Dee-fen-uh-STREY-shuhn

defenestration : the act of throwing a thing or esp. a person out of a window.

Wii do, do you?

A paraphrased quotation from the better-than-I-expected kids’ film, Aliens in the Attic...

Twin#1:  “They turned off the gravity — like on Halo!”
Twin #2: “Except this isn’t Xbox! It’s real — like Wii!”
_________________________________________

I did not grow up playing video games or computer games. In fact, my family wasn’t real big on games in general. (My preferred method of escape was novels: Nerd, not Geek). In high school, I had several guy friends who played video games almost incessantly in their spare time and I developed a pretty serious prejudice against them. To a lesser extent than porn, I viewed them as a serious pitfall for my generation, primarily for our men.

So when I moved into my new home with Michael and his son, I was appalled to find the Xbox was a central feature of their family culture. N—– played Star Wars and Spiderman games, Michael played Need for Speed and war games. We severely limited N—–’s playing on the Xbox, but even so, the more I watched the nature of the games (first-person shooting/attacking, aggressive in objective but passive in participation), the aesthetics (dark imagery, ominous and overwhelming music), the affect it had on my son — he was increasingly aggressive and isolated; it enervated his interest in everything else… We finally decided enough was enough and banned him from the Xbox for the rest of the summer.

But then I heard about an interesting alternative from several of my friends: the Wii. All I knew about it was that it was more interactive than other game stations — my son would be standing up instead of sitting down. But that was enough! We found a good deal online and bought the console, WiiPlay, WiiSport and WiiFit for N’s birthday. We got it home and voila! It resolved most of my issues!

First, the aesthetics are friendly to a child’s development: bright colors, lots of negative space, slow(er) moving images, gentle voices and sounds. Second, the nature of the games are conducive to team building and communal play. For example, one of the games on WiiPlay is “Tanks”. I was leery of it as the most martial of the games, and sure enough, my son liked it as the one with guns. However, they are toy tanks wandering around wooden blocks and your shells bounce once before bursting, teaching the player about vectors. In addition, with two players, there is a competitive edge (whomever can kill more enemy tanks wins) but also an element of teamwork — even if you die, you can go on to the next level if your partner survives, thereby encouraging you to cheer your teammate on.

Last, the effects I’ve seen in my son’s attitude and in our family have been really encouraging. Most of the time, the WiiFit is what’s in the console. My husband and I play as much, if not more, than N—–! We love the yoga, strength training, aerobics and balance games. We love that we can test our body’s weight and balance everyday (supposedly I need to lose 11 pounds to reach my ideal Body Mass Index). We take turns playing and cheering each other on. It’s a fun and healthy family activity.

Do I think this is ideal? Maybe not. We’re still spending up to an hour a day in front of a screen. My sister said, “If you’re going to play sports, why not really play them?” I agree, and that’s why we have N—– in soccer. Are there more interactive, relationship-strengthening things we might do instead? I’m sure there are. But so far, this seems to be working for us.

CSD

Umm, well, yeah …

So, somehow, I have found myself with a cat.

Our neighbors brought the flea-ridden, one pound kitten to our house last week. They guessed rightly that we would take care of her (something about the 4 cats presently living in the vicinity). Charity demanded that I make sure she wasn’t in pain, get rid of her fleas, etc. But then her adorable, nuzzling, pouncing self has made it difficult to give her away.

I started calling her Theodore/a the moment I saw her. She’s still on probation though. Sort of.

Those who know me may begin to mock me now.

In Summary of Summer; Looking to the Fall

“I had much to write to you, but I would rather not write with pen and ink.  I hope to see you soon, and we will talk face to face.”

–The apostle John to Gaius

“Apollo, the god of light, of reason, of proportion, harmony, number – Apollo blinds those who press too close in worship. Don’t look straight at the sun. Go into a dark bar for a bit and have a beer with Dionysios, every now and then.”

So, I don’t normally like introductions, but this one is fantastic enough to read even if you don’t read the book.

Introduction to The Left Hand of Darkness (1976)
Ursula K. Le Guin

Science fiction is often described, and even defined, as extrapolative. The science fiction writer is supposed to take a trend or phenomenon of the here-and-now, purify and intensify it for dramatic effect, and extend it into the future. “If this goes on, this is what will happen.” A prediction is made. Method and results much resemble those of a scientist who feeds large doses of a purified and concentrated food additive to mice, in order to predict what may happen to people who eat it in small quantities for a long time. The outcome seems almost inevitably to be cancer. So does the outcome of extrapolation. Strictly extrapolative works of science fiction generally arrive about where the Club of Rome arrives: somewhere between the gradual extinction of human liberty and the total extinction of terrestrial life.

