Maieutica

Darwin and the LDS Church

2009-05-27T18:23:00.008-04:00

At the request of family and friends who are too far away to meet our beautiful puppy, here are some shots of Darwin. What you hear in the background is the latest LDS General Conference. As one of my former professors at BYU would point out, Darwin and Mormonism seem to go together quite nicely.

I have a dream remix

2009-04-25T11:06:00.002-04:00

Since I'm the sort who compensates for my lack of good blogging ideas with amusing youtube videos, here you go. Auto-tune being used for good, not evil, for a change.

Girly Man!

2009-03-12T23:56:00.002-04:00

Many many thanks to Lindsay Pallin for showing this to me.

For Kristen

2009-02-18T21:53:00.004-05:00

It's our wedding anniversary today. (And it's Sean's birthday!)
I gave Kristen three gifts, and she gave me permission to share her favorite one with the world. Let me preface all of this with a word of caution: if you have not seen the movie Nacho Libre, the chances of you understanding what I have done are slim.

Microsoft has this new experimental software called SongSmith, and I think it is pretty sweet. You can sing into a mic and the software will detect the key you're in and generously supply you with a solid-gold karaoke backup track.

Instead of my own voice, I injected Nacho's heart-felt ballad to Encarnacion into the SongSmith. This is what it pumped out.

* Note: It loses the beat halfway through, but don't fret; it finds the beat again just in time.

Goodbye, Maurice

2009-02-02T10:46:00.005-05:00

Maurice was hit by a snow plow on Oxford street last Wednesday. His initial prognosis was negative, but not unmanageable: a broken femur. We were able to spend the weekend comforting him here at home. Today was going to be his surgery. The surgeon found that his shoulder had snapped as well, causing nerve damage and complicating Maurice's prospects for recovery. It made sense to let him go.

We'll miss you, Maurice.

Meet Maurice

2009-01-18T13:07:00.004-05:00

We picked up Maurice (named after the french phenomenologist Maurice Merleau-Ponty) from the Michigan Weimaraner Rescue yesterday. We not only got a great dog but also went to P.F. Chang's and Wendy's. All in the same, awesome day.

Maurice is settling into his new home and routine. He's an older fellow, between 4 and 6 years, but when you see him leaping in and out of the ample snow in our backyard it's hard to think of him as anything but a puppy.

Many people out there (you know who you are) contributed to the Maurice fund in various ways. Thanks. And Janell, he wore his coat on the walk today and was by far the most fashionable dog in the vicinity.

Goodbye, 2008

2009-01-08T23:15:00.003-05:00

Sitting on the deck of Starlodge, looking out over the hills at dusk. Hard to think of a better way to end the year.

Prescription

2008-12-03T10:25:00.003-05:00

1. Stand up.
2. Close the door.
3. Turn the music up.
4. Strap on your fanny pack.
5. Lace and pump up your pumps.

6. Get down, mon frere.

(thnx Meredith)

How to record a pop song

2008-11-18T13:06:00.003-05:00

Recipe: Gold Record Soup
Serves: Millions

Cook up a beet.
Add in some fresh bass.
Add texture with some major and minor gourds (stay away from diminished gourds).
Mix in a sweet mellow tea.
Layer some hominy over the top.

Mix until it reaches the desired consistency. Remember that it's all a matter of taste.

Do this over and over again until you master it.

Now it is ready for public consumption!

escapism

2008-11-13T17:31:00.007-05:00

Timp in the Fall.

While living in Utah, I used to climb Mount Timpanogos on a regular basis. My life came close to ending more than once on the slopes of Timp (e.g. falling into a cravasse, almost sliding off a frozen waterfall, getting caught in a violent electrical storm near the peak). This only made me want to go back more and more; I wanted to conquer every inch of the mountain. I lost count after the 30th time. After a while that mountain started to feel like my friend, and I would miss it like I missed a friend. I'd miss the heavy, wet air in the Aspen Grove valley; I'd miss the refreshing break of First Falls, and how the paved trail would gradually submit to stone and root; I'd miss the dizzying cliffs looming on every side, just far enough away that smoke from the latest forest fire would collect and give the slabs and clinging pine trees a hazy sheen; I'd miss the smell of fresh peppermint and sage, the crunch of pine-needle or the clack of shale under foot; I'd miss the comfort of sitting for lunch at the old shack overlooking Emerald Lake; and I'd miss the consistent burst of freedom as I perched on the peak looking down on the flat, busy valley filled with miniature people with miniature destinations. Everything just felt bigger and more substantial up there.

During this John Muir-ish phase of my life (I hope I hope it's not dead yet; just give me a mountain), I was a bit more prone to poetry. Recent events brought to mind one of the poems that I wrote in a fit of frustration over the fact that I always had to come back from the mountain, back to what I was trying to escape in the first place. It's a poem about trying to straddle a line. I hope it brings a needed change of tone to this blog. I don't consider myself a poet, so judge charitably if you must judge.

sometimes I drive until there’s no more road,
toss the world into my briefcase, seal it up,
and step out of life into life where things are
where pines bow to sprouts in their might
and waterfalls don't boast to dewdrops of strength
and streams don't care to compare their length
but wind and wash and splash bubble run
and giggling trickle when water-time’s done

so when I ascend in the lines laced on stone
to cloudrings and spires and being alone
on the peak in the hall of the mountain king
and with him behold vibrant, prolific spring,
I often extend with my finger and touch
the lip of a petal, a blossom or such,
when then from my finger fade flesh, blood, and bone
so I see as I’m seen and I know as I’m known
and this wildflower withdraws her disguise
to welcome my newly elysian eyes.
Blushing, she curtseys in windbending grace
then fades back into her floral-mask face
I look at my hand, I look at the tree
and notice that he has been studying me
he knows I have pierced it, the thickness of flesh,
if but for a moment, my self-speak is fresh
like something I babbled a day after birth
or eighty-one eons before there was earth.
I speak to the king who is there at my side
we walk in the glory of reverent earth
and witness her ceaseless demise and rebirth.

I stare at my mask of the world
asleep in my briefcase where I left it curled
so foreign, so alien, dirty and cold;
I suppose I’ll wear it until I'm sufficiently wise
to live with the king in his natural land
while walking and touching the world with my hand.

June 16, 2002

The Family: A Proclamation to the World

2008-11-11T09:56:00.005-05:00

If you are someone who believes the LDS Church acted out of hate and discrimination during the Prop 8 campaign, please set aside your emotions for a moment and consider this explanation of the LDS beliefs about marriage. It may or may not help you to see that hate or discrimination had nothing to do with it. I ask you not to read it with your own eyes, but with the eyes of someone who believes that these words were inspired by a loving Heavenly Father. You may be convinced that this small act of empathy is not one that was extended to you in the past few days, and this may be part of the source of your anger. But that is no reason for you to become the wrong that you protest. I'm not asking you to agree. I'm just asking you to see.
* I would be happy to have a guest post something of a similar nature that gives the LDS a chance to see the world from a different perspective.

The Family: A Proclamation to the World

We, the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, solemnly proclaim that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God and that the family is central to the Creator's plan for the eternal destiny of His children.

All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny. Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose.

In the premortal realm, spirit sons and daughters knew and worshiped God as their Eternal Father and accepted His plan by which His children could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize his or her divine destiny as an heir of eternal life. The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave. Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.

The first commandment that God gave to Adam and Eve pertained to their potential for parenthood as husband and wife. We declare that God's commandment for His children to multiply and replenish the earth remains in force. We further declare that God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.

We declare the means by which mortal life is created to be divinely appointed. We affirm the sanctity of life and of its importance in God's eternal plan.

Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. "Children are an heritage of the Lord" (Psalms 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, to teach them to love and serve one another, to observe the commandments of God and to be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives—mothers and fathers—will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations.

The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity. Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities. By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation. Extended families should lend support when needed.

We warn that individuals who violate covenants of chastity, who abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God. Further, we warn that the disintegration of the family will bring upon individuals, communities, and nations the calamities foretold by ancient and modern prophets.

We call upon responsible citizens and officers of government everywhere to promote those measures designed to maintain and strengthen the family as the fundamental unit of society.

Proposition 8 and Same-Sex Marriage

2008-11-09T23:28:00.005-05:00

Why are people so anxious to go to war?

So much harm has been done on both sides because of a failure to understand what Prop 8 is really about. I am so deeply saddened by the events of the last few days. In my honest opinion, Prop 8 never should have been proposed – and the CA Supreme Court’s In Re Marriage Cases decision shouldn’t have been what it was. Both were rash and reactionary. I don’t blame anybody for being angry about the passing of Prop 8, but I am sad that the LDS church has been targeted as a scapegoat toward which all the fury of the last days has been launched.

There are two intertwining pictures (moral and legal) of the situation that we need to see separately before we can see the whole scene clearly.

The moral picture:

The unfortunate truth is that, on a moral level, the LDS worldview is an affront to the queer worldview, and vice versa. There doesn’t seem to be any getting around this. We would all like to downplay this and instead emphasize the love that we have for all people regardless of their sexuality, but when you get down to brass tacks, the LDS doctrine of eternal marriage is so foundational, so central that there is no chance of changing it without entirely distorting the entire LDS worldview. This doctrine is that marriage is a covenant between God, man, and woman. All three elements must be there for it to work. This covenant, if the couple is faithful to it, will extend their relationship past death and into the next life, for eternity. And just as we are the spiritual children of God, this couple will spend the rest of eternity creating spiritual offspring and working to lift them and bring them joy. But creating offspring requires a man and a woman. Where do gay people fit into this picture? They have been given a particularly difficult test, and must fight against their natural attractions, hope and work for change, and trust in God. It isn’t a sin to be attracted to the same sex—but it is a sin to act upon this attraction. According to the LDS worldview, what doesn’t sound fair in this life will always be weighed in the balance by God.

The queer worldview obviously doesn’t recognize any reason to not pursue romantic relationships with those of the same sex. There is no reason to think that gay attraction is different than straight attraction, speaking in terms of intensity, richness, and power to motivate. The love two gay people have for each other is equally life-defining, and their commitments are just as meaningful. These are plain facts, and most thoughtful LDS folks recognize this. But to ask the LDS church (or any other church) to accept these facts as an argument that they should allow gays to be married within their temples and chapels would be nothing less than asking them to render their entire belief system meaningless.

I’ve focused on the LDS as an example (since the LDS church seems to be the primary target of demonstrations lately), but much of what has been said about the LDS can be said about many other Christian religions, even if they don’t share the doctrine of eternal marriage. There are many worldviews, most of them religious, that are simply incommensurable with the queer worldview.

These are the foundations of the so-called “culture war” in its present incarnation. Above all, it is a battle for a certain moral status. Nobody wants to have their most precious beliefs and practices labeled as immoral. If a gay lifestyle is moral, then it is immoral for religions to exclude them on the basis of what makes their lifestyle qualify as gay. On the other hand, if such exclusion is moral, it is because a gay lifestyle is immoral.

This leads to embarrassing and inflammatory exchanges. A common one that I see goes as follows: A Christian strikes a simile between homosexuality and, say, pedophilia. This is the worst possible thing to say to someone who is gay. The Christian is clumsily trying to make the point that, according to the Christian view, a gay lifestyle is a kind of sexual sin. Meanwhile, the gay person has just been compared to a pedophile, and can’t help but perceive the Christian as immorally intolerant.

On the other hand, here is another common exchange: A gay person mocks the Christian for the outdated, unenlightened, and dangerous belief that correct standards of moral conduct come from a God. The assumption—sometimes explicitly stated--is that the Christian cannot think independently. Meanwhile, the Christian can’t help but find confirmation that the moral pathway the gay person has chosen is a result of self-absorption; a result of being distanced from God. As these sorts of exchanges become more common (and they are, thanks to the ubiquity and the anonymity of the internet), the framing of the issue becomes solidified and the opposing views become mutually reinforcing.

Now, some gay people will be fine with the Christian position. They will see their orientation as just one more effect of mortality; as something that can and must be resisted; as something that can change through the power of God. On the other hand, some Christians (gay and straight) will be fine with the queer position. They will see no reason for gays to change, and no reason for the church to exclude gays from religious ceremonies and practices. I feel like we need to listen closely to these people who are managing to live in both worlds. They may have something to teach us about how to defang a discourse that is becoming increasingly militant.

The legal picture:

I’m no legal expert, but I’ve tried to study and understand the layout of the legal issues surrounding Prop 8. This is my limited understanding of it. Skip to the end if you just want my analysis of it.

· 1999. CA State Legislature enacts legislation that creates a statewide domestic partnership registry. Domestic partners are defined as “two adults who have chosen to share one another’s lives in an intimate and committed relationship of mutual caring” (Family Code 297). There are numerous requirements for registration: age, living situation and expenses, must be same-sex or over 62 yrs old, unrelated by blood, not married or part of a domestic partnership, etc. This legislation grants to same-sex domestic partnerships most of the legal rights and protections enjoyed by civil marriages. Some substantive rights (state health benefits for partners and hospital visitation rights, for example) remain only the rights of civil marriages.

· March 7, 2000. The electorate passes Prop 22, which adds a bit of language to the California Constitution’s Family Code (section 308.5): “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.” Since 1992, Family Code section 300 (and prior to that, the Civil Code section 4100) has stated: “Marriage is a personal relation arising out of a civil contract between a man and a woman, to which the consent of the parties capable of making that contract is necessary. Consent alone does not constitute marriage. Consent must be followed by the issuance of a license and solemnization as authorized by this division, except as provided by Section 425 and Part 4 (commencing with Section 500).”

· 2001, 2002. Legislature slightly expands the rights of domestic partnerships.

· 2003. Comprehensive domestic partnership legislation with the California Domestic Partner Rights and Responsibilities Act, the provisions of which “shall be construed liberally in order to secure to eligible couples who register as domestic partners the full range of legal rights, protections and benefits, as well as all of the responsibilities, obligations, and duties to each other, to their children, to third parties and to the state, as the laws of California extend to and impose upon spouses.” (Italics added.) (Stats. 2003, ch. 421, § 15.) . In short, the only difference between a marriage and a domestic partnership is the name by which it is called. (There was a lingering discrepancy in the way taxes were filed, but legislation eradicated this with an amendment in 2006. Later, nine other legal differences—not necessarily in terms of imbalanced rights—were enumerated by the CA Supreme Court in In Re Marriage Cases (2008, pp. 42-43). These were largely seen as technicalities by both sides of the debate.)

