geekandfather.com

May is never a fun month for us.

You’d think it would be. Spring is here. Winter is gone. School is ending. Summer is upon us.

Party season, right?

Yeah - not so much.

Spring storms were much more fun when I didn’t own my own home. That was a long long time ago.

I remember when the sound of thunder and rain put me to sleep. I would spend days during thunderstorms out in my parents’ garage, sitting in a lawn chair. Watching the rain. Feeling the rolling thunder beat against my chest. Smelling that first dirty smell as the oil was cleaned off the streets, followed by that fresh smell as the raindrops scrubbed the world clean.

Of course, I also remember spending countless nights sleeping on a closet floor in Oklahoma, the tornado sirens foretelling the winds of wrath swirling into sky-high fingers of destruction to randomly pluck a path of splintered wood and broken glass through our small towns and cities.

Then there was the straight-line winds ripping a quarter of our roof off. My mother holding my baby sister in her arms, screaming at her retarded dog to come back inside. Looking out the back window and seeing the stupid mutt grinning and sniffing the air as shingles from our house and a dozen others rained down like a black tar hailstorm. My mother screaming at me for being an idiot for running out there and carrying the dog back in.

Or there was the hailstorm here in Texas, where we were pelted for 30 minutes with softball-size hail. I was driving in that one. I survived. The car was never quite the same.

Or the time lighting struck a tree in the field next to me when I was at a stoplight.

Or the tornado that missed my house with me and my wife and children in it by less than half a mile. Or the rotation a few weeks later directly over my house that just didn’t bother to touch down that day. Or the tornado that hit a neighborhood 2 miles away a few weeks after that. Or the tornado the next year that would mark a path 3 miles away from where my next house would be built.

Or a couple years later where we had a small hurricane-force storm that ripped my yard and fence apart and killed my big beautiful tree and trapped my wife 40 miles away for a night.

Or a few weeks ago when we had small hail virtually sandblast our home for 20 minutes solid with 75MPH wind. $12,000 worth of damage and a new roof later, I say my little prayer of thanks to whoever thought up homeowners insurance.

Am I just supposed to take it as some blessing that neither I nor anyone in my family has ever been physically harmed with all these close calls? Or with the hundred other I didn’t list?

Am I allowed to get sick of just being grateful no one got hurt? Or that at least our homes and cars were able to be able to be repaired?

Is it horrible that I don’t feel blessed to be spared all these times, but instead I’m pissed off at being targeted and barely escaping over and over and over again?

Am I whining?

Yes. I think I am.

These are the moments I tell my children to shake their fists at the sky and scream at the heavens. See if that helps any.

And then they call me a dork. Justifiably so.

I guess I could move out of tornado alley. But I think I’d rather deal with random violent acts-of-God then another batch of slimy real-estate agents and biased inspectors and greedy banks and shady lawyers and idiotic buyers.

So I’m stuck here with the spring storms.

Oh yeah. And allergies.

You don’t realize how much you take oxygen for granted until you have trouble getting your share. Of course, I could take allergy medicine, but spending the day fuzzy-headed and grumpy isn’t much of a trade up from spending the day sniffling and sneezing and grumpy.

Alright - I know I’m totally whining now.

And NOBODY like a whiner.

I’m just trying to break out of my funk here. Sometimes a little bitching and moaning can shake things up a bit.

I’m not sure what exactly is doing this to me lately.

I just lock up.

I’ll be sitting at my desk, and I should be studying.

And I should be doing my work.

I should be doing this security analysis, that backup recommendation, this new configuration test, that pile of documentation.

And I should be cleaning my desk.

Because it’s so hard to do my work when my desk is just a pile of garbage.

And I should clean my office.

Because the reason my desk is a mess is because the office is a mess.

And I should redo my office.

Because the reason my office is a mess is because I have no place to put anything.

And I should go help clean up the house.

Because May is just one solid month of running around like idiots, with one event after another constantly taking up everyone’s time, so no one cleans up a damn thing and the whole house goes to shit. And it would be easier to get some of this crap out of my office if there was someplace in the house to put it.

And I should go exercise.

Because the reason I don’t have the energy to clean my house or my office is because I’m turning back into a fat pile of blah.

And I should go walk the dog.

Because I need the exercise anyway, and the damn dog won’t let me concentrate because I’m not walking her enough and she’s bored out of her mind.

And I should go wash my car.

Because, really, it just looks like hell.

And I should mow the grass.

Because if I let that look like shit the HOA Natzis will be leaving nasty-grams on my door.

And I should clean up the garage.

Because we can barely fit the cars in there at all.

And I should build that pergola in the back yard.

Because we need that extra shade before summer beats the kaka out of us again.

And and and and and.

And I just sit there.

I know which things are more important.

I know what needs to get done.

But there are times I just don’t care.

And I should go do what I want to do.

But, lately, I don’t even know what that is.

I have no idea what I want to do.

All my hobbies have turned into work.

There is very little TV I like to watch anymore.

My workout bench is buried under piles of old clothes I’ve been trying in vain to get removed from my garage. Not that I particularly enjoy working out.

I read. I read a lot. But sometimes I need to just get off my ass.

And the writing is fun. But still…off…my…ass.

I need to DO things that I want to do. And I don’t want to DO anything. And I lock up.

