Saturday, 19 February 2011

Today I did something kind of unusual. I was invited to a discussion group featuring PZ Myers. If you don’t know, he’s the author of this ridiculously popular blog – a blog so popular that all he has to post is “I have a tummy ache” and he gets about 80 comments. Like most people in the world of science, I feel compelled to visit this blog once a week or so (though I’ve never commented there). What I enjoy most about the blog is not so much what Myers has to say, but the fact that, since he’s so popular, his site has become a sort of nexus for all things in the world of state/church issues, the stupidity of religion, and new findings in evolution and science in general. It seems that every day he posts something new that someone sent him and I click on it and find out something fascinating/humorous about the world.

Anyway, he is in town this weekend, and he agreed to a discussion group this evening. Members of Minnesota Atheists, CASH, Humanists of Minnesota, even some Jewish organization which strives to keep the hocus-pocus out while leaving in the traditions (I wish the Witnesses would do that: leave out the Jehovah shit, while still maintaining a 3-day festival every summer). I was invited because, well, I’m the editor of the Minnesota Atheists’ newsletter.

There were about 30 people there, and we went around the room giving our thoughts on Myers’ two recent blog posts: Why he hates dictionary atheists, and Why aren’t women more involved in freethought organizations.

When it came to be my turn, I introduced myself by saying that, as an English major, I LOVE the dictionary. I noted that Myers’ argument that citing the dictionary definition of “atheism” as a tautology is silly because really every definition in the dictionary forms a tautology. I said that a better topic instead of “Why I hate dictionary atheists” would be “Why dictionary atheism is not enough.” I also said that while a person can make many generalizations about me when I say I’m an atheist (e.g., I’m a Democrat, I am for same-sex marriage, I think religion is silly), I would rather that they assume nothing but the dictionary definition, and then get to know me from there. I compared it to calling myself a man: there are many assumptions a person can make when I say I’m a man (e.g., I have a deep voice, have facial hair, enjoy sex with women, enjoy sports, cars, am a father), but I would prefer people not assume these things and instead get to know me.

Anyway, I won’t bore you with the rest of what happened, which actually was quite stimulating (intellectually), but somehow won’t be as interesting if I talk about it here.

Instead, I will just say, first, that I had never heard of the Bechdel Test tonight. As a film buff, I am ashamed for not knowing this sooner. But now that I know it, I suspect it will ruin many films for me. And, second, I had a chance to meet anthropologist Greg Laden. We discussed the island nation of Kiribati, which, yes, I had heard of before tonight (since I pride myself in knowing every nation in the world), but gained new insights tonight. Anyway, he also has a blog – though it’s not up in the same stratosphere of fame as Myers’ – and I think I’m addicted to it now. GO HERE to read it.

Sunday, 20 February 2011

Today I hiked up to Roseville library to listen to PZ Myers’ presentation on Evolution. The bulk of his presentation was taken up by an extended comparison and contrasting of natural selection and poker.

He requested four volunteers from the audience, and I raised my hand figuring, hey, how often to I get to play poker with the 2009 Humanist of the Year? To my delight, he called on me, so I got to go up to the front. Myers dealt me, and three others (including my friend Syd, who also was selected) our five cards. As he did so, he explained this was akin to the shuffling of genes during the propagation of each successive generation. He then had us look at our hands and we compared hands to see who had the winning hand. With a pair of sevens, I turned out to be the winner. Myers explained that my hand was in no way that stellar, but it was better than the rest, and with poker, as in life, that is what matters.

His example was carried further by altering the rules so that, suddenly, sixes were wild – but only if you stood on his right (i.e., “a different environment”) Syd, and the woman standing in between us, both went over to that side of the stage because that then gave them better hands. For example, Syd could now couple his six with his queen, giving him a pair of queens that now beat my hand.

