Life is Pietzsche (or "pleased to Mietzsche" for those who know how to correctly pronounce Nietzsche's name)

Sorry, we've been busy with research.  We'll be better . . . we promise. 

I'll be back soon with more substance, but in the meantime I want to introduce you to one of the most delightful webpages I've seen in some time.  It is the Nietzsche Family Circus generator.  It replaces the caption of a random Family Circus comic with a random Nietzsche quote.  Here's an example:

The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others.

See what I mean?  Go there, refresh often, and enjoy.

For Dummies

As I have been working toward bringing the drafting portion of my master's thesis to a close (so looking forward to the beginning of that revising portion next week . . .), I came across an odd reference. Occasionally I will go to Amazon.com to verify publication information for a source that I have taken research from, but no longer have with me for my works cited list. Because I look up so many of these books, Amazon has started giving me recommendations based on my searches. Many of the recommendations are books related to Chicana literature, or even just literature in general. Today I came across one that really astounded me: The Complete Idiot's Guide to English Literature. My first concern is that here I am trying to assert myself as a master of something—literature and writing—and all the while Amazon is suggesting that perhaps I am just an idiot when it comes to literary matters. But even more disconcerting is this entire genre of "idiot's guides" and "for dummies" manuals.

First of all, why do we as a society feel the need to cater to this population? We don't publish more particular manuals for other subsets of our culture. Can you imagine someone writing a book called Understanding Nietzsche for Tall People? Or perhaps Computer Programming for the Toothless? Of course not. Yet I recall seeing titles like Aging Well for Dummies and Pregnancy and Childbirth for Dummies at a local pharmacy while I was waiting for a prescription. Seriously?! Not only are we trying to keep dumb people around longer, we're trying to get more of them? Jesting aside, aren't there some pretty basic books out there on that kind of stuff to educate people, not "for dummies"? 

This brings me to my next point—the horrible marketing scheme of such books. I guess this industry has been successful enough, but what does that say about the people buying the books? When I worked in publishing, the self-help books usually got panned from the outset because honestly, who was going to go up to the register and admit they needed to buy that kind of help in the first place? Now compound this with the tag "for dummies" on it. On the other hand, maybe we as a society don't mind so much having our intelligence so regularly insulted. That tactic won Bill Clinton the White House ("it's the economy, stupid"). Twice. I just have a hard time following the thought process that gets one of those books purchased in the first place. "Gee, I was going to just get this book about basic woodworking, but seeing as how I'm an idiot, I guess I'll get the one that says IDIOT real big on the cover . . ." Take it to the register, look the clerk in the eye and just admit, "Yes, yes. I am a dummy, which means I probably have no business being involved with whatever this book is going to try to teach me. Nevertheless, being an idiot, I can hardly trust my own judgment. Please, take my money."

Note: I use the terms "idiot" and "dummy" synonymously here; some of you may have more nuanced differences in your particular definitions.

Truly, this whole genre seems incongruous to me. Trying to explain complex subjects to people self-labeled as idiots is like . . . stupid (oh, where's that pocket Similes for Dummies when you need it?). And futile. Perhaps dangerous, even. Most of these topics are things we really don't want idiots tampering with. Consider some of these titles (all genuine, available for purchase):

AP English Literature & Composition for Dummies—how did dummies get into AP English?

Home Buying for Dummies—might explain the current housing market

Foreclosure Investing for Dummies—now I get it . . .

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Dating—do we really want to let that loose on society?

The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Middle East Conflict—so that's what happened . . .

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Understanding Ethics—oh, dear

Politics for Dummies—wait, maybe this one could help

Blogging for Dummies—doh!

The GRE Test for Dummies—good luck there

Philosophy for Dummies—how is that possible?

Puppies for Dummies—pathetic in its own special way

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Street Magic—I think "idiot" is implied, you don't need to include it in the title

Calculus for Dummies—really? Really?I'm amazed they could get a whole book out of that one actually. Seems like a simple note would suffice: "If you're a dummy, you're out of your league. Put the book down and back away, slowly. . . . Right foot. Now left foot. Right foot again. Atta boy."

Chess for Dummies—yeah, we already have that. It's called checkers.

Dissertating till the break of dawn

I'm busy.  Come back later.

