

So, yeah, bottom line: bring your kids to the TCMRM, preferably before they turn five. It’s located in St. Paul, at Bandana Square. Make sure you go on the weekends, ’cause that’s the only time they open up building #2.

This has been a public service announcement.

Wednesday, 25 August 2010

So, instead of writing about something that happened one day, I’m going to write about something I’ve been meaning to write about for several days, but haven’t had the opportunity. Besides, I think today is a fitting day to write about it…as you will see at the end of this post.

I finished reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House set of books. There are nine books in the series, and I decided it was high time to finally read them once the school semester was over back in May. I began right away, and had finished the first two books before May had even completed. I just finished reading the last book (The First Four Years) on the 18^th of this month.

Simultaneously, Jennifer and I have been watching all the episodes of Little House on the Prairie, thanks to Netlfix. We started watching them in September of 2006, and, as of three days ago, just finished season 7 (of nine!).

Let’s compare and contrast the two, shall we?

First off all, there’s no comparing the first book (Little House in the Big Woods) with the TV show, as the show begins after the events of that book. It begins with the second book, which, appropriately, is titled Little House on the Prairie. Actually, the TV show’s pilot is a pretty close approximation of that book: acquiring and naming the horses, Mr. Edwards trek through the snow to bring Xmas gifts, meeting up with Indians, and eventually being kicked of the land courtesy of the US government. At the end of the pilot, the Ingalls family packs up and moves far, far away from that little house they’d built in Oklahoma Territory. This means, then, that the TV show’s title is kind of funny: the “little house” is not the ubiquitous homestead Pa built near Walnut Grove, but rather the one that we only see in the very first episode.

Book three (Farmer Boy) covers the life of Almonzo Wilder when he was a whipper-snapper. This, too, is not shown anywhere in the series.

In fact, it’s not until book four (On the Banks of Plum Creek) that the TV show begins to coincide with the books: Pa buys land and a sod house from Lars Hanson, Mary and Laura begin school in town, where they meet Ms. Beedle, Dr. Baker, and the Olesons. Nellie Oleson is there, and she’s too snobby for the other girls. Laura continually balks having to be a pretty girl, and instead wants to wear comfortable clothes and play ball with the boys. There’s even one chapter titled “Town Party, Country Party,” which, like the episode of the same name, depicts the snobby, boring party Nellie hosts and then the response party that Mary and Laura host.

In book five (By the Shores of Silver Lake), however, the Ingalls family is again on the move – this time to DeSmet, in Dakota Territory. And here the books and the TV show forever part ways. Silver Lake, and the next four books in the series, tell the story of the Ingalls family over the next eight years, but there’s only a passing resemblance to the show – which remains firmly planted in Walnut Grove: Mr. Edwards show up again, but only briefly. Almonzo and his brother Royal and sister Eliza Jane live in De Smet, too, where Eliza teaches school. Mary goes blind, baby Grace is born, Laura marries Almonzo, they have Rose…there are fires, snow storms that cover the first floor of the homes, crop failures, railroad adventures, and poor Jack dies…but apart from that, the TV show is pure fiction. There’s no such thing as Adam, Albert, Percival, Houston, Hester Sue, the Garveys or Mr. Edward’s wife and children.

Though all of the readings, I couldn’t help but wonder what the real Laura would make of the TV show. Granted, I don’t think less of the show because it doesn’t stay true to the books, but I just wonder…

At any rate: today would be the Wilders’ wedding anniversary. Happy 125th anniversary, Laura and Almonzo.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

I mentioned earlier that, when my Dad came for a visit in May, it was the first time in a long time that I’d seen him. Well, today I saw him again. This was pretty unexpected: he called on Monday and told me the Watchtower Society was paying for him, my stepmom, and another couple to fly up to Minnesota (and, if there’s one person the Watchtower Society owes a free trip to, it’s my Dad). Though he was going to be busy from Friday through Sunday, he said he wanted to make some time to see us on Thursday.

Well, his plane didn’t land until around 5:00, and he and my stepmom headed off to see my sister first, but, finally, in their typical whirlwind fashion, they arrived at our place at 8:30 in the evening.