I sat on the edge of my bed earlier this week, just stuck. Alone in my house. Knowing all these things I should be doing. And not wanting to do a damn thing.

Just sitting.

Stuck.

Locked-up.

Take a shower. No. Get to work. No. Read something. No. Cook something. No. Go for a walk. No. Get dressed. No. Go out for lunch. No. Go to the store. No. Work out. No. Get on the treadmill. No. Watch TV. No. Water the plants. No. Do yard-work. No. Do something. No. Do anything. No. Get up. No. Lay down. No.

I just sat there. Pissed off. Wanting to want to do something. And not succeeding. I don’t know for how long.

I assume I eventually got distracted out of my funk. Want-to turned into had-to. And then things got done.

I’m just going to blame May.

School is almost done. The never-ending events are almost done. My wife’s library-work is almost done. Spring is almost done. The storms are almost done.

My brain is slowly starting to de-funk itself, I think.

A couple of days ago I found myself riding my bicycle. I don’t remember necessarily wanting to. I found a need to. But I ended up riding far longer than I needed to. I rode until I was soaked and dripping with sweat and panting and tired and my legs felt like rubber. That felt pretty good.

At least I did something that I didn’t need to do. I’m not sure I wanted to do it before I actually did it. But, you know, baby steps.

Last night, my wife and I were lying in bed watching Craig Ferguson. He always gives us a good laugh before we turn off the lights.

I had my head propped up on the pillow. She was lying naked under the covers with her head on my stomach. As Craig came back from commercials, he welcomed us back as his “naughty little monkeys”. We both giggled and began sink into the bed with that added weight of sleep pushing down upon us. I reached over, put my glasses on the nightstand, turned off the light, and felt myself slowly start to drift off to the fuzzy dancing lights of the television.

As my wife drifted away with me, she started breathing deeper and heavier. I played with a handful of her hair that was splayed across my chest. I felt her breath across my hips. I remember thinking that I really wanted her to move around in her sleep and slide her head a bit lower. I wanted to move her just an inch or two down, and feel her breath on more than just my hips. I wanted a reason to stop gently playing with her hair, and just grab a big handful of it.

For some reason, really really wanting that, regardless of whether I got it or not felt damn good.

It really is good to want things.

It’s another perk of being married to the person I am the most attracted to. There’s always a lot of “want”, regardless of the amount of “get”.

Last night I fell asleep with a smile.

That’s my kind of progress.

OK - maybe not everyone.

But, a lot. Most, even.

Granted - my version of a “lie” is fairly strict, but here is what it says in the dictionary:

lie: n: a statement that deviates from or perverts the truth

To me, it’s pretty straightforward.

An omission is a lie.

A half-truth is a lie.

Implying a lie without actually stating it -yup, still a lie.

Crossing your fingers behind you back: lie.

Skewing statistics to make them say what you want: lie.

Distracting someone to make them not notice the truth: lie.

Raising prices before you put something on sale: lie.

The “handling” portion of “shipping and handling”: lie.

Phrasing something so that the part you don’t want to say seems less important: lie.

Small print on the bottom of a commercial that no one can honestly read: lie.

Covering the truth in big words, technical jargon, or legalese: lie.

Spewing a bunch of words really fast and quiet at the beginning  or end of a commercial so we can’t really hear them: lie.

Lies, lies, lies.

We are surrounded by them every day. They are everywhere. They are on the billboards. They are in radio commercials. They are in TV commercials. They are in newspapers. But at least those people are just trying to make a buck. Of course, that buck is at your expense. They don’t think their product can get its full value without fooling you, twisting the numbers, hiding the bottom line, disguising the exceptions. They think you are too lazy or too stupid to see past their gimmicks.

They are usually right.

Worse is the news. The people who are supposed to be the caretakers of public information,  the watchdogs of the powerful and corrupt. They have become what they beheld. They know that fear sells. Blood and fire and pestilence equal ratings equal dollars. Honesty…well, not so much.

I don’t know about the rest of the world, but here in North Texas, it has even infected the weather broadcasts. Every storm is an event. Every single storm has a “chance of hail.” In each and every a storm “a tornado can’t be ruled out.”

But we fall for it. They get their ratings. We get our dose of false-excitement. Life goes on.

Politicians…

Well, anyway…

We all expect these lies, these untruths, these deceptions, don’t we?

I do. And I’m constantly disappointed by them. And by us.

Every time I see the small print on the screen. Every time I hear the fast ramble on the radio. Every time I see “+S&H”. I’m disappointed that we all just let it be. I’m disappointed at how often we all fall for it. If we didn’t they wouldn’t still be doing it.

But I do my little part to fight back. I teach the children. I tell them “when you see the small print, when you hear the fast ramble, assume everything else you saw and heard was a lie. Remember those companies and salespeople are trying to scam you. Don’t respect someone who is trying to fool you. When you see or hear “plus shipping and handling” they are lying to you about the price.  Assume they are lying about everything else. Don’t believe another word they say unless you verify it for yourself.

Yeah, I’m jaded. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.

Each generation gets better at communication. Hopefully that means each generation gets better at sifting out the falsehood. I’m just doing my part.

A much more subtle lie - and really the whole point of this extended tirade - comes from the schools themselves.  More specifically, the standardized testing that is forced upon the children. This is the most insipid, idiotic, irrational pile of fiction I have had the displeasure of experience in my years of parenting to date.

