Going Back

This weekend I return to my hometown--not just to say hello to my dog or sleep in my childhood bed, but to reunite with old friends. After two and a half years of being away (and skulking around the smalltown grocery trying not to be seen on my short visits back), it's the first time I return for this purpose.

I will attend a hometown gathering, a sort of informal high school reunion. A bonfire. Most of the people who will be there are probably people I don't know or care to see.

However, since it is being held in honor of a formerly close friend on leave from the fabulous Armed Forces, I will attend. I will smile, stand around, and leave.

In between, I hope to reach through the crowd swarming around this year-absent man and touch the hem of his garment. Perhaps some small charge of recognition will go out from his clothes, and our malnourished friendship will get up and walk.

But how much going back can one do, really?

Well Endowed

I went to a poetry reading last night at Grand Valley's downtown campus. Two famous poets--Paul Muldoon, an Irish rocker, and Natasha Tretheway, born in the South to parents prohibited to marry in Mississippi--read fantastic poems, told jokes, and shared wisdom.

The highlight?

Refreshments afterward. Open bar (of which I did not partake, but which my classmates enjoyed), assorted cheeses (not just cubes of cheddar and moterrey, but smoked gouda, fresh mozz, and baby swiss), strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and tiny plates of berries and honey drenched lemon pastry with tiny matching forks.

Here's to big schools with big money: oh, to be well-endowed.

Frozen River

So instead seeing of Hair last night, I ended up going to Frozen River, an indie film about two women who smuggle illegal immigrants into the U.S. from Canada via a river on the border. It was suspenseful, thought-provoking, and somewhat hopeful at the end (although, like all good indie films, it did not wrap up into a neat conclusion). I reccommend seeing it.

One element I thought was most interesting was the comparison of the Native American and United States justice systems. The smugglers, both single mothers seeking desperately to provide for their families, represent an unlikely collision of two worlds: the Mohawk reservation and rural White New York.

Although the women are at first reluctant to work together, in the end they become interdependent and other members of their worlds begin to interact. At the end of the movie, a member of the Mohawk Tribal Council, which confronts crime on the Reservation, meets with the White woman's son, who deceived an elderly Mohawk woman to steal her credit card number. Instead of punishing him (as the U.S. justice system would do, with jail or some sort of fine), the council member acknowledged the teen's circumstances and provided the opportunity for him to meet the woman he had wronged and apologize.

This approach seems to have the same ideological underpinnings as the Restorative Justice model my friend Katherine recently introduced me to.

Behaviorist B.F. Skinner emphasizes that punishment is not the most effective way to change behavior. If that is the case, why do we favor punishment so much in our homes and court systems? Skinner proposes that punishment is rewarding to the punisher.

Retribution may be sweet, but in the end it does not satisfy, and it will not improve society.

Movie on a School Night

Tonight I will study sociology and history, immersing myself in a cultural phenomenon from before my time.

This intense study session will take place at Celebration Cinema, watching the 1979 movie Hair.

Forget my upcoming psychology exam or the poem I have been assigned to write about a one-armed man shoveling snow. Forget that I will not have time to focus on either of these things tomorrow, since all day I will be learning how to deescalate aggressive behaviors in group homes. Forget that I also ditched homework yesterday night to go bowling at The Clique downtown (not that it was for entertainment: I took my Insignis mentee; it was community service, I swear).

My studies can wait for Hair. This is a serious academic endeavor.

You're a Grammar Geek When...

You know you're an official Grammar Geek when you create a tree diagram to display the reduced relative clauses in all eight verses of the song "The Green Grass Grows All Around."

When you bring a guitar to your college grammar class to sing the song to your students--then...well, you're just a geek.

More power to you, Dr. Brooks. I sang along.

Seven Passages Film

Seven Passages: The Stories of Gay Christians debuted last October at Spectrum Theater. The play, written and produced by Calvin College professor Stephanie Sandberg, is based on hundreds of interviews with gay and lesbian people in West Michigan.

This year, Sandberg worked with eight actors to produce a film based on the same interviews. Unfortunately, I missed its screening this month at Celebration Cinema. Although I'd love to see the video, I don't have 30 bucks to throw down for it, which seems to me like an excessive amount for a DVD.

I also watched the trailer and wasn't that enthused. I really think it's meant to be performed onstage. At the Spectrum performance, Sandberg did a great job with the costumes and set, all of which were completely white, very simple. She integrated live video screens, which gave it a documentary feel. She also worked with the words of the scripture passages the play discusses: the projected words sometimes fell directly onto the actors, as if imprinting them. The stage allowed some distance from the actors, and since they rotated through many different characters, it also gave the voices some anonymity. The stories could belong to a friend, a brother, or even yourself.

The play, which is gradually debuting worldwide, has been performed at Western and is slated to appear at Grand Valley this January.

