Some recent photographs

Our blog usually isn't visual, except in rare bursts. Here is another burst.


Here is a picture from Nora's birthday way back in March. She got a cute little cowgirl outfit.


In April, we had our annual Easter Egg hunt. It's fame is growing.


Some good looking fellow in a bowtie.


Another good looking fellow.


In May, we took a trip back to Champaign. We were able to spend some time with our friends, the Cassavaughs, the Ackroyds, the Webbers, and others. It was great to see everybody again.


We've done a lot of hiking lately. First, in Darby Creek Park, not far from our house.


Last week, we had two baby bunnies to come to visit. It was a lot of fun, but they sure pooped a lot!


More hiking. This time, at Ash Cave, about an hour south of us in the beautiful Hocking Hills region of the state.


Ash Cave has a pretty little waterfall that makes a little pool. Here, the family jumps in. Alas, we didn't see the "No Wading" signs until our way out!


Here is a recent picture of Ellie.

Bryan

At the grocery store

At the grocery store this evening, there were too many customers and too few cashiers. As I stood in a long line at a self-serve check-out, I casually watched the young Latino family in front of me. The husband and wife were stylishly, though inexpensively, dressed, and had two wide-eyed, well-groomed children. As I waited for them to finish checking out, I heard the following muttered, angrily and plenty audibly, behind me.

"Yeah, look at them. Goin' slow like they got all the time in the world. Pretty easy for them, move to this country, livin' the good life. They just get everything given to them; they don't have to work for it or nuthin'. They got more than somebody who lived here all their life. Got all the time in the world."

These remarks, coming from a black man behind me to his wife, struck me as incredibly ignorant and hostile. Expecting to be likewise lambasted if I took too long to check out when it was my turn, I rushed through my purchases, scanning and bagging haphazardly. I happened to scan my cream cheese twice, but looking at the long line behind me and recognizing my mistake as fairly insignificant, I just kept on going. Behind me, the man's voice spoke again: "Honey, I think you scanned that one too many times, didn't ya?"

Yes, I did, I responded, surprised. But it's a long line. It's ok.

"Come on, honey, tell 'em. They can come and take it off. Do you want me to get someone to come do it for ya?"

No, no. It's ok.

Then he called to a store worker in the next aisle over. "This girl here scanned somethin' one too many times. Can ya come take it off for her?" To me: "Honey, this store got more money than you do. They don't give you nuthin' for free."

True. But, no, no, I said again. Really, it's all right.

As I left, I looked the man in the eyes, smiled, and thanked him for looking out for me. He responded kindly, and I headed home with my twice-paid-for cream cheese.

I'm not sure what struck me so much about this encounter. Was it the jarring experience of hearing one member of a minority group being racist towards another? Was it having my assumptions about someone quickly overturned? Was it seeing someone change from nasty to nice in less than a minute? Anyway, all I can really take away is a naive puzzlement that a person can be almost simultaneously bad and good. I don't know why that seems so strange to me. Aren't I? Aren't we all?

Ellie

Nora and Andrew

Why do we rarely talk about our children on this blog? Isn't that all anybody (by this I mean family) wants to know about?

To remedy our grave errors of the past, here is some current kiddie news.

Nora: Nora is 4 years old. She is still very into princesses, although this obsession has branched out a bit and now includes Polly Pockets and Violet Incredible. Over the past few months her future career choices have been: a science teacher that teaches about whales, an artist, a doctor who doesn't give shots, and the wife of a superhero. (Why not a superhero herself, cum Violet?) She loves to draw, especially castles, caves, ocean creatures, princesses, and roller coasters. If she had her way, we would swim or run through the sprinklers every day. Nora also speaks and sings in fluent "Spanish." (Her version.)

Andrew: Andrew is almost 18 months. He loves anything with wheels or wings. As I have heard described by other moms of sons, he came with built-in sound effects. He doesn't use many words, but he has quite a repertoire of sounds he makes for objects--most notably, VROOM, for any of the above-mentioned beloved moving objects. Andrew also has a penchant for throwing things. He can pitch his sippy cup full of red juice overhand all the way across the kitchen. We are so proud. Andrew makes us laugh (or yell) every day.

What a pleasure it is to have two children. I bask in the joy of it when they play some silly game together and dissolve into helpless giggles. I chant it to myself when just as I step into the shower Andrew pulls Nora's hair and they both scream through the rest of my shower. No doubts here that parenthood is like one of Nora's roller coasters.

Ellie

Professors as Heroes?

Generally speaking, people are uneasy with us college professors. Most people who have been to college often look back fondly at least some of their teachers, who may have taught them something important or helped them gain a new perspective on things. At the same time, there is wide spread suspicion that professors aren't really earning the tax-payer money they get. They only have to show up to class a couple times a week, after all, and write a paper now and then on some trivial and useless topic. As Charles Sykes wrote, professors are generally "overpaid" and "grotesquely underworked" who neglect their teaching duties while writing "masses of unread, unreadable and worthless pablaum." Perhaps more importantly, there is this sense that professors don't really share regular human values -- that they as a group hate things like families, religion, and morality. They live as eternal children in a never-never land, not wanting (and, indeed, unable) to take on real responsibilities and solve real problems. Their only desire is to indoctrinate unsuspecting students into moral relativism, leftist politics, and hatred of America.

There are many problems with this image of course. In all my years in the university, for example, I have never met one "moral relativist" in the sense that people worry about. Although there are, of course, lazy profs who don't care about teaching, most that I know take their classroom responsibilities seriously and work far beyond what is expected for their relatively meager salaries. Of course, when professors do in fact buck this stereotype, no one seems to notice. The idea of professors actually doing important things in the world never gets voiced beyond university brochures. I think we have this standard idea of who is hero. A hero is a tough guy with big muscles who fights fires and kills terrorists. A hero isn't somebody who likes to think about atoms, Greek papyri, poetry, or anything French.

Consider how little you might have heard about the VTU massacure for example. Most people heard about Prof. Librescu, but not the others. From Wikipedia:

Professor Liviu Librescu held the door of his classroom, Room 204, shut while Cho attempted to enter it. Librescu was able to prevent the shooter from entering the classroom until most of his students escaped through the windows, but he died after being shot multiple times through the door. Only one student in his classroom died.[35][36] Subsequently, a petition was started to rename Norris Hall to Librescu Hall to honor this professor.

Jocelyne Couture-Nowak tried to save the students in her French classroom, Room 211, after looking Cho in the eye in the hallway. Colin Goddard, one of seven survivors in the French class, told his family that Couture-Nowak ordered her students to the back of the class for their safety and made a fatal attempt to barricade the door.

Hearing the commotion on the floor below, Professor Kevin Granata brought 20 students from a nearby classroom into an office, where the door could be locked, on the third floor of Norris Hall. He then went downstairs to investigate and was shot by Cho. Granata died from his injuries. None of the students locked in Granata's office were injured.

I'm not saying professors are better than other people -- far from it. I know the vices of professors as well as anyone -- and I know a few who are really idiots. But may I at least suggest that we are not the subhuman leeches that many people think we are?

