In case any of you back on the East Coast are still complaining about, oh my gosh, it's 103 today, I'm dying, here's some Yuma statistics for you, from our very own local newspaper the Sun (of course):
Number of days in Yuma, from July 1 to August 29 (just two months!), in which temps were above...
-100 degrees: 57
-105 degrees: 43
-110 degrees: 19
Number of "cool" days (below 100) for the same time period? 3.
Nuf said.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
a phantom future
I heard what I thought was an insightful and interesting essay on the radio this morning, and I wanted to share it. The author started out by noting the phenomenon of phantom pains in amputees- how people who have limbs amputated sometimes feel pain in arms and legs that are not there. A few years ago, the author was diagnosed with cancer, and told he had 6 months to live. Now his prognosis is more hopeful, but he still finds thinking about the future difficult. He wonders: Are my plans for 2 years from now- a future that for me may very well not exist- as absurd, as meaningless, as pain felt in an arm long severed? Do I have, in effect, a phantom future?
And it made me think- with or without a prognosis of imminent death, aren't even our most carefully crafted and contemplated plans absurd, in a way? Of course we have to plan for the future; for lack of vision a people perish, right? But lest we get too wrapped up in a future that is not ours, that could be snatched from our grasping hands at any moment, it is arrogance of the most absurd (and yet common, and for me very personal) kind to to believe that those plans are anything more than mere feeling and sensation, a hope for things uncertain.
Is this morbid? I don't think so. It's just one more reminder that our destinies are not our own. Whether you believe that God or fate or evil or anything else does the life altering/directing/snatching, I think we all can agree that there will always be an element of life that is uncertain, no matter how strong or wise we become. Yes, make plans, by all means! But let's recognize those plans for what they really are: an amputee's sensory longing.
As a corollary-- while any plans I construct for myself are phantom futures, the plans of the One who has the power over the course of my life are solid, beyond reach of life's uncertainties. As unsatisfactory as it may sound, God's plans- which in their entirety are completely unknown and unknowable to me- are the only real sure thing. The plans I carefully plan and construct and sweat for are ephemeral; the Divine future I can't predict or build or sway is lasting. Honestly, I only am comfortable with this arrangement when I am at my wit's and strength's end, but I believe it is true.
And it made me think- with or without a prognosis of imminent death, aren't even our most carefully crafted and contemplated plans absurd, in a way? Of course we have to plan for the future; for lack of vision a people perish, right? But lest we get too wrapped up in a future that is not ours, that could be snatched from our grasping hands at any moment, it is arrogance of the most absurd (and yet common, and for me very personal) kind to to believe that those plans are anything more than mere feeling and sensation, a hope for things uncertain.
Is this morbid? I don't think so. It's just one more reminder that our destinies are not our own. Whether you believe that God or fate or evil or anything else does the life altering/directing/snatching, I think we all can agree that there will always be an element of life that is uncertain, no matter how strong or wise we become. Yes, make plans, by all means! But let's recognize those plans for what they really are: an amputee's sensory longing.
As a corollary-- while any plans I construct for myself are phantom futures, the plans of the One who has the power over the course of my life are solid, beyond reach of life's uncertainties. As unsatisfactory as it may sound, God's plans- which in their entirety are completely unknown and unknowable to me- are the only real sure thing. The plans I carefully plan and construct and sweat for are ephemeral; the Divine future I can't predict or build or sway is lasting. Honestly, I only am comfortable with this arrangement when I am at my wit's and strength's end, but I believe it is true.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
the seduction of snobbery
I spent a day this past week with the most arrogant and self-absorbed person I've ever met. And it was an unbelievably unpleasant and infuriating experience. But my point here is not to bash him, but to reflect on what I learned from that experience.
Call it what you will- arrogance, elitism, conceit, narcissism, self-righteousness- it's ugly. But I think it's very very easy to fall into the trap, when we start making judgments about others. Here's how the process works, as I saw it played out in front of me: (1) I am smart/cultured/unique/other positive trait. (2) I don't like/get along with/am different from that person. (3) That must be because that person is not as smart/cultured/deep/cosmopolitan as I am. (4) That person is therefore stupid/shallow/naive/uncultured. (5) I am better than that person. Do this enough times, and step five becomes: I am better than most people. I am one of the elite.
