Quoting

Joel: "I smelled like an Everything bagel, so I sprayed some of that coconut spray in my general direction. Now I smell like an Everything coconut."

Fun times this weekend with the fam for Grandma's 80th birthday!

Conciliatory

Undergrads love to begin their essays with dictionary definitions--if I'm lucky (read: never) they'll be from the OED or Merriam-Webster. Usually they're from dictionary.com. Sigh.

In any case, the word "conciliatory"--a word I used in last night's post, actually--has been in my head all day. I just looked it up, and in the spirit of the papers I've been grading already today (and still should be), here is Merriam-Webster's definition:

Definition of CONCILIATE*

transitive verb

1 : to gain (as goodwill) by pleasing acts

2 : to make compatible : reconcile

3 : appease

intransitive verb

: to become friendly or agreeable

The thing is, most of my friends are pretty liberal. The ones I've hung out with most over the past decade or so, the ones I met after college and in graduate school, tend to be really liberal. I get most of my news from NPR and Time Magazine, and consider it balanced not least because I do hear conservative opinions with which I disagree; my most liberal friends find those media outlets far too right-leaning.

In any case, because of the circles in which I move, I don't meet a lot of Romney supporters. Academics are a liberal bunch, and Minneapolis is a liberal city.*** Hood River is, too. Plus, I think I'm also still in a demographic young enough to favor Obama for his own relatively youthful persona and ideas. The few Romney supporters I do know tend to be friends from high school or even earlier.

There are a handful of them on Facebook, though: nine professed "like"rs of Romney/Ryan, and a few more who run Republican. I've been thinking a lot about them today, partly because, although FB has been surprisingly rather silent on topics political (after a brief outpouring of joy last night), I have seen a few posts of sadness, disappointment, and, yes, some bitterness. There were premature cries that Obama had lost the popular vote--and an identification with how Gore supporters must have felt in 2000.

In embarrassing truth, I didn't vote in that election; I was out of state and hadn't filed for an absentee ballot. I also bought into the sentiment around me that there wasn't even a substantive difference between the two candidates, though the subsequent debacle of the election, with the failure of our voting system on global display as a Floridian court handed W. the victory, appalled and horrified me.

I may have had this sticker on my car

But I do remember how it felt in 2004 to have Bush actually, legitimately, elected, by popular and electoral vote. I couldn't believe that after seeing the mess he'd made at home and abroad over the past four years (and listening to this This American Life episode!), Americans would vote to retain him. I believed then, as I do now, that there were nefarious things at play, not least the manipulation into a constant state of fear.

When he won, I was crushed. I was enraged. I was in a state of disbelief. No one had loved Kerry or anything, but we were ABBA voters--Anyone But Bush Again. Anyone. That election was to have been a referendum on Bush's failed policies, a chance to regain some face in the world--to begin to erase the embarrassment so eloquently summarized by "freedom fries."

I thought Bush was ruining our country. I still believe he did it a dire disservice, mostly by entering unnecessary and unaffordable wars--not just one (largely supported by the international community), but an ill-advised, if not illicit, unrelated attack premised on false evidence.

So I think I can identify a little bit with the friends who thought this election was their chance to oust a President they believed was leading the country down a path to ruin. By the end of his two terms, I think most people agreed that Bush had been an epic failure. It remains to be seen how people judge Obama at the end of his second. Obviously I think he's by far the better option to continue digging us out of the mess Bush left behind. But the truth takes its time to emerge, and whatever happens, right now a lot of the country is feeling sad and angry.

How, then, to conciliate? I began, and erased, many FB statuses last night. I wanted to celebrate, but I didn't want to gloat or provoke. I went on a "liking" spree of friends' euphoric posts, but couldn't bring myself to post my own, although I'd posted several politically-themed links over the past several weeks and wasn't exactly in the closet about supporting Obama. I settled on a quote from Jon Stewart's live coverage: "Perhaps the fever has broken." 

This morning I changed my profile picture from the "I Voted" sticker I'd had up since submitting my ballot by mail, replacing it with a picture of me grinning hugely as I hold my tiny new niece, whose eyes are wild and mouth agape as she seems to throw a miniature gang sign. I figured it was just absurd enough to pass my personal only-me-in-my-profile-pic rule, and might--as I think of it in light of the earlier definition--be a pleasing act to gain me some goodwill.