Why I Hate Vacation

Here's another mood recipe for the book:

Lack of routine = dismal mood.

At least for me, anyway. I guess I just can't handle unstructured time. I neither relax nor accomplish anything.

In addition to not having classes, Sr. Kathi was in Denver this week. When she's gone, I miss her presence and her conversation, but even more I miss her organization. She provides the momentum for all the gears of our community life to turn--prayer, meals, recreation... Without her, the Fort is just a hallway where I am coming and going. An amorphous empty space.

Now everything is back in place. Laundry is spinning in the dryer. The Regina Hall front desk is up and running again, and I worked my normal shift today, counting quarters and monitoring vacuum usage. With classes beginning tomorrow, deadlines once again have a motivating effect.

Bring on the 2nd Quad. All is well.

Mood Recipe

An article in the GR Press yesterday reported that raising the temperature of your hands--for instance, by holding a cup of something warm--tends to increase your warmth towards others. So, coffee dates are a good call.

What other environmental factors affect my emotional state? If it can be influenced so easily, perhaps I can concoct a recipe for the perfect mood. Never again will I put up with blue days or irritability...

To counteract 1 wet, grey October day, collect the following ingredients:
1 warm muffin
1 upbeat playlist
1 hilarious story by David Sedaris

Eat, dance, laugh, and try not to look outside...

Very Special Arts

Frosted graham crackers, clay tiles, popcorn shakers--kids kids kids!
Fun night at school.

Live Plensa

Jaume Plensa was very cool in person--that is, his sculptures were. After browsing through some of his work online, it was exciting to see his exhibit. I was disappointed that it didn't include the room of hanging letter poems, but one that we did enjoy was "Jerusalem," which features gongs inscribed with passages from Song of Songs...mostly because we were allowed not only to touch it, but to beat on it with a stick. Ah, the beauty of art.

Buddha Feet

Today, I pledge to be mindful of all things.

Too long have I lived in an intangible, pixelated universe of Word Documents and internet searches.

Today, I awake to the physical world around me. Instead of writing a to-do list, abstracting action, I will simply do.

I desire to feel everything. I seek to understand not just with my mind, but through my body.

Today, I meet the morning with bare feet:
Here is the quiet carpet in the hallway.
Here is the cold sement of the sidewalk.
Here is the damp, packed earth ready to freeze.
Here are the drops of night air clinging wet to my feet.
Here are the blades of grass warm in the sun.
Here are my feet, aching with cold.
Here is my body--in the air, in the sun, touching the earth.
Here am I.

Half-Pipped

Gay people are my favorite people.

I can't say why, really. Maybe because, I, like them, feel like a live-pipped sea turtle: stuck halfway out of my shell, present in this world but not quite part of it.

A gay home is the happiest thing. Photos of life partners arm-in-arm at 1 year, 5 years, 10 years crowd dressers and coffee tables like war medals on display.

It is the safest thing. Stacked and scattered in the open, books with titles like When I Knew, Becoming Visible, and The Gay Metropolis, books by David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, books with pink covers and unabashed photo spreads, affirm the reality of their story--their ancestors, their struggle, their triumph, their love.

Two names on the mail. Arthritic pets. A son.
Lights strung on the deck for summer parties. Receipts piled on the dresser. Clothes mixed together in the closet.
All of this normality left neatly behind each morning, erased when the front door closes, tucked silently into a band on the fourth left finger (which no one asks about and is not mentioned)--because in the real world, it isn't normal. It's Unnatural, Unconstitutional, Unbiblical, Wrong.

It can be the saddest thing, as a secret. It is seen by the world as a shell that clings to the turtle's weak legs, dragging him down as he struggles through the sand.

But I know the true secret:
The world is a shell, and this love is the widest sea.

I Heart House Sitting

This weekend, my pet-deprived state will be remedied by two rolly-poly dogs and a queenly cat. I can't wait to watch Sarah Palin face Tina Fey on SNL with my new friends: Zoe, Bozz, and Jezebel.

Prop 2

If you haven't educated yourself on Proposal 2, I'll give you a short synopsis:

Today, in Michigan, parents seek the help of fertility clinics to have children. In vitro fertilization (IVF) is becoming more common--I happen to know quite a few "test tube" babies, and they're just as cute as the other ones.

However, many eggs fertilized during this process, which grow into embryos, cannot be implanted.

Guess what happens to them?

Extra embryos which are still viable are frozen and can be used for implantation at a later date, although not all of them survive the freezing and thawing process.

However, those considered inviable are simply disarded (down the drain).

Although these embryos are not healthy enough to be implanted into a woman's womb and grow into a child, they are still valuable to the search for alternative treatments of spinal cord injuries, Parkinson's, diabetes, and more.