Bryan

Movie Review: The Queen

Ellie and I watched The Queen last Friday night. It was a great film, both entertaining and, at times, profound. The story deals with the interaction between Tony Blair and Queen Elizabeth after the death of Princess Diana. I'm not a close follower of the British royals, but I do occassionally watch their tulmultous lives with a degree of detached curiousity. I'm both attracted to, and repulsed by, the idea of hereditary monarchy. The importance of continuity in national traditions and the idea that there could be a noble elite, who selflessly serve their country rather than themselves, are both fascinating (if not often historically supportable) ideas.

Behind the film there is also a tragic commentary on human leadership. The same leadership skills that work so well on one occasion do not work so well in others. Thus, the detached, stiff-upper-lip leadership style the served the royals during the hard times of WWII did not work during the Princess Diana "crisis." The often whimsical demands of the public change without warning, and this left the Queen in a state of confused incomprehension. Tony Blair, at this moment, understood the need for showmanlike displays of emotion, national idealism, and a Clintonesque "I feel your pain" type of response. But as the film ends, Blair and the Queen are talking about the events. The Queen offers the Prime Minister a warning: someday he, too, would be left on a limb, out of touch and uncomprehending of public sentiment. The film in this respect is really more about Tony Blair and his own tragic demise, unfortunately swept up in the George Bush initiated vortex of disaster. Blair, like the Queen, was unable to read what the public demanded. Alas, there was no one to salvage him as he had salvaged the Queen. A pity: I always liked Blair. He, along with Colin Powell, are the two most tragic public figures of the last decade.

The problem is this: How much should a leader follow public opinion versus trying to sculpt public opinion. The film says to would-be leaders who are trying to lead the public that they playing with suicide. The public takes you in, eats you up, then vomits you out when they are done. A happy theme indeed!

1985 NBA finals Game 6

Nothing is better than this.

1998 One Shining Moment

The year the Utes almost won it all.

A Response

With the PBS documentary, I know several people who have been asked questions about Mormons. This has prompted quite a bit of reflection on the the question of "What does it mean to be Mormon?" Here is one of my favorite responses.

I have a very good non-Mormon friend who watched the PBS documentary and asked me a question about why I was still Mormon. She wrote:

It must be Mormon week. I say that in lighthearted jest. Yesterday, two nice young guys knocked on my door and wanted to talk to me about it. Then tonight, I turned on my favorite channel (PBS)--that's right laugh all you want--and the program tonight is about the history of the Church of Latter Day Saints. I've been curious to know more about it all for a while, so I decided to watch. It's still playing right now. Have you ever seen the program? Usually I like and trust PBS shows well, but I have to be honest with you---if Mormonism believes and does (or has believed and done) all of the things the show says, I must be missing something because it is being portrayed as some sketchy visions, incredible (and perhaps unwise) movement across the country, and the carrying out of violence. Of course, that's not even mentioning the whole polygamy thing, which I am willing to allow may have just been a blip in the past and no longer is supported.

So what am I missing or what is not being portrayed correctly? There must be more to it or good, smart people like you wouldn't believe?

Here is how I responded:

Sorry about your Mormon week! :)

Wow, that is a deep question! I did watch the PBS documentary on both Monday and Tuesday and overall I thought it was good and largely accurate. Remember though that, as TV producers their job is to focus on the controversial and the sensational, and leave almost everything else out. What they did cover, however, they covered accurately. I thought the eerie music and visuals used at certain times were a bit odd. Such things suggested a "meta-interpretation" or "voice of authority" about what the REAL interpretation of Mormonism was. In the end, though, I thought the series was good. It captured something important of the ups and downs of the Mormon experience.

I'm not surprised that you weren't too impressed by our story. Much of Joseph Smith's story, for example, seems implausible, even unbelievable. Especially to a critical mind it hardly seems to be taken seriously on an purely evidentiary basis. Joseph Smith himself seemed to realize this -- he said he wouldn't have believed it himself if it hadn't happened to him. And there are big issues, both ethically and epistemically, that arose after Joseph's time.

Many of the reasons I believe are reasons that are not particularly rational, or it least not rational in the sense that would be compelling to an unbeliever. Let me try to explain, though, why I continue to be Mormon.

1. Part of it has to do with the way Mormonism has enriched my life. Without a doubt, some of the best, kindest, more generous people I know are Mormons. Not all are of course, but many. Mormonism is a religion that demands that you actively participate in a rich community life; it demands that we use time and money for others. I have seen this process change me and those around me for the better. One of the people I admire most, my Dad, was the product of such a process. And if a religion can make people like my Dad, I think that is something of a small miracle. To be sure, there is no other group of people I would want to be with in a difficult time than my fellow Mormons.

2. Another part of why I am Mormon involves certain experiences I've had. As a missionary in Argentina, I was sometimes asked to "give blessings" to sick people. I was once asked to do this for a little 8 year old girl who had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia. I still remember her big brown eyes and her worried family. They were very poor and obviously didn't know what else to do -- they weren't even Mormons. Anyway, after I got done saying the prayer that is involved, I felt a presence I've never felt before. I left the city shortly thereafter and didn't find out what happened until later. I was talking to the missionary who had replaced me in that area and he said that, during the girl's next hospital visit, they couldn't find any trace of Leukemia. Of course, I realize there are other explanations for this in addition to the divine miracle theory -- perhaps even more "rational" explanations. But this experience seemed to suggest to me that I was in the faith community where I belonged.

3. Another part of the me loves various aspects of Mormon doctrine. Joseph's emphasis of communitarianism was a direct rebuttle to the unbridled capitalism of the day. His social views were grounded in economic equality. I like that. I also like how Mormons believe in an "open cannon" -- that there is no final last word and that one should always be open to new "revelation" in all of its different forms. This is a very pragmatic and post-modern idea, and it connects with Joseph's ideas about an "open universe" more generally. I also like how the church is, in many ways, deeply democratic. To many people, it sounds odd when I say that. But the church is largely governed by laity -- everyone takes a turn in community governance. I like how the church teaches the existence of the "Heavenly Mother" and that the divine life is not solely comprised by monotheistic patriarchy. I like the doctrine that God is embodied. It lends a dignity to our physicality that runs directly contrary to the Platonic, Augustinian, and Descartian traditions. In short, Mormonism teaches that equality matters, that democracy matters, that openness matters, that being a woman matters, and that bodies matter. There are a few more things, but that will do for now.

4. I find great meaning in Mormon community life. Wherever I go, I will have people to support me and look after for me. I have built lasting friendships. These communities, for me, have something of the divine about them. These church, both locally and globally, is also often involved in impressive humanitarian projects. Finally, I like the idea that family community is especially important and that family relationships last forever. As I think of my own family, I can't imagine living without them. Mormonism gives me hope that I will never have to. This is where temples and family "sealings" come in: to offer precisely that hope.