Because I've been feeling kind of like a bad guy! I haven't been nearly as strident as some of my friends, in fora virtual or otherwise. But I did (and, okay, do; I'm still working on that) think Romney supporters were making the wrong, wrong, wrong choice. I was terribly relieved that Obama was re-elected. I'm proud to be an American, and want to celebrate! But it hurts to be on the losing side, especially when you believe passionately, as it seems so many of us did.

So, friend who posted about the impending destruction of all small business (though he appears to have subsequently removed it), I'm sorry. Friend who requested time and space to "lick our wounds," I'm sorry. I know how it feels to believe the apocalypse is upon you.

I can only hope that the fever has broken. I hope that Washington will be able to actually get necessary work done. I hope that we can all still be friends. Really.

*Apparently "in the top 10% of lookups"** at their website
**Firefox's spellchecker doesn't accept "lookups" as a valid word
***The day after the Vice-Presidential debate, a little old lady struck up a conversation with me in line at the post office, in a thick accent criticizing the arrogant young Ryan and his rude behavior. When I asked where she was originally from, she told me she was from Poland--and as a young teenager had smuggled explosives across enemy lines during the Soviet occupation!

Democrat

As I was returning to my third-floor library study room from a water bottle-filling and M&M-fetching basement run, I paused briefly to hold the door open for a janitor pushing a trashcan behind me.

“Aww, that’s so nice! You didn’t have to wait and get the door for me!” he enthused. “That was so compassionate! You must be a Democrat!” I laughed and, rather embarrassed by his effusiveness, admitted, “Yes, I am a Democrat.”

“’Cause you know a Republican wouldn’a did!” he laughed. “You have a nice afternoon!”

I  wasn’t at all sure that a “Republican wouldn’a did,” nor that my holding the door open was a mark either of moral superiority or of liberal political leanings, but I still giggled the whole way upstairs.

Dialogue

David: "It's 10:00. Have you started your blog yet?"

Ahh, November. You and your antics.

Minutes later...

David: "Hey, are you working on that blog?"
Me: "I just logged into Blogger. But I don't know what to say."
David: "That. 'I don't know what to say. Goodnight.'"

Apparently it's bedtime. Goodnight!

Microcosm

I boarded the 18 bus outside the public library. As usual that far up Nicollet, it was nearly empty, and I sat by the window in the first non-priority row of seats. Two African-American women sat in the bank of three seats in front of me, perpendicular to mine. The one nearest me carried an infant, whom she partially unswathed from a huge bundle of blankets, so that just her little fleece-hatted head was visible.

I watched bundled people shuffle along the sidewalks in rubber boots and sensible shoes.

At 9th, which is always a busy stop, the bus started to fill up. One man asked the bus driver how she was doing, and she replied that she was "blessed." He laughed loudly as he took his transfer and said that was a good answer. A statuesque young woman partially undraped herself from the priority seat on the other side of the bus from me so that an elderly woman carrying bags could sit there.

At the next stop, with the bus almost entirely full, the bus driver called out that she needed a seat up front, and a middle-aged woman vacated one of the priority seats. A man carrying a cane and squinting through thick round glasses shuffled to the seat and sat down.

At the stop after that, things got even more crowded. A large, shabby white man wearing a bright orange knit cap and laden with stuff got onto the bus. It was clear that he wanted a priority seat, and he did appear to meet the criteria, which he would later list aloud: he was a senior, with a disability. It was equally clear that the two women in front of me did not intend to relinquish any of the three they were occupying. He stood in front of them, holding the overhead rail, while they sniggered and made faces.

When possible, I avoid riding the bus at that time of the afternoon precisely to avoid this sort of uncomfortable crowding: no one relishes close contact with strangers, particularly not when they're wrapped in swinging bundles and a clear cloud of crazy. I usually sit with my backpack on my lap, shoulders squeezed up to make space, and try to distract myself with the view out the window. None of us likes it, but we all want to get where we're going as painlessly as possible, so we deal with it.

As the bus moved forward and it was clear the women in front of him were laughing at him more and more loudly and were displeased with his presence, the man began a litany of complaints: "I've had two heart attacks and a pulmonary embolism and now I have diabetes and have poor circulation in my leg!" They were unfazed. "I am on coumadin! If I fall down, I could die of internal bleeding!"