This may explain why many people who do not read science fiction describe it as “escapist,” but when questioned further, admit they do not read it because “it’s so depressing.”

Almost anything carried to its logical extreme becomes depressing, if not carcinogenic.

Fortunately, though extrapolation is an element in science fiction, it isn’t the name of the game by any means. It is far too rationalist and simplistic to satisfy the imaginative mind, whether the writer’s or the reader’s. Variables are the spice of life.

This book is not extrapolative. If you like you can read it, and a lot of other science fiction, as a thought-experiment. Let’s say (says Mary Shelley) that a young doctor creates a human being in his laboratory; let’s say (says Philip K. Dick) that the Allies lost the second world war; let’s say this or that is such and so, and see what happens…. In a story so conceived, the moral complexity proper to the modern novel need not be sacrificed, nor is there any built-in dead end; thought and intuition can move freely within bounds set only by the terms of the experiment, which may be very large indeed. The purpose of a thought-experiment, as the term was used by Schrodinger and other physicists, is not to predict the future – indeed Schrodinger’s most famous thought-experiment goes to show that the “future,” on the quantum level, cannot be predicted- but to describe reality, the present world.
Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive.

Predictions are uttered by prophets (free of charge); by clairvoyants (who usually charge a fee, and are therefore more honored in their day than prophets); and by futurologists (salaried).  Prediction is  the business of prophets, clairvoyants,  and futurologists.  It is not the business of novelists.  A novelist’s business is lying.

Dune: A Bashful Book [Review]

Although I moved past the negative social implications of reading scads of books long ago (I think about the time that I spent Valentines’ Day reading Thackery’s Vanity Fair), occasionally, my human need to retain some level of coolness rebels. Reading Herbert’s Dune was one of these times. There was something about this book that was way too, well, NERDY. And not nerdy in the hipster sense. The long rows of the Dune Universe on the shelves of the La Mirada Library told me that this is the sort of thing that people become obsessed with in a manner that makes me uncomfortable.

I kept justifying my reading of it to those who asked, “Well … I’m in this reading group and it’s on the list. It wasn’t MY choice.”

But frustratingly, I ended up enjoying it (as I do most well-crafted stories) and thus follows my somewhat bashful thoughts.

Dune (1965) was about halfway through the science fiction reading list I’m tackling with some friends this summer. Throughout our reading I’ve noticed that there is a division within the texts. Stories either chronicle the downfall and recovery (or simply the “improvement”) of our known world or they create entirely new worlds; there is the apocalyptic and the epic. The world of apocalyptic science fiction may be far in the future, but enough similarities exist that it is recognizable as a type of our present universe. Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz, Asimov’s I, Robot, and Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land are all examples of this first type. Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy and Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness may fall in the second type. Dune assuredly does.

The story of the fall and rise of the House of Atreides, the story of Paul Muadib Atreides is grand. It plays with themes and questions that suit an epic. What is the nature of man? How does a boy become a man? What does it mean to be loyal? What are the sacrifices of a leader? How does one live in community? What is revenge? Herbert’s characters face the complexity of wars, kings, and betrayers. Although his characters occasionally lacked development, they were quite believable. The arc of the story as a whole was carefully crafted and mostly well-paced.

Herbert’s epic is all engaging. He creates a world, a universe, that is complete in itself. It has its own myths, geographies, histories, gods, men, beasts, and language which all fit together with a logic that suits the world. The world of Dune is a consistent place, therein lies much of its beauty and pleasure. The spaces where Herbert leaves mysteries leave me desiring the next book, because I, as the reader, am completely convinced that this world (within its confines) makes sense.

This attribute is one which Dune shares with other successful fantasy or science fiction epics, like Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, or even a game like World of Warcraft. They draw the reader into a place that is complete within its covers. Although this is part of a beautiful story, it is dangerous. For some, it is held out as a viable alternative to the real world. The world of the Story has a complexity and logic which seems to rival that of the person next door and the sunshine outside. It begs for exploration and discovery, promises lasting excitement and satisfaction. It persuades some to learn the languages of an imaginative world at the expense of the languages of the living world. It becomes more attractive to discuss the histories of a fictional world than the present day sufferings of any nation.

This should not be read as an argument against fiction, else my own literary self strangle me. It is, rather, the articulation of a worrisome little tick in my mind. This suspicion that fiction should help me live better.

The Roman poet, Horace (65-8 BC), writes in his Art of Poetry that poets should “either delight or enlighten the reader, or say what is both amusing and really worth using.” He goes on to suggest that these often overlap, “he wins every vote who combines the sweet and the useful, charming the reader and warning him equally well.” Fiction may not be about real people, but it is about the nature of man. It may not be useful in a pragmatic sense, but it shouldn’t make me worse at loving my fellow man.