What makes it so horrendous is the amount of implications that are laid upon the results of these silly tests.

Entire cities are made and broken on these results. It usually starts when a  small little city get a reputation for having good schools. What makes a “good school”? Why, that “exemplary” rating from the TAKS test, of course. That reputation predictably pulls in new families by the thousands. The property values go up. So, the increased number homes and higher property values create a spike in school district income from the property taxes. Here in the DFW metroplex, we saw this happen over and over with Arlington then Plano, Frisco, Allen, Mansfield, Southlake, and on and on.

Now the reality is that yes, the small school districts usually do teach better. But it’s not necessarily a talent issue - it’s an environmental advantage. The classes are generally smaller. The politics are less prevalent. The population tends to be more homogeneous, so less time has to be spent teaching different people with different backgrounds in different ways. The parents tend to know the teachers more, so communication is better, analysis of the children’s progress is more accurate, and the overall result is improved. I’m not saying all this makes for better, more rounded people - but it definitely makes teaching the “3 R’s” much simpler and efficient.

But then word gets around, all the new families flock to the district in droves. The class sizes increase. The backgrounds get far more diverse and challenging for the teachers. Politics is forced to rear its ugly head. The constant change due to the growth becomes a strong distraction. The children, being stacked together in ever-increasing numbers learn new “pack” and “mob” mentalities. The basic “3 R’s become less important, with these new social dynamics forcing their way in.

I don’t see all these things as necessarily negative. Most of the world lives in cities. It is just as important - sometimes more so - to learn how to get along with these large, diverse groups of people as it is to learn algebra and physics.

These social dynamics, growth distractions, and politics, when taking away from some of the strong emphasis on reading, and writing, and arithmetic, also tend to show up as diminished scores on the standardized tests. Those scores which have brought in all the people in the first place, are predictably lowered by the very people they brought in. When that happens, the teaching styles are changed, and the overall education itself is significantly reduced.

I’m not being paranoid. I’m not generating weird conspiracy theories. I’m not trying to “stick it to the man”. The Dallas Morning News says it right here:

What’s at stake with TAKS:

•Teachers and principals are evaluated based on how their students perform, and some get demoted or terminated for repeated poor performance.

•Teachers and principals in some school districts receive bonus money based on good TAKS performance.

•Schools and districts are rated – exemplary down to academically unacceptable – based on how every student performs.

•Property values in cities can rise or decline based on school ratings, affecting the viability of entire neighborhoods.

All of these outcomes relying upon a bunch of prepubescents taking a standardized test inevitably cause a horrible skewing of the results.

First, of course, is the basic concept of “standardized testing”. When children become standardized, a standardized test might become a valid predictor of anything. But my own two kids are completely different than each other, and they live under the same roof. This is Texas for goodness sake. It’s bigger than most countries. You can drive non-stop for 10 hours on the highway in several directions from Dallas, and still be in Texas. How can you expect people from that far apart to fit into a standard? That’s just silly.

Then there is the “teaching to the test”. They don’t even hide it. They are proud of it. How retarded is that? The test is suppose to be an indicator of how the children are doing in their learning, not a goal to be reached in and of itself. My son’s teacher was scolded because, when my son got bored with the regular classwork, she was caught teaching my son extra stuff that wasn’t TAKS material. She was teaching him pre-algebra in 3rd grade. I thought it was awesome. The principal decided teaching any non-TAKS material during a TAKS-related class to be unacceptable. So, for the sake of improving the reputation of the school, my son’s teacher was ordered to teach him less.

We’re not special in this regard. A year or two ago, Fort Worth made news when it canceled its music and arts classes to spend all that extra time studying for the TAKS.  There are no art or music TAKS tests so, no harm no foul, right? My daughter had her science TAKS test last year, so they pushed pushed pushed science. Science class was every day. Science projects, science club, science homework - all year-long constants. This year there is no science TAKS, so science class is almost an after-thought. They teach it every-other-day for only half the year. Most of her science homework is how math works with science because, of course, there is a math TAKS this year.

And then, after all that catering to the test, the kid still gets three tries to take it, and the top score always counts.

Are you catching the pattern?

If the school gets exemplary, well, so what? They might be an truly exemplary school. Or maybe they are just exemplary at teaching a very narrow set of subjects to a very specific test. Do I care if my kid does good on some standardized test, if it’s taught at the expense of a well-rounded education? How can a school ever be exemplary if it eliminates art and music? How can a school be exemplary if they short-change science?

It’s skewed. At the end of the day, it’s a lie.

A prevarication.

A falsehood.

And it’s not going away any time soon. Honestly, it’s all about laziness and poor parenting. We want to just look at some list and find the school highlighted in green and say “there’s the good school.”

Come ON. You know better than that. You do. You know it’s not that easy. If you want to know what a school is like, visit the school. They may look like prisons, but they will actually let you in. The people will talk to you. If nothing else, just stand in the entryway and watch how the kids act. Sit in your car during recess and watch the kids on the playground. Call the local police or even the school district police. Google the school for goodness sake. Most of the people who move in here spend more time picking out the colors of the house they are having built then they spend researching their children’s educational institution.