5. Having said that, I should say that many aspects of the modern church, from my perspective, have failed to live up to the doctrine. We have often not lived up to our obligations to minority groups. We have fought against women's rights when we should have been the first to support them. We have embraced materialism and become too comfortable with war. We have not welcomed in certain sorts of outsiders. In short, we've become, well, too sure of ourselves and closed. I also would be lying if I said I didn't have occasional doubts at times about things relating to LDS history and doctrine (just as I have doubts about equally important religious issues in Biblical history, Christian doctrine, and theism in general). My life is a constant struggle between doubt and faith and I'm not sure I've managed this struggle very well.

In the end, I think we Mormons are a bunch of imperfect people who are really trying to better ourselves and build better communities. The sincerity of the quest, the goodness of many of the people, the beauty of the ideals, and the voice of my own experience keep me Mormon.

Does that make sense? It was probably more than you wanted to hear.

Note: she is a philosopher; hence the jargon.

Bryan

"The Mormons" documentary

Like many other Mormons, I've been glued to PBS this week for the two part documentary on the LDS Faith. If you missed it, you can watch it here. Here are my impressions:

1. Overall, I loved it. I think it should be required viewing for all Mormons. I think it hit fairly well the ups and downs of the Mormon experience.

2. Elder Jensen did a masterful job -- he hit all the notes. Elder Oaks did extremely well talking about the Mountain Meadows, but at other times seemed a bit closed minded and harsh. Elder Packer cames across as more gentle than I expected, and somewhat taken aback by his previous comments about gays, feminists, and intellectuals.

3. I was pleased they gave so much air time to Terryl Givens, my favorite Mormon scholar. He discussion of the joys of "Mormon embodiment" was perhaps my favorite part. He is one guy who makes me feel like the LDS faith can engage with the mind.

4. Other favorite parts: the gospel choir in sacrament meeting (too bad it's so rare!), the lady's testimony about "the ridiculous story about the white boy, the dead angel, and the gold plates," the hurricane Katrina clip, Harold Bloom analyzing the LDS faith, the dying young woman and her family, the analysis of the closeness of LDS wards. It showed Mormonism at its best.

5. Other parts I did not enjoy but thought were important for me to hear: Margaret Tascano's description of her bizarre and cruel court experience, the grotesque fiasco of Mountain Meadows, the holocaust victim explaining why he did not want his relatives baptized, and the John Taylor nonsense about Black's being the instruments of Satan. It is important for us Mormons to remember that we are capable to both disrespectful and despicable acts. We should never forget that.

6. I thought a lot of time was given to ex-Mormons, but it oddly worked out very well much of time. When someone who has been excommunicated still had reason to talk about the beauty and power of Mormon ritual and community, it seemed to come across as all the more powerful for me. The films did a great job at humanizing everybody -- from the gay Mormon, to the general authorities, to the feminist intellectual, to the polygamists, to the holocaust baptism objector, to the Republican senator.

7. Stupid stuff: the "if my mission president asked me to blow myself up, I would have" crack, the eerie music that seemed to kick in at odd times, the strange red painting of God, the polygamy was "all about sex" comment, the description of past temple rituals.

8. I wish they would have found more strong, faithful, and smart LDS women (other than Kathleen Flake and the token neurologist, there weren't many). I also wish they would have given more time to Darius Gray.

9. I learned some things I didn't know about Mormon history, for example, I had never heard about the "Short Creek Raid."

Way to go PBS!

Bryan

April happenings

In April, I went to one of the biggest academic conferences in the world. It was the meeting of the American Educational Research Association. The paid registration at g conference makes one feel tiny and insignificant. Nothing makes one's ideas feel less important than 18,000 other people also simultaneously sharing their ideas. Everyone is talking, but no one is listening. At least that is how it feels.

Other April news includes:

Andrew now says at least five words: out, daddy, birds, hat, and jelly. There may be others, but we have yet to translate them appropriately.

Ellie's first month as RS Pres went well. People have said some very nice things to her and offered their support -- this has helped her immensely. She will probably have to help plan her first funeral soon. She also had an emergency where she was desperately trying to track down home teachers. I'll let her tell about that experience, though, if she wants.

Nora and Ellie have taken to reading the Chronicles of Narnia together. Nora loves C.S. Lewis. I wasn't sure she was ready for extended narratives, but I guess she is.

We made our first trip of the year to the Columbus Zoo last weekend. Andrew loved the aquarium, which allowed him to get really close to some big first. My favorite part of the Zoo is visiting the wierd Okapi. We bought a membership, so I guess me and the Okapi will become good friends.

Speaking of Columbus, we recently found a beautiful area about 15 mintues away. You
can check it out here. I've found a new place to do my work! (A great thing about my job is that I can "work" almost anywere -- I'll I need is a book and a pencil). We took Nora on a hike down by the river and she was so excited she fell in.

I guess that will have to be all for now.

Bryan

What's up with BYU?

Via the Deseret News:

A month of controversy over the decision to invite Vice President Dick Cheney to speak at Brigham Young University's commencement ended Thursday with more than 20,000 BYU graduates and their families, along with faculty and staff, soaking Cheney in applause....Cheney thanked BYU for the honorary degree and closed by saying, "I leave here as a proud member of the Brigham Young Class of 2007." A standing ovation lasted a full minute.

Barf!

Bryan

I've passed this around a bit before, but I always chuckle when I read it. If you're not on the infamous tenure track, you might not appreciate it as much. It is the dreaded denial of tenure letter.

BY ANDY F. BRYAN

January 22, 1939

Assistant Professor Henry “Indiana” Jones Jr.
Department of Anthropology
Chapman Hall 227B
Marshall College

Dr. Jones:

As chairman of the Committee on Promotion and Tenure, I regret to inform you that your recent application for tenure has been denied by a vote of 6 to 1. Following past policies and procedures, proceedings from the committee’s deliberations that were pertinent to our decision have been summarized below according to the assessment criteria.

Demonstrates suitable experience and expertise in chosen field:

The committee concurred that Dr. Jones does seem to possess a nearly superhuman breadth of linguistic knowledge and an uncanny familiarity with the history and material culture of the occult. However, his understanding and practice of archaeology gave the committee the greatest cause for alarm. Criticisms of Dr. Jones ranged from “possessing a perceptible methodological deficiency” to “practicing archaeology with a complete lack of, disregard for, and colossal ignorance of current methodology, theory, and ethics” to “unabashed grave-robbing.” Given such appraisals, perhaps it isn’t surprising to learn that several Central and South American countries recently assembled to enact legislation aimed at permanently prohibiting his entry. Moreover, no one on the committee can identify who or what instilled Dr. Jones with the belief that an archaeologist’s tool kit should consist solely of a bullwhip and a revolver.