"You back the $*(% up or I'll give you internal bleeding right now! I will beat you!" the older of the two women said.

"I could kick you out of this seat, if I wanted to--"

"You just try and kick me out! I'd like to see you try!"

"I have a disability, and I could kick you out--"

As the bus moved forward, a water bottle strapped to the man swung forward, and the woman shoved it away.

"Don't you touch my stuff!" the man roared, raising his voice for the first time, and the woman rose from her seat to shout back, "Keep your stuff out of my face!"

She grabbed her bag and began to dig through it, saying, "Okay, I'm going to get my magic $#*^ out and make you back up..."

"What, do you have a gun in there?" he asked.

"No, I don't have a gun! But I have something else..."

"I'm going to call the police!" he said. "I'm going to call the police, don't you touch me..."

"I'll give you internal bleeding..."

Another woman standing at the front of the bus joined in. "This is because they're black, isn't it? You wouldn't be doing this is they were white!"

"This isn't racial!" he protested. "I'm not racist, I just want to sit down!"

The young mother, who had been talking into her cell phone, giving a running commentary on the "bum" in front of them, ripped into him. "You need to leave her alone and talk respectfully to this woman! She hasn't done anything to you, so you need to behave like a decent human being! Now you need to stop &#$%ing talking to her and leave her the &#(% alone!" She started quietly, but ended shouting in righteous indignation, clearly pleased with her performance, which drew appreciative chuckles.

We had stopped again, and the tall young man sitting beside me, who could barely fold his legs up in front of him to clear the aisle grabbed his girlfriend and said, "Come on, baby, we can walk--it's only a few blocks from here." They left, freeing two seats, and the people crowded near the front pointed out the open spaces. The man squeezed through and sank down beside me. I stared out the window.

A few blocks later, the two women rose to leave. So did the man beside me. "Oh, is this your stop? Guess who else is getting off here!" he said.

Despite her earlier threats to beat him, as they got off the bus, the older of the two women said dismissively, "We're not going to hurt him. We're just going to go our own way."

The man, however, did not appear comforted, and asked the driver to call the police. She said she was required to do so when asked by a passenger, and so we sat there, waiting. The bus cleared out as people got off. Another 18 stopped behind us, and passengers from our bus transferred. I stayed where I was, and as the other bus passed us, saw that it was, as expected, packed to the doors.

Eventually the driver told the man that the police would be there momentarily, and we pulled away again. At my stop eight blocks later, the driver was still so flustered that she didn't notice me at the back door and had to slam on the brakes, already partway into traffic, to let me out after several of us shouted "Back door!"

"Sorry," she said. "My bad."

This story doesn't have a point, exactly. The bus is frequently crowded, and is usually carrying a mix of crazies, the exhausted, and occasionally the loudly obnoxious. This isn't the first time I've seen the cops called; the last time I saw the officers pull a man off the bus who (loudly) couldn't understand why the business card he was holding wasn't a bus transfer. It's not always bad, and sometimes it's even fun: last week my jovial driver announced the stops in a sort of late-night DJ voice.

There's a fair amount of crazy in the world, and a fair amount of really unfair life circumstances, too. The city bus provides a more concentrated sample of each than one might ordinarily encounter, and in a necessarily intimate setting.

I found myself angry at the two apparently able-bodied women on the bus for not being grown-ups: for not sharing, for picking on someone who was clearly physically and mentally challenged, and for exposing that baby girl to all of it. I was angry about the playing of the race card, which seemed unfair and uncalled for, and angry that this is what the discussion of race looks like in America. But I didn't say anything.

Dashing

Things I have done to prepare for tomorrow's Monster Dash Half Marathon:
1. Purchased rainbow-striped thigh-high socks
2. Purchased rainbow-striped fingerless gloves/arm warmers
3. Purchased rainbow-striped hats (though, sadly, they only shipped one of them)
4. Attended the race expo and picked up my chip and shirt
5. Made cinnamon rolls for eating afterward

I haven't actually run since the Twin Cities Marathon (unless you count a dash to the Asian grocery store earlier this week; I did put on running shoes and run there--and back, carrying cans of coconut milk). I've been... conserving my energy. Resting up. Carb loading!