Look, if you want your children to have a good education, it’s up to YOU. Not the school. You are not there to help the school teach your children. The school is there to help you teach them. The children are your responsibility, not theirs. If your kids can’t read, it’s your fault. If your kid can’t add, it’s your fault. Take the lead. Stay home and help your child. Turn off the stupid TV and help your kid with their homework. Stop expecting other people to do your work for you.

But it’s the nature of people these days. Everyone wants to be spoon-fed information. Few want to learn for themselves. So this is just the way it is for the foreseeable future.

And what can I do about it?

My daughter’s math TAKS test was this morning. On the way out the door, I grabbed her by the shoulder. “Take your time on the test. There is no reason to hurry through it. It is a test, so do as good as you would on any other test. The results will take care of themselves. And oh yeah - I don’t give a crap what you get for a score.”

She smiled, gave me a hug, and got in the car.

I love the webcam.

I know, there are lots of  great inventions out there in the modern world. But I’m a visual kinda guy. And sure, pictures are nice. A good picture says a thousand words.

But  webcams are like transporters. They take you there. I’ve been sitting in my office, and looking out at Australia, Asia, Europe, and Africa all at the same time. Sometimes it’s been outside. Sometimes not. I’ve seen the similarities and differences in things as simple as the clutter in another worker’s office.

People eat things I’ve never seen. They wear shirts with writing in languages I can’t read.

Other times they are having lunch with a McDonald’s bag in front of them, wearing a Nike shirt.

It’s a wonderful anthropological  exploration.

On the other hand, some of the best stuff happens closer to home.

My wife knows when I’ve been working too much.

I’m cooped up in this office, leaning over my laptop all day.

And then…”<bliinnnng> Someone has invited you to view their webcam. Do you wish to accept?”

Oh hell yeah.

My wife is insanely, painfully gorgeous. A life-long athlete with a mix of Mexican, Irish, German, and God-knows what else in her blood. She is tall, lean, and unbelievably sexy. Her body seems to defy physics because, while she is 5′8″, I swear her legs are 6 feet long. Her skin is nearly flawless, her dark brown hair long, lush and thick. She has little need for makeup, being able to roll out of bed, throw her hair in a pony-tail, and be able to walk out the door looking as gorgeous as anyone.

She, of course, would disagree, never thinking she is in as good of shape as she should be, hair never looking quite right, clothes never fitting the way she wants.

She’s nuts.

And, right now, she’s showering.

On the webcam.

Dear God she loves me. And knows me far too well.

It’s just a shower, right?

We’ve been married a lot of years. I’ve seen her shower thousands of times. It’s a glass shower. It’s not like there is anywhere to hide.

I’ve showered with her hundreds of times. I know how the water flows down her curves and crevices. I know the places that are hard for her to reach. I know what her hair feels like between my fingers when it’s full of shampoo. Or when I have a fist full of it and I’m pulling it from behind.

I’ve watched that razor track its way up her thigh a million times.

I’ve watched the soap flow down her back, flow around her cheeks and down the back of her legs.

I know what her voice sounds like when it echos off the tile, when my hands rub the body scrub into her muscles like it’s massage oil, and she sounds like she is almost purring.

I know what her chin feels like when  I wipe the shampoo away from her mouth as she’s talking to me.

I know what her body feels like as it is pressed against me, her hands helping me scrub myself clean.

I know what she feels like as I towel her dry. The softness of her never gets old. As if a soft cotton towel is a rough abrasive compared to her smooth, soft, freshly bathed skin.

I can see it all in my head if I choose to. I know the sounds, the smells, the feelings.

But I don’t have to close my eyes.

There she is, right in front of me, yet not.

I’m stuck here in my office, and here is this little piece of paradise in a 3×3 inch square on my screen.

She knows I can’t not look. It makes no sense. I can go to her any time I want.

But looking at her on this camera, in this little window…I’m utterly enthralled.

God almighty.

Yeah…she’s washing that spot right…well…Jesus.

You can’t see, so you don’t wanna know. Well, you actually probably do.

Neener, neener. You weren’t invited to view. This is my time. Unless she does invite you. That’s her call. I ain’t greedy.

It’s pretty dangerous when your wife knows your every little vice.

Especially one as odd as this one.

She knows as long as she’s on there, I’m stuck to this screen, and I’ll be lucky if I even blink. I’m not sure if it’s voyeurism. I can see her any time I want. I sleep with her every night. It’s my bathroom too, ya know.

Webcamism maybe?

A rational person would stop typing.

A rational person would know an invitation when he saw it.

A rational person would get up and

Kids and safety. It’s a never-ending conundrum.

We need to keep our kids safe because…well…they’re our KIDS, right?

But I would venture to say that no two sets of parents have the same version of what “safe” means. I know I’ve witnessed every variation between keeping the children in a virtual bubble to letting them run utterly free and unattended.

In our house, our definition of “safe”:

protected from immediate dire physical harm and long-term psychological harm.

In other words, we let them ride their skateboards on ramps and rails, but make them wear a helmet. We let them run around the house, but won’t let them ride down the stairs in a laundry basket. We make sure they do their homework, but we let make them take breaks from homework to go play.

We want the kids to have fun but not break their necks. We want the kids to be educated, but not feel like the world will stop spinning if they don’t get straight A’s.

That’s our version of raising kids in a safe environment. To us, it’s all about balance.

