“A Twentieth Century Testimony”

When I look back at my life nowadays, which I sometimes do, what strikes me most forcibly about it is that what seemed at the time most significant and seductive, seems now most futile and absurd. For instance, success in all of its various guises; being known and being praised; ostensible pleasures, like acquiring money or seducing women, or traveling, going to and fro in the world and up and down in it like Satan, explaining and experiencing whatever Vanity Fair has to offer.

In retrospect, all these exercises in self-gratification seem pure fantasy, what Pascal called, “licking the earth.”

-Malcolm Muggeridge

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Day (348) - The Frozen Playground

Reblogged from The Better Man Project:

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*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

*Groan*

::reaches over to Ipod shuffle...puts in headphones::

*Click. Skip. Skip. Skip.*

::Smiles::

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHNbIpQmEXQ

I put my clothes on, tied up my running shoes, and headed out. The street was frosted...and the cold air quickly wakened my skin. I looked around for a second...hmm...Rocky? I started running. I ran down to the lake and was pleasantly surprised by a white sheet covering the ground.

Read more… 341 more words

I've never "re-blogged" anything before, but this, well, I just had to. Men, follow this blog. Because the world DOES need better men.
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Through the Lens, A Love Story (Part 1)

It was around the age of eight that I vaguely remember developing an affinity for photography. I honestly have no idea where it came from, but I remember very distinctly wanting to capture experience in an image – not surreality, but depth. At the time, I knew nothing of the art – only that our family photo albums were chocked full of flat, lifeless, images that seemed to document events in a static, “hey, this happened” kind-of-way. They were banal. I felt there was something missing, but at eight years old, or however old I was, I could only describe what I didn’t like as “flatness,” poor aim, or both.

If I had known anything about photography, I might have just called it the “Kodak Instamatic 110 Effect.”

I must have mentioned something. My mother bought me a Vivitar 35mm point-and-shoot film camera, which I sensed was a pretty significant upgrade from the 110 Kodak rectangle that had seen far too many birthdays, holidays, and baths. [The Kodak 110 went to her eternal rest on I-94 immediately following a family visit to the Milwaukee Zoo: my only memory of which is the sound of something sliding atop the station wagon, dad saying "There goes the camera," and then feeling a sense of irreplaceable loss - I sensed even then that without those photos, my zoo experience was gone forever. And it was.]

Envisioning something akin to a National Geographic cover photo, I took to experimenting to find whatever it was I sensed was missing from the family albums. I remember an anxious anticipation during the three-day waiting period while the film was developed and printed, followed by a sense of failure and defeat when the only real difference I had produced was that the flat, lifeless images were somewhat clearer. I had noticed while shooting that the camera made everything farther away than I wanted, which made photographing wildlife perfectly impossible, and framing scenes the way I wanted a challenge because I could never get rid of the massive, undesirable foreground. This was my first epiphany – the element of composition mattered.

As disappointing as that initial packet of 3.5″X5″ prints was, I studied them to find out what else was wrong. Composition, I thought, was easy enough, a long as you’re willing to take a step off the beaten path to get the right frame, angle, and perspective on the subject. But even if I had, the image was still flat, lifeless – two-dimensional. Comparing my photos with those in magazines like Reader’s Digest and National Geographic, I discovered another element I wanted: narrow(er) depth of field. Of course, I had no idea what it was called. I just noticed that there was something more vivid and lifelike to having the subject in focus and the rest blurry, like the human eye sees things. I also liked the idea of being able to study in a photograph what is otherwise only out-of-focus periphery to the human eye.

Without the ability to limit depth-of-field, the background detail would make an image like this pretty boring. Her fantastic hair would hardly be noticeable. Oh, that’s my niece (one of many).

Some three years went by without much development. I can only assume that I spent some time studying published photographs, because I became as aware of the concepts of zoom and focus as I was aware of my frustrating incapacity to affect them with my camera.

At some point, I think when I was around eleven, as we were wrapping up the family dinner, Dad randomly asked, “Andy, you’ve developed an interest in photography, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, why?”

He proceeded to tell me about a big old clunky camera that he had received from Uncle Mike years prior, the kind with detachable lenses and a big old leather case to carry them around in. (Uncle Mike had suffered an aneurism that paralyzed the left half of his body and rendered the camera useless to him). It had apparently been buried somewhere down in the furnace room, just sitting there all those years. Dad said I was welcome to it.