Nationally recognized for an effectual program of scholarship or research supported by publications of high quality:

Though Dr. Jones conducts “field research” far more often than anyone else in the department, he has consistently failed to report the results of his excavations, provide any credible evidence of attending the archaeological conferences he claims to attend, or produce a single published article in any peer-reviewed journal. Someone might tell Dr. Jones that in academia “publish or perish” is the rule. Shockingly, there is little evidence to date that Dr. Jones has successfully excavated even one object since he arrived at Marshall College. Marcus Brody, curator of our natural-history museum, assured me this was not so and graciously pointed out several pieces in the collection that he claimed were procured through Dr. Jones’s efforts, but, quite frankly, we have not one shred of documentation that can demonstrate the provenance or legal ownership of these objects.

Meets professional standards of conduct in research and professional activities of the discipline:

The committee was particularly generous (and vociferous) in offering their opinions regarding this criterion. Permit me to list just a few of the more troubling accounts I was privy to during the committee’s meeting. Far more times that I would care to mention, the name “Indiana Jones” (the adopted title Dr. Jones insists on being called) has appeared in governmental reports linking him to the Nazi Party, black-market antiquities dealers, underground cults, human sacrifice, Indian child slave labor, and the Chinese mafia. There are a plethora of international criminal charges against Dr. Jones, which include but are not limited to: bringing unregistered weapons into and out of the country; property damage; desecration of national and historical landmarks; impersonating officials; arson; grand theft (automobiles, motorcycles, aircraft, and watercraft in just a one week span last year); excavating without a permit; countless antiquities violations; public endangerment; voluntary and involuntary manslaughter; and, allegedly, murder.

Dr. Jones’s interpersonal skills and relationships are no better. By Dr. Jones’ own admission, he has repeatedly employed an underage Asian boy as a driver and “personal assistant” during his Far East travels. I will refrain from making any insinuations as to the nature of this relationship, but my intuition insists that it is not a healthy one, nor one to be encouraged. Though the committee may have overstepped the boundaries of its evaluation, I find it pertinent to note that Dr. Jones has been romantically linked to countless women of questionable character, an attribute very unbecoming of a Marshall College professor. One of these women was identified as a notorious nightclub singer whose heart he attempted to extract with his hands, and whom he then tried, and failed, to lower into a lake of magma. Another was a Nazi scholar he was seen courting just last year who, I’m told, plummeted into a fathomless abyss at Dr. Jones’s hand. And, of course, no one can forget the slow decline and eventual death of Professor Abner Ravenwood after Dr. Jones’s affair with Abner’s underage daughter was made public, forcing her to emigrate to Nepal to escape the debacle.

Demonstrates successful record in undergraduate and graduate teaching:

In his nine years with the department, Dr. Jones has failed to complete even one uninterrupted semester of instruction. In fact, he hasn’t been in attendance for more than four consecutive weeks since he was hired. Departmental records indicate Dr. Jones has taken more sabbaticals, sick time, personal days, conference allotments, and temporary leaves than all the other members of the department combined.

The lone student representative on the committee wished to convey that, besides being an exceptional instructor, a compassionate mentor, and an unparalleled gentleman, Dr. Jones was extraordinarily receptive to the female student body during and after the transition to a coeducational system at the college. However, his timeliness in grading and returning assignments was a concern. Establishment of an appropriate record of departmental and campus service: Dr. Jones’s behavior on campus has led not only to disciplinary action but also to concerns as to the state of his mental health. In addition to multiple instances of public drunkenness, Dr. Jones, on three separate occasions, has attempted to set fire to the herpetology wing of the biology department.

Perhaps most disturbing, however, are the statements that come directly from Dr. Jones’s mouth. Several faculty members maintain that Dr. Jones informed them on multiple occasions of having discovered the Ark of the Covenant, magic diamond rocks, and the Holy Grail! When asked to provide evidence for such claims, he purportedly replied that he was “kind of immortal” and/or muttered derogatory statements about the “bureaucratic fools” running the U.S. government. Given his history with the Nazi Party, I fear where his loyalty lies.

To summarize, the committee fails to recognize any indication that Dr. Jones is even remotely proficient when it comes to archaeological scholarship and practice. His aptitude as an instructor is questionable at best, his conduct while abroad is positively deplorable, and his behavior on campus is minimally better. Marshall College has a reputation to uphold. I need not say more.

My apologies,
Prof. G.L. Stevens

Bryan

So, it happened. . .

A few years ago on a conversational whim, I developed list of church callings I hoped never to get. It included Primary Music Leader (this since has fallen from the list; it’s not so bad in comparison), Nursery Leader, Ward Missionary, and Ward Organist. It should also have included Ward Facilities Cleaning Director and Visiting Teaching Coordinator. The top spot, the most objectionable position, however, was reserved for Relief Society President. Of all the callings on the list, I dreaded this one the most, while also figuring this one was really the safest for me never to receive. At not yet 30 years old and living in a large ward—not to mention being a Democrat with the yard signs to prove it--I felt perfectly justified in the assumption that that particular job would go to someone older, more conservative, more seasoned, wiser.

Not so.

Several weeks ago the bishop called me into his office and extended just that calling. I’m sure my jaw dropped, and I felt tears spring immediately to my eyes. In my family, you don’t say no to callings, not even the audacious ones. The bishop kept talking after that, and while I don’t remember what he said, I do remember thinking, Oh, no. At some point I have to tell him yes. Am I going to tell him yes? Do I have to tell him yes? He stopped speaking and there was a significant pause. What finally came out of my mouth was, I think, “Um, okay?”

This meeting with the bishop pretty much incapacitated me for the rest of the day. When we got home from church, Bryan treated me like an invalid--I think I must have developed hunched shoulders and a psychosomatic limp walking out of the bishop’s office. Bryan made dinner; he put the kids to bed; he spoke in soft tones.

We told our families that night on the phone. My mom thought it was cute—she was put in for the nth time as RS prez in her ward in December. Mother-daughter callings. Adorable. My dear dad was supportive, as usual, “You’ll be great.” My father-in-law gave my favorite response: “Tell them you’re too young and too small to be a Relief Society President.” Agreed.

It’s been an interesting month. I’d feel perfectly happy and carefree for a few moments, only to be brought thudding back to earth by a sing-song voice in my head: You’re going to be the Relief Society President. Since my call was extended, I caught a nasty cold and lost my voice for three days, had my husband travel out of town for a weekend, and contracted the stomach flu/food poisoning. I’m trying hard not to see any of this as a direct cursing.

Now I recognize that all this dread is really just a simple fear of the unknown. I’m a Primary/Young Women’s kinda gal. Everyone’s said so. Since I graduated from Young Women’s 12 years ago, I’ve spent only 3 unconnected years in Relief Society. Nine years serving the youth and loving it. I’m not entirely sure I know everything a Relief Society President does. And tell me who wouldn’t fear this: I read in the manual that sometimes the RS prez has to dress corpses for funerals. There’s a nursing home in our ward.

I’ve been the president already for three days now, and already I’ve been party to two personal tragedies I wouldn’t have experienced in the same way without this calling. My heart aches for these sisters. It must be true that as time wears on, I will ache in response to more and more tragedies—large and small--involving more and more sisters. What I hope for myself is this: that as my heart aches, it also grows, and my ability to love and serve them expands. Please God, I need a bigger heart.