For now . . . enjoy these:

How many graduate students does it take to change a light bulb?

One, but it will take him 10 years.

How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb?

Just one, but the bulb has to really want to change.

How many bureaucrats does it take to change a light bulb?

10 to form the committee for the changing of light bulbs, one to requisition $10,000 per light bulb, and one to screw the bulb into the kitchen faucet.

How many kids with ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) does it take to
change a lightbulb?

Hey! Do you wanna go ride bikes?

How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?

One to hold the bulb while the world revolves around him.

How many gay people does it take to change a light bulb?

None.  The bulb shouldn't have to change if it doesn't want to.

How many existentialists does it take to change a light bulb?

Two: One to screw it in and one to observe how the light bulb itself
symbolizes a single incandescent beacon of subjective reality in
a netherworld of endless absurdity reaching out toward a cosmos of
nothingness.

How many boring people does it take to change a light bulb?

Just one.

Do you guys know any more good ones?

Uniqueness, boundaries, and crossing them

I've really enjoyed reading everyone's experiences in the comments to my last post.  Not only were they quite astonishing, but they were also pretty funny.  You guys have left me thinking about a few things.

First, if we can look beyond all that is horrifying and astonishing about those experiences, there is (usually) something endearing about them also.  I think that one reason for this is that those experiences are irreducibly local and convey a certain color or flavor of that person in that ward in that place at that time, as well as your relationship to all of those layers of the context of your experience.  Not one of those experiences could have even come close to coming out of Church correlation.  We may (in theory) have been having the same lesson in Sunday School or Priesthood or Relief Society that you were having the week of your memorable experience, but you had something extra that reminded you that you would be missing out on something had you not been there (maybe that is a sacrifice that sometimes you would have been willing to make . . .).

Second, I think that we have our standard practices, customs, expectations, etc. for a reason and it is important to have some good awareness of them as we try to navigate relating to others in a community like a ward.  I'll refer to these social practices or mores as "boundaries," but insert the term that works best for you.  I think that one of the reasons that we have boundaries is to help us know how to be close to one another and to show each other respect.  The closer our relationships, the more vulnerable we become and the easier it is threaten and/or hurt one another.  It helps when there is some predictability then to how we might show respect and care for one another's vulnerabilities.  Boundaries often provide some of that predictability.  That said, boundaries often change from situation to situation and we all have experience discovering that we have unknowingly crossed a boundary.  There needs to be room for growth, learning, and forgiveness, so it is important that we be flexible and charitable where we can.  Remember, the point of boundaries is to help us to be close, not to sort out the "good people" from the "bad people."

As I've been thinking about this, it is striking to me how different boundaries can be from situation to situation and from context to context.  Likewise, I am also quite pleased at how often a tolerable respect for boundaries (at least within their reasonable margin of error) leaves ample room for the local character and uniqueness that I loved so much about your stories. 

[edit]

So Annalisa informs me that from this point in the post I got way too wierd.  I guess 2:00 a.m. with insomnia is not my most lucid moment.  For those of you who got to read it, I hope you had a good laugh.  For the rest of you, I'll just let you wonder what that picture of a funny doctor has to do with anything.

**update 7/14/08**
Wierd be hanged. Here's the redacted material:

Allow me to illustrate.

The boundaries of my relationship with my doctor (in the context of our appointment) are unlike any other relationship. What happens in the doctor's office has no true parallel to any other situation in my life. I find myself exposed, poked, prodded, and inspected by my doctor in ways and places that I permit no other person and with a (relative) level of comfort that, as I think about it, is quite astonishing. Why does this work? It works because we know how to behave as doctor and patient, we know what the boundaries are. And yet, I've had some pretty interesting doctor's appointments within those boundaries. Recently I came bumping up against those boundaries as I had to have a somewhat more "detailed" inspection than what is usual for me (I'll leave it at that). What cracked me up (what pun? I said I'd leave it at that) was how much all of the quirks and idiosyncrasies of my doctor shone through as he checked things out. His funny way of talking and some of his strange expressions made me excruciatingly aware that it was Dr. Graden and no other doctor that was doing my exam. Absolutely professional, absolutely unique; still a bit awkward, but probably the least awkward that something like that is ever going to get. Thank goodness for boundaries!