Next, Myers had us exchange cards with each other. I looked at the cards the woman next to me was holding and she looked at mine. Myers quickly jumped on this and noted that in natural selection, all we can see it the back side of the cards: since that woman had five cards that looked like they were from the same deck as mine (same “species”), we could mate. But how our genes would shuffle would be up to chance. For instance, I couldn’t ‘select’ her eight in an effort to give my children three of a kind. Myers randomly grabbed two of her cards and two of mine and swapped them out. Then, suddenly, I didn’t have a pair. Does this mean my ‘kids’ are worse off than I was? Who knows…the environment has changed. For example, my kids might be less hairy than me and thus less suitable for the cold climate, but their hairlessness might make them more attractive to a mate one day.

Later, Myers pulled a royal flush out of his pocket and noted how he probably doesn’t want to “mate” (swap cards) with anyone, because all that can happen is that his genes will get “worse.” Indeed, he demonstrated this by swapping cards (“having sex”) with me. The audience roared with laughter when Myers noted having sex with himself would’ve been better for his hand than having sex with me.

When I sat back down, my friend Ryan leaned over and said, “Wow, you got to have sex with PZ Myers on stage.” I responded, “Yeah, but if he ever tries that again, I’m gonna make him buy me a drink first.”

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Today, I received an email ‘reminding’ me of an upcoming short story contest at Hamline. I am not really a short story writer, though I have written a handful of them in the past 20 years. For some reason, I do much better in the world of non-fiction; it’s like I have a point to make and the quickest, most effective way to say it is to use non-fiction.

Anyway, I’m gonna try to submit a story for this contest. The thing is, the winner gets an iPad, and I pretty much enter every contest in which the winnings feature an iPad.

Now just to think of an idea…

Thursday, 17 February 2011

Do you know how I first became interested in making short films? Well, I’ll tell you anyway.

Back in early 1992, I was enrolled in a videography class at Rosemount High School. This was one of the easiest classes I ever took anywhere. For one thing, there were no assignments or tests. Most of the class was taken up watching videos, or just watching whatever was on TV. On the first day, our teacher, Mr. Smith, showed us how to use a video camera, and he briefly explained the film editing equipment that was in the back of the room. But there was no compulsion to ever use any of this stuff, and most students didn’t.

I, on the other hand, loved using the camera, because it gave me license to go wander the halls “looking for footage.” I showed the teacher what I filmed and he seemed to think this was worthy of an A. Later, when he said students were free to borrow the camera for the weekends, I signed up to bring the camera home over the Martin Luther King Day weekend, the Presidents’ Day weekend, and even the weekend at the end of the semester. In fact, I was the only student who took the camera home.

So, in January, I filmed a bunch of short clips and lin-sync videos and called it “Oddities and Ends.” In February, I did much the same thing, and called it “Mr. Zimmerman’s Neighborhood,” and in March I made the final installment of the trilogy and called it “The Importance of Being Weird.” I called the whole trilogy “Explorations in Videotaping.”

Anyway, that was 19 years ago. My friends Ryan and Rhett Sutter, Chad Astleford, and Andy and Tim Kimball helped with all of these, graciously contributing to all three installments. Also of great help was my sister, and here is a video that she and I (along with another friend, Joel Gabrielson) created 19 years ago today:

MY SCHOOL SCHEDULE

Friday, 18 February 2011

Have I mentioned how busy it’s been at work lately?

I was supposed to pick Owen up from school today. He asked me a few days ago if I would pick him up, and I said I would do so on Friday. Well, I had to call Jennifer this afternoon and tell her there was no way I’d be able to get out of work on time to pick him up. Too bad. I told him I’d make it up to him next week.

In other news: a brochure arrived in the mail today from the Science Museum, advertising their summer classes for kids. One class they’re gonna hold is an “Egypt” class in which students get to protest against Hosni Mubarak. Just kidding. Actually, they get to learn about when Egypt actually had a stable government under the Pharoahs. They get to explore some Egyptian artifacts (King Tut’s exhibit is at the museum now through the summer) and learn about how the pyramids were made and how Egypt managed to have such an advanced culture (hint: the same way America did it: slaves).