Anyway, when a friend who had also run TCM this year (after running her very first marathon with me two years ago) told me that she had the perfect costume idea for the Monster Dash and that we had to do it, I couldn't resist. We're going as a Double Rainbow! So intense!

"Could It Be The Weather?"

I'm a bit uninspired recently.

And cold. I'm so over Minnesota winter.

Squirrels

David (who loves squirrels): Oh look, there's a squirrel! He's so cute!
Me: I don't like squirrels.
David: Oh, he's going to jump! Maybe if I scare him, he'll fall! (Knocks on window. Looks down. Pauses.) ...He may have fallen.

Pallottole

• Last night Hathor and I went to see The Taming of the Shrew at the Fort Walla Walla amphitheater.
  
• It was set in a trailer park, and although that might sound gimmicky, I thought it worked pretty amazingly; they threw in a few "beer me"s and "ka caw!"s, but you'd be impressed at how well the script fit without any modification.
• Earlier in the day, I had gelato with the Englishman before he flew to San Francisco--coincidentally, on the same flight as my aunt and uncle.
• I had coconut and mango lassi, and he had Japanese plum and strawberry.
  
• I almost always have coconut gelato when it's available; my favorite pairing with it is Nutella or something chocolatey, but I'm not consistently impressed with the patisserie's chocolate (though I am with almost everything else).
  
• Tonight I joined a local Italian conversation group at the Starbucks.
  
• I'd been invited by my friend Lidia, whom I ran into at the patisserie several weeks ago, and have since visited to meet her new puppy.
  
• Lidia is the woman responsible for the quote in this entry.
• Ironically, I'd just had my hair cut short again the day before I ran into her.
• It felt good to speak Italian again, and funny to hear Italian words held awkwardly in so many American mouths (including mine; I'm very rusty).
• Maybe I can find an Italian speaking group in Mpls.
• Tonight is rainy and cool in Walla Walla, and it feels pretty fantastic to have the windows open.
  

Comparison essays

The final essay on my students' second midterm asked them to identify and then write about the images you see above, Manet's Dejeuner sur l'herbe and Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

WARNING: Generally, one should avoid reading student essays before trying to do any serious writing of one's own.

The native speaker who is not on track to pass the course:
"In both paintings we are both looking at the woman as being the major focus. They both just stare at you in a gaze which women of the time period really seldom did. Image on the left didn't get to appear in all studios due the fact the woman didn't car she was "naked" not "nude" the forest was not what was being captured backgrounds in both of these image really was to impotant. The mono Lisa on right thugh fully clothes still captured the viewers gaze. The lighting the image on left shows the shadowing of the womans body. Overall you get a feel that women in image on left doesn't have high authority but is just a woman from the streets with the artist trys to depict since he was from (?) streets personally. The Mono Lisa seems to be a women with restrant dignity fully clothed with the gaze that seems to follow you everywhere."

Another native speaker, whose essay is more representative, and includes more information, but is rather oddly phrased:
"The comparison I want to make between these two images is the subject of women. Mona Lisa has always been a famous portrait of a female, and Manet's subject of the naked female and fully dressed scholars have both been seen as controversial paintings. Mane's picnic scenery caused great uproar of women being no more than objects or showcase by them being nude and appearing to be no more than animals. The subject matter for this piece was not exactly what Manet was shooting for, because he was focusing on technique, which this piece is part of the beginning to Impressionism, but besides that his artwork reflected a negative context on women. On the flipside, Mona Lisa appeared long before Manet's painting and similar to Manet, Leonardo was putting focus on painting techniques as well of the use of sfumato (the hazy appearance), but the subject matter of the woman is a complete different connection. Mona Lisa does not appear with jewels or extensive elaborate anything. She shows no other than an average woman. The positive aspect of this piece of the woman, because she is able to gaze at her viewer and this was something very new and real for the time. The similarities between these pieces is the use of landscape as distance, creating a lighter background to bring the viewer backwards. Also the color choices are both part of a muted pallette. There are no bright reds or ranges. Finally, I want to note the difference of the Mona Lisa being very sculptural and Manet's piece has the essence of flatness like the canvas. This was part of his style creating a flatten image with dimension."