I'll let you judge this next one for yourselves as far as boundary appropriateness goes. During my first semester at BYU I was getting my missionary papers together, so I went to the health center (it was the old one then) for my physical. The doctor that I saw had an exam room with an adjoining office separated by a window wall and a door that was wide open. He had me sit on the exam table and did all of the usual stuff. It came time for me to cough for him and he told me to stand up and lower my pants and boxers. He had the little drawer-type step on the exam table open so that is where I ended up standing by default, which felt a bit awkward (a pedestal of sorts?). I followed the rest of his instructions just as the telephone in his office rang. And he answered it. And I was left there. Standing. Half naked. On the step. While he talked on the phone. After about 30 of the longest seconds I felt justified in replacing my boxers until he finally finished his phone call and returned. I then resumed my readiness and was expecting him to go for the box of latex gloves before proceeding. Instead he just went for it. I think I would have coughed whether he had said to or not. I passed my physical and went on my way, but what a weird experience. The boundaries that really counted were still in place (maybe the hygiene one was a little iffy), but it was such an odd moment when he shifted from doctor to telephone conversationalist and left me there in all my glorious patienthood.
Yikes, I hope I haven't crossed any irreparable boundaries in sharing these stories. Either way, there is no question that this post is from Brady Wiggins.

Things that make you go . . . cringe

Saturday evening Anna and I were visiting with Jonny and Jen at their new house in Salt Lake.  We had a great time visiting with them and there were some gems from our conversation that I think are worth sharing.  One of the things that we talked about was church horror stories—you know, the ones where someone breaks with convention in such a way that most people in the room feel uncomfortable and the Spirit seems to retreat.

Don't get me wrong; there are some great moments where breaking with convention can be a breath of fresh air and can help you see the gospel in fresh and enlivening ways.  For example, I've heard prayers that were perhaps unusual in a Mormon meeting, but conveyed a sincerity and intimacy in speaking with the Lord that was quite inspiring.

What I am talking about is when someone preaches politics from the pulpit or shares "personal experiences" that are way too personal.  And let me tell you, between the four of us, we had some doozies.

Perhaps not the dooziest, one of my recent experiences (one that I think is nearly universal for adult members of the Church) was when an elder's quorum instructor gave a rather emotionally driven lesson on the atonement which included the instructor giving an impromptu a capella rendition of a hymn.  His justification for this was, "I think my feelings are best expressed by this hymn . . ."

Now I can be moved by music as much as the next guy, but this just made me uncomfortable.  Singing can be such a personal thing and it feels uncomfortable when you're part of a captive audience and that is thrust upon you without warning.

I wasn't sure if I was just being too stodgy with my expectations for what should be in an elder's quorum lesson, but as we were talking about this on Saturday, it occurred to me how strange this phenomenon really is.  Do we ever do this in regular conversation?  Try to imagine a few:

Me:  So what brings you in for therapy today?

Client:  I dunno, I've just been feeling down lately.

Me:  Could you say more about what "feeling down" has been like for you?

Client:  Ummmm . . . it's hard to describe.  I think my feelings are best summed up by this song [begins singing]:

I can't get no satisfaction.  I can't get no girly action.  But I try, and I try, and I try, and I try.  I can't get no . . . no no no!  Hey hey heh-hey!  That's what I say!

You know what I mean doc?

[end scene]

Or try this one:

Mother:  I am at my wit's end!  These kids are driving me crazy.  You're gone at work all day and I have to put up with all of this on my own.

Father:  You sound worn out.  What are they doing?

Mother:  What aren't they doing?  I don't even know where to begin.  I think that the Beatles said it best [begins singing]:

Have you seen the little piggies
Crawling in the dirt
And for all the little piggies
Life is getting worse
Always having dirt to play around in.

Have you seen the bigger piggies
In their starched white shirts
You will find the bigger piggies
Stirring up the dirt
Always have clean shirts to play around in.

In their styes with all their backing
They don't care what goes on around
In their eyes there's something lacking
What they need's a damn good whacking.

Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon

Does that make sense?

Father:  Our kids have piggy wives?  Wait, who are the bigger piggies in this?  Hey, you said the "D" word!

[end scene]

Maybe just one more:

Wife: Honey, did you finish off the leftover pizza?