Anyway, I think Owen would really really love this class, but…it’s $95. Yikes! I wish education wasn’t so expensive. I keep telling Owen he can be whatever he wants to be and do whatever he wants to do as long as he has rich parents, but I don’t think he gets the joke.

I think I’ll just sell some of my ancient 1980s treasures for cold cash and try to pay for the class that way.

Sunday, 13 February 2011

Today we had another visit from Tami Tripp. She a baby photographer, and she first came to our excessively humble home back when Isla was 10 days old.

For some reason, Isla seemed a little freaked out by the photographer. She usually smiles all the time (Isla, I mean) and without any apparent good reason. Not today. She decided to be stone-face baby. As soon as Tami left, Isla began smiling again, as if she had been holding it in all day. Thank Isla, thanks a lot. I guess that’s better than getting pooped on.

Here’s her blog showing off pictures of Isla: CLICK THIS FOR EXTREME CUTENESS. Damn, we make some good-looking kids.

Monday, 14 February 2011

Valentine’s Day is yet another in a long line of holidays that I could just take or leave. I don’t feel compelled to buy my wife flowers or chocolates just because a bunch of Catholics decided to co-opt yet another pagan holiday. And, despite what the relentless commercials try to tell me, I don’t think it’s a perfect to buy my wife a ring. In fact, I think going out to buy my wife a ring is a bit condescending: she can pick out the stuff she wants to wear. Besides, if I bought her a ring for every pissant holiday that came around, her fingers would’ve been covered in precious metals long ago.

We already have a day to express our romance. It’s called our anniversary, and I prefer it over St. Valentine’s Day because it doesn’t make me think of a Christian martyr or a Hallmark store.

Don’t get me wrong though; I’m fine with people having the holiday and I’m fine with Owen’s class exchanging Valentines. And in fact, one year I bought my wife some flowers on February 14th just because I could (Watchtower be damned).

Oh – and speaking of Owen, he came home with a bag (that he decorated) of Valentines from his classmates, along with some candy. Cute. He’s a lucky, lucky boy.

Tuesday, 15 February 2011

So, I’m at that point in the semester now where I’m counting down the number of days remaining. It’s not that I dislike being in class, it’s just that it’s such a big hassle – I gotta drive there and then park five blocks away (’cause I’m too cheap to get a parking permit), then race out as soon as class is over and drive straight to work, then make up for the time I lost by staying at work late… Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you don’t want to hear me whine.

Today the professor passed back assignments #1 and 2. I got two out of two points on both of them. On one he wrote “very insightful,” which, I guess, is probably the best I’m gonna get since it appears the faculty at Hamline has a thing against putting smiley faces and stickers on assignments.

I also got another assignment: make a chart. Yeah, that’s right: a chart. God, I don’t think I’ve made a chart for a class in about 10 years. It’s gonna be good. I’ll probably use some glitter.

Saturday, 12 February 2011

Owen asks a lot of questions about religions. He seems completely baffled that people buy into that stuff which, I guess, is to be expected if you grow up in our home. Whenever he asks why certain members of our family acted in a crazy way, or why he has this Monday or that Friday off of school, or why this story is in the news, the answer is always religion.

In an effort to explain to him how these religions – from decent to bat-shit crazy (a.k.a. “The Buddhist to Scientology Continuum”) – came about, I checked some books out of the library. Four of them, actually. All written by a women who goes by the name “Demi.” Her biography notes that she started writing on walls by the age of two, so you know she’s well qualified to write children’s books.

The books I rented are: Muhammad, Jesus, some Lao Tzu book with a long title, and Buddha Stories, a book with dark gold lettering on black pages that render it nearly impossible to read if not in direct sunlight.

Okay, here’s the good part: the books look beautiful. They are lavishly illustrated, almost as if every page is a work of art. This even goes for that Buddha book (at least, for the 10 minutes during which the sun shines through our sliding glass door). The pictures are obviously the work of someone with great talent, someone who probably wrote on walls as a two-year old.