It’s exhausting, exasperating, and time-consuming, but it goes with the job.

Living in the bible belt, we also have to deal with those horrible, terrible taboos of <gasp> alcohol and <double gasp> sex.

As with any other subject the children may bring up, these are open to discussion. I usually have a glass of wine in the evening. Maybe even two. On occasion I will sit on the front porch with a friend and talk about the world over a glass of scotch. During the summer, we’ll sit in the driveway with the neighbors and drink beer.

The kids occasionally ask what I’m drinking. Invariably, my response is “wine (or beer or whatever)…want a sip?”, to which they always look at me like I have six heads, squish up their face, make a pukey kinda noise and walk away. It makes me giggle every single time.

Both our kids had the sex talk at very young ages for one simple reason: They asked. When a five-year-old asks where babies come from, what is the point of spouting some silly stork story? Is the truth that scary? Is it really that hard to face the fact that we were all created the same exact way?

What the heck does all of this have to do with the Internet you ask?

OK - if you are asking that question, you are already a parent with a problem. You are hoping for someone to tell you about this fancy program to put on the computer to keep your kid from seeing what you don’t want him to see. A special filter to keep her from talking to someone you don’t want her to.

Here’s the answer you didn’t want: It doesn’t work that way.

The basic premise for security for your children online is the same as security for a bank online. If you want complete security online, turn off the computer. Everything that occurs after you press the power button is another level of managed risk.

I’ve given this same lecture to more corporate executives than I can count.

The Internet was created for one purpose: sharing information. Using the Internet to stop information from flowing is like using roads to stop cars from moving. It’s nonsensical and unrealistic. It just so happens that a lot of the information to be shared is not what you want those rent-free midgets in your house to encounter.

A report from the National Research Council was commissioned by the federal government in 2002, called “Youth, Pornography, and the Internet“. The Council was chaired by conservative ex-Attorney General Richard Thornburgh. The report was intended to be the Bush administration’s reason for forcing libraries to use government-regulated Internet filters.

It supplied one of my favorite quotes ever about child-rearing in general, and the Internet in specific:

“Swimming pools can be dangerous for children. To protect them, one can install locks, put up fences, and deploy pool alarms. All of these measures are helpful, but by far the most important thing that one can do for one’s children is to teach them to swim”

That’s just a slap in your face from the open hand of common sense isn’t it?

Bush fired Thornburgh for it, too. Those darn facts aren’t what politics are all about.

Back to the point…

If you don’t have it in you to talk to your children about what they will inevitably see on the Internet, take the computer offline.

If you don’t have it in you to learn how to at least look at your kid’s browser history or instant message logs or email, take the computer offline.

Granted, their friends have computers. Schools have computers. Libraries have computers. Businesses have computers. A curious child will find a way. You can bury your head in the sand and pretend that your son won’t want to look at some boobies online. You can stick your fingers in your ears, close your eyes, and pretend your daughter isn’t going to want to chat with every kid in every one of her classes.

But for those of us who like to accept the real world for what it is, some dialog with the children is a must.

Tell the kids, “There is stuff on the Internet you are not old enough to process yet. It’s adult material. It’s not meant for you. And there are people out there who you don’t know who say they want to meet you to be a nice friend. They want to take you away from here for forever. They would hurt you very, very badly if they found a way to get you to meet them in the real world. If you see something that you wouldn’t feel comfortable seeing with me sitting next to you, don’t freak out, just close the browser and go to a different site. If someone you don’t know keeps trying to talk to you, don’t freak out. Just let me know and I’ll handle it for you.

“And I’ll be watching.”

With my kids, that was enough.

And, oh yeah, we watch.

Granted we are the kind of parents who despise the whole “I’m going to count to 5″ bit, because, dammit, if the kids didn’t listen after the first time we said it, they are already in trouble. Our kids know we don’t bluff. They have no doubt we’ll be watching.

If your kids know you bluff, and you don’t watch, you will lose. But that’s a different discussion.

So, you tell them you will be watching. And you watch. Check the browser history. Come on, it’s not hard. You can figure it out. Look at their instant messenger logs. Read their email. If you don’t know, learn. It’s not rocket science. If you kids figured it out, so can you.

Just google it for goodness sake.

There is another message we drive home to our children: “There is no privacy on the Internet.” If you want a private conversation, get on the phone. Once you are on the Internet, it’s free game for anyone with a little know-how to see everything you are doing, so don’t expect your parents to turn their heads.

So, if you want to protect your children from the horrible monsters on the Internet try old-fashioned good parenting. Just like you were going to the beach.

Talk to your kids.

Watch your kids.

Teach them to swim.

Know how to swim better than them.

And always keep an eye out for sharks.

I’ve been reading a lot over the past months, averaging around a book every two weeks or so, I guess.

I was making myself a list of stuff to keep an eye out for at the bookstore, which turned into a list of stuff that I’ve read so that I don’t buy a book twice.

I figured I’d drop it over here for posterity.

This is mostly stuff I’ve read since college. A few Stephen King books actually started way back in Jr. High school (Thinner was my first of his.) I know there are a lot that I am forgetting, and I’m not including anything I was forced to read, nor any of the countless technical books I’ve read in my geek career.

