Abby Lee

It happened on Monday morning. I am officially a father. Life is good.

Go to Abby's site here to read the birthing story and see some pictures.

I will also make a link, but for some reason all of the links are at the bottom of the page. I have no idea why this happened or how to change it back. I think it was probably Troy's fault. Aaaarrrggghhh.

AltizerDystopiaBirth

I suppose it was because I recognized the name Altizer as a prominent name (rather than Anthony Smith or Adam Kotsko) that I actually read this longer of posts--something I must admit I do not normally do (sorry guys). But it got me to thinking.

I've been reading a number of dystopias lately. I thought of one in particular--This Perfect Day by Ira Levin. This is one of those dystopias where society is trying to create humans that are all similar and unquestioning. They do this mainly by a regimen of mandatory injections that occur on a monthly basis. These injections not only control the outbreak of disease and viruses, but they also control the hormones (resulting in birth control and a lack of sexual desire) and dull the senses of one's individuality. The injections are accompanied by visits to a "therapist" who monitors how each individual is doing. If there is odd behavior or an individual begins to question things a little too much, then there injections will be adjusted, or they will get an extra "treatment." Everyone in this society also wears a bracelet that they touch to various screens in order to enter a room or purchase goods, thus tracking the movements of each person. After an arduous struggle, the main character, Chip, and his girlfriend find a way to avoid the injections and make their way to an island of "incurables" or others who are not on the "grid." Upon arrival, Chip is disheartened by the fact that he has to work in a mine and share an apartment with another couple in order to make ends meet. He is disgusted by the fact that most of the people who escaped to the islands have accepted this lot in life and have taken to drinking lots of whiskey and wine and watching bad television--thus dulling their senses once again.

There is more to the book than that, but I was reminded of it this morning--particularly the part of the "revolutionaries" succumbing to whiskey drinking as a way of life. I realize that after having "escaped" the bondage of my conservative religious upbringing--by actually thinking and engaging God through thought and through theology, and by, oh my God, drinking alcohol with a bunch of other lunatic artists/writers/theologians--I have settled for mediocrity. Whereas drinking used to be just an excuse to get together and be creative, now it's just an excuse. And it's not just that, it's the avoidance of the encounter with the Almighty. Oh there are moments of clarity each year--like when I reread The Sickness Unto Death last winter--but these are few and far between. I think that the dulling of one's senses can take various forms, but at it's heart is a refusal to encounter God, or a denial that this encounter is necessary.

When Altizer talks about repression,

for now “God” can clearly be understood as the source of our repression, as the very speakers of God can no longer speak of God without actually evoking our repression, and evoking the ultimate power and ubiquity of that repression.

I think about a repression that I understand as having been self imposed, or at least that has been accepted without question. But it seems that what Altizer is saying is that exactly at the point of this repression is where the opening for a revolutionary theology lies:

Now it is not accidental that God has now disappeared from our theological language, or from our critical theological language, as nothing is now more damning or more self-destructive than actually hearing God, or hearing that God who is now spoken in a hearable theological language. This, too, is historically unique, but it opens up a whole new theological path, and just as once we could know God as the God of absolute judgment, now we can know an absolute or an absolutely ubiquitous repression whose only source that we can name is God, and whereas once the way to God was through an absolutely guilty conscience, now the only manifest way to God is through an absolute impotence or repression, or that repression which only now is all in all.

I think that there is something to this, however without seeking the struggle and seeking the encounter with God, then one's repression is just simply that.

On a not entirely unrelated note, my wife had her first strong (i.e. painful) contraction this morning--an indication that she may be close to going into labor. She is due on Sunday, so it's about the right time. I can't believe how exciting (and scary!) this is.

I'm a Hopeless Indie Guy

I cringed at the track listing for Adam Kotsko's new mix CD, and then faced my depression in what I'm writing now. I'm not facing it completely, though, because I'm too scared to post it at the Pickle. I'm sort of hiding out at The Tarantula, if I can call Jason's blog that, if I can call him Jason.

This woman, right -- this genius, actually -- actually rolled over in my bed and, facing me, said, "Are you an indie rock guy?" She said that to me! She said it coyly, as if to say, "It doesn't matter how you respond. I mean, I'm already in your bed."

But my thoughts started raging. I think she asked, believe it or not, because when we snuck into my bedroom, my roommate thoughtfully started blasting Wilco's album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. That was conscientious of him; he wanted to dampen any noises he feared might come from, you know, the act of lovemaking. But then I sang a long a bit, because it's true what they say: I am an American aquarium drinker. I do assassin down the avenue.