I had no idea who Annie Leibovitz was at the time, but she was apparently among the famous users of the nearly identical SR-T 101.

I opened the case to find my first SLR, the camera that would transform my flimsy infatuation with photography into a sort of weird, whimsical passion. It was a Minolta SRT 102 body, and a 50mm f1.5 and 200mm f4.5 telephoto lenses. I was enthralled. I had no idea how to use it, and it was far too complicated to figure out on my own. The only paperwork along with it was a depth-of-field guide for the 200mm f4.5 telephoto lens; there was no manual. Finding an address for Minolta inside the guide, I wrote and mailed a letter telling the story of how I had acquired the camera, how much I wanted to learn photography, and asking how I might get my hands on a manual.

Three weeks or so later, I received a package in the mail. Inside was a personal letter explaining that the manuals were long out of print. There were also words of encouragement (I had included my age in my letter). Finally, whoever wrote that letter was nevertheless able to track one down, make a copy, and cut, fold, and staple it to near original dimensions, and included it with the package free of charge. That was cool. (Whoever and wherever you are, THANK YOU!)

A quick browse through the manual – ISO, focus, aperture, depth-of-field, metering, et al – made it very clear that this was going to be hard to learn. It also became very clear that I was in control – not the camera – and this was a terrifically exciting prospect…. if only I could be sure I was understanding the complicated instructions on how to load the film.

This is Uncle Mike, Comedian and Cribbage Master Extraordinaire – Original Owner of the Minolta SR-T 102

 

 

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Developing Cynical Thinking Skills

I left Facebook (call it a hiatus, I’ve too many photo albums to have actually deleted my account) two days before the election for two reasons: 1. I was spending an inordinate amount of time, usually debating, which was cutting severely into the productivity of my day and my more immediate responsibilities to my family; and 2. I was becoming angry with the vitriol, angry with dear friends, and the negativity was impacting me measurably.

Of course, it isn’t just Facebook. If you look for negativity, for doom and gloom, for an argument, you can find it anywhere. “Seek and ye shall find.”

Some weeks, or even months, prior to leaving Facebook, I began enjoying regular conversations with a very good friend over coffee. Among the topics that have come up on more than one occasion, and which at various intervals manages to tie into other topics by the simple nature of modern man and how we communicate, is the habit (we all seem to do it, some more than others) of engaging in political/social debates using social networking as a medium. I must credit my good friend for the insight which, after much discussion, we have more or less agreed is uniquely problematic.  Aside from the fact that highly complex problems simply cannot be solved in thirty-second sound-bytes, there are other problems which seem to develop with the medium.

Interpersonal Relationships with Walls

Whether it’s a Facebook “wall,” or the proverbial wall we all feel like we’re talking to on occasion, the plain fact is that we tend to speak (or write) rather more loosely, provocatively, and carelessly than if we were physically engaged in a conversation with that person (or persons) face to face. We say things we wouldn’t have the nerve to say in person because we are far removed from the immediate consequences, and because it is far easier to turn away from an online dialogue then turn and walk away from a person, especially if that person happens to be a friend. The same applies to online conversations involving groups. Imagine for a moment bringing everyone engaged in an online debate into the same space, and how that same conversation might go. How many of us would throw our arms up in the air and walk out of the room like we were 14 years old? Why is it any more socially acceptable in cyberspace?

It isn’t just a question of missing out on the nuances of tone and body language. For some reason we feel that we can “get away with” saying things we really, honestly wouldn’t say – or at the very least would say very differently – if the relationship in which we were engaged was personal.  As it is, we tend to develop mere “interpersonal” relationships with walls, flying off the handle with random thoughts we relish as witty; what we’re really doing is talking to ourselves. And when this becomes a habit, it tends to wend its way into those areas of our lives where we are interacting with people face-to-face, contributing to a breakdown of genuine communication. We stand to diminish or lose the ability to communicate effectively where it is needed most – the human world with which we interact outside of cyberspace; and we tend to become more self-absorbed without even realizing it. This is most true when the noble motivations and intentions of our debates and conversations disguise and veil the subtle narcissism germinating within us.

Cynical Thinking versus Critical Thinking

A second key problem I think arises from the social networking medium as a forum for discussion is that we develop – along with a subtle narcissism – a proclivity to regard cynicism as “critical thinking.” This is a challenge for me to explain, but I’d like to try by making two statements, the first as an example directed at readers who regard themselves as leaning “Right:”

Extremely wealthy people have well beyond what they need to be comfortable, so they really ought to contribute more to the well-being of those of little or no means.