March Madness

Well, the month of March is now almost over. March has always been one of my favorite months. I remember racing home from school to watch the early rounds of the NCAA tournament, or even watching some games in class at Bonneville Jr High. It is also the first month of Spring, and usually there are at least a few nice days -- always a welcome relief after winter. March is now special because it is the month of Nora's birthday and my wedding anniversary.

Nora turned four on March 15. The day was filled with food and activities. We decided we are only going to have "friend" birthday parties every other year. This year, it was just a family party and Nora was not happy about it. Last year, she had a princess tea party where all her friends dressed up in their princess dresses. This year was not merely so fun. I think she got enough toys and treats to make her happy. It was also great to be able to video conference with grandparents. It was almost like having them there. Nora has turned into a wonderful little girl. She is always concerned about others, helpful, and eager to make friends. She must get her sociality from her mother!

Ellie and I also celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. We didn't do too much. We went out to dinner at Red Lobster since I've been hankering for some coconut shrimp lately. I gave Ellie flowers and she gave me Barry Obama's book. I can't believe I've almost been married ten years now. This year's celebration was quiet, to be sure, but next year we have set the goal of celebrating our anniversary in Paris. Wish us luck!

In other news, I went to a conference in Atlanta last week. I had a fairly good time, I suppose. It was the Philosophy of Education Society conference and I read a paper entitled "William James, Meaning, and Educational Significance of Film." I turned William James into a film theorist and had him analyze the film "A River Runs Through It." I won't bore you with the details, but I thought it was a good paper. The bad part of the conference was the constant mingling that is expected -- I'm not very good at that. Plus, I don't think my bowtie lends itself to conversation. A bowtie says many things, but it does not say "I'm ready to party."

Bryan

How people see us Mormons

A reader of Andrew Sullivan writes the following:

On paper, anyone who would call himself a Mormon is divorced from reality and reason. I must admit that I have atheistic biases, but even if I didn't, Mormonism still stands with Scientology.

On the other hand is my personal experience. I have never met a Mormon I did not both like and respect. They have all been academically respectable and generally more worldly and accepting than your average religious type. They have been immensely and genuinely friendly and helpful. Responsible, upstanding, well-meaning individuals. I must admit that even as a liberal, atheist, drinking, pot-smoking guy, I have always enjoyed their company and valued their friendship.

But always in the back of my mind there is a voice: "This guy is a delusional lunatic."

This made me laugh. To be honest, every once in awhile, I myself wonder if I am a delusional lunatic.

Barry Obama, gym rat

Another reason to like Barak Obama. He was a gym rat:

"A real rat baller," says an old high school teammate, Alan Lum. "He'd have a basketball with him in class sometimes so that between classes, when we had an hour or so, he'd get in a pickup game on the outdoor courts."

"Tall and skinny, lithe -- he was angular," says Marshall Poe, a pickup game buddy from Obama's law school days. "Because he didn't have any weight, he had to go up and over people to get the ball. He had good ups."

Now Barack Obama, presidential candidate, he once was Barry Obama, basketball player, maybe 6-1 and 170, quick, aggressive, a lefthander, a slasher with a nice double-pump shot in the lane.

A Dwyane Wade type?

"George Gervin," says Poe.

He adds this disclaimer: "Obama didn't have much of an outside shot. He wasn't a terribly skilled player, but he was good enough to play on the center court." The Harvard intramural gym had one real court with two narrow ones alongside. "The scrubs played on the side. Obama always played on the center court."

No serious basketball player has been president. Dr. Naismith, alas, put up his peach basket too late for the towering rail-splitter, Abe Lincoln. The Princeton All-American, Bill Bradley, never got much past midcourt in a presidential race. Al Gore came the closest, long after playing on Harvard's freshman team, but one doubts the old vice president had any ups, let alone good ones."

Obama. A year ago, visiting American troops in Kuwait, he played ball with soldiers from his home state, Illinois. "They might've expected an old, gray senator," says his deputy press secretary, Tommy Victor. "Instead, they get an athlete who relates to them on a different level." Obama's Occidental coach, Mike Zinn, quoted by The Washington Post: "Limited shooting range, although fairly accurate from 12 feet in. Very athletic, fast, good jumper ... a very good defender ... scored about 10 points and had six or seven rebounds per game."

At age 45, Obama still can play. Word comes from Craig Robinson, the fourth-leading scorer in Princeton basketball history and now the head coach at Brown. It's also true that Robinson is Obama's brother-in-law, a kinship that gains you nothing on the playground. Robinson says: "He can hold his own in any pickup game. He's athletic, and he knows how to play the game. So he can fit in with all kinds, from the completely dangerous to the highly skilled. As anyone knows with knowledge of pickup games, that's quite a compliment."

How cool would that be? Instead of having a cheerleader for a president, we can have a slashing small forward.

By the way, I was trying to explain to Ellie the other day the difference between a jock and the gym rat. In high school, I was definitely not a jock, but I was a gym rat. Here is how I understand the difference: A jock is somebody who plays sports in large part because of the social identity that it brings, while a gym rat is more of an addict to a sport (usually basketball). The jock, from a outside, has a healthy social life. The gym rat is more solitary and, to outside observers, appears a bit twisted and sick -- a user who just can't stop. The gym rat's identity is, contrary to what some might think, more thoroughly based on a sport itself than the jock is. Both like to succeed in their sports, but for the gym rat the joy is intrinsic to the game. For the jock, the joy is picking up chicks after the game.

Does that make sense?

Bryan

Some reflections on February

Well, we haven't blogged much lately. My apologies. The big reason for this is, principally, that my book is going to be published! Yes, Suny Press is going to publish my little treatise. A few weeks ago, they sent me a cheery acceptance letter, along with a very intimidating 10 page contract to sign. I will be making 10% off each book sale! That doesn't sound too bad, but when you consider the average academic book only sells around 600 copies, it doesn't really amount to much. If I make $100, I'll be lucky. Anyway, SUNY wants the completed manuscript by March 1st, so I have been breaking my back trying to get the thing in a polished form. A book is a big deal in my mind as it constitutes a form of immortality. A little piece of me will be sitting in libraries all over the world. Oh death, where is thy sting!

In other news, we had a huge snowstorm last week. We got about 10 inches of snow. Not bad if it were just that. But, on top of the snow, we got several inches of freezing rain. For those of you in the west, freezing rain is a terrible midwestern thing. The rain comes down and freezes almost immediately wherever it hits. So, last week we had about 10 inches of snow covered by about five inches of ice. Shoveling the driveway was like breaking up concrete (well, not that bad, but you get the picture). And you could just forget about driving anywhere.

If you haven't noticed, OSU will probably be #1 in men's basketball next week since Florida lost. I'm not impressed, actually. This town has barely recovered for the embarrassing Buckeye performance in the football nation championship game. I didn't blog about that, but it really was an interesting experience. I have only rarely had "my teams" playing for championships (Utes 1998, Jazz 98 and 99, Illinois 2004). I have never really been in the position where it was expected, even taken for granted, that my team would win. That is, I have never been anything but an underdog in any championship game. Let me tell you, it is a completely different experience watching a team that is expected to win big utterly bomb than it is to watch an underdog team fail to beat the odds. It was completely humiliating.