The non-native speaker that I kind of just want to hug for this gem:
"These two paintings have some similarities and also there are some differences between "Mona Liza" and "Lancheon on the grass". These two paintings were made at different time, i.e. different Art period and characteristics of that time influence the composition of the painting. First, you notice the nude model on the paintig on the left where Mona Liza has her dress on, almost all body is covered under it. The model from painting on the left look straight to us as Mona Liza does. However, they look differently on viewer, especially that model on the left. She is nude, and it does not seem like she is worried about, she is in compony of to mans but it also does not worry her. Her body is so realistic, and she is like wants to show as that this is not unmoral. She shows that she is beautiful and she does not want to hide it under any dresses, she wants to show her true beauty. L. Da Vinci shows the beauti of Mona Liza by not using any jewerly on her or any bright and fancy dresses. He shows her true beauty by elimenating all these details. He use Light and dazziness on his painting to show mona Liza's mystic view. Background of these two paintings are very different. "Lancheon on the grass" has very peacefull in very warm colors painted background where L. Da Vinci uses very mystic and unrealistic in cold colors back ground. There are more Realistis view of "Lancheon on the grass" than the wiew of "Mona Liza." It is like Leonardo Da Vinci wants to show mystic character of his woman where Monet opens his woman to the viewer and says "Look at her she is so beautiful why does she need to hide it under the dress"

Unproductive

As I mentioned, I am loving Love in the Time of Cholera. Yesterday, this passage made me laugh out loud:

Dr. Urbino was reluctant to confess his hatred of animals, which he disguised with all kinds of scientific inventions and philosophical pretexts that convinced many, but not his wife. He said that people who loved them to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ." (Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera, p. 21)

Today, another passage made me cry.

So far today, I've done very little other than sleeping way too late; making C's apple pancake with a bag of inherited Granny Smith apples*; eating the pancake; baking bread; running four miles (in the cold--by the end, it was starting to snow); and a tiny bit of reading. I've been in my pajamas since the long, hot shower I took after running and eating, and now all three things--plus the fact that I should be writing a biographical statement, and putting the finishing touches on the project proposal, for a grant--are just making me sleepy and uninspired. Maybe I'll study some French, since I also need to finally take that exam. (I searched my blog just now for "French," so that I could provide a link that mentioned this correspondence French class I've been enrolled in since October of 2007, though I finished the coursework while I was in California this summer, and discovered a passel of procrastiblogs. I am SO PREDICTABLE.)

Okay. French studying it is, then. I think I'll schedule the exam for... next Friday. Yes. Hopefully having a firm deadline will improve my productivity.

*Which did, actually take me quite a bit of time, as I peeled, cored, and sliced all the apples (smaller than baseballs) by hand. I missed Teri's peeler-corer-slicer!

Bowling

Bryant Lake Bowl is at the corner of Lake Street and Bryant Avenue, and is across the corner from what I still consider "my" coffee shop, despite the fact that I've only been there a handful of times this semester. Despite the many, many hours I've spent there, however, looking out the window at the hipsters across the street at Bryant Lake Bowl, I'd only been to the latter once before tonight, and that was for dinner and a play, not for bowling. (This is the beauty of the city I live in: mere blocks from me is a bowling alley attached not just to a restaurant that serves primarily local, organic food--but to a theater!)

Tonight, however, we bowled. A friend had passed her oral exams, so a bunch of us joined her to celebrate. Despite the fact that bowling involves sticking feet and fingers alike into potentially wildly unclean locations (at BLB, you grab your own shoes from cubbies on the wall, and return them yourself; a manager told me that they have "someone who cleans them all at the end of every night." Ewwww), and that I have never been good at it, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Everyone was very celebratory and encouraging, and it was just a fun change of pace.

Also, I met a boy who introduced himself by saying, "I'm Tony. You're beautiful!" Even though I'm quite sure he was more interested in the boys there than in any of the girls, it still made me feel special.

I haven't heard anything from The Date--nothing! As relieved as I am that it doesn't appear that we'll have to have any awkward conversations about our incompatibility, I'm admittedly curious; was it(/I) really that obvious? I didn't think so at the time, but now I wonder. I suppose if I--even shy, neurotic I--had had any interest, I would probably have lingered in the car for at least a minute or two. I certainly didn't think I was cruelly or even overtly dismissive, but, again, now I'm wondering. I didn't intend to be, so I hope he wasn't hurt; maybe it just took him slightly longer to realize, as I did, that there just wasn't anything there.