We had a good time, really. They had gifts for Isla and Owen, and even a belated anniversary card and gift for us. Owen, who really wanted to show my dad his bedroom last time, finally got a chance to show him this evening. I’m not sure why, but Owen likes to invite everyone into his room. I guess once he gets you in there, he figures you’re gonna play with him. He’s usually right.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Lately, Owen’s been obsessed with really large numbers. I think it started several months ago, when he asked my wife, “Hey, do the numbers keep on going?” She said they did, and this absolutely blew his mind. He keeps trying to comprehend it; he’s asked me if maybe it’s possible that the numbers go in a circle and then come back around to zero. My first answer was a quick ‘no,’ but once I gave it some thought, I figured that since both positive and negative numbers proceed into infinity, then no one can really say what happens way out there on the numerical frontier.

Then, another day, he asked me what the biggest number was. I told him there is no biggest number. Then he asked me what’s the biggest number that I know of. “Well,” I said, “the biggest number with a name is googolplex.” He laughed at this absurd word, and then asked me to define it. So I did.

Ever since then, he’s been trying to find examples of googolplex in the everyday world. Today, he was especially obnoxious about it, and I finally had to flatly refuse to answer any large number-related questions.

The problem is…there really aren’t any real-world uses for googolplex. It’s just a fun (or frustrating, if you prefer) line of thinking to take. I mean, when Owen first found out about a million, he asked how long it would take to count to a million, and I was able to provide him a reasonable answer. I told him how many people live in Minnesota, and that gave him another way to think of a million. I did something similar with a billion, only this time I used the whole world as an example.

But then he kept asking how long it would take to count to a googol. “You’d never get there,” I said.

“What if you started counting when you were first born and you counted til you died.”

“Nope. You still wouldn’t get there. You wouldn’t even get close.”

“What if you started counting right when you first got into your mama’s tummy and—“

“No. You still couldn’t even get close.”

“But what if, when you were first born, you made a robot that counted super fast and the robot counted for your whole life, then would you get there?”

“No.”

One day, we were standing on the shore of the Mississippi River, and I picked up a handful of sand. “Look at all the pieces of sand in my hand,” I said. “How many do you think there are?”

He got all wide-eyed, and guessed that there were a googol.

“No,” I said. “There’s not a googol pieces of sand in my hand. Then I pointed out all the sand all the way up and down the river as far as we could see, and then on the far banks, too. “Do you see all that sand?” I asked him. “There’s not even a googol pieces of sand.”

Today, he continued with that questioning, and, while eating lunch, I said to him, “Owen, there’s just no real-world applications for googol, much less a googolplex.” Then I elaborated: “Remember all the sand in the world? Did you know that each piece of sand has trillions of atoms in it, and there are more stars in the universe than there are pieces of sand on the earth. And each of those stars are made up of more atoms than our planet. And do you know what? In all the universe, there are not even a googol atoms.”

That shut him up.

For about two minutes.

Tuesday, 24 August 2010

Well, as of today I’ve been a married man for 14 years. To the same woman, too. Yep, it’s hard to believe that it’s been 14 years since I first stood through a boring, long ceremony, then carried my bride out of the building and into a waiting limo.

I had this idea that I was going to write a haiku for each of the 14 years Jennifer and I have been married, but, wow, it’s hard to come up with the correct number of syllables each time. So, instead, here are my original sketches for said haikus. Admittedly, this isn’t very poetic, but perhaps there’s some fun in reducing an entire year of wedlock down to a few sentences…?

Year 1 (1996-1997)

Our first home, filled our time with parakeets, a cockatiel, and pioneering. A bad letter from Wheelock made us write to and receive a bad letter from the Watchtower.

Year 2 (1997-1998)

Failed at pioneering, succeeded at watching plenty of Star Trek. I worked full-time schmoozing with customers, you cleaned hotels. More birds.

Year 3 (1998-1999)

More money ever than before, lots of nice new things, finally a vacation. Goodbye Cosmo.