Finally, ya'll might be interested to know that we have entered the world of bourgeois materialism. In the past few months we have acquired 1) an MP3 player (for running), 2) a cell phone (for babysitters to call us) 3) a second car (a rusty 92 Geo Prizm given to us by some friends), and 4) a laptop. So, if you are playing "keeping up with the Warnick's" the gauntlet has been thrown down.

Bryan

Pictures from Autumn and Winter 2006

The autumn began as I shaved my summer goatee.


Nora was, surprise, a princess for Halloween.


Andrew was a pumpkin.


On Thanksgiving, Dad Warnick, Ellie, and I all ran the Columbus "Turkey Trot" -- a fun five mile race.


We had the Warnick parents out for Thanksgiving, along with Ellie's sister, Emily.



Cute Andrew picture.


Another cute Andrew picture -- setting up for Christmas.


Andrew's first birthday -- December 17.


First of three Christmas celebrations. This time, at home before going to Utah.


Then, at the Merkley's house on Christmas morning.


Then, at the Warnick's on Christmas afternoon.


Then, we saw Anna done get married.

More to come...

Bryan

Latest Interests

Here is a list of some things that I am into lately:

Music: The Decembrists, Orff's Carmina Burana, Afro-Celt Sound System, and Karminsky Experience, Nick Drake

Games: Settlers of Cattan, classic Diablo

Clothes: bowties, sweaters that Ellie picks out for me.

Haircut: short and gelled.

Parenting: Parent as sage.

Calling: Seminary Teacher as Deweyan Educator

Food: Slim Fast Shakes, McDonald’s Snack Wraps, Triple chocolate chip cookies

Drink: Code Red Mountain Dew, Punch-soda mix (shaken, not stirred)

Politics: Barak Obama, “first 100 hours,” John Kenneth Galbraith, Blue Ohio, ignoring Bush, John Murtha

Teams: Jazz (but fading fast), Wisconsin Badgers, anyone who plays against the South Eastern Conference.

Philosophers: John Rawls, Amy Gutmann, Hilary Putnam, William James (as usual)

Theology: Finitism, Scripture as incarnation, liberation theology, source-critical analysis

Magazines: The New Yorker, Harpers, National Geographic, American Prospect


Bryan

Movie Review: The Bicycle Thief

I just saw an old movie last night called The Bicycle Thief. It is an old foreign film, made in Italy in 1948. The story is about a guy who gets his bike stolen. Not the topic of a drama, you ask? Not so. It was a powerfully riveting and heart-wrenching film.

The story revolves around a man who is trying to support his family in Italy after WWII. He finally gets a job, but the job requires a bicycle. He and his wife sell the family bed sheets in order to buy their bicycle back from the pawnshop. Unfortunately, on the very first day of work, the bicycle is stolen by a group of thugs. The rest of the film takes place the next day as the man and his young son try desperately to find the bicycle.

The film is a work of "Italian Neorealism." From what I understand, no professional actors are employed. The main character, it seems, was actually a factory worker.

I believe everyone should see the film. After you see it, please come back and read the rest of the post...


I'll wait right here....


Seriously...

Seen it? Good. Now, what struck me most, I think, was the ending. The man, who has lost all hope, is tempted to steal a bicycle himself. And he does. He is chased down, caught, and humilitated in front of his son.

The movie is successful in making us resent intensely the person who originally stole the bicycle. We see the devastation that this one action caused in the lives of this poor family. But then, the film suddenly turns our judgment on its head. The father, who we feel great sympathy for, is then placed in the position of the thief. We want his theft to be successful. So, on the one hand, we are made to resent a thief intensly and then, just as quickly, we are made to completely sympathize with a thief. In this, it is a tale about our cautionary tale of our moral judgments, and how quick we are to point fingers without understanding.

The tale of my book manuscript

Many of you know that I am currently trying to get a book published. It has been a long, humbling experience, to say the least. I dreamed up the idea for my book way back in 2001. I was trying to figure out the effect that one of my professors had on me. His name was Jack Newell. That man, along with Claudia Wright back at old Cottonwood High, were the two biggest teaching influences in my life. Jack taught a class in education that used philosophy, religion, literature, and psychology. He introduced me to Emerson and Earl Shorris. But more than that, though, the dude was a story teller and gave us glimpses into his life -- a life that integrated action and scholarship. I found myself gravitating to him and wanting to be like him. I wanted to adopt his (sometime unorthodox) views. I wanted not only to integrate action with scholarship, I wanted to eat lunch where he ate lunch, for crying out loud. I'm not sure the influence was completely for the best. The interesting thing is this: I never chose to want to be like this guy. I just starting imitating. This influence made me want to understand the processes by which we are influenced in this way. How, in short, are we influenced by other human lives?

The idea eventually morphed into my special field examination product, then to my dissertation, and then to a book manuscript. Along the way, I've noticed, and been informed of by others, every problem with the text, major and minor. I've had to make the case that somebody other than me would actually be interested in the book enough to (gasp) pay money for it. I spent hours trying to craft the proposal and the manuscript to be both literarily sophisticated, scholarly sound, and commercially viable. But I, more than anyone else, know that beneath the makeup of the finished product there are a few warts here and there. I've not been surprised, then, to receive various polite letters saying that the manuscript was not a good fit for publishing house X.

Finally, though, it appears that the book may actually get off the ground. I received some very positive feedback from a respectable academic press. The book was called "a pleasure to read," "clear and often elegant," "fascinating and ever-timely," and an achievement that "demonstrates good control of the sources in supple and straightforward fashion." So, I'm not really sure how to feel. On the one hand, I feel excited that this little piece of me, my little child, will finally see the light of day. On the other hand, I'm worried that when people actually read it, they will see just a little brat covered with warts -- a kid only a mother could love. Darn that Jack.

Bryan

Top of the World

While the rest of the world mourns the loss of the Utah Utes to the hated BYU Cougars, I was relatively unaffected. Sure, it is always hard to see BYU do well at anything, especially at the expense of the Utes. One of the advantages though of spending a lot of time in higher education is that you gain multiple feelings of allegiance.

Right now, I can align myself more with my current institution, which currently sits atop the college athletics world in both football, where their supremacy is now undisputed, and in men's basketball (#1 in the most recent coach's poll). This is only the third time in history that such a thing has happened. Life is good in Columbus.

It is possible to feel this way because, so far, the Buckeye fans haven't been acting like idiots, as they often do. After OSU beat Michigan, not one car was torched. Given all the alcohol and excitement that surrounded that game, the lack of rioting should be accounted a miracle akin to Moses parting the Red Sea.