This, I come to see, is what makes me uncomfortable about a book like Dune. The lure of the unreal. A book is, at the end of the day, just a book. It isn’t a replacement for the grass and the annoying neighbor who is riding up and down our street on his buzzing motorized bicycle.

Dinner with my housemates calls. Enough playing with words for one afternoon.

R

This American Life

I sit at the kitchen table at 1733, considering chocolate chip cookies. I rarely bake because I imagine that it requires a significant amount of time and energy. I see the hours upon hours of cooking time and the stacks of dishes with a realism sharper than reality. But I discover that it doesn’t actually take long; I made a batch this afternoon in under 25 mintues, cooking time included. But, I still don’t bake often (to the disappointment of my siblings, housemates, and my boyfriend, I’m sure). Why is this?

This summer, the Joyous Gard (my house) has been through the wringer. Wet clothing squeezed, smooched, stretched through rollers suggests the intensity of our experiences in what has been merely two months since we closed our books for summer. The watery drips are pushed from pores, leaving us damp, limp. Two family deaths; an old man and a young man. Broken union, with the pain of legal documents in tow. Movements across the country, too far away from friends to jaunt over for an afternoon tea. Losing a job one thought was secure.

We are learning how to weep with those who weep. This is life well-lived.

My boyfriend is in Alaska at the moment, preparing a puppet show to take on the road this fall (not a muppet-type puppet show, but one for grown-ups). He is hoping to make things that are beautiful and awful, objects that stretch the eye, the mind. He’s spent the summer in a small town, working the jobs a small town has to offer. We are learning, together, how to live in the place where you are, to miss the people you love. This is life well-lived.

{shadow puppets}

We rejoice with those who rejoice. New babies conceived, and born. Two lives becoming one. Paintings drawn. Good books read. Finding that you live with people who like to cook. These are the joys of a life well-lived. We can rejoice with our neighbor on the right while weeping with the one on the left.

Life well-lived is lived in the present, not relying on the changes we hope to occur in the future. Dostoevsky (among others I’m sure) notes that loving humankind is the easy task, it is loving the man sitting next you which is difficult. Dishes. Trying on wedding dresses. The teary ride to the airport. This is love, worked out in our lives.

This morning, while reading the obituaries (I am in good company, sharing this habit with both my mother and Billy Collins, see today’s posted poem), I came across the following. It speaks for itself.

Gibson, John William, 91 of
Laguna Woods died peacefully
in his sleep on Aug. 1. He lived a
good life, loved his family and
loved God.

R

A Tip:

Don’t go anywhere near the Social Security Office the first week of the month.

At 11:10 this morning, I signed in. They were serving customer A52. I was assigned number A123.

At 1:32, I submitted my application for a SS card replacement. At 1:37 I left.

Thank God it was only 94 degrees today, instead of 110.

A Long Day

Yesterday, N—– cleaned his bathroom. By himself. Without being asked.
He cleaned the mirror with Scrubbing Bubbles.

Today, 10 minutes before my art class was scheduled to start, I asked him to re-clean it with Windex. A few minutes later he announced he was done and I went in to inspect his handiwork. Interestingly, I noticed the drips oozing down the surface before I was hit by the overwhelming orange aroma. Not ammonia.
I reached under the sink for paper towels to sop up the drips and what I found made me blanch.

“N—–, does this say Windex?”

He shook his head.

“Can you read what it says?”

“Wood Glo Orange Furniture Polish” he replied.

Just then the doorbell rang. His grandma, come to pick him up for swim lessons. I shooed him out the door and returned to the bathroom, armed with my trusty blue glass cleaner.

It seems Windex and Wood Glo don’t mix well. The first attempt smeared white streaks all over the mirror. By the sixth clean, I’d knocked it down to an almost-imperceptable film which haloed the person in the reflection. Like the glamour-shots I took when I was 16.

I returned to my living room as my first art student showed up. I realized 10 minutes later that my assistant probably wouldn’t be showing up and sure enough, when I got out my phone, I had a voicemail informing me she was sick. Which left me with five seven-year-olds, who all seem fascinated with fluffy things. One of them cried when I told her to re-draw her giraffe.

The rest of the day wasn’t too bad. I taught the second class without mishap, dropped off 30 invitations for my sister’s bridal shower (the post office has some beautiful lighthouse stamps on sale right now), drew a lily with pastels, and began sorting 4 baskets of laundry while watching FRIENDS, season 2, for the umpteenth time.

When Michael got off work, we stopped at Arby’s for dinner, then picked up N—– from his grandparents’ and they joined us for a late night workout at the gym. Kim, my mother-in-law, pointed out that there was a new class she hadn’t tried called 24Camp. I, idiot-adventurer that I am, said I’d join her.