Proposal 2 would simply allow PARENTS another option: donating these embryos to scientific research. Again, the parents decide what happens to their embryos.

To me, the answer seems obvious. I believe this fits into a "pro-life" perspective: this life, which would otherwise be "allowed to die" with no ceremony, could instead be given a purpose and contribute to the greater good.

Either way, know what the proposal is about before you vote next month. It's not about money, it doesn't allow cloning, and it's no different than the laws in 45 other U.S. states.

Irreversible

I'm so used to the "undo" button, erasable pencil lead, second chances.

But when something dies it is dead. I am learning this.

And when you say something, it is said. You can't take it back. Oh, you can say other things on top of it, try to bury it in phrases of regret, but it's still right there underneath everything.

And if what you say kills something, causes death, that can't be undone either.

It all happens so fast, warm breath on a snowflake and everything has changed--
The melted drops are splattered all over the floor, and I can't hold them.

Art from Art

My grandma directed me to The Bittersweet Art of Cutting Up Books, a cool web posting about recycled book art of all varieties, from functional shelves and lamps to aesthetic sculptures. As a lover of books and of art, I was impressed.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Mystical books come to life in the hands of Cara Barer.














Brain Dettmer dissects books to reveal their organs and inner workings in his "Altered States" project.
















These functional "boeklampen" light up the room. You can get your own for 300 euros from Dutch BomDesign, which also offers other unique items crafted from recycled materials.
















And finally, a project in which no books were harmed: Chris Cobb arranged a bookstore in San Francisco by color.

Ode to Ordinary Things

Here are the things which I am celebrating today:

mailboxes with letters inside
dark chocolate wrapped in foil
the kitchen table at the Fort
warm beds
beech trees
Michigan apples
my bike
good books
grilled cheese
recliner chairs

Could financial aid harm retention rates?

When almost our whole journalism class raised our hands to say our decision to come to Aquinas was based on financial aid, I started thinking about how this might affect campus culture. If AQ wasn't your first choice, but you're here because it's the easiest to afford, how long can you stay here wondering if you've sold out?

When I worked in ResLife last year, retention was a buzz word. It still jumps out at me, and I've heard a lot about various efforts at AQ aimed to increase retention: the new midterm grades, more funding for student research, etc. Even though the college boasts bigger and bigger incoming classes each year, the number shrinks significantly with drop-outs and transfers. As a junior, I've passed the pivotal two-year mark, but a lot of people I know didn't. Several of my friends transfered, and more have a move in mind.

I, too, have probed the pros and cons of transferring, although I decided the game of chance wasn't worth the effort (or the risk of being unhappy somewhere else). For the most part, Aquinas lacks the academic rigor I crave. It's not diverse, in terms of ethnicity or worldview--it's filled with preppy white kids (and un-preppy white kids, like me), and even the few international students here try to blend in.

So why did I come here in the first place?

First of all, for a program I didn't end up studying in. High schoolers get so much pressure to decide on their career before they even apply to college. Scholarship applications ask what you will major in. If you're thinking of something obscure, you have to apply to schools that have that option.

I was planning a career in special ed. Now, I'm shooting for a related field, but it's landed me in a psychology department with a total of two (2) full-time profs and no research resources, which may make getting into grad school (the required Next Step if I really want to practice clinical psych) a tricky task.

And what was it that clinched my decision to stay at Aquinas?

The money. Why transfer somewhere else when I can graduate for free?

But for many, the benefits of leaving outweigh the cost. More interesting classes. Better resources. A well-known name. Profs with contacts. More unique program areas. A diverse social climate.

Students who decide on a school because of the money, sacrificing their more important hopes and dreams, are more likely to leave eventually.

So. Is it really great that Aquinas offers so many scholarships, such an abundance of financial aid? In the end, does it help or hurt?

S U!

A week or two ago, the provost informed faculty (without asking for input) that they are required to sift through student work before Fall Break and submit midterm grades. No, not grades--that might actually be useful information--just a letter: S for Satisfactory, or U for Unsatisfactory. "S U!" some faculty have replied, refusing to post the grade.

The letter, posted on CourseConnect, indicates whether you have a chance of passing the class in the last eight weeks of the semester. What percent of a chance? 100%? 50%? No way to know.

The move could encourage profs to do some overdue grading, or maybe it will just make them crabby. Apparently it's aimed to improve retention, with the idea that it will keep students from flunking out.

To drop or not to drop--freshpeople get warning letters if they're flunking a class, but don't you upperclassmen have a sense of when you're in over your head?

What do you think? Is the S/U worth it?

Float: Part 2

Spent yesterday afternoon rafting down White River. No white water, as its name would suggest, just big logs to ignore and get stuck on...too lazy to paddle around in the first place, but expending more energy in the end.

With temps in the 70s, it was a pretty peachy day. Last year in October, we were ankle-deep in snow. Won't it be a Monday when the weather changes for good.