Husband: Yeah, I had it for lunch.

Wife: Well what should we have for dinner?  I don't feel too ambitious.  What are you in the mood for?

Husband: Ummmm . . . I don't know. [begins singing]:

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with string--these are a few of my favorite things

Wife: Again?

Husband: Okay, okay.  How about [begins singing]:

And Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-e-Iiiiiiiii will always love you-e-oooo-e-ooo . . . will always love you-ooooo

Wife:  That makes no sense.  How are we supposed to make that for dinner?

Husband:  Well . . . I think this song says it best [begins singing]:

I'm your only friend
I'm not your only friend
But I'm a little glowing friend
But really I'm not actually your friend
But I am

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

I have a secret to tell
From my electrical well
It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells
So the room must listen to me
Filibuster vigilantly
My name is blue canary one note spelled l-i-t-e
My story's infinite
Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

I'm your only friend
I'm not your only friend
But I'm a little glowing friend
But really I'm not actually your friend
But I am

There's a picture opposite me
Of my primitive ancestry
Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free
Though I respect that a lot
I'd be fired if that were my job
After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts
Bluebird of friendliness
Like guardian angels its always near

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

(and while you're at it
Keep the nightlight on inside the
Birdhouse in your soul)

Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch (and while you're at it)
Who watches over you (keep the nightlight on inside the)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul (birdhouse in your soul)

Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch (and while you're at it)
Who watches over you (keep the nightlight on inside the)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul (birdhouse in your soul)

Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

You know what I mean?

Wife: Eggs and bacon it is then.

Husband: But prepared exactly the way I sang it.

[end scene]

Okay, maybe I got a little carried away there, but my point is that it would be wierd.  Really really wierd.

Please share your own church horror stories in the comments.  I'm really curious.

the duck stops here

Today's question is: "What is the worth of the life of a duck?"  This is the question that I have been asking myself for several hours now.

This morning, just after 11:00 a.m., I am driving home from work at BYU.  As I travel along North Campus Drive I come to that stretch of road across from the art museum where they have that pretty grassy-rocky-watery-ducky area where everyone takes engagement photos.  Suddenly, I see three ducks in attack formation flying directly toward my windshield.  I start to slow down and one of the ducks drops to the ground right in front of my car.  That was the first time I asked myself the question.

I decide that the duck is worth braking for, so I stop.  I expect the duck to take off immediately, but no such luck.  Just as I am about to tap the horn to scare it away I notice something approaching rapidly in my rear view mirror and—CRASH!  That was the second time I asked myself the question.

After a few seconds of shock, I turn off my engine and get out of the car to see if the people who hit me are alright.  I notice the handicapped sign hanging from their rear-view mirror and the elderly woman sitting in the passenger seat.  That was the third time I asked myself the question.

The woman in the driver's seat tells me that they are fine.  My car appears to have fared better than hers.  My bumper is shot and my muffler has been knocked loose, but her front end is smashed and antifreeze is leaking onto the street.  The campus police are soon on the scene and they keep us busy.  After nearly and hour of calls to insurance companies, paperwork, giving statements, and drawing the gazes of passing rubberneckers I ride away in the tow truck.  By then I lose count of how many times I had asked myself the question.

There was no doubt from the police or the insurance companies that the other driver was at fault so I won't have to pay for the repairs to my car or for the snazzy compact car we rented.  The only real cost to me was the hassle, the waste of my time, and the ache in my neck.

So . . . was it worth it?  Should I have stopped?  According to the law and the insurance companies, my stopping for the ducks did not cause the accident.  The other driver should have been able to stop.  But . . . there would have been no accident if I hadn't stopped.

If I find myself in the same situation again I really don't know what I would do.  If it is clear to me that my stopping or swerving would in any way risk some sort of accident I would hit the duck.  I've hit two dogs (on two separate occasions) in such situations. 

However, if I have no one on my tail (like today) I would hate to hit the creature.  It makes me think of Ray Bradbury's book Fahrenheit 451 where drivers race through the streets at break-neck speeds just for thrills.  The road is the territory of the drivers and their entitlement leads them to plow down pedestrians, often deliberately.

I hate to think that ducks deserve to die just because I decided to drive by where they live.

So what do you think?  What is the worth of the life of a duck?