My mom predicts dating in my future, which makes me laugh since there's been so little in my past. Now that I'm single again, though, I think I'll at least try to accept dates when they're offered, even if I don't go in search of them. If nothing else, they make for interesting stories in the office and on the blog.

Native Speaker

Dear Student:

Please note that drawing beveled "frames" in brown crayon around the individual entries for your museum project will not distract me from the fact that you write as though you fell asleep at your keyboard:

This sculpture of Cyprus in comparison to Doyphorus [sic] show cases [sic] a smaller built. The drapery does not show the true shape of his body but you can tell there is not a muscle built the most you can see in comparison to other Roman natural look at all while the hair on his head is a more real but still not as perfectly sculpted as a whole piece.

It also doesn't hide the fact that this entry is nowhere near 500 words, despite the 16 point font.

Sincerely,
Your T.A.
(Who is still such a softie that she has given you a pity grade of a D on the project, though it dropped to a D- since you turned it in late.)

Sensitive Subjects

In which I break conventional rules of polite conversation, in the interest of having one...

Last night, I got so worked up about things I read on the Internet that I couldn't sleep. One friend had posted Christian pianist Huntley Brown's reasons he wouldn't be voting for Obama.* Another had sent along her own reasons for backing McCain--namely, abortion, the economy, education, and healthcare.** I made the mistake of googling "Christians for Obama," and arrived at a post by the pastor of a Christian church who was supposedly soliciting genuine discussion in the comments of his blog from Christians supporting Obama--but instead routinely "rebutted" each, individually, essentially calling the democratic candidate a baby killer.

Now, I am sure there are people for whom getting worked up, by the Internet or other sources, and thus being too distraught to sleep, is a routine occurrence, but I am not generally one of them. I love working through complex material and challenging subjects, don't shy from rational debate that sticks to the facts--and let very few things interfere with my sleep. For some reason, however, perhaps the emotionally-charged tenor of these pieces, I found myself responding very emotionally and--admittedly and somewhat ashamedly--rather angrily. It's almost as though there's a certain wavelength vibrating through these posts, and one can't help but be infected. I suppose that's why these are Sensitive Subjects.

But what is to be done? Should we simply avoid talking about them, agreeing to disagree? Should we defer to politeness, so that a superficial peace can prevail? Should we attempt to discuss these subjects calmly, respectfully, rationally, and factually, despite their emotionally-hypercharged status? Do facts matter when we're talking about deeply-held, personal convictions based on feelings and, you know, aversion to "killing babies"?

Well.

I don't actually know. I want to believe, of course, that facts do matter; that a calm, respectful, and rational discussion might in fact be possible; and that actually discussing these things instead of burning with silent (or not-so-silent) rage is therapeutic and beneficial. But I'm not sure.

On Tuesday, Native American author Sherman Alexie was on The Colbert Report. He said that although McCain has been great for Native American rights, 90% of the Native community is supporting Obama. Why? "We're giving [our support] to Obama," he said, "because unlike other groups of people in this country, we Indians vote for the good of everybody and not just for the good of our little group."

So. One of the most Sensitive Subjects in this election is clearly abortion, and it is closely tied to Christianity. Christians such as Mr. Brown say they can't vote for Obama because "I have to vote Christian," and that Christ has already "'dictate[d] the terms." Huntley goes on to define those terms primarily as being against abortion and homosexuality.

Now, we can debate what the Christ of the New Testament would say about abortion and homosexuality, but it seems likely to me, based on his record, that he'd be hanging out with, and loving, those whom today's Christian community seems eager to avoid and condemn. Would he deny women the right to a safe and legal option when facing the horrifically difficult prospect of an unplanned pregnancy, or deny same sex couples equality under the law? I could not begin to answer. I'm not even sure what role Christianity proper should play in establishing public policy.

What I do know is that gospels show Christ doing a lot of talking about helping the poor and loving each other. I know that the early Christian church out-socializes any state socialism. I believe that focusing on abortion and homosexuality, in the name of pursuing a "Christian" politics, does great disservice to the broader scope of what the Christ of the New Testament seemed to be trying to get across.