· 2004. In Lockyer v. City and County of San Francisco, the CA Supreme Court decides that SF public officials acted unlawfully by issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples. This was appealed. The Court of Appeals upheld the decision. This decision was challenged, bringing the case to the CA Supreme Court.

· 2008. In In Re Marriage Cases, the CA Supreme Court (in a 4-3 decision) rules that marriage is a fundamental right guaranteed to all citizens by the privacy, free speech, and due process clauses of the California Constitution. To justify sidestepping the current definition of marriage (as defined in the Family Code), two steps were necessary: (1) they established precedent with Perez v. Sharp, in which the CA SC ruled that the failure to recognize interracial marriages was a breach of the constitutional right “to join in marriage with the person of one’s choice” (at the time, the CA Constitution stated that marriages of a white person “with negroes or mulattoes are declared to be illegal and void”), and (2) homosexuals seeking same-sex marriage were found to meet the requirements for quasi-suspect classification, which allowed the court to apply the strict scrutiny standard. This standard is applied when a category of people are deemed to be discriminated against by existing legislation. Dissenting opinions questioned not the moral trajectory of the decision, but the judiciary propriety of it.

· 2008. Proposition 8 is passed by a 52% to 48% majority. It amends the state constitution with the following language: “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.”

The most basic summary of the situation I can muster is this: the California Supreme Court entered the fray of the culture war by granting same-sex couples the right to marry because of the validation and sense of approval that it would bring to the union of same-sex couples. Proposition 8 is largely (but not entirely) a response by the other side of the culture war to deny that affirmation. It is also a response to what many perceive as judicial activism on the part of the CA Supreme Court.

Now, my personal view: In light of the fact that the most recent research has shown that children raised by same-sex couples show no deficits in any of the relevant categories by which society measures the success, value, and contribution of one of its members (http://www.apa.org/pi/lgbc/policy/parents.html); in light of my opinion that, in the vast majority of cases, sexual orientation is not something that is consciously chosen; in light of my expectation that, while scientific research isn’t presently conclusive with regards to the hormonal or neuro-anatomical foundations of homosexuality, it will be in the near future; in light of my conviction that the moral and religious beliefs of one group—even if it is the majority—should not dictate the rights and freedoms of another group (so long as those rights and freedoms do not impinge upon the rights and freedoms of anybody else, and I don’t see why they need to in this case); and in light of my conviction that the historical and cultural values associated with marriage can only make spouses better people, I support the right of same-sex couples to be married.

Many members of the church will disagree with me, and may even think that I’m displaying a lack of trust in the direction of the Prophet. I certainly don’t see it that way. The reasons for which the Prophet and Apostles urged Californians to vote ‘yes’ on Prop 8 have not, in my view, been articulated as having originated from a desire to exclude gays and lesbians from any sort of state-offered right or validation. The doctrine of the church is clear on this point: we should not seek to impose our moral or religious views on other groups by legislative means. Since this is largely what Prop 8 is about, I can only assume that the motivation to vote ‘yes’ rather originates from an effort to protect the interests of the Church.

At any rate, I can envision a situation where secular society affirms the value and validity of same-sex marriages, while the rights and privileges of religious institutions are untouched—most importantly in this case, the privilege of making moral distinctions based on sexual conduct.

This is why I voted “Yes” on Proposition 8. Let me explain. I sincerely want marriage to be extended to same-sex couples, but not like this. There are plausible arguments that if Prop 8 hadn’t passed, a number of churches and religious institutions would have been forced to drop any distinction between a same-sex marriage and a heterosexual marriage. There is no fear that this would, say, force churches to marry same-sex couples. However, there is a fear that, for example, the adoption agency run by LDS Family Services would lose its state licensing and would be forced to shut down (something like this happened to a Catholic agency in Massachusetts). Many religious schools may have lost tax-exemption. There are other fears, but it this category of side-effects that seems most likely and most unacceptable to me. And then there is the original In Re Marriage Cases decision. Much of the reasoning was sound, but I tend to agree with the dissenting opinions: the court overextended its reach and engaged in judicial activism.

I fully expect same-sex marriage to happen in the next 10 years. It will happen. I hope it can be done with an eye towards protecting religious freedoms. I hope it can be done through the legislative branch, not the judicial branch. The culture war has boiled over and become a legal battle. These differences in moral judgment won’t go away soon, and we need to be expertly careful in how we go about securing the rights of all people to hold and express these moral judgments. In the meantime, I hope we can all agree that this is just a sad situation, and that we should all work to understand each other a little more, and be angry with each other a little less.

PBS, budding patriotism, and russian spies

2008-11-05T10:48:00.011-05:00

Because PBS (pork-barrel spending) is such a crucial issue, a few lab buddies and I have committed our time and efforts to the cause of PorkBusters -- a political action committee devoted to the eradication of earmarks and PBS. We also happen to find the imagery of the term "PORK BARREL" quite hilarious. Try whispering it into an unexpecting colleague's ear, and you'll get a glimpse of the joy that we feel on a daily basis here at the lab. We guarantee that your colleague will also find it comical, and will only respect you more.
We had a pork-barrel party on election night. Only pork products were consumed, and we made sure that all of the funds used to purchase the goods for the party were earmarked from our stipends and scholarships.

While watching the election results roll in, the conversation turned to the topic of the American flag. As Canadians, they were curious about why so many Americans are anxious to display their flag. I did my best to explain the special brand of patriotism that belongs to Americans. It got me thinking.

When Kris and I went to Europe a few years ago, I attached a Canadian flag patch to my backpack. A number of folks had suggested doing this to avoid catching any of the fabled anti-American sentiment that is so rampant in places like Paris. I don't know if it helped, but I did it -- I tried to hide the fact that I was American.

I'll be honest. I still find politics repugnant. As I listened to McCain's beautiful concession and Obama's inspiring acceptance, I wondered why that tone couldn't have been the tone of the campaign. Why not? Are so few American's swayed by generosity, honesty, and love, and so many Americans swayed by hate, suspicion, and fear that those who would lead our country are now counseled that the most effective campaign strategy is to drag an opponent's name through the mud? Why does this work so well? Forget the promises that are impossible to keep. Forget the irritating slogans and catch-phrases. Forget the emotional fortress that candidates, of necessity, build up in order to survive the pervasive, invasive scrutiny of the press -- but which simultaneously leads to a detached (and detaching) calculus that weighs the political ramifications of every . . . single . . . word. No wonder George Bush's ability to articulate his thoughts has steadily deteriorated over the last eight years. Forget all of this. The one thing that aggravates me the most about politics is the meaninglessness of the discourse -- on both sides of the podium. It's gotten bad: I've caught myself trying to deconstruct what a candidate means when he says he is a "straight-shooter." Call me old-fashioned; I just don't think semantic flexibility is a skill we should seek in the person who makes some of the most important promises on earth. I don't put all of the blame on the politicians themselves. After all, it works. Maybe that's what frustrates me most.

Now I'll be even more honest. Living outside of the US for this past year has given me time enough to reflect upon the past eight years, and to do it from a pseudo-outsider's perspective. There have been times when pictures of that American flag conjured up feelings of embarrasment, doubt, and cynicism. I'm not the type to demonize George Bush and his staff, but some heart-breaking mistakes were made. Who is America? Do we break international agreements and torture our prisoners? Do we fight (bravely) in a war that was started under false pretenses? Are we reviving imperialism? Are we going to define ourselves through a war on a group of terrorists? Do we really care about the poor in our country? Do we try our best to give immigrants the same freedoms we all enjoy? Do we care about this beautiful earth and the animals that share it with us? Do we do our best to both understand and teach our children about that beautiful earth, the history of mankind's works upon it, and the cultural skills and arts that help us see aspects of that beauty and history that are difficult for us to see? Do we care about the world outside of our borders? Are we really so vain and greedy that we're willing to live a lifestyle that we can't possibly afford? Is this America?

I suspect there are many good and honest people that haven't had this dilemma. But there are enough good and honest people -- Americans and non-Americans -- that have had this dilemma, so much so that an immense pressure has been building up, and we just heard a deafening cathartic sigh last night. I've been honest about my distaste for politics and the bleakness of my recent views of the US. I don't know if I'll ever enjoy listening to a politician tell me why I should make him my leader, but I do know that the American flag has taken on a new significance for me over the past few weeks. Last night I watched the American people solidify a sense of America's identity that has been fuzzy for some time now. I'm glad Obama won. He'll do a great job. But the reason that the American flag makes me warm inside isn't because of Obama. It's because of the Americans who gathered in the streets, lined up at the booths, and put a black man at the head of a country whose history needed this. I love my country.

I'm gonna go out and buy an American flag as soon as I can find one here in Canada.

* Side note 1: My sincerest apologies if you started singing Neil Diamond while reading this.

* Side note 2: Ever since I've started getting more vocal about my love for the states, I've been getting more and more emails from a Russian dating agency telling me that there are lots of Russian women who want to date me. Most of them are named TatianaG, apparently. I have little doubt that these women are, in fact, spies. One hundred points to Russia for creativity. MEMO TO OBAMA: If you're anxious to protect America, forget about Al Qaeda. Focus instead on the TatianaG cell.
* Addendum to side note 2: I must make it clear that these emails are unsolicited spam. I have the best wife in the world, and I hate borscht. And I hated Ivan Drago in Rocky IV. And Putin sounds like a euphemism for passing gas. And Sputnik is a stupid name for a satellite. All points awarded to Russia are hereby rescinded. Sorry for any confusion.

2008-11-04T13:17:00.004-05:00

Today is one for the history books. Don't just watch.

Yes, but is it just like a mini-mall?

2008-10-24T10:49:00.003-04:00

"Don't stop. Let's make this . . . a dance!"

Commence transmission of horrible, internet-borne brain-worm. Now uploading to host . . .

I'm a hallucinating wimp.

2008-10-16T20:59:00.004-04:00

Here's an excerpt from yesterday's journal entry:

I have a terrible headache right now and it’s all because of an fMRI scanning session this evening. It was supposed to last an hour and a half, but I was in there for close to two and a half hours. I’m not the best fMRI subject, I’ve decided. My butt invariably goes numb, I get this pathological swallowing reflex going (it feels like I’m going to choke if I don’t swallow—the same thing always happens at the dentist), the small of my back starts to throb, and I get a migraine. So, naturally, my mind is a bit preoccupied while I’m trying to maintain my attention on the task at hand. Also, something new happened tonight. When we were closing in on the two-hour mark, my headache started morphing into a freaky kinesthetic illusion. Every time I closed my eyes it felt like my head was being shoved down and toward my right shoulder, and the rest of my body felt like it was being bent sideways at my waist. The sensation went away somewhat when I opened my eyes and saw that my body was perfectly straight, but there were times when I would be looking at my body—knowing that I was looking at a perfectly straight body—and yet my body still felt like it was bending in half, and that an immense pressure was pushing on my head. This is the condition I’m in when the experimenter tells me that the scanner is giving him a warning message, and that I’ll have to wait in the scanner—without moving—while he talks to a technician on the phone. I’ve already been in the scanner for about two hours.
“Want to listen to some music?” he asks me.
“Got any Ryan Adams?”
“Sure,” he says. Ten seconds later, the Bryan Adams song “Summer of 69” comes blaring through the headphones. I try to be still while I laugh—I thought it was a joke. It repeats 5 or 6 times before it is stopped, an apology is given, forgiveness is extended, and an actual Ryan Adams song (“Oh My Sweet Carolina”) starts playing. I must be in a pretty delicate emotional state because the song is so beautiful that it puts me on the verge of tears.
The wages for this existential roller-coaster: $50

Genetic engineering projects

2008-10-05T23:04:00.003-04:00

Before I forget, I'm making a list of all the genetic engineering projects I want to complete. I'm a bit busy lately, so these are on the back burner for the time being.

* Monkeys that naturally grow mullets.

* A skunk that sprays Febreeze out of its . . . you know. These would sell like hotcakes at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

* A blowfish that could be trained to blow up your air-mattress, car tires, or party balloons without popping them. (This one was Kristen's idea.)

* Peacocks that display custom-designed images when their tail-feathers fan out. For example: "Kristen, will you marry me?" Or maybe a portrait of your favorite Backstreet Boy.

* A huge praying mantis the size of a woolly mammoth. Just to humble the human race. Plus, it would put world events into a nice perspective. We'd be like, "Terrorists? Economic woes? Who cares? I've got this huge insect the size of a bus that stalks me in my back yard."

* Remote controlled cheetahs!

* A breed of gorilla that innately knows how to give a great massage.

* A spitting cobra that sprays Visine (instead of poison) into your eyes.

* Mosquitoes that eat only sugar and honey, and then instinctively fly into your mouth. Like flying candy.

* Miniature elephants. Less shedding than dogs, and if your shower head breaks, you're covered.

* A hybrid animal that has the strength of a bear, ears of a wolf, eyes of a hawk, and speed of a puma. Hold it . . . nevermind. That's Bravestarr.

Please share any ideas you have. I'll give you credit (and a small percentage of the sales) if I use it.

Do not call

2008-10-02T16:36:00.005-04:00

I'm working from home today, and I've already received 3 phone calls from telemarketers. I'm tempted to put my name on Canada's new Do Not Call List.

I have a dream of staging an elaborate drama the next time a telemarketer calls. Something like the following:

Them: "Hello, is Mr. Daniel Wood there?"
Me: "Mr. Wood is here, but do you really want to speak with him?"
T: "Yes, if that's okay."
M: "Alright, but I think this is a bad idea."
T: "Uhh, what . . ."
M: "Mr. Wood! The phone's for you! (under my breath) This is gonna get ugly."
(This is where I stomp my feet, bang around, and make other angry noises.)
M: "Uh oh."
Mr. Wood (it's really me pretending to be Mr. Wood): "Come here you little . . ."
(I fumble with the phone while pretending to run.)
Me: "Let me go!"
(More scuffle noises.)
Me: "The pho . . . (grunt) . . . It's the phone! Just calm down. The phone's for you!"
(The sound of a drawer opening and rattling metal.)
Me: "Sweet meats he's got a knife."
(More running. The door opening and slamming. Heavy breathing for a few seconds.)
Me: "You still there?"
Them: "Yeah, are you okay?"
Me: "I don't think you should call back here ever again."