And on and on it goes, until I am so self-absorbed and out of touch with reality that no one can stand to be around me. And the really tragic thing is, I've convinced myself that everyone but me is the problem. If only people were as deep/cultured/smart as I am, I would have more friends/dates/etc. But instead I'm stuck here trying to make the best of it, surrounded by idiots, a modern-day martyr. (insufferable, isn't it?)
But of course it doesn't start off looking so obviously ugly. See step 1? There's nothing wrong with liking yourself- with believing that you are smart or attractive or cultured or witty. I think the real problem comes when you start making judgments about others based on your opinions of yourself. And that is where the danger is, and that is where it becomes personal for me. Maybe this guy is in an advanced stage of the disease of pride, but I've got its beginning sniffles. It's the same disease; he's just left his untreated, ignored the warning signs for years.
For example: I hate Wal-Mart, not a great surprise to anyone who knows me. I hate it because it exemplifies a throw-away, consumer-crazed culture; I hate its cavernous cheaply made expanses and how it is dirty and impersonal and destroys small businesses and wraps itself in a fascade of made-in-America while treating American and non-American employees like crap. I think these are all good reasons to hate Wal-Mart, and I stand by them. But here's the next step: People who shop at Wal-Mart are not socially conscious like I am. They are either slobs who don't know or apathetic sheep who don't care. (Wow, I'm feeling superior already! That was easy.) People who shop at Wal-Mart are obviously less cultured/socially conscious/thoughtful/tasteful than I am. (See? I didn't even have to get to know any of those people and yet I've elevated myself above 3/4 of the American public! Easy!)
Except: Lots of people I love and admire shop at Wal-Mart. I probably do lots of things that are just as bad for the world as shopping at Wal-Mart. The "excepts" could go on and on.
Elitism/snobbery/judgment is cheap. It is easy. But it is ultimately costly. It allows us to make snap judgments about people who are different than us, and to thereby instantly elevate our own egos. But the cost is: We throw reflection and critical thinking out the window. We don't get to know or love people. We bypass the chance to grow and learn and face our mistakes and faults. We use people. We miss out on LIFE. Taken to its endpoint, this approach to life would leave you or me completely alone in a tight little superiority box with our nose in the air.
So that is why I say that I am not writing this to bash this guy. Because in his delusional self-glorification, I caught a glimpse of what I could become if I let my own self-righteousness go unchecked. And it was ugly.
Call it what you will- arrogance, elitism, conceit, narcissism, self-righteousness- it's ugly. But I think it's very very easy to fall into the trap, when we start making judgments about others. Here's how the process works, as I saw it played out in front of me: (1) I am smart/cultured/unique/other positive trait. (2) I don't like/get along with/am different from that person. (3) That must be because that person is not as smart/cultured/deep/cosmopolitan as I am. (4) That person is therefore stupid/shallow/naive/uncultured. (5) I am better than that person. Do this enough times, and step five becomes: I am better than most people. I am one of the elite.
And on and on it goes, until I am so self-absorbed and out of touch with reality that no one can stand to be around me. And the really tragic thing is, I've convinced myself that everyone but me is the problem. If only people were as deep/cultured/smart as I am, I would have more friends/dates/etc. But instead I'm stuck here trying to make the best of it, surrounded by idiots, a modern-day martyr. (insufferable, isn't it?)
But of course it doesn't start off looking so obviously ugly. See step 1? There's nothing wrong with liking yourself- with believing that you are smart or attractive or cultured or witty. I think the real problem comes when you start making judgments about others based on your opinions of yourself. And that is where the danger is, and that is where it becomes personal for me. Maybe this guy is in an advanced stage of the disease of pride, but I've got its beginning sniffles. It's the same disease; he's just left his untreated, ignored the warning signs for years.
For example: I hate Wal-Mart, not a great surprise to anyone who knows me. I hate it because it exemplifies a throw-away, consumer-crazed culture; I hate its cavernous cheaply made expanses and how it is dirty and impersonal and destroys small businesses and wraps itself in a fascade of made-in-America while treating American and non-American employees like crap. I think these are all good reasons to hate Wal-Mart, and I stand by them. But here's the next step: People who shop at Wal-Mart are not socially conscious like I am. They are either slobs who don't know or apathetic sheep who don't care. (Wow, I'm feeling superior already! That was easy.) People who shop at Wal-Mart are obviously less cultured/socially conscious/thoughtful/tasteful than I am. (See? I didn't even have to get to know any of those people and yet I've elevated myself above 3/4 of the American public! Easy!)