You’ll notice a rather wide variety. Yes, I’m a Stephen King fan. Yes, I’ve read a bunch of books that my kids liked so that we’d have something to talk about. And yes, they were actually some of the most fun ones to read…

As I mentioned in the previous post…I didn’t die.

We’ve been buried in work and parenting since last summer, to an almost idiotic degree.

Jennifer is still working at the library - which is ending soon - and has started a second career as a craft demonstrator/sales chick. As usual, with anything artistic, she’s really good at it. And she does regular volunteer work at the kids’ schools to top it off.

The kids are going bazonkers with school. They actually like school. They enroll in all these extra activities. Plus they are both taking piano lessons now. And D has gone insane with the flute, which also has its own after-school lessons to drive her to, along with all this extra stuff the teachers give her, since she’s a little phenom.

As for me…

There were three senior engineers at our company. Were. Now there are two.  The one who left was our Unix/Cisco guy, and we’ve had to absorb his duties.

Ever seen a saturated sponge try to absorb another spill?

It’s a slow, messy process.

Add to that, we moved our data-center to a new place, migrated most of our office systems to the new data center, and still did work for the actual paying clients, too.

At least it was a good excuse to back away from getting that stupid MCSE. I really saw no point in that.

Of course, in the past couple of weeks, they’ve decided it’s time for me to get a Suse Linux cert, so the reading continues.

On the plus side, I did get a lot of recreational reading in, especially while waiting in the car for the kids on the bijillion different pickups and dropoffs.

Speaking of reading, this is probably the most boring post I’ve written to date.

But everyone wants to know where I’ve been, and “busy” just never quite sums it up.

All this just seems to touch on the highlights, and just thinking about it is exhausting in itself.

I’ve been trying to do everything, and getting nothing done. I’ve learned that if I’m thinking about work more than sex, my priorities have shifted out of whack. So I’m trying to back away from the insanity a bit. Get back to writing. Get my head back on straight. Relax a bit. Socialize with people who are actually stimulating.

<wink>

Hell, I haven’t even changed the CD’s in the changer for over six months until today.

I just don’t know what the hell I’m thinking sometimes.

I’m even separating out the work-related stuff here in blog-land. This place will be my “miscellaneous stuff” writing. Over here will be my geek writing. I’m sure there will be some overlap on occasion, but I’ll deal with that when I get there.

Alright. Enough.

I’ve been busy. You get the idea.

Now back to living again…

I’ve just been accumulating far more input than output.

I’m on the verge of a mental buffer overload.

Be back soon.

It recently occurred to me that basic mathematics has an argument against some of the core religious teachings of today.Not math itself, but a very small part of math that a very small number of people seem to understand.

Infinity.

This is a specific concept in mathematics. It means “time without end” or “immeasurably or inconceivably great or extensive“. It’s a big number, and yet not a number. It’s so large, if you start here and go on for infinity, the beginning point eventually becomes proportionally so small, that there is no longer a beginning.

It’s a difficult concept, but not unreachable.

There are two geometrical forms that are most commonly used to describe infinity; the line, and the circle.

(There is also the curve that approaches a line and never reaches it, which is probably the correct alternative to the viewpoints below, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Religion tends to treat lives and souls in the manner of either the line or the circle. The circle concept for the soul is what modern Christianity has characterized as Paganism. Simply put, it is the whole rebirth thing. It used to be commonly represented with two symbols that over time have been converted to representations of evil: the snake, and fire.

The snake was typically displayed in a circular pattern, with its head meeting its tail. Its periodic shedding of its skin was the representation of starting over, shedding the sins of the past, beginning anew. Fire was seen as that which destroys, but from its ashes new life is born. Early leaders of the Christian faith didn’t like these strong symbols of the competitive faith, so they made the Serpent into the bad Satan guy of the Adam and Eve fable, and they changed Hell from being a land of Cold And Ice to a land of Heat And Fire.

The Pagan faiths were more matriarchal. Women have cycles. The women’s eggs are round. Women represent birth and grow circular bellies during the process. You get the idea.

The Pagans faiths’ themes of eternity were based on the circle. Cycles. Repetition. Try again. Pay in the next life for the sins of the current, and vice-versa.

The Christian faith is strictly patriarchal. Men dread women’s cycles. Morality tales are written with women corrupting men. Men have their own “straight line” between their legs. Men fight with spears and swords. Blah, blah, blah.

The Christian faith’s concept of eternity is linear. There is a timeline to adhere to. Man was created, man failed, man was saved, Armageddon is approaching, and then we are done. The sin of the father carries for four generations, and then is done. You are born, you die, you go to heaven or hell.

I’m not defending or attacking either of these concepts. They are both wrong and both right, in their own little ways. The point is they have this theme of forever, eternity, infinity. Either it is a time without end or a repetition of time over and over again.

The part that doesn’t quite add up for me is the common Christian belief of eternal time without end, and yet still having a heaven and hell.

The thought is that we will spend maybe 100 years on this planet, and that will determine what happens to us for the rest of eternity. According to Catholic church doctrine, I can lead a wonderful, giving, perfect life, but if I, at my last dying breath, decide to take my own life, then that one moment, that one second of action, will determine my fate for eternity. On the flip side, I can be a selfish, unthinking asshole for my whole life, and, nearing the end of my life, I can repent, believe I have sinned, ask for forgiveness, and all this previous garbage doesn’t count, and, once again, alter my fate for all of eternity.