Kristen just read this and said it wasn't funny. :(

She's probably right, but I'm posting it anyways. I think it's a good use of "sweet meats" -- my new favorite exclamation.

A helpful figure I made while eating breakfast

2008-09-26T13:42:00.001-04:00

Move over Cordon-Bleu! I mean Corbin Bleu!

2008-09-18T21:55:00.003-04:00

Oh, don't mess with Predator's baby. He'll make you look like a fool with a behind-the-back pass. Or he'll shoot a hole through you with his triangle laser beam. One of the two. Game on!

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Obey the pug.

2008-09-10T22:07:00.003-04:00

For more awesome dog propaganda, click here.

Just a test.

2008-09-10T15:07:00.011-04:00

So.
About a year and a half ago, I initiated the infamous Bulldog or Bust campaign. To bolster support and rally the troops, I included some pictures of bulldogs that I had found on the internet. There was one photo in particular, FinneganFrenchBulldog.jpg, that magically shot to the top of the google image search rankings for the search term 'french bulldog'. This brought in between 300 and 500 hits a day.
Recently, I noticed a significant dip in the traffic to my site. So I went to google and searched 'french bulldog'. There was the photo, FinneganFrenchBulldog.jpg, but somebody else's blog was next to it. To get a glimpse of what this felt like for me, I ask you to imagine your only child becoming famous, and then when he does, that ungrateful child who received a constant shower of love and care and personal sacrifice from you, that unfaithful ingrate who you taught and groomed for greatness -- imagine that this child proclaims on the bright morning of his fame that he is the son of someone else. That is the dagger I felt in my heart today.

I'm performing a little experiment. I'm taking the top four photos from the google image results for 'french bulldog', and I'm posting them here. I'm gonna get my child back. Bring it.

This one also happens to be #1 on the 'french bulldog puppy' google image search results. More bang for my buck.

And here's the infamous Finnegan. Come back to me, Finny. The doggy door is always open.

Note: the original FinneganFrenchBulldog image comes from the owner of a political blog. I guess I forgot to mention that Finnegan was adopted. But I'm the one who got him to the top. I'm nobody's stepping stone.

the McGurk effect

2008-07-31T10:48:00.003-04:00

Did you enjoy the "Ricola" video? Check out my other blog for a scientific description of it.

Link to Brain and Sky.

Ricola!

2008-07-23T13:20:00.003-04:00

While Kristen and I were in Paris, we ate a lot of food at the Latin Quarter (I think that's what they called it, at least). The food was cheap (for Paris) and there was always something interesting to see. One night I was wandering around and I saw this guy with 10 or so cigarettes (all lit) in his mouth. In one gulp, he swallowed them all. People started gathering, and I started filming. He has a speech impediment that makes his words hard to understand, so I took the liberty of putting subtitles on the footage. Enjoy!

Sub-broad-way

2008-07-18T08:16:00.007-04:00

There is a fine line between mocking someone and rejoicing in their unrepentant weirdness. I'd like to think I'm involved in the latter. The latent journalist in me has been begging me to publish this ever since I took the video in a Paris subway platform. Now you, too, can rejoice with me.

If you pay attention, I put a few euros in his bucket at the beginning. I feel like that buys me the rights to this video.

Snowball's got soul

2008-06-26T10:13:00.002-04:00

Found this on a neuroscience blog. I like how he loses it a bit when the bass drops out, and when it comes back in, he's right back on the beat. He mixes in a few different moves here and there. I wonder if Snowball can do the MC Hammer slide. Or the Ninja Rap dance that Vanilla Ice does on TMNT. Or the boot scoot boogie. I wonder if Snowball has an agent.

Home sweet home

2008-06-24T18:14:00.012-04:00

We were out on a drive the other day, and we saw a nice little home that was for sale. We had some extra cash, so we bought it. (Thanks to our parents for the "training wheels").

Here are some pictures of it.

Front view

Nice tree

The backyard deck

View from the backyard deck

Main floor, view of dining room from living room

Main floor, living room

Main floor, kitchen

Main floor, office

Top floor, guest bedroom

Top floor, master bedroom

Basement, family room

We are seriously excited for moving day, August 16th. I've already started looking at options for a canine friend. I'm sad to announce to all those who supported me through thick and thin during the Bulldog or Bust campaign: I won't be laying down $2500 for a bulldog. I've never been a quitter, so let's just call this a rain-check.

Also exciting for me: I get to find out if I'm just a poser handyman or if I have what it takes.

a morning at the opera

2008-05-27T08:28:00.003-04:00

Here's a clip from Sunday's journal entry:

I just remembered a funny incident that happened during conference today. A man walked by and Kristen nudged me and said, “Hey, doesn’t that guy look like he could be a broadway performer?” Honestly, the man was short, pudgy, had thin red hair, and wasn’t the type I’d peg as a broadway star. “I don’t see it, honey.”
“I’ve always thought that he looks like he could play the Phantom of the Opera,” she said. I strained my imagination, but I still couldn’t detect anything that would make him a good candidate to play the Phantom. After a few seconds, I think Kristen had an epiphany: “Maybe it helps that his name is Michael Crawford.”
For the Broadway-challenged, Michael Crawford is the name of the original Phantom of the Opera, and he looks nothing like this man. I love that Kristen keeps me laughing.

Speaking of opera, I had a pretty brilliant idea this morning:

O-perah: an opera about the life of Oprah.

Maybe Beyonce could play the role of Oprah. I guess Beyonce isn't really an opera singer, but can you imagine the millions of dollars I'd make if I managed to merge the fan bases of Oprah and Beyonce? I might even make more than Oprah herself. I'm starting the script today. Oprah and Beyonce, if you read this, have your people call my people.

Goose Gossage + Thundercats = Kids Incorporated

2008-05-05T15:35:00.010-04:00

There's a cool post at Kristen's blog that highlights some of the radical things loved by children who grew up in the 80s. This prompted me to dig into the musty pockets of memories that constitute my own 80s experience. Here's what I found:

What 8-year old boy didn't want his own luck dragon to help him get sweet revenge on the local bully? I wouldn't know, because I was the bully, beating up on the little dweebs whose crying eyes looked up to the sky in hopes of finding Falkor flying down to rescue them, but all they found was clouds and my imposing silhouette. Actually, I was a puny little dork. But this clip is the opposite of a puny little dork.

And here's an awesome caption from the site that started the caption craze.

Below is my tribute to the Disney Channel. Kids Incorporated should have done far more damage to my psyche than it actually did. I dodged a real culture bullet there.

And here's my tribute to Saturday morning cartoons. 'Thundercats' is, in my opinion, the greatest cartoon series ever. How it didn't hijack the brain of every breathing organism alive in the 80s is still a mystery to me. Lion-O was pretty fresh, but Panthera, with his screaming nun-chuks, was my favorite. Notice the nice use of dissonance to create tension when Lion-O is summoning the thundercats at 5 minutes 30 seconds. I totally recognized that sound.

And here's a snork.

Sports were a big part of my 80s experience. Only now, however, do I realize that all of my victories were either accidental or confabulated. I swam on a team for 5 or 6 years. The only event I really excelled at was the one I hated most -- backstroke. I did 3 or 4 different kinds of martial arts, too. I have a trophy somewhere that says, "First Place, National Championship". Don't tell anyone, but the only thing I had to do to deserve this trophy was beat up an overweight girl. What can I say? A national championship is a national championship. And then there was baseball. I think it is telling that my fondest memory of baseball was laughing whenever my coach would say, "Good eye, Mike!" every time my teammate Mike would let a bad pitch go by without swinging. It just sounded so Australian. The only home run I ever hit was off a bunt and a bunch of fielding errors, but I still claim it. My coach signaled for me to bunt every time after that. He said I was the best bunter he'd ever seen, and now that I'm older I can grasp the true, cruel meaning of his words.

I collected comics and baseball cards during the 80s. I rearranged my baseball card collection in every way imaginable: alphabetical order, order of value, by team, by rookie year, by how much I wanted to be that person, etc. Thanks to Topps, Donruss, and Upper Deck, I was far too fluent with names like Steve Sax, Floyd Bannister, and Goose Gossage. I developed an irrational obsession with a player who wasn't even that great. His name was Greg Jeffries. He had a few decent, promising rookie years on the Mets, but the greatest thing about him was that he trained by swinging a bat under water. At the time, it seemed to me the absolute apex of coolness.

This last picture technically isn't from the 80s, but I just couldn't resist -- here's one more caption for everyone. This has made me laugh a sum total of over 2 hours, I'm sure. Downloading it was a great investment.

Maieutica has a brother!

2008-04-29T16:14:00.007-04:00

I've given birth to a newer, nerdier blog.

Check out its awkward stages of development at www.brainandsky.blogspot.com

Having this new outlet for my geekier impulses will allow me to unleash the destructive power of this fully operational battlestation . . . whoops, I lapsed into Star Wars. It will allow me to give free reign to my creative (and somewhat geeky) impulses on this blog.

The new blog is to keep me honest in my scientific pursuits. This old blog is to keep me sane.

In the words of Bib Fortuna (Jabba the Hut's acolyte), "Dae Wanno Wunga," which means, "Word up."

"My name is John Daker."

2008-04-13T21:22:00.002-04:00

I give you the classic medley of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" with "That's Amore".

I think he goes through every possible vowel on the last Hallelujah.

Frank is smitten.

2008-03-30T22:03:00.003-04:00

Reason # 17 why you shouldn't have a sloth on your football team

2008-03-29T15:29:00.004-04:00

Here's to you, Frito Balducci

2008-03-14T11:26:00.006-04:00

Daniel (immediately after waking up): "Frito Balducci."
Kristen: "What?"
Daniel: "I said Frito Balducci."
Kristen: "Who is Frito Balducci?"
Daniel: "I don't know. I just woke up and I can't get his name out of my head."

We googled old Frito, but all we got were a bunch of links for chips. That's disappointing, so I'll do my best to describe what Frito Balducci must look like. Black hair, wispy on top, with a slight comb-over. Rail-thin with narrow, hunched shoulders. Probably 5'11" tall. Mid-40's. Always wears fluorescent Nike warm-ups and his Gucci sunglasses. Bobs his head back and forth for emphasis when he speaks. Has a gold tooth and a pet mini-Doberman. Owns a vinyl of every Maria Callas recording ever made.

Now, a few questions about my brain:
* Why can't I remember what I was dreaming about, but I can remember a name that was probably part of that dream? And why so Italian? I guess we did have pasta last night.
* Why did it decide to use the word "Frito" as a first name? I've only ever heard "Frito" used with reference to snack foods.
* How did it retrieve the last name "Balducci"? I can guarantee that I've heard this last name no more than twice in my life, if I've ever heard it at all.

If you've ever had a dream where your brain fabricated a name, and you remember that name, please respond and tell us all about it.

perfunctory update

2008-03-12T09:29:00.004-04:00

Due to my lack of updating, I'm suffering from little, bloggish pricks of conscience.
So here you go:

click here

And on to other matters: doesn't this monkey remind you of Ted Danson (the guy from Cheers)?

Hmm. Interesting.

A trio of buttons

2008-02-25T09:36:00.003-05:00

Here is a list of the pin-on buttons that sit on my desk at school:

1. "Be in Command." A reminder for myself when students come in and try to argue about a mark I gave them.

2. "I have True Grit." A reminder meant to inform those same students that my will can crush their will.

3. "Happiness is . . . CLEAN, STRAIGHT TEETH" (included is a rather chilling depiction of a donkey wearing braces on its razor-sharp fangs). A reminder to brush my teeth.

Revised wedding speech

2008-02-18T10:59:00.003-05:00

Brrrr.

Kristen and I have been married for two years today.

I don’t remember much about my wedding speech. I faintly recall reciting to the attendees a structured argument against getting married (an artifact from my bachelor days). I also think I awkwardly presented Kristen with a book of poems that I had written for her—and I have no idea why I chose to do this during my speech, given that the attendees had no possible way of knowing if it was something they should or shouldn’t applaud (it could have been really bad poetry). In retrospect, I don’t see why anybody should be forced to get up and say something intelligible on their wedding day. Some people pull it off. I’ve seen it happen. To make myself feel better, I’ve concluded that the people who pull it off don’t actually love their spouses.

Now that I’ve had two years to think about it, here’s the wedding speech I should’ve given (I’ve designed it for both the Toronto and Folsom receptions):

First of all, a million thanks to the wonderful friends and family who flew across the continent to stand in the -20 degree weather on our wedding day. And thanks to everyone who worked so hard to decorate, cook food, take pictures, and generally make the receptions run smoothly. Both moms deserve a billion more thanks than we could ever give. Dads, thanks for being patient with moms. We love you guys.

Gabby, Grammy, and Grandpa: thank you for making it to Toronto to support us. The day wouldn’t have been complete without you.

Nate and Ivy, thanks for flying out on your birthday. Happy Birthday! A special shout-out to Nate, who wins the award in the friend category for the longest distance traveled to make it (Elisabeth takes that honor in the overall category, having flown from Berlin!).

And speaking of birthdays, Happy Birthday to my little brother Sean. And thanks to Sean and Elisabeth for their wonderful musical presentation. My favorite piece was “When I’m 64.”

Ammon, thanks for the wonderful film you made and for flying out in the midst of your final preparations for the bar exam!

Tammy and Noel, thanks for flying out to the Folsom reception to represent the Wood girls!

Russ and Betsy, thanks for crashing your car, leaving it and hitching a ride just to make it to the reception before it ended! And thanks for telling the Packards about the wedding.

Grandpa Pallin, thank you for the tender way in which you conducted the ceremony. And thanks for showing my folks on the Wood side all of the places connected to my Grandpa Wood.

We want to thank everyone for the generous gifts and wishes.

Most of all, thanks to Kristen for settling for me.