Nunless

Sister Kathi is in Kentucky for a conference, and I miss her. No one to watch "The Office" with on Thursday night. No one one to stay up for Tina Fey tomorrow.

And which nun will eat my Coming Out Day cookies?

Come On Out for Coming Out Day

National Coming Out Day is officially this Saturday, but festivities begin tonight. Stop by the Moose at 8:30 to hear (or share) stories of coming out. Tomorrow afternoon, come out through an archway in the Wege Mall and grab a ribbon to support GLBT friends or family. In the evening, hit up the Regina lounge for a movie to wrap up the day.

Whether you're gay, straight, or somewhere in between, the day is for everyone. Celebrate being yourself!

No Controversy Over Controversial Issues Policy?

On Monday, the new policy concerning "controversial" events on campus was unveiled.

So far, I have heard no outcry, but perhaps few have slogged all the way through the policy's vague, legal wording, or have missed, among procedural tedium, its broader implications.

Here's the line that sent up a red flag for me:
"...such controversial issues are to be engaged during, prior to, or subsequent to, the presentation, in light of Catholic teachings..."

The hammer comes down. No ifs, ands, or buts. Doesn't matter what the topic is. The discussion must include religion.

I had a problem with this last year during the Corvino controversy, and I still do. What will this entail? A religious authority coming in as a kind of tag line...there's a lot of gray in this issue, but here's what you should believe? That was what was proposed with Corivino.

I suppose that at least with some forewarning of this requirement, the event planners will at least be allowed to choose who represents Catholic teaching and how.

I'm curious to see it in action, and I wonder what its first test run will be.

In the meantime, I'm still pushing for protection of gay students on campus, another necessary action made obvious last year by the Corvino event. Sexual orientation and gender identity remain conspicuously absent from our non-discrimination policy.

Change

These days balance on a tipping point, wavering between two seasons, ready to spill any moment into change.

I'm stewing in an odd contemplative funk this week, some kind of melancholy longing. Nostalgia.

Maybe it's the weather.

I heart dysfunctional psych profs

Meek, shuffling, soft-spoken Dr. Frayman was lecturing on learning theory yesterday when he chose to offer a personal anecdote related to the material. This in itself was surprising, since he usually sticks to the text of vague overheads displayed on a rusting projector.

As an example of the concept that one behavior can reinforce another behavior, Frayman described how he motivates himself to grade papers. After grading three papers, he said, he allows himself to listen to two songs on the stereo in his office.

"Of course," he added, "when I'm at home, I reward myself with a shot of Jack Daniels."

The only downside to this reinforcer is that he has to go back and correct papers he graded after the second or third shot.

Frayman wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. "I think I have a notice in my file somewhere stating that I'm not allowed to use this grading method on campus.

"Something about role-modeling."

But role-modeling is a form of observational learning, and that would be an entirely different lecture.

Harvey-7, Kyla-3

I played "Apples to Apples" with a dog and lost.

Harvey, a Paws with a Cause service dog, scored seven points to my three, choosing his cards gently with his teeth.

I am the ultimate failure.

The Gals in KZoo

My favorite musical lesbians will be onstage tonight, and I'll be right there in the audience.

After 20 years of growing up with The Indigo Girls, my mom blasting their folk-rock guitar sound in the car while she chaperoned school field trips, or burning nag champa incense to their sweet harmonies in our house, I finally will see them in concert.

When I taught myself to play the guitar, their "Closer to Fine" was one of the first songs I mastered, and it's still one of my favorites to play. This summer, I jammed to the bold proclamations of feminism and social justice in "Pendulum Swinger."

Tonight, I'm excited to hear some of their newer stuff, but I hope they throw in some oldies-but-goodies, a few picks from the early 90s...those were the days.

Rach On!

I don't get into sporting events, but watching Garrick Ohlsson play Rachmaninoff's Concerto No. 3 was kind of like one: my awe at his physical stamina and technical skill may be similar to the way you gush over your favorite quarterback or worship swimming master Michael Phelps. The mouth gaped open, the impulse to cheer..."Yes!" "Oh my God!" "Did you see that?"

Ohlsson deserved his standing O. He dominated the piano in a way I could never dream of.

Skeltonic

Caribou Barbie Shoots to Kill

If Palin wins
and sweetly grins
I’m out of here
to the stratosphere.
I’ll buy you a beer
to take me away
across the border;
I can’t afford her
ruining my name,
a woman the same
as her, but not—
I know it’s hot
from global warming,
not God’s love forming
a giant hug.
So pull the rug
from under her feet
before we eat
the marrow and meat
of caribou
that look just like you!

It's Here

I declare that it is officially Fall.
Not because of the steely skies or sudden drop in temp.
No--because today, shuffling through leaves, I smelled it.