According to what we are taught, not even 100 years, but a moment, a blink of an eye, can determine the fate of a soul for all time everlasting.

And back to the math. Infinity is a LONG TIME. Mathematically speaking, in the face of infinity 100 years doesn’t exist. 1000 years doesn’t exist. A second is a minute is a year is a millennium is an era is an epoch. It’s all the same. They all divide into infinity equally, which is infinitely small.

Small beyond measure.

Nothing.

So God is going to send my soul to one extreme or the other of existence, for all time and forever, in either agony or bliss, for the actions I may or may not have partaken in, during a period of time so small that it doesn’t even exist in relation to the duration of the reward or punishment?

Does that really sound like the action of a Benevolent Loving Creator?

Or does that sound like the imaginings of men who were granted power and money and privilege, but denied sex for their whole life?

Once again, the minds of humanity have tried to simplify away something that they are incapable of comprehending. Heaven and hell are methods to put a cap on eternity. They create an ending where there is no ending.

One thing, that is all, forever. That isn’t existence, that is completion. That is the destination, not the path. Aren’t we taught to live for the path? If the soul continues after death, aren’t we supposed to still be living?

We can’t comprehend past death. We can’t comprehend the length of forever. So we have taken what we can understand, and placed it on top of a concept which is beyond our feeble little brains.

The universe is bigger than us. The universe does not revolve around us. But we keep using religion to try to keep us at the center. We keep trying to use religion to worship the greatness of man above all else in the universe.

What we do here does matter. It matters in the now. It matters in the future. It matters for our children and for the memory of our ancestors and for our souls.

But that doesn’t mean that what we do here is all that matters. It doesn’t mean that this is the end. It doesn’t mean that this planet, this existence, this piece of reality is all there is for forever and ever.

I don’t know how to explain it, because I don’t understand it, either. But I’m not going to make up Utopian fantasy and fearsome horror stories to pretend I do. We should not live our lives in need of eternal reward for doing good and in fear of eternal punishment for doing wrong.

We should do our best to do the right thing for as long as we live, because that is simply the right thing to do. What happens after we die will take care of itself.

I just hope it will be more interesting than the two simple choices we are currently being fed.

My sister-in-law is a lesbian.

My sister-in-law has curly brown hair.

My sister-in-law has a pretty smile.

These are all simple truths. There does not need to be any emotional-adjustment to any of the above. There is no “getting-used-to” any of this. It is a simple concept, really.

Actually, it can be much harder to get past the pretty smile and pretty hair than anything else. I’ve been known to stutter on occasion, myself.

But why…why, why, why, why, why does everybody make such a big deal about the sex thing? It is only a big deal because people make a big deal about it. If people didn’t make a big deal about it, it just wouldn’t be a big deal.

I have proof.

The child test. If a child can understand something that you don’t, you are being a stubborn idiot.

When my children were very very small, we told them about their aunt. I don’t remember if we brought up the subject, or one of them did. But we didn’t beat around the bush. (Pardon the pun) We didn’t mince words. We didn’t throw in theological/ideological explanations. It went something like this:

“You know how you usually think of boys liking girls and girls liking boys?”

“Ewww boys are gross.”

“OK - grown up men liking grown up women?”

“Oh…yeah. Still gross, though.”

“Well your aunt likes girls instead of boys.”

“Oh…how come?”

“She just does. That’s how she is.”

“Oh. OK. Can I have a cookie?”

Can’t it just be that easy? It is that easy. It is. It just is.

It’s stupid when it’s not.

And apparently most people are stupid.

But that’s not news, I guess.

And in case there is some right-wing twit reading this and spouting some Leviticus nonsense…stuff it. The reasoning of “this one guy implied that what we think he was referring to as homosexuality was bad around 2000 years ago” still fits under the general description of “stupid”. Try thinking for yourself just once, you fucking little sheep.

My sister-in-law is coming up to visit us for Thanksgiving. I miss her. My wife misses her. The kids miss her. Her parents miss her. I’m glad she’s coming up to see us. I’m excited she’s actually going to have enough time to sit and have Thanksgiving dinner with us.

But I know she’s somewhat nervous. My family will be here also. They are Catholic. Very Catholic. Catholicism tends to lend itself to bigotry. Some would call that stereotyping or over-simplifying.

Get taught by nuns for a few years, then get back to me.

This is not the religion of tolerance. This is not the religion of forgiveness. Unless, of course, you are raping small children while wearing a white collar. Or unless you were one of the Nazi-youth. Then you are all good.

Also, my baby-sister’s in-laws will be here. They are Baptist. More Baptist then my family is Catholic. No drinking. No dancing. “The Lord” makes his way at least once or twice into every conversation. I find it mostly pretty silly. But it can get tedious on occasion.

The mom in particular can be a piece of work. Or so I’ve heard. Apparently she’s on some meds that can make her act like a wackadoo on occasion. I haven’t witnessed any such acts myself, but my sister’s favorite was when the mom said that anyone who drinks also does drugs, everyone knows that, and all such people are scum…blah, blah, blah. And she knows very well that my sister and her husband - the mom-in-question’s son - drink all the time. They worked in bars for God’s sake. In other words - this woman can run her mouth.