Lesions learned

2008-01-21T19:15:00.000-05:00

A quick update:

Today I gave a presentation on a topic about which I knew practically nothing, and I gave it to a group of neuroscientists, some of whom happened to be experts on the topic. I saw one of them roll his eyes and snicker while I was speaking. That felt fantastic.
And here is where I apply the life lesson I recently learned from rapper Kanye West: "N-n-now th-that that don't kill me/Can only make me stronger." This is wisdom, elegantly framed.
(It's a sign that I'm reading too much neuroscience literature that whenever I try to write "lesson" it ends up coming out as "lesion".)

I am officially a permanent resident in Canada. Perhaps I should rename this website www.maeuti.ca (?) As with all other dealings with the Canadian government so far, this process was mind-numbingly drawn out and brimming with arbitrary hoops. No matter. Free health-care and exorbitant taxes, here I come.

I had the blessing of baptizing our friend Yves and his daughter, Elaine. There is always such a good, clean feeling at these baptisms, and I felt privileged to be part of it. Of course, I didn't feel privileged that the water heater was broken, there was a leak in the font (it was only up to our mid-thigh when we stepped in, making "baptism by immersion" quite the task), and I made the mistake of refusing offers of help with lifting Yves out of the water -- he weighs 400 pounds and has bad knees. He and Elaine were such good sports about it, and everything turned out just fine.

Our friends the Reeves came over for dinner. They brought Frank, their bulldog. He was a mighty foe, and he would have defeated me in our wrestling match (he goes for the feet) if little Jack Reeve (10 months) hadn't hit his head on yet another piece of our furniture, distracting Frank.

Frank is photogenic.

Frank diligently attempting to give a "high five".

I still don't know how, but I managed to get Kris to pose with Frank. I think Frank can sense the silent animosity.

About faces

2008-01-01T13:42:00.001-05:00

Here is the second wave, as promised.

"Shhhhhhhaaaaaaa!" said Frederick, for no apparent reason.

Frederick posing as a rather debonair Easter Island head-sculpture.

A pair of portraits in which our young Frederick is first dazzled, then delighted and giddy at your presence, and at the prospect of sitting down and tucking into a bowl of figgy pudding. So bring some right here.

Kip, the dolphin-boy, is also delighted at your presence. Kip, in his own little dolphin way, nods and says, "Sup."

These next 3 really bother me the most because they are so realistic. I get a little self-conscious and think, "Do I ever look like that?" Do yourself a favor and don't look at the enlarged version of the last one. Unless, of course, you feel prompted to get acquainted with my palatine uvula.

I wish a happy New Year to anyone who reads this.

Dreamtalking

2007-12-21T00:35:00.001-05:00

So it's 2am and I'm getting into bed after having finished our Christmas newsletter. I start fiddling with the alarm and suddenly I can't for the life of me remember if the dot on the side means PM or "alarm activated". So I ask Kristen, who is starting to stir in the bed.
Daniel: "What does this dot mean?"
Kristen (without skipping a beat): "It means that if you want to get it at Amazon.com, you can get it there."
Whenever this happens, I try as hard as I can to keep the conversation going, hoping that more nonsense will follow. But this time she just flopped over and was back to sleep in a second.

Later that night, I woke up and told Kristen that I was going to start writing children's books. I must have been dreaming about Amazon.com.

I have acquired the remaining photos from my distorted photo shoot, and I'll be posting them soon. I think this next batch is even better than the first.

The many faces of me

2007-12-12T09:51:00.001-05:00

My sister-in-law, Lindsay, recently got a MacBook. Now I need one, of course. Mainly because of one particular program that allows you to take distorted pictures of yourself. I could entertain myself for hours upon hours. This is, in fact, what I did when Lindsay first showed me the program. I now share with you the results of my little photo shoot.

Here I am as a mischevious martian leprechaun. You'll never get me lucky charms, earthling!

I just imagine a shrill, deafening screech of anguish when I look at this one. Kristen is in the background, transitioning from amusement to a hesitant disgust.

I like to call this one "Young Mr. Jobbles". Actually, I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I just made that up. At the least, you can admire the hourglass figure . . . of my skull.

Whoa! I apologize for any nightmares that involve the disturbing image that follows. Has anyone reading this seen the movie Predator? If you remember the part when the predator takes off his mask, you'll probably agree that I look like predator's baby here.

And here's my favorite of the bunch. It's just perfect in every way. And Kristen's back to being amused.

Dad's first publication

2007-11-29T21:49:00.000-05:00

This photo of the Veil Nebula was taken by my dad. The premier space photography magazine, Sky and Telescope, recently purchased it and will be publishing it in the February 2008 issue. I just wanted to brag a little.

You can check out the rest of his beautiful work at his blog.

bulbosaurs and bulldogs

2007-11-25T23:44:00.000-05:00

Today I was teaching the 7 and 8 year-olds in Primary at church. The lesson was on fasting. I asked them, "If you could ask Heavenly Father for one thing -- just one -- what would it be?"
After the class had engaged in what appeared to be some serious and careful reflection, I went around the room and asked them to share their soul's deepest desire. The first three answers came from the boys in the class:

Boy #1: "Um, I would ask him to transform me into a clone. A medic clone."

Boy #2: "I'd like to be Mr. Dog or a Nintendo DS."

Boy #3: "I would ask for a Bulbosaur!"

Amused, but also concerned that these boys would be fasting for bulbosaurs and the like, I asked Boy #3, "Do you think you could manage to give me a serious answer?"

He just cocked his head to the side, pointed to himself, and said, "Why would a boy my age try to be serious?"

I couldn't think of anything to say.

Canine update: While talking to Kristen today, I happened to look out the window and (what did I see?) I saw a man walking a dog. What kind of dog, you ask? Oh, an English Bulldog, that's all. And where do this man and his dog live? Just right across the street from us. Happy happy day.

Kristen now calls me a dog-stalker. I try to retort, but, deep down, I think she might be right.

2007-11-24T19:01:00.000-05:00

I feel compelled to spread the word when I come across real genius. I thought I knew how talented Imogen Heap was, but I was wrong. So wrong.

proto-brains and boston terriers

2007-11-24T17:51:00.000-05:00

Daniel: "How was work today?"
Kris: "Well, I have a co-worker who was telling me that marriage is a bad idea and that we should spread our genes as much as possible -- that limiting ourselves to one partner is working against evolution."
Daniel: "That's a sad understanding of evolution."
Kris: "Yeah, and I told him things might seem different if he ever has a relationship that lasts more than a year. He said that he has always felt this way and didn't expect to change."
Daniel: "How old is he?"
Kris: "Eighteen years old."
Daniel: "He doesn't even have a complete brain yet."
Kris: "That's true -- I should be like, 'Come back when your frontal lobe is done developing.'"
Daniel: "He only has a proto-brain. A pre-brain."
Kris: "I think we just discovered the ultimate wild-card for winning arguments with our [future] children."

I think this is something that parents have suspected since the dawning of time. How unfortunate that our lives are so short that we feel compelled to make the most crucial, defining decisions at a time when the part of the brain that is responsible for rational thought is almost done developing. Most of the time, it all works out. No doubt because of patient, loving parents. Anyway, for more on this topic, see this article.

On the other hand, while parents may have the ultimate come-back now, it's also true that their children have the ultimate excuse now.
"Maybe if I had a fully developed brain like you, Dad, I would've thought twice about going four-wheeling in your Bentley."
Even though these are ominous thoughts, I do rather like pretending that someday I'll have a Bentley.

Canine news: We have a neighbor who owns a 10 month old Boston Terrier named Billy. Billy is a "free-range" dog -- i.e., he tends to sneak out of the house. Whenever I see Billy out and about (okay, it has only happened twice), busy claiming every object in sight, I always run around with him for a few minutes before bringing him back to his home.
Anyway, Billy's owner must have seen how much I love hanging out with him. Last time I returned him, she told me that if I could find a mate for Billy, I could have one of his puppies for free! Kristen has already agreed to it. Now, we wait until the timing is right. I'm pretty excited about it. I'm even thinking about offering to walk Billy on Saturday mornings, just for practice.

Sure, Billy isn't a bulldog. But he's close enough.

This is what Billy looks like.

p.s. Because she knows it makes me laugh, Kristen has taken up the habit of adding the word "chutney" to every list that she makes.

Anagram day

2007-10-30T11:08:00.000-04:00

A showpiece rodent.

Here's a twist on new word day -- a bunch of anagrams. Review: an anagram is a word that is made from the same letters as another word. For example, the letters in dare could also spell read.

Here are today's anagrams. (with commentary)

By the way, don't take any of these personally. I got them all from a website called sternest meanings, and therefore cannot claim responsibility or credit.

If you don't find your name here, don't be offended. I probably tried it and it wasn't funny.

-----------

Maieutica = I am a cutie (I swear I didn't know about this when I created the word Maieutica).

Ammon Chase = Means macho. (lucky name for a boy!)

Betsy Anderson = Bossy, neat nerd. (sorry Bets!)

Russ Anderson = Darn! Sourness. (revenge isn't necessary, Russ.)

Sean Wood = New toad connives. (I knew about the conniving part, but...)

The Prevot family = Fatter, homely VIP. (ouch! I can only post this because they are neither of these.)

And now, my personal favorite....

Eric Stephen Wood = Showpiece rodent. (still laughing. Sorry Eric. Maybe mom and dad were trying to say something about how you looked as a baby.)

Veterans day

2007-10-28T16:39:00.000-04:00

Today I was at a planning meeting for cub scouts (my new church calling), and we were discussing possible activities for Veterans Day.
"Speaking of Veterans Day, I just thought of a joke," I said. "What do you call a retired Nazi who operates on animals?"

Blank stares.

"A veteran aryan veterinarian."

(I had reservations about inserting a Hitleresque cat into a post titled "Veterans Day." My reservations, however, were overpowered by my love of funny looking animals.)

A heartwarming story

2007-10-20T23:06:00.000-04:00

Today, while Kristen and I were perusing the philosophy section at Chapters (the Canadian version of Borders), she said something that made me love her even more:

(with a sigh) "I just can't take a philosophy section seriously if it doesn't have any Heidegger."

Just think, my darling little wife . . . a Heidegger snob. It warms my heart.

P.S. By the way, I feel like New Word Wednesday failed. Sometimes, I just have to imagine all my friends and family reading my blog, laughing hysterically, and wishing they could contribute something witty. That usually makes me feel better. If that doesn't work, I just stare at the ever-increasing-megabytes-of-storage-space-counter that Gmail has on the sign-in page. After a few kilobytes have gone by, it's hard to be sad about anything.

New Word Wednesday #2

2007-10-10T16:49:00.000-04:00

More new words, please? Okay, here you go.

Note: The first two were created by my cousin Bailey (3 years old, I believe) and suggested by her mom, my awesome aunt Stacy. Bailey sets the bar pretty high.

* Attackaling: When someone is in the act of coming after you with thoughts of destruction and running you down at the same time. "Help mom, Vinnie is attackaling me!!!"

* Hanatizer: The perfect solution to the unnecessarily long conjunction, hand-sanitizer. "I just put on the hanatizer, mom, and now my hands are perfect and clean."

* Frenchilada: a frilly enchilada made with thousands of smelly old cheeses.

* Pantlers: Stylish new pants to keep your antlers warm, if you have antlers.

* Cramburger: What you get when you combine hamburgers and Fast Sunday.

* Gristletoe: What you hang up when you know someone with bad breath is coming to your Christmas party.

* Splinterview: An interview with a mangy, old, human-sized ninja rat with 4 pet turtles.

* Dogment: To increase the number of canines. "We need to dogment this house, Kristen."

Dude, what'd you do to your pantlers?

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Because words are funny, and due to some prodding, I'll try out a regular installment of listing any new words that come to me (or to you, dear reader). Here are some rules for the New Word Wednesday:

1. It only happens on Wednesdays, though it is doubtful that it will happen every Wednesday.
2. Brilliant replies are allowed any day--not just Wednesday.
3. Supplying an example of the word in use is recommended for clarity's sake, but not required.
4. I'll block anything that is potentially offensive. And anything negative about bulldogs.
5. Don't say anything negative about dogs or monkeys in general. Cats and goats are fair game.
6. If you don't chuckle at it admiringly after writing it down, don't even bother sending it.
7. No plagiarizing. This includes slight variations of previous entries.

Proceed.

What I do all day

2007-09-30T17:25:00.000-04:00

I develop my blog based solely on aesthetic considerations, so I'm adding some text to balance out the pictures I've posted lately. I'll talk about my research. If you get bored by the details, just skip to the bottom where I explain why I think my research is important.

So, quite basically, when light enters your eye it makes a few stops in the middle of your brain and then continues to the back of your brain where it reaches the visual cortex. From there it can go one of two general directions: (1) if it goes up the back of your brain towards the top, it is processed and converted into information that informs your actions, or (2) if it goes under your brain toward the front, it is processed and converted into information that informs your perception and identification of objects and scenes. We call pathway #1 the dorsal stream and pathway #2 the ventral stream.

These two don't always work together in perfect harmony. For example, studies have been done where a subject is asked to reach and touch a dot that appears on a screen. However, as soon as the subject begins to reach, the dot moves slightly at the same time that the person executes a tiny eye movement (called a saccade). The dorsal stream (the action stream) catches the change, and the person's arm quickly changes course mid-flight, then hits the dot head-on. But the ventral stream (the perception stream) doesn't quite catch it, evidenced by the fact that the subject doesn't consciously realize that the dot has moved or even that his/her arm moved with it.

Right now I'm studying these two visual processing streams with an experiment that looks at how predictability and/or practice affect our strategies for reaching out and grasping objects of different sizes. My experiment is based on an experiment where, in one set of trials, subjects reached out and picked up an object. Sensors attached to their fingers showed that their hand opened to a certain width and began closing at a certain distance from the object. In another set of trials, the subjects wore goggles that blinded them as soon as they began to reach for the object. The sensors showed that their hands were opening wider and staying open longer.

Here is where it gets cool. If you randomize the trials so that the subject doesn't know if the goggles will close or not when the reaching movement begins, the subjects will adopt a single, middle-of-the-road strategy (i.e. hand opens wider than visually guided reach, but narrower than blind reach) for every trial. Interesting, but not terribly surprising. You'd expect that if you told the subject, "Okay, now I'm going to alternate the conditions. First you'll be able to see, then you'll be blinded; back and forth," that the subject would be able to go back to the original tailored strategies they adopted in the first two sets of trials. Surprisingly, even though they can predict what is going to happen next, they still adopt the middle-of-the-road strategy for every trial.