I understand Christians being compelled to vote for their beliefs. However, I believe that attempting to do so is a far more complicated prospect than is often implied--and find unjust the assumption that real Christians could only vote one way on a particular issue.

A few questions, then:

• Should the laws of the land be based on Christian principles? If so, which ones?
  
• Should a Christian select his or her candidate based on the candidate's adherence to Christian moral values? If so, which ones? (performing sacraments? personal beliefs? policy decisions?)
  
• Does voting Christian mean "vot[ing] for the good of everybody"?
• Does voting Christian mean voting for the poor? for the environment? against homosexuality? against abortion?
• Is all life sacred, before and after birth? Should Christians be more concerned about deaths via abortion, via war, via poverty, or via lack of health insurance?
• Do Christians believe that everyone (of all genders, colors, and lifestyles) deserves equal rights under the law?
• Which candidates would best safeguard religious freedom?
• Which candidates would maintain a clearer separation of church and state?
• Should Christians care about being politically correct? polite?
  

Obviously, these are just a few of the many question these Sensitive Subjects raise. I'm less interested in theological or political debates than in how these issues impact real people's lives and votes, and why.

Last night I was angry, then sad, then depressed. I'm not nearly as worked up tonight, but will admit I'm somewhat apprehensive about posting this, because of the aforementioned emotionally-charged nature of these discussions. Still, I wanted to contribute my perspective, and hear your opinions. So there it is.

*Please note that Snopes rated as "true" the fact that the e-mail was sent by this individual, and not its content.
**And for the record, I appreciate receiving thoughtful explanations for why various friends are choosing to vote Republican this year; I think we've seen too few.

If the World Could Vote

It's certainly highly unscientific, but at the very least, this site raises an interesting question: what would the results look like if the entire world could vote for the U.S. president?*

If the World Could Vote

It's useful to remember that, as an Indian friend pointed out in our dissertation workshop a few weeks ago, "America is not just America's problem."

UPDATE: Check out this video, which I stole from David. It's clever and pretty and non-partisan. VOTE!

*Gallup gives their answer here.

Partners

In my list of reasons why I like Obama, I included, "He has been married to his (first/only) wife for 16 years, and his two daughters clearly love him." Whether or not that was one of the reasons that earned my list the "Prom King" distinction, it has come to my attention recently that I am not the only one to see the Obamas' relationship as an important factor in their suitability for the White House. Check out couples' therapists Kathlyn and Gay Hendricks' fantastic article on why this matters. They write that if we elect Obama,

we get the gift of seeing two people having an easeful friendship with each other. We get as a role model two people who communicate with each other as equals and stand beside each other as true partners. If we elect Barack Obama we are electing a new possibility in our relationship lives as a nation: respect, affection and authenticity. Michelle and Barack speak clearly and openly.... We're ready to see that kind of relationship, and we hope you are, too.

If you're interested in their analysis of body language in the McCain marriage, it's here. Additionally, if you'd prefer pictures, there are slideshows of both the Obamas' and the McCains' PDA moments.

Here's an entirely different slideshow--some more fall color pix taken with the camera phone yesterday and today:

Haiku

Funny!

Haiku2 for disasterkitchen
can create events and invite people to them it is so handy
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Created by Grahame

Kitty

Curly Sue just posted a dream that reminded me of a discussion in my dissertation workshop group today. I think we were prompted by the piece Life Writer, which will hopefully feature in my chapter addressing Artificial Life.

Somehow, we got to talking about "virtual pets." Apparently my adviser's niece has twelve or so, because she can't have a real kitty.

A: "I never understand those virtual pets. I mean, you feed them and walk them. It's the hard parts about having a pet, not the good parts!"

Me: "You must clean your virtual kitty's litter box."

A: "You can't cuddle with a virtual pet!"

Me: "Your virtual kitty has fleas.

"...You have mice, but your virtual kitty is not a mouser.

"...Your virtual kitty got in a fight, and has an infected scratch that will cost a very expensive vet bill. You have no money because you are a student and you have to pay student fees."

My adviser: "You have to ride to the laundromat with all your laundry! And your kitty! On your back in your backpack!"

It was a fun dissertation workshop day.