Here’s the bad part: the wording is more suited to a 10 year old. I think Owen was frequently lost during our reading of Muhammad. By the time he’s 10, though, he’ll probably look at books like these as too simple.

Another bad part: Okay, I would think someone who wrote about religious leaders from all the different major religions would do so in a strictly biographical way. I mean, Demi is Buddhist (it’s hard to see how someone of any other faith could so even-handedly write about the founders of many other faiths), so I didn’t think she would get tripped up in the the supernatural mysticism surrounding these enterprising hucksters.

The Lao Tzu book, for example, says he lived to 160 years old. I guess I can overlook that as a possible exaggeration, but the Jesus book says he raised the dead, got himself resurrected, and then went to heaven. Bullshit. I’m not buying it, and neither should my son. The Muhammad book is even worse, trumpeting his faithfulness and downplaying his bloodlust. Funny thing: the book kowtows to Muslim’s no-picture-of-Muhammad tradition, saying on the first page: “In keeping with Islamic tradition, the Prophet Muhammad and his family have not been depicted in this book.”  However, Muhammad is depicted on every single page. He’s just show as someone made entirely out of gold (like Shirley Eaton in Goldfinger). Also, there’s this little curlicue that follows every use of the word Muhammad in the book. It was very distracting. After reading the book, I discovered that this doodle is some sort of blessing, kind of like if you had to say “The one and only” every time you said my name.

Yeah…anyway, Owen is welcome to read the Koran and the Bible and the book of Morons one day when he’s old enough. In fact, I hope he does. Until then, I won’t be sharing any “my first cult indoctrination” books with him.

Thursday, 10 February 2011

Several months ago, someone from our apartment complex put an old stereo and some speakers down by the trash. They didn’t put them in the trash, just next to it…as if to say, “hey, we don’t want this stuff anymore, but maybe someone can get some use out of it.”

So, I took the stereo to work that morning and tried to see what worked. Well, nothing, really. Not the tape deck, not the CD player. The radio appeared fine, but we already have two radios in the lab. So, I took the stereo down to our electronics recycle bin.

However, I put the speakers on Craig’s List. I sold them today for $10. I know, it’s awesome.

Friday, 11 February 2011

This evening, I showed Owen a few old films. And by “old,” I mean “as old as possible.”  We watched a few one shot films from Paris and London. These were recorded in the 1890s.

We also watched The Great Train Robbery. I gave Owen a big preface in which I explained that this was the most popular film of 1903, that it was among the first films to feature cuts (as opposed to just a camera sitting on a tripod the whole time), it was among the first films with a storyline, possibly the first western, and that this was probably the longest movie most people had ever seen up to this point. I explained that it was a silent film – why that was and what it meant. I showed him what a film reel case looked like and explained how films were really on film at that time, and not digital. I explained that cuts really were physical cuts made to the spool of film.

Owen enjoyed the film and said he wanted to see more action films like that. He talked a lot during the movie, but that’s okay in a silent film.

I next showed him a couple of Billy Whiskers films. These are among the rarest films I own. Unfortunately, I don’t know a whole about the series. In fact, all I can provide here is a link to IMDB, which doesn’t offer a whole lot of insight, either: CLICK THIS. I’m not sure if these gems from 1920 are even on the internet anywhere.

Anyway…

Owen got very upset at the film in which Billy saves a baby from a burning building. Of course, the movie had a happy ending, but Owen was very nervous that a baby would be trapped in a burning building. After he got off my lap to go brush his teeth before bed, he came back crying and told Jennifer that it made him worried about Isla – that we might forget her in the event of a fire.

Jennifer reassured him that such a thing would never happen – we would definitely grab Isla and get her out of a dangerous situation like that. I explained to Owen that most movies have some sort of peril like that so that we get caught up in the plot and the action (yes, I referenced Star Wars…again), and that the footage of the baby might have been filmed miles away from where a house – specially built just for the movie – was set on fire and filmed.

I didn’t think a 1920’s silent film about Billy whiskers would cause anxiety…but I guess I should never underestimate Owen.