My first set of experiments will simply examine whether the same "homogenization effect" occurs with the predictability of the size (instead of the predictability of visual feedback) of the object that the subject is picking up.

Why is this important?
Well, aside from the fact that they are intrinsically interesting to me, these experiments further our understanding not only of healthy vision, but also of certain kinds of blindness. One interesting and lesser-known form of blindness is called "blindsight." It earned this name because those who suffer from it have a lesion in a part of their brain that cuts off the ventral stream (the perception stream) from visual input while leaving the dorsal stream (the action stream) partially intact. In other words, the action part of their brain can see, but they don't consciously see anything at all. Imagine being blind and yet being able to reach out and grasp things pretty much as well as someone who has perfect vision. This is the seemingly paradoxical world of someone who has blindsight. In order to help those who suffer from this and other related pathologies, we must increase our understanding of what each part of the brain is contributing to our visual interaction with the world.

Our pets can join the fight against cruel and petty dictators.

2007-09-27T15:40:00.000-04:00

Bonzai Cat recruited by: daniel wood

Okay. Time to get back to studying.

Goat Simmons

2007-09-26T16:34:00.001-04:00

I'm not familiar with the music of KISS, but I've seen enough pictures of them that when I came across this picture of a goat, I had no choice but to do this:

Out of tuna

2007-09-26T11:29:00.000-04:00

caption: daniel wood

original author: ?

Goats

2007-09-26T11:24:00.000-04:00

Caption added by: Daniel Wood
Original photo: www.blueheronfarm.com

I've found a new hobby.

2007-09-16T22:00:00.000-04:00

I've never given voice to my feelings about goats. Today a friend's blog had a post with a picture of a goat, and I was surprised by the disgust that surged within my heart.

Goats and camels disturb me. Their eyes are too far apart. It's like they can see you from any angle. Especially goats. Of course, camels are like large, deformed desert goats, but they don't pay as much attention to you as goats do. Goats like to sit there and stare at you until you get uncomfortable. Camels are like, "Yeah, whatever."

I know that I'm technically wrong here, but my gut feeling is that any animal that has chosen, over the course of evolution, to attack things by bashing its skull into them is merely dangling on that precarious string of survival through utility to humans.

At the cottage

2007-09-15T17:46:00.000-04:00

some new words

2007-08-25T00:06:00.000-04:00

Here is a list of some new words that just came to me. Enjoy!

wigloo: a dome-shaped wig filled with ice chunks to cool one down on a hot day.

pumpire: an official who stands by gas pumps and ensures you follow all the rules of the gas station by yelling helpful things such as: "Unsafe!" when you talk on your cell-phone at the pump, or "You're out!" when you go to check how much gas you currently have in your tank.

gagriculture: when farmers sell you rotten, maggot-infested crops.

blunderwear: skivvies designed to withstand multiple "accidents".

panhandlebars: bicycle handlebars equipped with two baskets -- the one on the right comes with an overweight, three-legged pug wearing a scarf, and the one on the left has a sign reading, "Please help. I'm caught in a bad cycle."

Nursa Major: a new constellation shaped like a bear wearing a stethoscope.

presidenture: a specialized gold-plated mouthpiece worn as a symbol of authority by the president of a corporation.

dorchestra: a bunch of nerds making music.

The move to Canada

2007-08-22T00:25:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry.

I apologize for my streak of faux-news articles.

An update on the Wood family: After driving across the entire continent (effectively, from Sacramento to Toronto) in two separate cars, Kris and I are almost done unpacking in our new townhouse here in London, Ontario. Exactly 100% of our furniture was donated by the Pallin family. Not only did they donate it, they stored it and moved it for us. A million thanks to them.

Aside from getting unpacked, we’ve been busy getting ready for classes to start. I’m in the process of choosing a research project. When I settle on one, I’ll write more about it for anybody who’s interested. I’m just really happy. I’m feeling that fire of curiosity that has been a driving force for so many of the good things that have happened in my life.

Here are a few nice surprises that I’ve had over the past week:
* I discovered that I’ll be teaching a lab on research methods in psychology (a course I haven’t even taken yet – should be interesting).
* Jason Bourne gets more and more awesome as time goes by.
* I actually get my own room on campus. It’s on the 6th floor and has a window.
* Not counting books for electives, I only have to purchase one book for both years of the program. Less money = yay. Fewer books = boo.
* Most of the pants that I recently unpacked still fit me after a year of sitting in a suitcase. The pants were sitting in the suitcase, not me.

The only dark cloud in my substantial happiness is the basement. Let me paint a picture. As you walk down the stairs into the basement, you notice a cool sensation on your face. That’s the ultra-high humidity. You start to feel a hot, searing sensation in your nostrils. That’s the cat urine. Slowly, it dawns on you that each breath is ushering particles of feline waste into your cardiovascular system. Unless you leave, you’ll soon be cat-atonic. (Again, sorry.) Then, as you leave, your shoulder brushes something slippery on the wall. That’s the leak from the . . . no, wait . . . that’s just more cat urine.

To purify this nether-region, we borrowed a high-pressure hose from Kristen’s dad. In our preparations for the hose-down, Kristen called for me to come and look at a curious little compartment that she had found in the wall next to the water heater. It was covered with a metal plate. I pried the plate open and, to my chagrin, discovered the body of a dead pigeon, reposing peacefully alongside its severed head. My first thought was, “Hmm. Voodoo.” I admit, there was a ventilation shaft in this little hole (which probably exits on the roof somewhere), so the bird could’ve fallen in. But I can’t imagine that the bird fell so hard that its head fell off, or that the bird was standing on the roof near the hole when its head was somehow detached, at which time it tumbled, along with its head, into the hole. Maybe the bird fell in and there was a sharp knife wedged halfway down the shaft. I don’t know. I’m convinced there was human involvement.

I had fun with the power-washer. I even etched “I love Kris” into the paint on the floor.

Tip of the day: don't spray your bare feet with a high-pressure hose. It stings like the dickens.

Love to all.

The Daily Nous, August 11, 2007

2007-08-11T00:17:00.000-04:00

NEW AL QAEDA TAPE THREATENS THOSE WHO CONTRIBUTE TO GLOBAL WARMING

Cairo, Egypt (AP) -- Early Friday morning, Al Qaeda’s No. 2 issued a new video that includes a chilling call for jihad against those who contribute to global warming. In what has already been called “the most glaring blunder in the history of terrorism,” Ayman al-Zawahri's 36 minute presentation included roughly 14 minutes of material that was directly plagiarized from Al Gore’s recent documentary “An Inconvenient Truth.” This is especially surprising in light of Al Qaeda’s recent decision to open an official Al Qaeda Film School, which is rumored to be based somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan.

This latest tape is peppered with the usual harsh rhetoric and, refreshingly, some good, hard science. In a characteristic move, al Zawahri repeatedly applies the label of infidel to anyone who contributes to the accumulation of greenhouse gases in the earth’s atmosphere.

Safwan al-Naseem, the noted suicide bomber who became disenchanted and left Al Qaeda after his near-death experience last week, made the following remarks about the tape: “It isn’t surprising to me, really. Osama believes he is this passionate environmentalist. He’s such a pompous fool sometimes.”

The news of Al Qaeda’s plagiarism has spread rapidly in film circles. “You’d think the standards would be raised after the film school was opened,” said Jordan Turner, who is both a professor of film at Columbia and a popular Al-Qaeda scholar. “They did use blue-screen technology, which is a slight improvement. However, they used the blue screen to make a backdrop with images of a grinning al-Zawahri methodically beheading different kinds of vegetables from their stalks and vines. Simply puzzling.”

The Daily Nous, July 17, 2007

2007-07-18T00:17:00.000-04:00

NFL STAR INVESTIGATED IN BIZARRE DOG FIGHTING RING

(CNN) -- NFL quarterback Michael Vick, recently indicted on federal charges for his participation in a dog fighting ring at his home in Virginia, is now under investigation for an alleged earlier dog fighting ring that had a bizarre twist. Incredibly, Vick was actually inside the ring fighting the dogs himself.

Vick isn’t contesting the charges. He has been open and cooperative with law officials and the press about his involvement since the charges surfaced. “I figured, hey, things can’t get much worse than they already are. Maybe this cooperation will buy me some leniency when I’m being sentenced.” On that note, PETA released a statement on their website early Thursday, decrying Vick’s actions and pledging to see that he receives the maximum sentence for his actions. This official statement points out that "the one thing worse than training animals to inflict harm on each other for our entertainment is inflicting harm upon them ourselves for our entertainment."

In reply to PETA, Vick was reported to have said, “I’m really sorry. If I had known that I was supposed to just let the dogs fight each other, I would’ve been doing that this whole time. I mean, as soon as I did find out, I made the switch immediately. Believe me, it would’ve been a whole lot easier if I’d known from the beginning. I missed so many practices because of lacerations and puncture wounds on my hands—I had the team doctors breathing down my neck the whole time.”

“Some of those pit bulls are mean machines,” said Vick. “Worse than any linebacker I’ve ever met.”

The Daily Nous, July 16, 2007

2007-07-16T18:00:00.000-04:00

LOCAL PEDESTRIAN DISCOVERS INTERSECTION SECRET
Sacramento, CA (AP)--While waiting at a busy intersection in downtown Sacramento, pedestrian Reginald Whipple made a startling discovery that may revolutionize the practice of crosswalking. It all began last Tuesday when he pressed the "walk" button at Arden and Howe.

"After hitting it the first time," said Whipple, "I thought, 'What if it didn't work?' So I decided to hit it again."

Then Mr. Whipple noticed something strange. As soon as he had finished hitting the button twice, the light changed and he was allowed to cross the street.

"Literally, a light just went off in my head. I figured I'd do a little experiment," explained Whipple. "I repeatedly punched the button as fast as I could. Every time I did, the light would change faster than when I only hit it once."

When asked if he thought that the lapsed time before the changing of the light was correlated with the speed of the button-pushing, Whipple shrugged and replied, "I don't know that we can say that just yet. There's still so much more to be done on this study. The exciting thing is that we know that the lights are actually responding to the repeated depressions of the button."

At a recent press conference, Whipple made some conjectures about the inner workings of this phenomenon. "It is my hypothesis that the stoplight networks have developed social practices with pedestrians, and that they have done this to the point where they are now capable of perceiving distress or urgency in something as simple as a rapid burst of button depressions."

Pedestrians all over the nation are now taking advantage of Whipple's startling discovery.

Russ and Bets, Russian Bends

2007-07-13T04:47:00.000-04:00

Rascality, Porter-style.

Kris and I visited our friends Russ and Betsy last week. They fed us, entertained us, and kicked us out to sleep in a tent in their neighbor's gravelly driveway. It sounds bad, but it was actually quite posh--a five man tent with an inflatable mattress. Playing tug-of-war with their dachsund, Terry, was one highlight. Another was watching Russ jump into a not-quite-hygienic canal to fetch his frisbee.

On Sunday we were able to be with Russ and Bets for the blessing of their newest child, Reid. We feel grateful to have been there--and grateful for such loving, funny, talented friends.

Another highlight: while setting up our picnic at the park, an old guy interrupted his exercise stroll and approached us.

"Nice park, eh?" he said. (Murmurs and nods from around the picnic table.)

"You know what would make it nicer?" he asked. (Sadly, nobody did.)

"A public restroom," he announced. He paused, nodding, letting it sink in.

He then proceeded to tell us the history of the park and how obstinate the city council has been regarding this bathroom issue. He urged us to do our civic duty and call the representative and express our displeasure over the dismal bathroomlessness of the park. As he left, we all yelled "thanks", but I don't think anybody meant it.

After leaving the Andersons, we went to visit Kris' aunt and uncle in Santa Cruz. While we were there, we visited the Boardwalk. All I can remember from the last time I went to the Boardwalk is that I caught a little fish and wanted to keep it but it died on the way to my great-grandma's house in Oakland, so I tried to revive it in her toilet. I think I was five years old.

It was overcast the whole day, so all we did was walk around, go on one rollercoaster, and watch a circus put on by some Russians. When I hear the words "Russian Circus" I expect bears and wolves, mustaches and M.C. Hammer Pants, and vodka. Oh, I guess they had vodka. And a guy dressed up in a bear suit doing cartwheels. But, lamentably, in all other respects the Russian Circus is modernizing itself.

First of all, they had a clown, which I didn't expect, never having associated clowns with Russians. The poor clown. He spent about two minutes preparing for his elaborate vaudeville trick where he hung his hat and vest on a cane, which he balanced on his forehead. His goal was to let the cane drop and have the hat and vest slip right over him. There are few things more difficult to watch than a clown taking himself seriously and messing up repeatedly. Those few other things are pretty much comprised by the rest of the circus.

I hope the crowd didn't leave with the impression that all you need to start up a circus is to find a couple double-jointed girls, dress them up in embarrasing outfits, and find two guys that are able to lift the girls up while they do their bendy stuff. To be fair, I should mention that we didn't watch the whole thing. Maybe the wolves came out later.

Man, what a harsh reviewer I am. Here's an honest suggestion: If you guys ever come back to the Boardwalk, maybe you could dress the girls up in scuba gear, have them walk out of the surf and onto the stage, announce that, due to a rapid ascension, they have the "bends", and then let them do their bendy routine to "The Bends" by Radiohead. Good Russian humour. I totally would've laughed.

Ethics of Memory

2007-07-08T22:50:00.000-04:00

An unwelcome guest.