And then she asked me was I an indie rock guy and it wasn't hard to answer, "No, I am not," because, after all, I know who The Arcade Fire are but I don't know what they sound like. And you can't be an indie rock guy nowadays without feeling something about Trans Am, but I just don't. I've tried and I don't. So "no," I said, and I meant it.

But the truth is, I don't "have" anything else. I am not well versed in Brazilian music, which of course is what you have to be into if you were once an indie rock guy but aren't anymore. I really like OS Mutantes; I mean, I'm not insane -- but I don't own any of their stuff on colored vinyl. You know I'm crazy about Daniel Johnston but he's as insane-guy-tape-trader as I get. I can name two songs I really like by Aaron Copeland, though.

But when it comes down to playing music while painting a wall, I don't know which Thelonious Monk record to put in, or if I'm going to get made fun of for playing a '60s dance album from Tahiti. I do know that if I play Sufjan Stevens someone is going to say, "This music is so sad" and I'll go, "Yeah, but listen to this build." And if I play Pistolero everyone will talk about their first time listening to the Pixies.

It's like Camus said in his posthumous novel: "You love [indie rock]. It's all you have." And so, I mean, ick. But I guess I have to forgive Adam Kotsko his list, don't I? I do, but with the admonition to, please, get really crazy about Braziliam music and then send me a mix tape.

Al Jazeera animated take on Katrina

Cartoon

Switching in the Rail Yards

You may notice that I have a new site on my blog roll. I came across this site the other day and thought it was pretty cool. This guy works in Toronto for the Canadian Pacific Railway. He just writes about his job and his family. He seems like a good guy and definitely has cool kids.

Trashy

I don't know if your neighborhood is much like mine, but apparently it is the culture to just discard your used McDonald's wrapper, Dorito's bag, Coke can, etc. wherever you are at. Yeah, that's right. You are walking down the street drinking a hug and you gulp the last bit down. What better place to get rid of it than in someone's yard? Every week I have to pick up trash in and around my yard. Dispicable. At first I thought I was being targeted because I'm a white dude. But that theory was quickly denied as I looked around at my neighbors' yards. Same thing. Trash everywhere.

This week I was particularly suprised to find some bicycle handlebars in my yard. Handlebars? Honestly! What's next, a muffler?

So if you are missing some handlebars to your bike, come on over and get them.

Here's a big thanks to Chief Troy (Pharm house) for making this blog not suck quite as much as it has been sucking.

what can i say? blogging's just really not my forte.

on a not entirely unrelated note, I bowled a 161 today. That's better than half as well as you can possibly do! Now that's pretty damn good I think.

Are you ready for some Football?

I sure as hell am! After following the Chicago Bears through much of their off season, I am excited to see how they look in a real game scenario. With a top ranked defense and some new offensive weapons, the Bears might just pull off a win on the road in Washington.

Emily and I are driving down to Raleigh to catch the game. The Fox station here will be televising the Carolina Panthers game, and there is no bar close by that has the NFL Sunday Ticket. So off to Raleigh we go.

Who's your team?

Aaargh. Another bad country song.

Have your heard the song Arlington by Trace Adkins? Yeah, this song is horrible.

Goddamnit! It's not o.k. for these kids to be dying! For what?! The fucking suits? Shit.

George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People

The only real reason I watched the NBC concert for hurricane relief last night was for Harry Connick Jr. A New Orleans native, Connick has been helping NBC out by touring the city and providing a raw, real and heartfelt commentary on the catastrophe. The relief concert included a number of stars who appeared on stage in pairs reading scripted comments and information about the hurricane. Mike Myers and Kanye West appeared together. While Myers read his script, West followed up with an angry rant about how the media has been covering the hurricane catastrophe. "I hate the way they portray us in the media. You see a black family it says they're looting. You see a white family is says they are looking for food."

West went on to address his own feelings about the racism. "It's been five days because most of the people are Black; and even for me to complain about it, I would be a hypocrite because I tried to turn away from the TV because it's to hard to watch. I've even been shopping before even giving a donation. So now I'm calling my business manager right now to see what's the biggest amount I can give; and to just imagine if I was down there and those are my people down there."

Mike Myers looked a little bewildered as West continued his unscripted comment. "To anybody out there that wants to do anything that we can help with the set-up that America's set up to help the poor, the Black people, the less well off - slow as possible. The Red Cross is doing everything they can. We already realized how a lot of the people who could help are at war right now fighting another war. They've given them [The U.S. Army] permission to go down [to New Orleans] and shoot us."

Here's a partial video clip that catches the "Bush doesn't care about black people" comment.