The “Camp” we would soon discover, was short for Bootcamp.

The class was an equipment-heavy cardio-and-strength-training routine. Three minutes of jumping jacks, jump rope, high jumps, etc. followed by three minutes of lifting barbell or free weights and then we start again. Our trainer was… Well… If the Energizer Bunny had mated with a Jumping Bean and then sent their offspring to be raised in the former Soviet Union 50 years ago — that would be our gal.

After warm-ups, I knew I was toast (“Ready for our first cardio drill?”). By the second set of high jumps, I was ready to throw up my Beef’n'Cheddar (“Kick your heels together!”). When 8:10 hit and “Highway to Hell” came on, the room was an appropriate level of Sweltering. AC/DC was followed by “Another One Bites the Dust” and I realized I would rather be on my way to Tartarus with Queen than here.

The Agony went 15 minutes late and by the time I stepped out of the door, my knees were trembling. Heck, all of me was trembling. Michael saw me and asked if I was okay. I non-commitally moved my head and headed for Kid’s Club to disengage N—– from the Xbox. When we left the gym at 9:00 at night, it was still 90 degrees outside.

After this, I’m showering, possibly vomiting, then going to sleep with an IBprophen. It’s been a long day.

CSD

A Philosophy of Theater

This is a first draft of a philosophy of theater, written in preparation for the launching of a theater club at my school (SACA).

Ms. Card

Introduction
Theater is a sort of many-headed beast, the Greeks’ hydra perhaps. It consists of diverse pieces that come together to create a unified whole. Construction, painting, music, words, voice, physical movement, and poetry all unite within the confines of the stage. This inherent complexity causes theater, and specifically student theater, to be susceptible to several pitfalls. Some of these include a complexity of production design which does not match amateur student talents and a disregard for the necessity of developing students’ basic theatre skills. The purpose of this document is to set forth a simple philosophy of student theatre to provide vision for future productions, as well as to avoid common mistakes.

What is theater?
A theater production is the incarnation (the making flesh) of a text at a particular time within a specific community. It takes into account the people producing it, their ideas, passions, and talents and the unique needs of the audience viewing it.

Theater, like man himself, is both lofty and earthy. It is the thing wherein Hamlet will “catch the conscience of the king,” and yet it reminds us, often in the next scene, that human beings have a hilarious tendency to slip on banana peels. This dual quality of theater must be kept in mind both throughout the preparation for a show and its performance.

Theater’s purposes are manifold, but can be summarized as the attempt to know more deeply man, creation, and God. Aristotle and Shakespeare write of a play as a mirror or imitation by which we see both our selves as bodies and souls, and the orderliness of the cosmos. On the stage we see the beginning and end a man and of a nation.

Like any other art form, theatre is also simply something to mess about in. It is a place for people to get their hands dirty playing with words, paints, and funny faces.

Why do we do theater at SACA?
First, we believe that theatre, like all the works of our hands, is to be done to the glory of God. When we produce something beautiful, a thing carefully crafted, it reflects the beauty of our Creator. Second, theater provides students with a unique context to study classical texts, learn a variety of artistic, physical, and practical skills, as well as enjoy learning together in a small community. Third, theater broadens students’ conceptions of what is fun and entertaining.

Principles for Theater at SACA

Text Based
SACA theater will emphasize the text as the basis of a theatrical production. The study and discussion of scripts/texts will be a primary part of our preparation for a production. Plays preformed at SACA will be limited to texts which we study (or would consider studying) in our daily curriculum. This will prevent us from spending significant time studying poor quality literature.

Skills Instruction
All students will study the basic skills required in all areas of a theatrical production. Even students not cast in a production will study the basic skills of acting (controlling expressions, physical movements, vocal intonation, characterization, etc.). In addition, students will practice the skills associated with play production (designing sets, creating costumes, blocking a scene, etc.). As is common throughout classical education, the fundamental skills and building blocks of each discipline will be taught and practiced before more complexity is introduced.

Simplicity
Simplicity of production will be a guiding principle in SACA theater. This will focus our efforts toward basic skills rather finishing touches. This does not mean that student theatre will be set and costume-less, but rather that the sets, costumes, and concepts should be simple, suited to the amateur level of theater that is being explored.

Student Driven
The majority of the production work, including that of set and costume design and construction will be completed by students. This, again, reminds us that theatre is not meant to be flashy and slick, but carefully thought out and constructed. Parents will be encouraged and welcomed in this process, as long as it remains student driven.

Ensemble/ Amateur Spirit
SACA theatre will produce plays in the long tradition of amateur theater clubs, where all members of a club are encouraged to take ownership of the entire play. All students will read and discuss the text being preformed, as well as be involved in acting exercises and production choices. All members of a theater club are important to the production of a play.