I have a problem with my brain: thoughts sometimes get on a loop and just cycle for days, sometimes weeks. My brother X.W. (of course these initials are fictitious for the protection of my brother Eric) suffers from the same problem, and his is of a particularly vicious flavour (I’m practicing my Canadian spelling before we move there). The phrase “I’ve got a song stuck in my head” is the point of departure for X. He’ll be stuck on a line from a song for days. Lately he has had a tough time escaping the rut of “Encarnacion”, a love song by Jack Black in the movie Nacho Libre. And X doesn’t remember with quiet images tucked into the recesses of his private thoughts—X remembers with his entire body, most prominently his highly developed, operatic, stuck-on-full-volume vocal chords. This gives the reader a taste for the struggles endured by my brother and me.
This neurological issue isn’t the same thing as my past-time of being obsessed with a problem or two for years at a time. In fact, this loop malfunction often interrupts me in what contemplations I’ve managed to conjure. Just when I feel I’m on the verge of some important intellectual milestone, everything unexpectedly shifts gears and I find myself mentally repeating something like “gorgonzola . . . gorgonzola . . . gorgonzola,” as if it were the most natural thing to be doing with my time. Other times, it's more of a motor memory. If I'm on the computer I'll find myself just randomly clicking the mouse in circles, mesmerized for minutes by the little white arrow. And this has led me to the latest obsession: the intrusiveness of memory.
Well, it started as an interest in intrusiveness, but now I’ve moved on to other interesting aspects—particularly the ethics of memory.
The more I read about memory, the more I’m convinced that memory isn’t a matter of simple retrieval or access. Rather, it is a relatively creative process that relies upon cues from the situation that called for the memory in the first place, cues including personal contributions to the situation like emotional mood, level of hunger, the particular social goals and fears that are most salient at the time, etc. In light of the possibility of our creative role in memory, intentional or not, we should be anxious to explore different attitudes toward the ways in which we remember ourselves and others.
It seems to me that one important application of these thoughts, if they're accurate, is that we have the ability to examine how we see others and analyze the role of particular memories with them (memories we maybe once considered infallibly accurate portrayals of how things played out), take advantage of our creative role in memory, and reinterpret the event in a more charitable, humane light. If we do this enough, we may even find that we have formed rather pernicious habits of remembering events in a self-absorbed way. I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that we form addictions to certain roles (usually those that are, ironically, self-preserving in some ultimately destructive fashion), and that our acts of memory tend to be shaped by these roles.
And this also goes for how we remember ourselves. In our struggles to be honest with ourselves, how can we be true to something into which we only have foggy insight? Do we sometimes assume that it is impossible to be wrong about what some mistake, some blunder, or some bloated victory ultimately means for our selves? And do we make the mistake of assuming that these memories about others and ourselves could ever be neutral? What happens when we start to take responsibility for the implications of the meaning of a memory? A memory is never a neutral thing.

Folsom

2007-06-28T18:35:00.000-04:00

Kristen and I are loving it out here in sunny Folsom, CA. We're staying with my family en route to Toronto. Which is odd because Folsom isn't en route to Canada when you leave from Salt Lake. We're taking the scenic route.

I guess the main reason we're here is because there is a serious family reunion coming up (in Lake Tahoe) and we want to celebrate my Grandma Wood (Gabby, whose house we've been sitting), the matriarch of the family, who has been so loving and generous to us. Kristen and I have been feverishly transferring my late grandfather's journals into electronic format, and we plan on presenting the finished product to her at the reunion. I hope we finish in time. Kristen is really the star player here. I get really frustrated with the voice recognition software, which always thinks I'm saying "in" when I say "and" or "can't" when I say "Kent". To give you an idea, Kristen has done 600 pages and I have done 150 pages. She gets so absorbed in it that she sometimes forgets that it is 2007 instead of 1968.
For example, we were recently shopping at a second-hand store when Kristen sees a little dress and says, "Oh, that would look so cute on Noel!"
"On who?"
"Wait, Noel isn't 3 years old anymore. Nevermind."
The Noel of whom she speaks is my aunt who is now in her early forties. I thought that was pretty cute.

Our yellow labrador, Holly (who suffers from acute urinary incontinence, aggravated by baby-talk and any degree of eye contact -- or a malevolent combination of the two), has been keeping me company when Kristen is lost in 1968. Holly isn't a bulldog, but she suffices. She and I mostly play fetch, but every once in awhile I'll throw her toy into the pool, and her instincts will snap (like Lambert the sheepish lion) into Rescue Dog mode. She leaps and belly-flops after that toy with such gusto that I can hardly keep from laughing every time she does it. You may say to yourself, "Gee, that doesn't sound like Rescue Dog mode; that just sounds like good old fashioned fetch." Trust me. You try jumping into that pool and she'll try to fetch you.

Holly mid-flight.

She usually waits until she's right next to me before she does this.

I've also spent some quality time working with my Dad out on the ranch that he and my mom are slowly developing. It is about 70 acres out in Ione (Amador County, near Sutter Creek). It has rolling hills with scattered oak groves and a river running through it. My Dad (who is getting his Masters in Astrophysics) built an observatory at the top of one of the hills. He uses the telescope for astrophotography (you can see a few of his photos by going to his blog, in the Links section to the right). His passion for the heavens (in more than one sense) is contagious. Lately we've been working on irrigation lines for some young trees and for a new horse arena that they're building. My mom and her friend go out there every other day and spoil their horses, Ty and Tude. The more time I spend out there, working and watching my parents build their dream up from the ground, the more I yearn to own some of my own earth and put my mark on it.

Last week, while I was eating lunch out at the ranch, a beautiful bird flew by. I had this funny feeling and I asked my dad, "Dad, do you ever see a bird fly by out here and say to yourself, 'Hey, that bird belongs to me'? 'Cause I just had that feeling."

"No, son. I can't say that I have."

"Well, it's true, in a way, since you own this property."

"No, son. It's not."

I'm paraphrasing. He actually said this with more tact and with a fatherly smile -- you know, the kind of smile that says, "Let's just change the subject to something sensible."

I'm counting down the days until school starts again. It's springtime again in my mind, which is nice after an unseasonally long dry spell.

I own this tree!

an anthropological study of "garage sapien"

2007-05-19T19:51:00.000-04:00

We had a garage sale today. This is my first one since, oh, the junior high days. I admit I was a little nervous about the whole thing because I didn't think we had enough stuff and I was afraid that our relatively remote location would be hard for people to find.

Nah, they sniffed us out like bloodhounds.

I stayed back while Kristen set up the signs. Seriously, it couldn't have been two minutes after she left that she diverted a steady flow of "yard sale junkies" (the term "junkies" is employed loosely here) in my direction. Most of them executed the "drive-by" technique -- this technique is the embodiment of the inference that the size of the sale is indicative of the quality of the items being sold. Really, this is quite the rich sub-culture (the term "rich" is employed loosely) with rules governing everything from the standard price of magazines and VHS tapes to the politics of haggling. I offended one person for asking too much for a magazine and I offended another person for asking too little too quickly for a stack of books. Apparently I robbed him of that precious sense of triumph that can only come from talking someone down from $2.00 to $1.50. My very last customer of the day, as luck would have it, told me about all these rules.

Here are some of the other highlights with our "garage sapien" buddies:
* A man walked into our garage (while we were talking with other customers) and began to sift through our belongings, which were clearly not for sale. His mongrel dog followed suit and began to eat our Gandalfo's breakfast sandwiches, which were clearly not for canine consumption.
* I had more opportunities to practice my Spanish today than I have in the last two years combined. I met some awesome folks from Peru (where my little sister Christina was born). This nice Peruvian couple said that they wanted to cook me some Peruvian cuisine -- something involving "lots of shrimp".
* I got a big hug from a nice lady when I gave her son (a new philosophy major at BYU) a good deal on some philosophy books.
* Someone stole the nice camera we had for sale, but left the nice case that came with it. We gave it to a girl straight out of the "Teen Girl Squad" who wanted to use it as a purse.
* Only AFTER I sold my handheld tape recorder did I realize that I forgot to erase some embarrassing clips of me singing.
* An old man (decked out in biking apparel) pulled up on his bike, parked it, and took a quick glance at the pile of free stuff at the front of the driveway. After a few seconds, he mounted his bike and said to me, "I'm gonna be riding this bike all day." Then he drove away, leaving me with a funny mix of puzzlement and admiration.

Overall, it was a smashing success. The best part of the day was when Kristen, in her exuberance over the amount of money we managed to make with the whole affair, accidentally gave me permission to spend $30 on books.

And that's why the quote of the day comes from Amazon.com.

Here's the "What in tarnation?!" quote of the day:

"I think the human brain is highly overrated."

-- a reviewer on Amazon.com

Bollywood breakdancing

2007-04-30T11:42:00.001-04:00

There's nothing I can say about this except that I don't condone smoking (for midgets or anyone else). It's bad for your body and it makes cars and hotel rooms stink. However, I do condone awesome breakdancing with an unbeatable grin on your face.

why I love her

2007-04-26T12:08:00.000-04:00

There really aren't reasons, per se, that explain my love for Kristen. But there are some things that sure make it easier to love her; some things I really like about her, and I want her to be able to remember these things whenever she's having a bad day.

She loves hiking with me.

Many of my defining moments have happened in the mountains, and I'm happy that Kris not only understands that, but also is excited to continue that pattern.

She's passionate and involved.

One of the first things I noticed about Kris was that she isn't lukewarm about many things. Whether she's dancing and lip-synching to the newest Beyonce song, almost getting a technical foul for yelling at the ref for not calling fouls, (or for that matter) getting up at 5:30 AM to coach junior high basketball, or firmly expressing and defending her opinion as a student in class, she jumps in headfirst, totally committed.

She loves my family.

I love my family. So does Kris, and that means everything to me. And I like that my brothers have an ongoing battle to secure the "favorite brother" status.
She also has a great relationship with my extended family. My grandma Wood kissed her before I did (on the cheek, of course). I got jealous and made sure that our first kiss was at the end of that date.

I love her family.

Kristen's family is wonderful. Her mom gave her the compassion and good looks (sorry John, but I'm glad Kris doesn't look like Clint Eastwood). Her dad gave her a quick sense of humor and a lot of electronic singing fish toys. And her three sisters are all talented, beautiful, and funny. And a little wierd. Just kidding.

She takes care of me.

Kristen is the reason that I'm still alive, believe it or not. She doesn't spoil me by any means (she's good at reminding me to do my duties). Still, I feel spoiled.
Her cooking skills are legendary. And they're getting better. Very yummy, but stretching the tummy.

She's a caring, inspiring teacher (and a proud canadian).

Kristen works very hard to educate her students. She teaches English and three levels of French. It isn't uncommon for her to divert a date or a vacation because she noticed something that would make a great object lesson, or a great book to read with her students, or a good picture to hang up in the room. Right next to her gargantuan Canada shrine.
She has a reputation at the school for being very strict and demanding, but also very fun and rewarding. She also has a reputation for praising Canada. Once a concerned parent contacted the principal because she heard that Kristen was preaching socialism to the children.

She makes me laugh.

Kristen has an arsenal of three or four things she can do at any time to make me laugh so hard that I cry, no matter what mood I happen to be in at the time. This isn't one of them, but I still think it's a funny picture.

I think she's the prettiest woman I've ever seen.

And she's my best friend. How lucky am I?

I love you, Kristen.

Bulldog or Bust

2007-04-26T11:02:00.000-04:00

This is the official kick-off of the "Bulldog or Bust" campaign. You see, I want a bulldog. Kristen absolutely refuses on the grounds that bulldogs are, as a breed, notably flatulent. I didn't want to believe it, but apparently it's true. I say that's a small price to pay for the companionship of a beast that is, in all other respects, a paragon of beauty and delicacy. She disagrees with me there, too, claiming that bulldogs look, and I quote, "disgusting."

I've tried to appeal to her "frenchness" by suggesting a french bulldog, but she's taken up the habit of ridiculing them. She particularly likes to mock their prominent ears, and even suggests comparisons with bats, of all creatures.

Not being one to surrender easily, I've hoarded up some pleasing pictures of bulldogs.

If the pictures so move you, gentle reader, please consider replying to this post and expressing your support for the Bulldog or Bust campaign. I'm only one man, and I can't do this alone. Together we can overcome the evils of prejudice toward our stocky little buddies!

Here's the bulldog parade:

This is the French Bulldog. Notice the elegant ears.

one swinging hepcat

2007-04-06T15:39:00.000-04:00

Fact: The strings of many stringed instruments, including those of this size, are made out of catgut (also used for stringing racquets).

Disappointing fact: Catgut isn't made out of the guts of cats.

Fun fact: The cat in this picture has a funny gut.

another one

2007-03-22T11:20:00.000-04:00

Coldplay and Panzers don't mix.

Dear Dream Diary,

Last night I dreamt that I was at an outdoor party where the band Coldplay was playing. Someone had managed to get a huge Panzer tank into the party. At first the Panzer was merely chasing people around, but eventually someone decided to use the tank to shoot at a target that was adjacent to Coldplay's stage. Upon impact, the poor band flew off the stage amidst rubble and smoke. Being the troopers they are, Coldplay crawled back on stage, bloodied but unbowed, and plugged back in. Unfortunately, by the time they were ready to start again, another band had started up on another nearby stage. It was a polynesian reggae band. Chris Martin, the lead singer of Coldplay, looked at me (at this point I'm a member of the band) with an expression on his face like, How are we supposed to compete with that? I looked out at the crowd and noticed that they were all polynesian.

A few moments later, I'm back in the crowd and Coldplay has set up on the same stage as the other band. This little reggae band has a great rhythm section with guys wearing drums all over their bodies and throwing these little boomerang drumsticks that hit the drum and come back. And boy are they rocking out! Dancing ensues. The song ends, and Coldplay triumphantly starts one of their signature grooves. The guys in the reggae band get this confused look on their faces and begin to shake their rastafarian heads. All the guys with the drums turn and face Coldplay and start tossing the boomerang-sticks in their direction, taunting them and playing drums at the same time. Then one of the sticks hits Coldplay's bass player in the face and he falls backwards off the stage.

Rough night for Coldplay, but everyone at the party had a good laugh.

Are these dreams interesting to anyone else? If not, someone please tell me to stop.

A Dream Come True

2007-03-15T14:29:00.000-04:00

Sorry, no witty picture.

I don't know if these people qualify as mentally cacophonous (see this post for more info on the mentally cacophonous and their #1 enemy), but if you want to see a real music video from a real Southern Baptist Camp, click here. The best thing about all this is that most of the video is in fast motion, which actually does give everyone's movements a jerky, spasmodic quality. Just like I saw in my dream. I don't mean to brag, but I think it's clear that I have some sort of clairvoyance or some other unique access to truth.

