Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Now that's a Sabbath

I think I was 11, or maybe 14, when I first wanted to ride a unicycle. A couple years ago, Suvia called my bluff and got me one for Christmas. Sure enough, I still haven't yet learned to ride it -- I'm no longer 11 so I'm impatient, needing to see progress every few minutes; and there always seem to be more pressing duties (toddlers falling off chairs and the like). Occasionally, I'd dust the thing off, teeter on it for a few minutes, then waste a half hour reading unicycling tips or watching Kris Holm videos on YouTube.
Learning to unicycle at last
But on a couple of recent Sunday afternoons, as the family napped, I tiptoed out back to try and teach an old dog new tricks. Of several pictures, this one least betrays how heavily I was leaning onto that wooden post, at first. After 45 minutes or so, I found that very gradually I was leaning less onto the post. There's still a long ways to go; but I'm hopeful that the following "unmethod" will bear fruit:

It will take about 15 hours to learn to ride a unicycle.
  1. Get on the unicycle while leaning on a handrail or post.
  2. Rock back and forth to get a feel for the thing.
  3. Do 1. and 2. for about 3 hours, going farther bit by bit.
Congratulations! Only 10 more hours to go.

I have thought of some truly stirring analogies here, but this post is too small to contain them.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Mind those units!

We've never had this much garlic on hand. While shopping at safeway.com, Someone entered "1" next to Garlic, apparently missing that the units were "lbs.", not "heads". (Of all the perils of online grocery shopping, this is one I'd never thought of.) So over the next few weeks we'll need to consume garlic at several times our usual rate -- which will apparently present all kinds of benefits. Chicken cacciatore, Greek lentil soup, maybe hummus ... other ideas? One recipe calls for a whole chicken and 40 cloves of garlic; that would be the easy way out but I'm skeptical.

I once had a physics teacher who just couldn't stand it when we didn't pay attention to the proper units. Getting the wrong answer for mass or speed or charge was one thing, but writing that "the cyclist is moving at 60 km/sec" or "the water temperature drops to -23 K" would guarantee an exasperated little lecture in class. I wish he could see this.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Serendipity

It's Black Pepper Week at the Perk; I just finished a Black Pepper & Mango Sorbet -- tart, bright saffron-colored globes served on fresh mint leaves in a square sushi plate. (Quite a contrast to the whimsical, rough-hewn decor of this dusty coffee/tea/alehouse; odd juxtapositions seem to be the norm here.) Tonight's Open Mic has an unexpected treat: two subsets of local acoustic-speedmetal supergroup ilyAIMY.

I was last here for a midnight performance of the beautiful, uncategorizable music of Might Could. With three acoustic guitars and one part-time bass, musical roots in Segovia, Fripp, and Blue Oyster Cult, intricate play so intertwined that it seems leaderless, and imaginative titles like "Synecdoche", what's not to like? I bought their outstanding CD Wood Knot from them (soon available in stores); there's something heady about seeing truly original music, with an obviously promising future, performed in a cramped, dusty place by a band whose website still ends in ".edu". Someday I hope to point to some household-name on TV and say "I remember when..."

Sitting here, I recall that for several years I lived within a short walk of the (now defunct) Nightstage music club, where I saw mind-bending shows by Bill Bruford's Earthworks, Fred Frith, Bill Frisell, and others. A slightly longer walk away, I (twice) caught Pat Metheny at Ryles, in unannounced, word-of-mouth appearances; a short T ride away I saw Husker Du, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Adrian Belew, the Minutemen, Birdsongs of the Mesozoic; Brooks Williams would breeze through town several times a year; Harrod & Funck played in the subways. Life-changing experiences we would just stumble across! Those were the days... And yet, tonight I sense that maybe serendipity is making a comeback near here. I'll keep an eye out.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Our favorite hydrocarbon

A few weeks ago, in a bold leap of faith, we agreed in advance to buy a batch of prints of Diesel's school picture. Our expectations were low; you know how school pictures go, especially among the young and restless. On Picture Day (protecting our investment as best we could) we made sure he wore a clean shirt; washed his hair just before breakfast (to try and tamp down his chronic conic bedhead); and hoped for the best.

Well, last week the pictures came back and wow! Hats off to the photographer (ASAP Worldwide Productions, Lanham, MD, whose copyright goons are no doubt headed this way right now) and a hearty high-five to Diesel. The final portrait crops out the best part -- those carefully folded hands -- but it's quite a shot even without them.

As he hurtles towards his third birthday, Diesel's in a very entertaining linguistic stage, in which his Ls, Rs, and Ws all sound very similar to our untrained ears. So once or twice a day he worries that he's lost his "Boing-Boing McQueen." And shifting his celestial affinities, he declared today that "Pwuto is not my favwite pwanet; it's not a pwanet. I wike Saturn."

Friday, December 07, 2007

Calling -- or not

Man, three weeks! -- how've you been? ... There were a whole list of things I meant to write about; some are probably still worth posting, we'll see. "When no-one's listening I've got so much to say..." But OK, here are some pix you might enjoy. For a Sunday School class on Vocation and Calling, it was my turn last week to trace the path of my so-called career. I figured expectations were for a nice, tidy "testimony" so I chose not to pretty it up with a happy ending, a clear theme, or any confirmation of divine providence. (So there!) Instead, I introduced my story with the two pictures you see here [click for a closer look]. (*) Then, inspired by a great xkcd cartoon, I traced a graph of my "Sense Of Calling" over time (a.k.a. Eagerness to Answer The Question, "So What Do You Do?"). This parameter (green line below) peaked at about age 18; plummeted in graduate school; stayed low through several dark "all but dissertation" years; swung wildly in the year before I finally finished my thesis; rose gradually after school, and has declined steadily throughout my current job. (I know -- what a narrow, one-dimensional way to depict life's complexity... But I'd never told the whole gory tale before, so I needed a simple, robust structure to lean on.) In red dots, I also traced my degree of "ministry engagement" over the years (pardon my dualism): this ebbed and flowed through various roles in student and small group ministry; laid low for several years after school; and saw a recent resurgence in a biweekly "worship laboratory" that led me to breathe deep of "emerging church" oxygen.

Are any of the above "my calling"? Um... Check back in another decade; maybe I'll know then. In conclusion, I showed a (surprisingly lifelike) portrait of me by Dylan (now 6!). I love the facial stubble, the dark circles around the eyes, the clumsiness of those hands -- but also its overall inquisitive tone. I'd like to think that's a fair summary of where I am right now -- equal parts ham-handed, off-balance, and hopeful.

(*) I was pleased to see the inimitable Ken Brown back in publishing, after a lo-ong hiatus. I need to preorder "My Parachute is Beige."