Year 4 (1999-2000)

We stayed up and watch the millennium end. I went to college, you worked at Mackin.

Year 5 (2000-2001)

A lot of time, money and energy on Kara’s wedding helped us reunite with the Kimballs. I left the retail world and we became home-owners. Hooray Prince Edward Island!

Year 6 (2001-2002)

Another new in-law, all kinds of friends. I graduated from Century, you had presents waiting when I came home. A  website, and lots of videos.

Year 7 (2002-2003)

At long last, a job I love. You went part-time. Oliver and Emmaline, our home all fixed up, a couple of great vacations. Life was never so great.

Year 8 (2003-2004)

It started off good: fun with friends and family. But I didn’t like my job, the commute was horrendous. Ryan left and we fretted it was our fault, a pedophile was welcomed back into the congregation. We wrote another letter, then defected. Big Lake. Big mistake.

Year 9 (2004-2005)

Hello, Owen! Finally, we are parents. Yes, that was good. But trauma. And depression. And colic. Isolation and sadness. Goodbye Rhett.

Year 10 (2005-2006)

More of the same. We work, eat, sleep, cry. And try to get our baby to stop crying. At least we woke up. But it scared me. We won’t tell anyone for now. Let’s enjoy our ten-year anniversary with the friends who will abandon us once we tell them we’ve solved our problems.

Year 11 (2006-2007)

No friends, new friends, renewed friends. Happy birthday to all of us! A speech therapist for Owen and a sweet library for us.

Year 12 (2007-2008)

A Christmas tree, Solace and Survey and Atheists. Goodbye Big Lake…let’s go where we were supposed to go in the first place.

Year 13 (2008-2009)

Voting for us, a preschool for Owen. More time volunteering, exercising and bicycling. Goodbye Oliver.

Year 14 (2009-2010)

Hamline while working full-time, St. Kate’s while pregnant. Lots of homework. Hello, Isla!

Saturday, 21 August 2010

Today we went to my parents-in-law’s house. This marked Isla’s longest car ride and, apart from a visit to the midwife, her first time in another home. More importantly, it was her first time meeting her cousins Lyric and Asa. Actually, it was the first time Jennifer, Owen, and I had met Asa, too (he was just born earlier this month).

It’s funny, when Isla was born, the midwife said she looked like a girl (she was referring to the dainty features of Isla’s face, and not to the more obvious girl-looking areas). I wasn’t really sure what the midwife meant at that time – to me, babies just look like babies and I have a tough time ascertaining gender based on facial features alone (at least until they start shaving).

But today, seeing Isla up next to her boy cousin Asa, man, I gotta say: that kid looks like a boy. Sorry I can’t be more precise than that, but he just had the look of a boy and, seeing my daughter next to him, she did look like she has girl’s face.

Anyway, as you can imagine, there was all sorts of photography going on; what with two babies getting together and all four cousins being there along with the grandpa and grandma and great-grandma. My dad-in-law commented that it was like the paparazzi in his living room with all the flashes going off. I shot some video, too.

ISLA WITH HER NEW COUSIN:

Sunday, 22 August 2010

I submitted four articles to The Humanist some months ago, and the editor wrote back saying she was interested in publishing two of them, only she wanted to mash them together into a single article. I told her this was fine, and she sent me a draft of the conjoined articles. I responded with a few suggestions. Six suggestions, actually, and she decided to go with five of my six suggestions. A couple of days ago, I received the magazine in the mail, and I felt quite please with myself to see my article on page 36. I posted on Facebook telling people to go check it out at their local library or bookstore, but I’ve since discovered that the article is also available online. So, READ IT HERE.

Also, I wrote this article for The Minnesota Atheist (MNA). It’s actually a little long for MNA, so I may shorten it for the paper edition, but I’m gonna submit this article to a few places, too.

Monday, 23 August 2010

This morning, I watched the last half of the movie Psycho II (I’d watched the first half a few days ago). In case you don’t know, this is the sequel to Psycho. It was made 22 years after the first film, by witch time Hitchcock was dead. It’s safe to say, I think, that there was really no need for this movie, and that Hitchcock had no intention of ever filming a sequel to Psycho (or any of his films, for that matter).