I think it would be a dangerous thing to show this video to my brother.

For more Southern Baptist Camps, click here and here. The website where I found the video is here.

Moment of brilliance

2007-02-25T14:05:00.000-05:00

I'm giving him a run for his money.

One day last week the parking near campus was especially cutthroat. By the time I found a spot, I was late for class, so I bolted up the hill to campus without locking the car or giving nary a thought to the whereabouts of my parking spot.
After class, I walked back to the car and found nothing but empty curb. I looked up and noticed a sign: "NO PARKING ANYTIME. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED."
There wasn't any phone number, so I walked around the vicinity looking for other parking signs. I found a few with phone numbers. No luck. They suggested calling the city.
After waiting on hold for a good 15 minutes, I finally spoke to a dispatch. I gave her a rough description of the car, and she said, "There doesn't appear to be anything matching that description. Maybe the person who towed it hasn't reported it yet. Check back in an hour."
Right. After about a half-hour of sitting on the curb I couldn't take it anymore, so I called the city again. Still no luck.
"Would you like to make a report, sir?"
"A report? How do I do that?"
"Well, a police officer comes to where you are and you fill out the report."
"Let's do that."
I assumed the report was for the towing incident. After waiting for the officer for 10 or 15 minutes, I realized that something didn't make sense. I called the city yet again.
The woman informed me that the officer wasn't coming to fill out a report for a towed car, but rather for a stolen car. Feeling like a genius by now, I told her it wouldn't be necessary.
By this time, Kristen, who I had called earlier, had arrived to pick me up. We went out to eat at a nearby restaurant. She was very understanding, especially given the fact that this little incident meant that she wouldn't be able to buy that pair of shoes that she's been looking at. I felt pretty bad about it, so it was nice that she took it so well.

And then, while chewing on some orange chicken and contemplating the disappointing events that had occurred over the last two hours, I realized that I had actually parked on the adjacent street.

Wow. Just wow.

a dream

2007-02-25T01:47:00.000-05:00

This is "Mental Cacophony"

Last night I dreamt that I was watching a TV special on a music video that had been produced by a "Southern Baptist Camp" (whatever that is). The lead singer was afflicted with a disorder that gave all of his movements a jerky, spasmodic quality. The narrator noted that some people had controversially poked fun at the handicapped singer's disorder. That's when my little brother, Eric, appeared on the screen, doing a merciless impression of the music video, complete with spasms and all. The following caption appeared at the foot of the screen:
"Eric Wood -- number one enemy of the mentally cacophonous."
Apparently that was the name of the disorder from which the singer of the Southern Baptist Camp Band suffered.

I don't know why, but I thought that was the funniest thing I'd heard in a long time.

On a more serious note, I think there is something that I've experienced, on a number of occasions, that could be called mental cacophony. Has anyone else ever felt like their thoughts were way too loud? This usually happens to me in libraries and other excessively quiet places. But this doesn't make me flail my arms and jerk my head like a zombie on crack. Thank goodness.

Let the maieutics commence

2007-01-06T01:36:00.000-05:00

Classes start next Monday (after a 9 month break), and I've consciously remarked to myself at least three times today that I am way too giddy. I'll be paying graduate tuition, since I graduated last August, but I'm not technically starting a graduate program until September. Don't ask me where. The admissions deities will decide that. For now, I'm plodding ahead with the personalized educational program that I like to call "The Credit Binge." Of course, when I purge my 225 credits at the sacred gates of graduate institutions, they're more likely to feel pity than awe.
My point is: three cheers for education!

Warning: As I get back into school, this blog will probably morph into something that is, well, boring. We all have something to say, but none of us are obligated to listen. The great thing about blogs is that I don’t know if five people or five thousand people are holding their heads and weeping at the beauty of my verbal catharsis.

Here's a shout out to Russell for being the only person who responded to the post on animal consciousness. I guess the rest of my faithful, growing readership (all five ... I mean four of you) simply doesn't care what goes through a puppy's head when it is starving to death in some crack addict's basement. Oh well, we all have our priorities.

I suppose I'll say a few things in response to Russell. I’m grateful that Russ caught the unintentional ambiguity between (1) self-consciousness as a feeling of concern about how others perceive oneself and (2) self-consciousness as an awareness of oneself as a being distinct from other beings. I was referring to the second sense.

I suspect that many, perhaps a majority, believe that animals have self-consciousness. Russell agrees. He provides three anecdotes to support his position:
(1) The behavior of his dog, Terry, is nearly indistinguishable from the behavior of his son, Porter.
(2) A study on sheepdogs concluded that they have a capacity for memory that is roughly equivalent to that of a 3-4 year old child. For example, they can identify a fetch toy (from a pile of other toys) after having not seen it for a year.
(3) Terry (the dog) shows a sort of self-concern and/or self-preservation that is inconsistent with a lack of self-awareness.

Here are some short thoughts in response:
(1) I, too, have always thought that infants are more like animals than humans, and should be treated as such. We teach them “tricks” like walking on two legs and we condition them to repeat phrases (like a parrot). Who can deny that we speak to babies and puppies in exactly the same babble-language? And when they do something bad, we speak real English in harsh, repetitive bursts, as if they magically understand after the third repetition. Unfortunately, I think this point gives us no reason to think that either babies or dogs are self-aware.
(2) This is the best argument, in spite of the fact that memory can be characterized in ways that don’t require self-awareness. The ability to identify something like a chew-toy (regardless of how much time has passed) in the way that the sheepdog does it ends up playing an important role in this discussion.
(3) How is Terry’s self-preservation different from a thorn-bush’s self-preservation, or that of any number of toxic plants, for that matter? Those plants are the way they are because any of their potential ancestors who were palatable and nice on the stomach were eaten. The tough, poisonous plants were the ones who passed down their genetic information. Of course, someone can say the same thing about the behaviors of humans, but there is (we hope) an important difference between humans and plants, and that difference has something to do with self-awareness. What is it about Terry that makes him seem like he has that extra ingredient?

The crucial point of self-consciousness, I believe, isn’t so much the consciousness as it is the self. Consciousness is such a hard term to define that we find professional philosophers (i.e. David Chalmers) who are willing to say that thermometers are conscious. If we are going to be so broad, we might simply say that consciousness is a responsiveness to information in the environment (which, if I remember correctly, isn’t terribly far from what Chalmers says). A self-conscious thing would then be responding to information about its self. Again, we come up against an ambiguity: something that responds to itself could be as simple as a camcorder taping itself in a mirror, but something that responds to its self must be in possession of some self to which it can respond. A camcorder doesn’t have a self. Why are we willing to say that?

Is there some activity or capacity—possessed by humans and lacking in camcorders—that is a necessary condition for selfhood?

I think there is, and I’m not sure that dogs have it. Before I taint you with my views (which are probably wrong anyway), I hope a few more people will share their thoughts.

the face of death

2006-12-01T10:17:00.001-05:00

It's time to make it official: Kris and I are professional house-sitters. When we move out of our Mapleton location mid-December, we'll be moving to my Gabby's Provo home for 4 months (while she enjoys the warmth of Arizona). Many thanks to a sweet, thoughtful Gabby who always takes good care of her grandkids. If anyone is looking for a professional house-sitter in April 2007, the Woods are now accepting applications.

While we were moving some boxes into Gabby's garage, I came across a book called How We Die, by Sherwin B. Nuland. The book gives a physician's view of some of the most common causes of death, unveiling them in a way. A major premise of the book is that death is either romanticized and brushed up through sentimental accounts of peaceful passing, or hidden behind the closed doors of hospitals and rest homes when things get ugly. According to Nuland, they usually do. He goes into detail about cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer's, AIDS, murder, suicide, and old age. The chapter on heart disease scared me. The chapter on Alzheimer's made me cry. Interestingly, the most peaceful death described was that of murder. The human body has developed a defense mechanism against the sheer terror that should grip anybody who is suffering a violent death. By the time the situation is understood, endorphins have already pulled the victim into a sort of peaceful shock. Of course, murder is the cause of death that is perhaps hardest on loved ones who are left living. At any rate, now that I'm almost finished with the book, I'm seriously tempted to try my hand at medical school. At the very least, it has inspired me to pursue some lines of research that are less concerned with understanding my own experience and more concerned with alleviating the pain that other's experience.
Death has many faces. If you want to glimpse the one that will probably greet you at the gate, read this book.

Not to be overly socratic (Socrates often spoke of "practicing" death), but I think this is one of those lessons that time will keep teaching me: life is most meaningful when death is in the picture.

Epiphany

2006-11-27T16:18:00.000-05:00

So I was just sitting here responding to emails when all of the sudden, out of the clear blue sky, I thought of the old TV series "Alien Nation." You know, the one with the people (aliens, I mean) with leopard spots on their heads. When I said the title to myself, it dawned on me: alienation. How could I be so stupid? Poor aliens.

The Monkey Wrangler part 2

2006-11-13T16:27:00.000-05:00

This is half of my dream pet.

I rarely vote for anything, but I like the idea of putting this question to the polls.

"Do you think animals have self-consciousness?"

Please reply to this post and vote. Please give a reason for your vote.

The Dangers of Swinging Zippers

2006-11-13T16:19:00.000-05:00

Here’s a rundown of Europe. First, Germany. We stayed with my awesome sister Elisabeth, who showed us Berlin in spite of her busy schedule. What a great town. I love you Lisa—and thanks for letting us sleep in Nikki Sudden’s old bed while you slept on the ground! And thanks for moving out of your scary old place before we visited you! I don’t know why this struck me as funny, but in Germany, there are droves of German Shepherds. I’d laugh and point every time I saw one. Man, don’t be so predictable! To be fair, we also saw a French Poodle our first day in France. That pretty much sums up Germany.

On to Geneva. Don’t get me started. I want to move to Montreux and join the circus. My talent would be . . . taming lions. Daniel, duh.
We really did see a circus. I went mainly because of the prospect of primates. We almost got kicked out because I was videotaping the performance in spite of the apparently obvious request (in French) to not do so. Oh, and since I forgot to bring some hiking shorts, I was forced to purchase some capris (I prefer “man-pris”) for 50 euros. That’s getting close to $70. It was that or the pseudo-speedo.
Another highlight of Geneva: me using the reflection on the window of a really nice car to pop a zit while the owner of the car was, unbeknownst to me, approaching the car. And me in my man-pris. Oh, the embarrassment.

Paris was pastries, cathedrals, and museums. I also have some incredible footage of a guy sitting on his karaoke machine in the subway, reverb cranked to full blast, closing his eyes while belting Elton John tunes—with the heaviest French accent possible. I still haven’t nailed down the reason why I cry every time I watch the clip.
It was great to spend time with some old friends (Bap and Mer) and spend time making new friends.

I think they should convert Rome into a theme park. Luckily, the insane crowds weren’t so infuriating that they overshadowed the breathtaking art and architecture. I don’t care how many pictures you’ve seen. Actually seeing Rome expands one’s sense of what is humanly possible. Another thing it did (and Paris did this too) was draw as clear a line as possible between places and things that are meaningful and those that lack meaning.

Highlight from the airports: When we arrived in Germany, we were taxied from the plane to the terminal in a hydraulic-bus. The bus was able to raise itself to the level of the plane exit, board the passengers, and then lower itself to a reasonable level. The hydraulics, however, made for a squirrelly ride. Since all the seats were taken, I was standing up in the aisle, one backpack at my feet and the other on my back. After a particularly large lurch, I happened to notice that the woman sitting to my left wore the most horrified expression I’ve ever seen on a human. Her eyes bulging, her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring. I watched her for a moment and noticed that every time the bus swayed and my backpack got within a foot from her face, her face would scrunch up and she would violently pull her head back.
“Is everything alright?” I asked.
“No.”
“Is my backpack frightening you?”
She sighed deeply and then nodded to the man beside her. “Last time we were on one of these things a zipper from someone’s backpack whipped him right in the eye. He had to go to the emergency room and it ruined our trip.”
The man next to her, clearly nervous and with perspiration on his brow, tapped his thick glasses and said, “I have to wear these now. And I had to wear a patch for a few weeks.”
“Sounds pretty traumatic,” I said.
“It was.”
“Would you like me to remove the backpack?”
“Yes, please,” they replied in unison, visibly relieved.
Kris and I are now acutely aware of the dangers of swinging zippers.

Favorite quotes from the trip:

“Kris, I’m glad you don’t urinate in stairwells.” – Daniel

“Oh, yes, the fountains . . . uh . . . otherwise known as trees.” – Kris

“Boo.” -- Daniel, whispering in Kristen’s ear in the middle of the night, for reasons unknown to him.

Daniel: “I wish I had a German-English dictionary!”
Kris: “I wish I had an Italy sweatshirt.”
Daniel: “An Italy sweatshirt would be extremely useful right now.”

“Do I have disco butt?” – Baptiste
(FYI, “disco butt” is a condition of the pants, brought on by excessive wear, in which the fabric of the bum region takes on a shiny, disco-era quality.)

“Can someone please urinate in my nostril?” – Elisabeth, referring to one particularly ubiquitous aroma in Berlin.

“Yeah! You spread your righteous seed!” – Elisabeth, spoken to a spider. We were walking in a cemetery when we noticed a web that was beautiful, ambitious, and in a highly conspicuous location. The spider stood defiantly in the center of the web.

Caninity and Felinity

2006-08-14T02:02:00.000-04:00

You'd be mad too if your brain was exteriorized.

I’ve recently noticed that I have a tendency to ridicule animals. Well, maybe “ridicule” is going too far—I definitely like to laugh at them, though. This explains the monkey obsession. Monkeys are just too much like humans for me to let it go unridiculed. Anyway, the other day I was trying to convince Kris to get a dog.
“It’s either a kid or a dog,” said Kris.
“Okay, a dog.”
“But we need to wait until we have a big yard. I don’t want an inside dog.”
“Oh, come on. We can get a French bulldog. You like French things, don’t you. Here’s a picture of one.”
“It’s hideous. And our apartment is what? Close to 100 square feet? What will the dog do?”
“You don’t buy a bulldog because it does things. You buy it so you can laugh at it.”
“Laugh at it?”
“Yes. Because it’s so hideous.”
“Let’s just have a kid, okay?”