You’ve just read a mere thirty words, and I’m willing to bet that from those thirty words your mind has already conjured up all kinds of things about the kind of person I am. Perhaps you surmise from that statement that I am generally opposed to free-market capitalism; that I am likely to be a proponent of reproductive rights for women; that I am a proponent of the progressive tax code; that I regard Wall Street with antipathy; that I support nationalized healthcare. Depending on how recently you might have engaged in a debate on any of the above contentious subjects, you likely glean from that statement a great deal about me as a person. But here’s where it starts to get interesting, and where cynicism starts to play a role.

If you lean “Right,” and if you’ve arrived at the above thoughts even loosely, you are probably also questioning my motivations. You may suspect that I’m a bit beleaguered with circumstances I’ve placed myself in, and that I’m seeking the path of least resistance in calling for free support. Perhaps I want to dismantle an economic system that I believe survives on the backs of the disadvantaged. Perhaps I believe the government can and ought to solve problems with increased regulation, and higher taxes for the wealthy. In a nutshell, I don’t want to take responsibility for myself, and expect others to do it for me: a character judgement.

Next, I am going to make a separate statement as an example directed at readers who regard themselves as leaning “Left:”

No matter how much wealth a person has, it ultimately does belong to them, and shouldn’t be taken away against their will, even to feed the poor.

You’ve just read a mere twenty-seven words, and I’m willing to bet that from those twenty-seven words your mind has already conjured up all kinds of things about the kind of person I am. Perhaps you surmise from that statement that I support free-market capitalism; that I am likely to disparage women’s rights; that I am a proponent of tax loopholes for the wealthy; that I regard Wall Street as the source of all prosperity; that I believe people who can’t afford it don’t deserve healthcare. Depending on how recently you might have engaged in a debate on any of the above contentious subjects, you likely glean from that statement a great deal about me as a person.

If you lean “Left,” and if you’ve arrived at the above thoughts even loosely, you are probably also questioning my motivations. You may suspect that I’m a bit greedy with whatever I’ve earned, and that I view people of lesser means as lazy. Perhaps I want to expand, bolster, and deregulate an economic system that exploits the disadvantaged. Perhaps I believe the government is the source of all problems, and gorges on my personal prosperity to provide entitlements to leeches. In a nutshell, I don’t want to share anything with anyone, and think the poor are their own problem: a character judgement.

I know, these are generalizations. But honestly, how quickly did you place me in one snug category or another? How quickly have you fit me into a square, 3-dimensional, easy to understand box? How quickly might you either dismiss further things I may have to say, or infer from one or two phrases that my deeper motivations are selfish and generally destructive to the world around me? Is my ideology antithetical to yours?

By cynical thinking, I mean our capacity (and unfortunately habit) to assume the worst, according to our worldview, of others – making a judgement call on another’s character and motivations – and doing so on a mere twenty-five to thirty words. I get the impression that most of us, whatever our worldview or ideology, tend to react defensively, putting up a guard, so to speak, against a supposed ideology or worldview that is antithetical to our own – all too often based on a few phrases lacking the benefit of the broader context we would enjoy face-to-face. In short, we fear each other. And I think this severely obstructs constructive conversation and the development of solutions.

The Real McCoy

If we were able to sit down together over a cup of coffee and engage in conversation – it is likely to have a great deal more substance versus bleating tweets or commenting on a feed. And not only due to fewer time restraints, but more so because in person we are accountable. Furthermore, you would find that I firmly believe both statements used in the above example, and we could discuss whether and how they may or may not be contradictory, we could discover that we very likely share a common motive and common end, and that all that remains is to discuss the pros and cons of whatever means may be available toward achieving that end. We could be constructive.

Our culture seems to so divided that, setting aside tolerating each other, we can’t even seem to tolerate isolated ideas. I think this is a real problem. I get the sense that we tend to process one or two key phrases into one of two neatly contained boxes, one labeled good and the other evil, one for us and one against us. I am concerned that, in part, we have developed this tendency because we’ve never taken the time to get to know each other. And I am concerned that, for far too many, social networking has replaced real, genuine human relationships. This is not to suggest, at all, that social networking is itself a problem. Like anything, it’s how we use it.