OSU football games are really something to behold. I was walking around the "Shoe" (the football stadium) three hours before OSU play Bowling Green (Bowling Green mind you!) and the atmosphere was unlike anything I've ever seen. 3 miles around campus ever single home and frathouse had some sort of Buckeye party going on. As one approaches the stadium, along Lane Avenue, a carnival atmosphere begins to erupt -- a big street fair emerges with thousands of people milling about eating, selling, buying, whatever. 1 mile from the stadium is tailgating country which turns the parking lots into enormous picnic areas. And then there is Buckeye Stadium. It is hard not to get caught up in such excitement, even though I've never been much of a fan of anything Buckeye.

Bryan

On Being a Homeowner

Owning my own home has made me a different person. I now worry about how well my neighbors are taking care of their house. I read about interest rates. I follow home sales in the neighborhood and in the region. Which brings me to a dismal topic. I wanted to share some graphs with you that I ripped off from my favorite political blog (Kevin Drum on Washington Monthy).


Look closely at the graph at the right. Do you see the peak housing prices? June 2005? That peak corresponds precisely to when we bought our home. How is that for some bad luck? The For-Sale signs are now so thick in our neighborhood it looks like a veritable forrest of signs. The prices for homes in the midwest were never inflated, it seemed, like they were elsewhere. And yet, the housing crash seems to be hitting the midwest as hard as anybody. Go figure.

What goes around comes around

I just finished grading a whole bunch of exams. It is always a relief to finish that dismal task.

Whenever I make comments on student papers or exams, I always think back to a comment one of my professors made. I think it was my history of physics class. It was an essay exam. I had written a little essay, and I can't even remember what the topic was. I thought I did fairly well. I didn't have the most precise conception of what I was saying, to be sure, but I thought it was good enough to get partial credit. A week passed and I got the exam back. I looked eagerly to see my grade and the comments that had been written. Usually, comments on my papers were fawning and highly complimentary. Not this time. This time the only response was written in red ink at the bottom of my essay.

It said, simply, "Not so."

That was it. No explanation. No pretending to engage with what I'd written. No illusions that my response was worth more than the pencil stratches I'd used to vomit out my answer. Just a flat and simple contradiction. A pin prick to a balloon full of intellectual hot air.

Not. so.

It was a deflating moment. I was, with those two words, once again clear on where I stood in the world of true minds. I laugh about that moment today. And, every once in awhile I, too, write on a student paper the simple phrase: Not so.

Bryan

I've been cited!

One of the great anxieties in my life right now is when other people actually read the stuff I write. Sometimes I wish they wouldn't. Sometimes I wish my thoughts would simply fly off into nowhere leaving only the trace of a line on my curriculum vitae. Usually, I can't stand re-reading something I've just published, and I can't imagine why anyone else would want to do so. Here are two recent citations of my work (some of my first, actually).

After reading my paper on religion and educational theory, one writer responds:

"As someone who has not bee religiously observant since secondary school, I find W's words unsettling but compelling. He seems to challenge the norms upon which our discipline is founded. Perhaps this is the paralogy that is most needed now -- a paralogy that crosses the boundary that is imagined to separate the religious from the secular. While paralogy for the sake of legitimation alone will be seen as terroristic and may prove counterproductive, this paralogy comes form an openness to the radical incommensurability of the language games that constitute our scoeity. It invites new possibilities to emerge."

Got it? I'm not sure I do either. Whatever the case, who would have thought that "unsettling and compelling" would be a way of describing me?

Another citation, less positive. After reading my paper on cadaver dissection, one writer snipes:

"The only review of quantitative research into dissection so far [footnote], sometimes misleading quoted [footnotes], deals mainly with dissection in high school classes."

Guess who quotes misleadingly. Yup, me. What's funny is the guy really liked my paper except for that little snippet. And yet, what do I get recognized for -- being "misleading."

Is it true there is no such thing as bad publicity?

Bryan

Okay Edge, play the blues...

So, the bishop began a conversation last Sunday in the following way: "They've decided to split the early morning seminary class and they need a teacher."

Let me assure you that there is no good way this conversation can end. Arrgh!

Bryan

Bryan's Trip to the Ruby Mountains

At the end of August, I had a great trip with my brother Derek and uncle Brent to the Ruby Mountains. The Ruby Mountains are in Nevada, actually, near Elko. If your impression of Nevada was like mine, there is nothing really to see there. On the contrary. The Rubies are a gem of a mountrain range -- as nice as anything in the Rocky mountains (if not as extensive).

On Sunday, the 27th, we spent the night in the neat little Pine Lodge in Lamoille, NV, at the base of the mountains. Pine Lodge also has a great little steakhouse. The chicken wings were especially good! Here is a picture of the famous Lamoille Presbyterian Church.

Here we are starting out.

On the first day we hiked up Lamoille Canyon...

...stopped at Lamoille Lake...

...went over the breathtaking Liberty Pass...

...and established our base camp near Liberty Lake -- the quintessential mountain lake.

On the Second day, we left our camp and hiked a portion of the "Ruby Crest Trail"...

...ascended various peaks and passes...

...got really tired...

...and caught some fish down at Favre Lake.

Here I am hiking out on day 3.

Other pictures:

Summer Photos

Well, I guess the summer is officially over. Here are some pictures of what we've done this summer (and late Spring).

We repainted our kitchen.

We also repainted our living room and (finally) bought some decent furniture.

We watched Andrew grow up.

We were visited by our good friend from Champaign, the Cassavaughs.

We went to the Columbus Arts Festival. Nora recieved this clown's nose and a little pink disco ball from members of the Gay Choir of Columbus -- we thought that was nice of them. (Note: we also went to several of the free Shakespeare in the park plays that Columbus offers in the German Village area, but don't have any photographic evidence that we did -- be assured that it was cool, though).

In late June, we went to visit family in Utah.

While in Utah, we welcomed Aunt Anna home from her LDS mission in Chile (she is Ellie's sister on the far right). Ellie, her sisters, and her mom all got their ears pierced for the first time.

We went to Red Butte Gardens above the University of Utah campus.

We saw the cows at The Farm (my Grandpa's farm) for the last time. Sad. The Farm is now being sold to a real estate developer (a minion of Satan) who will turn the farm into a subdivision with big houses for people who know nothing of the history of the land on which they are living.

Nora got to play with her cousins.

Back in Ohio, we had a nice visit with Ellie's uncle Ralph and aunt Cathy from Virginia.

We played around a lot on the slip-n-slide.

We went to the Franklin County fair. Nora is sitting with her friend Rachel.

Andrew had ear surgery -- tubes.

We discovered a fun little beach on Deer Creek Reservoir, about 45 minutes away from our house.

We continued to watch Andrew grow up.

More pictures to come soon.

Bryan

September 11, 2001

It was a beautiful morning in Columbus today. Just like it was in Champaign five years ago. Just like it was in New York City five years ago.