The Giftie Gie Us

Last night, a friend started expounding on the differences between the "school" personalities of the people in our department and their personalities outside of school. I think he got onto the subject when one of our classmates, who is very articulate and thoughtful in classes and seminars, returned to the cafe because she had lost her cell phone. This was an event that might be characterized as very typical. "Total scatterbrain," was the first friend's pronouncement.

"So what about me?" I asked. "What do you all think of me, outside of class?"
He paused, and then said, "Do you really want to know?"
"Oh no!" I cried. "It's pure nerd, isn't it? You think I'm a nerd!" (I was prepared to accept this, but still: the truth hurts.)
"No!" he said, and laughed. "You're our Neurotic Little Veggie."

I thought that was brilliant.

Protesting

So David and Erin both asked about the RNC and protesting. I wish I had more to say about that. Blame it on trying to write my prospectus, not wanting to get arrested, or general laziness, though, but all I did was try to spot Republicans downtown Saturday night (they were wearing blazers and lapel pins!); attend the Liberty Parade and concert on Sunday; and participate in Take Back Labor Day on Monday. I'll go ahead and tell you about my limited experience, anyway.

Take Back Labor Day was the only time I was in St. Paul during the convention. We biked over, and traffic wasn't bad at all, until we got close to the Xcel Center. Then it was just weird; they had installed these black cyclone fences around the convention center, and between the sidewalks and the streets. There were cops everywhere, many of them from out of town; I heard people complaining that streets had been inexplicably blocked, and that none of the cops could even give directions of how to get around.

Take Back Labor Day was on Harriet Island, and because they had closed the bridge we wanted to take, we ended up taking the High Bridge over. It was a serious climb (Wikipedia says it's 160' tall), but had plenty of room for bikes, which was nice. On the other side, we took a breather and looked at the city. A mom and about six kids unloaded from a van and shared the view with us; the kids were most excited by the "boats with machine guns on the front"--in fact, the Coast Guard was patrolling the Mississippi.

The event was in a big park right across from the Xcel Center. Security there felt much calmer than on the other side of the bridge; there were a few patrols of people in T-shirts from some security company, but not the hordes of officers we'd just left. There were lots of tents set up with food and different events, but the big attraction was the main stage, where we heard, among others, Tom Morello from Rage Against the Machine, Atmosphere, and Mos Def. The event was primarily about workers' rights, which was a fitting protest to the RNC. We made a lot of noise, and I'm sure Republicans outside the Xcel Center could hear us, although I'm sure it was plenty quiet inside.

My friend and I were taking a look at the tents on our way out when we saw crowds gathered along the riverbank. As we looked, we saw a yacht with a banner that said "Stop Torture," being pursued by probably five Coast Guard boats and two or three smaller sheriff's boats. It was making quick movements and seemed to be outfoxing its pursuers, which we all cheered. Across the bank, I could see a wall of people in black, apparently officers. It looked like there were 50 or 60 of them, and I couldn't figure out what they were doing; protecting the bank in case the yacht's occupants wanted to protest torture on land?

A guy beside me nudged me and said, "Did you see the snipers?" Sure enough; as I looked, I saw two unmistakable figures standing on a building beside the Xcel Center. You can see them in this picture my friend took. It was only later, looking at this guy's photo set on Flickr, that I realized that what we'd been seeing on the other bank was the police surrounding detainees. Creepy.

We left shortly thereafter to head home. As we got back to the High Bridge, however, we were dismayed to see police cars blocking the entrance. An old man watching from the sidewalk told us we'd have to detour to the I-35 bridge, miles away. Thankfully, however, as we watched, we saw that the cops were letting pedestrians and cyclists through. We had the bridge entirely to ourselves! Although I later realized that the closure appeared to be another heavy-handed gesture to control protesters (read: freedom), gliding down that silent bridge, I felt like I was in a dream. I snapped a camera phone picture of what felt like The Future.

Later, as we crossed another bridge into Minneapolis, passing a patrol car and officer on the Saint Paul side, I felt, more than I ever had before, how really separate the two cities are--and it was a relief to be home.

As much as I heart Jon Stewart, I have to respectfully disagree with his characterization of St. Paul as "so much better than Minneapolis. Minneapolis is Danny DeVito to St. Paul's Schwarzenegger." I don't know where he was in each city to come up with that comparison... but I'm glad to live on the right side of the river (the left one).