Let’s use it constructively. Let’s open our minds not just to other ideas, but to the people behind them, the catalysts in their lives that influence them. I am wholly confident we will find much more in common than not, and once we’ve gotten to know and understand each other – even though we may still disagree – that we will find we have little to judge, less to fear, much to learn, and more to love.

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THE Working Mom

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to set the record straight. This is prompted by the duncely verbiage of an ignoramus who recently observed to my wife,

“Wow, I wish I was a really attractive young woman so I could marry a rich guy too… and not have to work.”

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First and foremost, any person, male or female, who thinks that being a full-time mom isn’t work has never spent more than two or three hours with a toddler. And no, I don’t just mean being present – that’s not parenting – I mean listening to them, speaking to them, feeding them, clothing them, wiping their butts, playing with them, catching them as they fall off the counter or arm of the couch, drawing with them, running with them, chasing them, playing with them, interacting with them, reading to them, answering their ceaseless questions, playing with them, bandaging their wounds, comforting them when they’re hurt or sad, buckling them into a car seat, chasing them down the aisle of the grocery store, playing with them, explaining to them that it isn’t nice to audibly observe that that lady has the appearance of a hippopatamus, generally keeping up with their undying energy for everything under the sun, and did I mention playing with them?

By the way, “playing” with a child, when it goes on for some twelve to fourteen hours straight, isn’t quite the same thing as “playing” poker with your friends, or “playing” volleyball, or whatever suits your fancy. It’s responding to the ever-changing whims of a child’s voracious appetite to learn everything all at once in the most hands-on manner possible.

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My wife has put in over 46,416 hours since our son was born, and that was just over five years ago. Because you know what? Even when she gets to lay down and try to get some sleep at night, she’s on the job. Yep, because parenting doesn’t magically end at night (at least if you’re not the type of parent to leave your child to wail themselves hoarse in total abandonment for so many hours).

By contrast, I work a regular 40-hour work week, plus another 10-15 hours in the evenings. But I get to drive into work in peace and quiet. And I get to spend my day associating and conversing with adults who can hold a conversation (my son can hold a conversation, by the way, in the sense that he can own it, for hours, and hours, and hours – but it’s more of a monologue, and usually the subject matter is Batman and Robin, or Fireman Sam, or some such flight of fancy he is presently obsessed with). I get to lean back in my chair and poke at the internet, maybe even write a (quarterly if I’m lucky) blog post or argue politics, without having my arm yanked off the keyboard to watch him play Legos or get a glass of water or instantaneously rocket out the door to the school park.

When my workday is over, I get to go home, away from it, and let whatever stress that’s clung to my spirit roll off of me as I walk in the door and get welcomed like I’m the Superhero of the Universe whose been out capturing Two-Face and his minions all day. I get to spend my weekends away from work, putting it out of my mind until I actually have to be concerned with it again on Monday.

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Stay-At-Home-Moms work 24/7/365. They don’t get overtime. They don’t get vacation (a shopping spree while I stay home with our son is not a vacation). They don’t get weekends off. They work from moment they get up in the morning to the time they lay down in bed at night, and are on-call all night for bad dreams, potty, thirst, itches, and anything and everything that can possibly rouse a child from their sleep. (Note to dads: this shouldn’t be regarded as an exclusively mom duty, either.)

Stay-At-Home Moms ARE working moms, and they work harder than ANY other worker in any other profession bar none. Their work – raising the future stewards of the planet – also happens to be more important than presidents, prime ministers, chieftains, ambassadors, et al, ad nauseam, none of whom could ever become presidents, prime ministers, chieftains, ambassadors, et al, without a mom.

I haven’t even mentioned everything else these working moms do outside of interacting with the children – NONE of which can ever get done without some interruption or other by either tragedy or need. And throughout all of this, adult interactions, by comparison, are few and far between. And when they happen, this is what they get?

It bears repeating: STAY-AT-HOME MOMS ARE WORKING MOMS. And they work harder than anyone else on the planet.

Having made that point, when the heck did my wife (who is really attractive) marry a rich guy?

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One of THE Coolest Things Ever

Ran across this on ThisIsColossal.com, and it may be one of THE coolest things I have ever seen. Be sure to read what’s going on here to fully appreciate the mind-blowing-ness of this… this creative experiment. Enjoy!

When a Squid Listens to Cypress Hill

 

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The Common Theme

Folks, those who know me well know that there is an issue that I take very seriously, one that I believe is paramount and fundamental to society.

I hope you will find the video below enlightening. It certainly adds perspective.

 

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