I’m not really a fan of sequels. I hate the way they sully the memory of the original. They’re almost always disappointments – tacked on stories out for a quick buck once it was realized that the original made more money than expected. All sorts of great films have had lousy sequels made – and I would list them off here, but I think there are already a good number of lists of bad sequels to great films elsewhere.

But, I feel compelled to admit: Psycho II was a rather good flick. I mean, it was worth the watch. In fact, I’ll even go so far as to say that if you’ve seen Psycho, then go ahead and rent the sequel. It’s fun. Oh – and if you haven’t seen Psycho, what’s wrong with you? Put it on your Netflix queue and bump it up to #1.

Psycho II owes a deep debt to Hitchcock, a fact they graciously admit in the closing credits. Perkins reprises his role as Bates and is, again, brilliantly creepy, unsure, just plain mad. The music, while not as inspired as the first, is well done. The cinematography is reminiscent of the original and just as cool. It employs two of the great tricks of the master: first, the camera moves from one place to another to heighten the emotion. When characters are scared or confused, the camera rises up and we look down on the players from a bird’s eye view. In one particularly inspired bit of camera work, the camera pans out of the attic window as we watch Norman looking out; it then tilts straight down and head – in a single shot – for the cellar window. It’s at the same time disorienting and clever. The camera also takes the place of the characters’ eyes from time to time, another homage to the original. This is pure Hitchcock – nothing puts you into the action like sitting behind the actors’ pupils.

My favorite scene was near the end. Norman kills Ms. Spool. The scene was so jolting and well executed that I had to rewind the film and watch it again. In the days before digital manipulation, I was amazed at how precise the scene was. I can’t imagine how many takes it took to get that scene just right.

Still, the film has its detractions. The first two minutes of the film is simply a clip from the first film. And, predictably, it’s the famous shower scene. Out of place, and at the start of the film, the scene loses all meaning and becomes simply a murder scene. Other scenes in the film, while not using the same footage, are nonetheless exact copies of the original. Boring. And some things are just a bit too contrived – Norman is released from a mental hospital after being in the for over 20 years, and his doctor sees no problem in letting him return to his creepy home where all his problems first started. The home itself is so troubling for Norman that he can’t even go into some of the rooms. Then there’s the young woman who knows Norman’s past, yet still decides to stay in his house with him for several days. She and Norman even spend a night in the same room, where Norman stands guard…with a knife. Why is she risking her life like that? Oh, there’s a reason, but it’s a lousy reason.

Then there’s the case of the film showing us what’s about to happen. In the original, I enjoyed when the camera took viewers aside, as if to say, “but what about this?” That’s great film-making, but this sequel, instead, tries to say: “guess what’s gonna happen!” Yes, yes, I am guessing, but don’t make it so obvious. The worst offense is when Norman offers a guest some tea, and then we see him reach into the cabinet and grab the tea…and the poison. Come on. That scene would’ve been so much better had I not known for sure if he was going to poison his guest or not.

Bottom Line: B+

Thursday, 19 August 2010

I took Owen to the Minnesota Zoo today.

After living within four miles of the zoo for about 14 years, including 4 years in which I lived within a mile, and several years as a member, let’s just say the zoo has lost some of the wonder and appeal it’s supposed to carry.

Nevertheless, here are a few random items I feel like mentioning:

*When we first entered the Tropics Trail, we stopped to observe the tortoise enclosure. Inside that enclosure, there are three life-sized wooden models of extinct animals, including one of an elephant bird, which was the largest bird to ever exist. Standing next to Owen and me was a father with two young children, around Owen’s age. “What’s that?” asked the little boy, pointing to the elephant bird.

“That’s a bird that some people used to think exist.”

“What’s that?” the boy asked, pointing to a foot-long model of an egg that shows the enormous size of the elephant bird’s egg.

“That’s the egg that some people think came from that bird.”

Nice job, dad.