In case you are wondering - yes, there will be a case of beer in the fridge, and several bottles of wine on the table.

My family knows that if they have negative emotions about my sister-in-law, they should just as well keep them to themselves. But, honestly, they have been fairly enlightened over the past couple of decades. Mostly because they have found out about the amount of gay people that were around them in the first place, and how they were really genuinely good people. That and they have distanced themselves somewhat from the church themselves. Comparatively speaking, at least. You can’t have a brain and just let all the Catholic church’s misdeeds just go unforgotten. So there is hope for them yet.

As for the in-laws, that’s a bit of a question-mark. I have no idea where they stand.

For the record, I have no tolerance for bigotry in my house, especially from my family, extended or not. I have no qualms removing people from my home in mid-meal for delving into what I consider hate-speech. They would be faced with a simple choice: repent or depart.

Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.

Hopefully we just have a Happy Thanksgiving.

And I wonder why I have so many headaches.

A little while back, someone surprised me. Usually that’s a good thing. In this case, not so much.

We were outside, doing some late-night drinking with the neighbors, and I made some jovial comment about evolving from monkeys or some damn thing. One of my neighbors, a funny, intelligent, educated, successful man, got angry and irritated.

“Oh no,” he says. “We have an evolutionist here with us!”

I laughed. I assumed he was kidding.

He wasn’t.

“How can you possibly believe that garbage?” he asks.

I was stunned. I just stared at him.

“I can’t believe people anyone can really believe something that is just  such an obviously impossible idea.”

I was completely taken off guard. My brain totally locked up. This is a guy who’s usual conversation topics are farts, money, and blowjobs. He not exactly a religious zealot.

I wanted to argue about the fossil record, carbon dating, the usual junk. But, honestly, I’ve never actually had to make an argument about such a thing before. I don’t usually associate too much with people who are such mental sheep. Add to that the fact that it was late at night, and I was drinking, so the only thing that made it out of my mouth was “What about the bones? You can’t argue with all those bones…”

OK - I knew what I meant at least.

The dude just got angrier, though.

I had forgotten a major life-rule: Never argue with the devout. 

Luckily, someone jumped in and changed the subject. I don’t remember who. Probably my wife. She’s smart like that.

It’s been several weeks, maybe even months since then. My brain keeps returning to that moment though. The complete shock I felt that someone thought I was stupid for even considering a concept other than their’s. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. This is the Bible Belt after all. The devout are everywhere.

And they are scary.

To some degree, I pity these folks. I don’t pity them for what they believe. I pity them for the manner in which they believe it. To feel such vicious anger towards anyone who might suggest a possibility other than the one they currently hold. Why is this particular trait so often associated with religious fervor?

I had to go do some research. I have no real doubt that evolution exists. It’s too well proven, and until someone comes up with significant proof of something else, I’ll stick with what appears right. But I wanted to research what exactly these folks are holding so tight on to.

It wasn’t hard to find. I occasionally go reading in the land of the religious right. It’s always pretty frightening. I feel like a man running recon in enemy territory.

The stuff that is written on these sights boggles the imagination. These folks are angry, mean, bigoted, and damn proud of themselves. The sentiments aren’t that different between white-supremacists, militant-militias, pro-lifers, evangelical Christians, and extreme Islamics. Each group believes they are doing the right thing. Each group believes every one else is going to burn in hell. Each group believes it is their God-given mission to force the rest of the world to be more like them. Each group believes that anyone who refuses to accept their shtick as law is the enemy. They just differ by methodology.

At least officially.

Anyway, as dirty as it can feel, I dove into the waters of anger and prejudice. The arguments were interesting. I’ll give them that.

Basically, the main argument by creationists against evolution is that the majority of scientists are either incompetent or lying. More specifically, scientists are all atheists who want to destroy the concept of God. Carbon dating doesn’t really work. All the paleontologists are lying about the fossils. Humans were here with the dinosaurs, and it is completely obvious, because how else could we explain the existence of dragons in all the folklore? Noah had all the animals in the ark. Yup - even the dragons and dinosaurs. The fossil record, which doesn’t really exist, shows proof of a world-wide flood. The reason all the animals fit on the ark is because there were less types of animals back then. This is explained by the fact that most breeds of dogs are less than 100 years old. They all evolved from two wolves on the ark. Because that’s a different kind of evolution.

The Bible says so, so all this arguing is moot, anyway. Amen and Hallelujah.

I’m not over-simplifying. I’m not exaggerating. I’m merely regurgitating.

It’s a bizarre school of thought. If I believe that the Earth is 4.5 billion years old, instead of 4 thousand, I’m a non-believer?

If I believed we were made in a gradual process as opposed to a one-day job, then I’m a heretic?

Here’s what I believe - God, in whatever form he/she/it exists - is bigger than mankind. I’m OK with mankind not being the center of the universe. I’m OK with the universe not being based on the timeline of our one single species. As a species, we’re still kinda retarded. I prefer to think of us as the special-ed kids of the universe, waiting to see how many times we can stick our fingers in the electrical socket before it stops hurting.

If there are aliens out there, I’m sure they probably call this Planet Short-Bus or something.

Science answers the how.

Religion answer the why.

Science sucks at the why - but at least they are more ready to admit it.

Religion sucks at the how - but they still insist they know it better than anyone else.

Just like a stubborn child.