I had gone through my normal morning routine as a graduate student, rolling out of bed around 8:30 or so, and arriving at campus to attend the lecture portion of the "Introduction to Mythology" course where I was serving as a TA. It was then that I realized that something had gone terribly wrong that day. Attendence was unusually sparse, and the instructor of the course called for a moment of silence for "those who were buried in the rubble and those who were trying to save them." He didn't explain what had happened, assuming everybody already knew. I hadn't heard anything. I went to my computer after class and looked up the NY Times webpage. Information was sparse. It had a simple title: "Airplances crash into Twin Towers; Both Buildings Collapse." I couldn't believe what I was reading. I thought it was a hoax.

The rest of the day was spent in front of the television in the student union and at home. I remember a sucession of images, each more sad than the last. Images of people falling. Images of people hanging out of windows. Images of panic. And, later, images of people desperately searching for loved ones. Images of walls full of photos of the dead and missing. I remember particuarly the images of a young woman, not much older than a teenager, holding a picture of her mother and begging the television audience (begging me on my sofa in Champaign!) to give her information, any information, about her mother -- a mother of several small children, the young woman's siblings. It was then that I finally lost it, drowned in sea of such images.

The day was peppered with small, memorable conversations, as people tried to understand what was happening and why. I remember talking with my advisor about the events of the day. He said simply that he was afraid -- afraid of what had happened and afraid [prophetically] of what would come after.

I did not know anyone who was killed on September 11. But that day changed me, perhaps more than any other single day of my life. More than any other day, that day told me that all was not well in the world. I didn't know who to blame, and I still don't. Not entirely. I know to blame hate, and fear, and ignorance. I know to blame that part of human nature that makes us want to think that we, and only we, have all the right answers. I know to blame that part of us who thinks we can all solve our problems through force, intimidation, and violence. I know to blame that part of us that wants to swagger and to have our enemies "bring it on." But to blame these things is simply to blame human nature, or a part of human nature -- that hateful part of human nature of which we are all comprised and from which, it seem, we are doomed to never escape.

September 11 was the day my professional life became trivial. Before that time, I was busy writing papers on Heidegger, the nature of metaphor, and the finer points of philosophical debates in epistemology. After that time, such pursuits lost much of their meaning. Who cares about such things when there are mothers being burned alive? When soldiers are deploying? When children await parents who will never come home? I couldn't muster any motivation to care about my studies in the days and weeks after the attacks. And since that time, I have never escaped the doubts that my life -- the life of comtemplation, teaching, and writing -- doesn't matter much. In the world of tough guys that was introduced on 9/11, people like me don't matter much.

I remember walking around the afternoon of September 11th. Every church on campus had its door open. I walked into the Episcopal church near the main library. The priest was busy offering prayers and a handful of people were kneeling. I listened to the prayers of another religion, but felt that it was also my religion. I remember seeing the long lines of people, ready to give blood, and I felt as if we were all really of the same blood. I felt ready to do whatever it took to solve the problems we faced.

But, then, it seems we couldn't find an answer that fully satisfied our national psyche. First came the war in Afghanistan. Then came the war in Iraq -- a war, unfortunately, that began the week my dear daughter Nora was born. Both wars now continue, with things getting worse everyday. Thousands upon thousands of more people have been killed. The hatred that was so clearly manifest by 19 highjackers has spread like a wildfire. Images of death and suffering have grown. The images of 9/11 have been replaced by images that are equally powerful. A young widow of an American solider, killed without meeting his daughter. Images of dead children being pulled out of buildings bombed by American aircraft. And the image below, the most recent image that touched me, and almost made me lose it.

I don't know much about this photo. There sits a prisoner, a father it seems. Perhaps he is a terrorist; perhaps just an innocent man caught up in one of our wild midnight raids. He sits in the desert with a black bag over his head and tries to comfort his obviously exhausted and probably terrified son. This is the fallout of 9/11. How can we make the world better for this boy? How can we make the world better for the girl on 9/11 with the missing mother? I wish I knew. 9/11 for me opened a flood of questions I have never fully answered.



Bryan

My deep ancestry

So we got my dad a National Geographic DNA testing kit for a Father's Day present. Apparently the results are in. My Dad writes:

Everyone that has my DNA belongs to Haplogroup R1b (M343). A haplogroup is a series of markers that defines the mutations in your DNA and is shared by your ancestors (the men in my case). According to the information I received, my earliest ancestor emerged in Africa about 50,000 years ago. About 5000 years later they moved to the Middle East. About 5000 years later they moved to Central Asia. They moved further into Asia during the next 5,000 years. This was during an ice age and survival was difficult so they moved to Northern Europe and later to Western Europe. This is where our ancestors got the M343 marker – the defining marker of our haplogroup. We are direct descendants of the Cro-Magnon man that did all the cave paintings in France.

Internet explorations

I was playing around with Google Trends today when I should have been working. Google Trends allows you to see what people are searching for on the internet and when. I typed in the name "Warnick," not expecting any results. Here is what I found. Apparently, in Late October, 2005, there was a huge surge in people searching the name "Warnick." I wonder what the heck was going on at that time to make people interested in searching for the name "Warnick." The surge in searches did not seem to correlate with any significant news involving Warnicks. Anyway, the most popular search regions for the name "Warnick" are:

1. Salt Lake City, UT, USA

2. Boston, MA, USA

3. New York, NY, USA

4. Seattle, WA, USA

5. Chicago, IL, USA

6. Toronto, Canada

Funny that the good people of Toronto should be so interested in Warnicks. What's up Toronto?

Another cool site is Pandora.com, which helps you find music that you like. You simply type in a group or song that you like and the site matches the characteristics of the group or song with other groups. My favorite rock and roll song of all time is "Until the End of the World," by U2. Typing that in, I found that I like music with subtle harmonies, mixed acoustic and electric guitar, extensive vamping, repetive melodic phrasing. The list of music this has generated has been great so far. From other searches, I found that I like folk roots, minor key stuff, and, um, "breathy male vocals."

Bryan

Mean t-shirt

Ellie and I saw a t-shirt the other day that made us wince. It simply said:

NOBOBY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG

My response to Bryan's list. (For the record, I knew all those things about him.) Items are in random order. . .

Favorites
1. Homemade rootbeer
2. Going to the fair
3. The sizzling sound a sparkler makes when you douse it in a bucket of water
4. Eating a handful of freshly fallen snow
5. Sleeping in a cold bedroom
6. Getting an unexpected letter in the mail
7. Washing a floor on my hands and knees (it’s nuts, I know, speaking of which - )
8. Hazlenut-flavored chocolate
9. Endorphins after running
10. Reading a good book on a rainy afternoon
11. People who aren't afraid to use big words
12. Clean bedsheets

Least Favorites
1. Getting into a hot car
2. Books with dumb endings
3. Finding a bleach stain on my new clothes
4. Cleaning my room – or my daughter’s
5. Little yappy dogs
6. Finding out they don’t carry ______ in my size
7. People who play dumb
8. Beauty pageants and/or popularity contests
9. Being called “Sweetie” by salespeople my age
10. Days with no ice cream
11. Our deathly slow computer
12. Shaving my legs (it's so dangerous!)

Ellie