Lately Kris has been laughing at me because I talk to the cat. One of the cats (at the house where we are house-sitting)—her name is Princess—has recently taken up the effort to establish an open dialogue between herself and her new caretakers. Whenever we crack the windows on cool nights, Princess will poke her head through the crack and begin talking to us. Of course, the only word she knows is “Meow.” But Princess has a bit of a nasal quality to her voice, and it ends up sounding like “Now.”
So when she initiates the conversation, I just barrage her with questions like the following:

“When do you want me to do some jumping jacks?”
“Now.”
“Okay. When do you want me to give you some smoked salmon?”
“Now.”
“Got it. When do you want me to bodyslam you?”
“Now.”
“Are you sure? Let’s wait a few minutes.”
“Now.”
“Whatever you say. And when would you like us to remove your vocal chords?”

At this point, Kristen has had enough and closes the window.

Keep them dog(g)ies rollin'.

2006-08-02T01:59:00.000-04:00

This is my dream pet.

Time for an update:
I slipped a disc in my spine last Sunday. It happened as I was bending down to pick up some books before moving to the front of the class to teach a lesson at church. “Hi, for those who don’t know me, my name is Daniel Wood. My wife and I are house-sitting for the Wrathalls until December. I think I just slipped a disc. Today’s lesson is on the Holy Ghost.” That’s how it went. The only way I could abet the pain was by clenching my stomach muscles as hard as possible. You can imagine what I looked like as I tried to teach about a member of the godhead. So I finish the lesson and discover that one of the guys in the class happens to be an osteopath. Incredibly nice guy. He treated me twice for free and wrote me a prescription for some pain killers.

What else? I got a job selling guitars at a music shop in Orem. I’m graduating in two weeks. I’ve been taking advantage of the extra time by reading more than usual. Just finished “Name of the Rose” by Umberto Eco (amazing book!). Just started one book by Viktor Frankl, “The Doctor and the Soul,” as well as two books by Oliver Sacks: “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat,” and “The Island of the Colorblind.” I’m starting GRE prep this week. Leaving for Europe for two weeks in mid-October. We’ll hit Berlin (to visit my sister Elisabeth), Paris, and Rome.

On a sad note: It looks like Auburn, the band I’ve been playing with for the last 2 or 3 years, is dissolving (at least for a while). It was discovered that the singer has nodes on her vocal chords. She is undergoing vocal rest and therapy until things improve. I guess every day must end.

On a happier note, here’s a joke I used to make Kristen laugh today (I have a daily quota): What do you call a Russian who is hesitant to finish school? A stallin’ grad.

House-sitting

2006-07-17T15:17:00.000-04:00

Bonding with the dog.

We moved, so we're back to stealing bandwidth from our neighbors. We roam from room to room, holding up our laptop like an offering to the internet deities, hoping for a strong signal. Honestly, it has gotten to the point where I’m convinced that if someone comes into the room when I’m online, they’ll block the signal and I’ll lose the connection.
We’re actually house-sitting for a BYU professor who is in London overseeing the study abroad program. It is a nice 3-story home in Mapleton in a very quiet neighborhood. Aside from the basement flooding and part of the lawn dying during the first two weeks, things have gone pretty smooth. They have a dog named Miksee who gets really annoyed and starts growling when you don’t pet her.
They also have two cats whose existence we just recently confirmed. For the first month, we noticed something funny: the cats were absolute pigs and the dog was anorexic. At least that’s how it looked. The dog refused to touch its food and the cat food never lasted more than a couple hours. Last week, though, Kristen went into the garage and found Miksee on a cat food binge, looking quite guilty, with two dejected cats sitting side by side, watching dolefully as their food was stolen. Nature can be cruel, but hey, I said to the cats, survival of the fittest is still a law last time I checked.

28 reasons why I finished my thesis

2006-06-10T02:48:00.000-04:00

This is one's proverbial "ox (or bull, in this case) in the mire."

Halfway through the writing of my thesis, I thought of changing the topic to "The Hallucinagenic Properties of Red Bull," since I seemed to know a lot more about that than I did about what I was trying to write about at the time. A few days later, I was tempted to change it yet again, but this time the topic would be, "The Amelioration of Taurine and Caffiene Poisoning Through the Administration of Bismuth Subsalicylate," but the results of my experiments were a-Bismol (abysmal). One other idea was "Democratman Forever: The Political Writings of George Clooney During the Batman Years," but I think that was part of a hallucination, so I scrapped that one, too.

I decided to stick with my original boring thesis.

Oh, and by the way, Red Bull doesn't give you wings. It gives you 10 hours of sleep a week. Which may be exactly what the Doctor ordered.*

* Of course, no good doctor would order such a thing. I was referring to an evil doctor, like a witch doctor.

My wife does NOT look like a trilobite

2006-06-05T00:51:00.000-04:00

A handsome trilobite.

In March, my wife and I attended a conference in Portland. The first lecture we attended was on the concept of authenticity in the writings of Heidegger--pretty dense stuff. Kristen, being the amazing person she is, was trying her hardest to support me and connect with this aspect of my life. The discussion took a turn toward the topic of ontology. When she heard the word "ontology" her face lit up and she whispered to me, "Ontology recapitulates phylogeny." Of course, she meant to refer to the dominant biological theory that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. We had a good laugh over it.

Tonight we resurrected the discussion and debated whether ontology actually does recapitulate phylogeny or not. I explained that the meaning of the original theory was that in the process of development from zygote to fetus, an organism roughly displays all of the phylums through which it passed on the road to evolving up to the phylum that it now inhabits. Her apt reply: "I have never looked like a trilobite." What could I say? In my opinion, that is a solid refutation of the theory.

Big Band Theory

2006-05-01T02:19:00.000-04:00

This is a Big Band.

I received a comment from Pictoris ab Lumen on my post about situational digestion (Intermission). He made an attempt to account for my strange digestive and sleep behavior by appealing to the Big Bang Theory and String Theory. Immediately after reading it, I realized that I had accidentally said that these disorders of mine disprove the Big Bang Theory. Here is my response to Pictoris ab Lumen:

I meant to say that they disprove the Big Band Theory. You haven’t heard of it? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it since it is so closely related to String Theory. It turns out that there are relatively few fundamental frequencies at which strings vibrate, there being many derivates of these fundamental frequencies, of course, but absolutely no anomalous vibration in the in-between frequencies. Believe it or not, if you take the complete works of Glenn Miller, arrange them in chronological order, and take the respective tempos multiplied by the number pi, you can perfectly map them upon these fundamental string vibration frequencies. Once this connection has been made, other obvious correlations emerge. For example, was the title “String of Pearls” just a coincidence, especially considering that the elemental resonation frequency of the elements that make up pearls happens to be exactly the product of the suggested tempo and the number pi? It is obvious that Glenn Miller was a closet string theorist.

In spite of its merits, the Big Band Theory has its anomalies. For example, my digestive tract and my hypothalamus. As I mentioned in my earlier post, I believe that my situational narcolepsy and situational digestion disprove the Big Ban[d] Theory. Most proponents of this theory would try to account for these apparent anomalies by noting that the constructive interference between the resonation frequencies of the bookstore and my stomach (or the chemistry book and my circadian rhythms) gets my stomach (or hypothalamus) “in the mood.” I disagree. Even if it were the case that there was constructive interference, it isn’t clear that this interference would have the adverse effects that I’ve described. The only thing that is clear is that my stomach and hypothalamus simply march to the beat of a different drummer. Maybe Gene Krupa?

Demon Dog has a heart

2006-04-30T20:36:00.000-04:00

This is Demon Dog.

The other day I got out of my car and noticed that the neighbor's pit bull was staring at me. I've always had this thing with animals and babies -- I always try to get into a staring contest with them. At the supermarket, it's amazing how many babies I can get to smile at me just by maintaining eye contact with them. Sometimes the moms give me dirty looks, but most of them smile, just being happy that someone is noticing their offspring.

Back to the dog. So this dog and I get into a staredown to end all man-beast staredowns. I thought he had me for a second when I felt a smile trying to crack through my mask of pure intimidation, but he barked first. And just to punctuate my victory, I did my little intimidation move (a kind of jerky forward thrust of the shoulders).

It was then that I noticed that my wife Kristy had been watching the entire exchange from the balcony.

We've been calling him "Demon Dog" since he is a pit bull and he spends most of his time thrashing a doll that resembles a very lifelike toddler. Disturbing. However, I've been watching our demonic canine friend from the balcony while I study and I've recently discovered that he's not demonic at all. He's rather quite the child. He derives such intense pleasure from thrashing the entire backyard that I can't help but smile myself as I watch his innocent masterpiece of mayhem unfold. No, he's no spawn of beelzebub. He's just really good at what he does. Everyone, meet Demon Dog.

intermission

2006-04-22T04:42:00.000-04:00

Avoidance behavior.

This blog is becoming quite useful in its facilitation of avoidance-behaviors. I'm very pleased.

I may or may not be engaging in avoidance behavior at this very moment. Has anyone else had the experience of situational narcolepsy? There are certain activities that, no matter how interested I think I am, always throw me into an epic struggle to stay awake. What an unfortunate conjunction of circumstances when such an activity is absolutely necessary at 3:00 a.m.
It's not that reading my chemistry book just makes me a bit drowsy. No, it mechanically shuts my body down. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I only read my chemistry book in the middle of the night before a test.
But my body has other similar behaviors that couldn't be explained by mere association. Take, for example, the fascinating reaction that my body has developed in the context of bookstores and libraries. Whenever I visit a bookstore, without fail, I have to visit the restroom. It's rather embarrassing, now that I mention it.
So, we've got situational narcolepsy and situational digestion, both mechanically induced by activities that seem removed from sleeping and digestion, respectively. I don't have the time to elaborate, but I think this proves that the big bang theory is wrong.
Well, I'm fully re-invigorated. Back to the chemistry books!

awwww...

2006-04-21T19:05:00.000-04:00

What can I say? I'm a lucky man. This is immediately after the wedding ceremony in Brampton, Ontario. As you can see, it's a bit windy. The temperature outside was -14 degrees F. Getting married in Toronto in February? Advice: only if absolutely necessary.

on language

2006-04-19T02:48:00.000-04:00

I've launched an effort to avoid studying for a stats quiz tomorrow, and it's reaching heroic proportions. I've been thinking about language.
One of my favorite philosophers, Merleau-Ponty, thinks of language as another sense organ. It is something that makes the world around us more concrete; it helps us get a grip on things, helps us apprehend the world(in both senses of the word, perhaps). He has an interesting story about the development of language where, among other things, the babbling phase in children corresponds to pre-vocalized thoughts and dreams in adults. There is a reaching for (but not quite a grasping of) a thing or situation that remains fuzzy precisely because it isn't fleshed out with language. Accordingly, he also says that the word is the flesh of the thought. The use of the word "flesh" in this context means that Merleau-Ponty is trying to say that the word makes thought both something sensible and something we sense with.
We've all had the experience of having a brilliant thought that we try to express in words. I know I've had my share of brilliant thoughts, oh yes. As soon as I open my mouth, however, my brilliant thought seems downright silly. This is a general rule for me. I've also had the experience of describing my dreams to others--I feel like I'm half-reporting and half-creating-on-the-spot. And when I'm done describing the dream it always feels like I've left something out and put something in that wasn't there before. These are the experiences that hint at the sense of language that Merleau-Ponty is giving us.
I'm fascinated by this account of language. I still have to suspend my endorsement of it since I haven't had the time to consider all of its implications. But as a practicing member of the LDS faith I get the feeling that it is right. In the church we often talk about "bearing" our testimonies. This refers to the practice of avowing a conviction that certain doctrines of the gospel (and certain historical facts about the church) are true. One church leader, Elder Boyd K. Packer, is well-known for encouraging members to get up and bear their testimonies even when they aren't so sure what they believe. He says (paraphrasing) that "a testimony is to be found in the bearing of it."
For a long time I've thought that this statement is best understood from two different perspectives: (1) as a statement about cognitive conditioning, from the perspective of a non-believer, and (2) as a statement about the kind of spiritual knowledge that results from taking a leap of faith, from the perspective of a believer. For the non-believer, this must be a frightening statement. Somehow, if you want to believe in something and you say you believe in it, it suddenly becomes true to you. I've tried this on multiple occasions and my experience has always confirmed Elder Packer's promise. But now we're led to ask ourselves if we're only deceiving ourselves.
Not from Merleau-Ponty's point of view. By putting some sentiment (or maybe even a pre-sentiment) into words, we are giving it flesh. But this creation, the word, now acts as something with which we can try and grasp at the world. If these words fall flat and fail to hook up meaningfully with the rest of our world, they become a negation of themselves and we realize we have said something wrong. But if, by hearing these words we speak, the world becomes sharper and more focused, then these words become evidence for us that we have spoken truth. This, of course, is more of a phenomenological assessment, rather than a logical one. Logically speaking, all of us have had our worlds "focused" by a logical fallacy, or even by something that was, in some respect, untrue. But this is no problem if you consider that even a logical fallacy or a "partial truth" can bring us closer to truth. After all, the whole history of science is a story of partial truths bringing us closer to what we hope is a particular realm of truth.

assimilated

2006-04-18T19:58:00.000-04:00

This is a grub.

This is my first post. Once I was talking to a friend who had a blog and I was like, "No offense, but who in the world wants to spend time reading what you have to say?" I was almost offended at the very idea of blogs. So here I am, blogging away.

I think "blog" is a great word precisely because it is so ambiguous. It is a verb? "Yeah, I blog now and again." Is it a noun? "Hey, dude, check out my new blog." Is it an adjective? Nope. Is it a definite article? Certainly not. The word "blog" is up there on the top of the list with other ambiguous words, like "grub." Grub is an adjective, a noun (in more than one sense), a verb, perhaps more. It can be subject, object and modifier. Behold. "The grub grubbed on some grub grub."

Allow me to take this opportunity to disabuse you--I'm not under the impression that my life is any more interesting than the next guy's, unless the next guy happens to be my nextdoor neighbor, in which case I'm pretty sure my life is more interesting than the next guy's. Just kidding, my nextdoor neighbor is very interesting.

Guess what? I love my wife. We just got married in February and today is our two month anniversary.