Later, Owen and I went on the monorail, which is a great form of transportation for moving cash from a parent’s wallet into the zoo’s cash register. But later, as we were driving home, Owen asked if that was his first time riding on a train, and then I figured maybe it was worth the money.

Did you know the zoo has a trio of grizzly bears now? Yeah, super cool. We watched as one bear lumbered into the water, chased around a salmon (you can see under the water thanks to some thick plexiglass), catch the salmon, carry it onto the shore and then eat it. Made me hungry for salmon.

There’s also a butterfly enclosure now, too. That was especially enjoyable, as they give you a little plaque with all the species listed on it, along with accompanying pictures. This works out great, since Owen asked “What kind of butterfly is that?” about 20 times, and I was able to answer with the correct nomenclature. Hey – did you know some caterpillars lose their entire digestive tract (including mouth) during cocoon stage? So when they emerge as butterflies, the only energy they’ll ever have to live off of is what they ate back when they were caterpillars? Gives me a new appreciation for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There was a sign in the enclosure saying that most butterflies live only two to four weeks. I pointed out to Owen that all the butterflies he was seeing were all the same age as Isla. He gave me a slack-jawed look that indicated he either thought that was really nifty, or that he had no idea what I was talking about.

Later, Owen lost track of me at the tiger exhibit, and freaked out. He stared crying and said he wanted to go home, but I told him I was right there, I was just on the other side of a display. We went and watched the otters for a while (Owen got me to lost another dollar by insisting I donate to the save-the-otters program) and then he laughed when he saw them playing with ice chunks.

I explained to him that ice is what some people think happens to water when it freezes.

Friday, 20 August 2010

We took Isla to my place of employment today, so that she could see where her dad has to bust his ass everyday to pay for her crap.

Oops, sorry. Let’s try that one again, slightly less cynical:

Today the four of us ventured to my job to show my co-workers the latest in a series of JamesJennifer-spawn.

We had to check in at the front desk, because visitors need to obtain a pass to enter the building. In the few weeks I’ve been gone, they’ve gone computerized, so I had to use this little laptop to fill out my wife’s name and some other info. While I was doing that, the receptionist was busy fawning over Isla, then she turned to Owen, put her hand on his, and said: “Oh, you have a little sister now, don’t you?” He meekly said yes, and then she said, “And you know what? I have a coloring book for you.” She turned around and opened up a filing cabinet. As she did so, she said: “And it’s all pictures of princesses, too.”

Hm. Okay, I don’t like princesses – especially the Disney and British versions – but I was busy entering my wife’s reason for visiting (“Other”) and, besides, I didn’t want to sound gruff, so I just figured she was apologizing for not having anything else to give a little boy except a princess book.

Anyway, so she pulls out this wad of princess pictures, hands it to Owen and says, “’Cause you’re a princess, aren’t you?” Again, I was only half-listening, so in the moment, I just figured she was making a joke, but as my wife and I walked into the building, my wife said: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She thought he was a girl.”

“Oh-“ I said, the reality of the situation suddenly dawning on me, and then I went on to explain what I just wrote, above. Then I think I ended with: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?” I think my wife said: “Because you’re the head of the house.” Just kidding. Jennifer’s the head of the house. I abdicated that shitty job in June 1998.

Later, we were standing around with a bunch of my co-workers, showing off the kind of good-looking baby that we can create, and one of them looked at Owen and said: “Do you ever feed your baby sister?” Owen just looked at her with an extremely confused look, until Jennifer prompted him to say no.

Okay, I don’t mean to rip on or make fun of my co-worker, because it’s a perfectly understandable question from her viewpoint and from mine. But not from Owen’s. See, I’m pretty sure Owen is unaware that some babies are fed from bottles. He’s never had a bottle, and neither has his sister. So, I’m pretty sure Owen’s confusion stems from the fact that, when my co-worker posed the question, Owen was probably thinking: “Of course I’ve never fed my sister. I don’t have breasts of any kind, much less the lactating sort.”

Poor kid. First someone thinks he’s a princess, then someone inquires as to his ability to lactate.

Princesses. Yuck.