Except: Lots of people I love and admire shop at Wal-Mart. I probably do lots of things that are just as bad for the world as shopping at Wal-Mart. The "excepts" could go on and on.
Elitism/snobbery/judgment is cheap. It is easy. But it is ultimately costly. It allows us to make snap judgments about people who are different than us, and to thereby instantly elevate our own egos. But the cost is: We throw reflection and critical thinking out the window. We don't get to know or love people. We bypass the chance to grow and learn and face our mistakes and faults. We use people. We miss out on LIFE. Taken to its endpoint, this approach to life would leave you or me completely alone in a tight little superiority box with our nose in the air.
So that is why I say that I am not writing this to bash this guy. Because in his delusional self-glorification, I caught a glimpse of what I could become if I let my own self-righteousness go unchecked. And it was ugly.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Yuma Star
Let me start by saying that I have never watched American Idol, and I don't intend to start. But this past Wednesday, I found myself seated in Yuma's historic theater, yelling the name of a contestant in Yuma's own version of the talent contest.
My new friend Lisa, a 23 year old teacher from Michigan ( have I mentioned that around 90% of Yuma's teachers come from out of state?) , had been in Yuma one week. But this gutsy recent college grad loves to sing, and is good at it, so she signed up for Yuma's annual singing competition. Since she had no family here to come see her, she gave me one of her free "family tickets" and I promised to be there. And it was fun.
Unlike the TV version, Yuma Star contestants can be anyone brave enough to get up on stage. This made for a fascinating cross section of the community, from the skinny 13 year old in a tube top singing some pop song that I have never heard, to the 41 year old Mexican father in cowboy hat and boots singing a simple ballad in Spanish, to the 24 year old Army member with 2 kids singing "before he cheats" in all that song's angry glory (to the extent of kicking over the mike stand), to the 15 year old whose version of the Titanic song was absolutely excruciating, to the young Michigan transplant dedicating "Gotta be" to her new friends at Yuma school district number one. Then at the end, one of the judges gets up on stage to kill some time while the scores are being tallied. "I'll sing something. Do you all mind if it's about Jesus?" Lots of cheers. So the night ends up with a gospel song sung by the big man with the football player physique.
I like the small town version of American Idol (Idiot?) much better than the TV version. Because it's the chance to see someone just like you, only a little braver or more spotlight-hungry, up there going for it in front of an audience of people praying that their friend won't forget the words, trip onstage, or lose their top. And in the end, when I stood outside in the 100 degree 9 oclock evening waiting for Lisa, and saw the new "stars" walking out of the theater basking in their newfound small town celebrity-dom, I have to admit feeling a glow of fondness for this little city in the middle of the desert.
And yes, Lisa made it to the next round.
My new friend Lisa, a 23 year old teacher from Michigan ( have I mentioned that around 90% of Yuma's teachers come from out of state?) , had been in Yuma one week. But this gutsy recent college grad loves to sing, and is good at it, so she signed up for Yuma's annual singing competition. Since she had no family here to come see her, she gave me one of her free "family tickets" and I promised to be there. And it was fun.
Unlike the TV version, Yuma Star contestants can be anyone brave enough to get up on stage. This made for a fascinating cross section of the community, from the skinny 13 year old in a tube top singing some pop song that I have never heard, to the 41 year old Mexican father in cowboy hat and boots singing a simple ballad in Spanish, to the 24 year old Army member with 2 kids singing "before he cheats" in all that song's angry glory (to the extent of kicking over the mike stand), to the 15 year old whose version of the Titanic song was absolutely excruciating, to the young Michigan transplant dedicating "Gotta be" to her new friends at Yuma school district number one. Then at the end, one of the judges gets up on stage to kill some time while the scores are being tallied. "I'll sing something. Do you all mind if it's about Jesus?" Lots of cheers. So the night ends up with a gospel song sung by the big man with the football player physique.
I like the small town version of American Idol (Idiot?) much better than the TV version. Because it's the chance to see someone just like you, only a little braver or more spotlight-hungry, up there going for it in front of an audience of people praying that their friend won't forget the words, trip onstage, or lose their top. And in the end, when I stood outside in the 100 degree 9 oclock evening waiting for Lisa, and saw the new "stars" walking out of the theater basking in their newfound small town celebrity-dom, I have to admit feeling a glow of fondness for this little city in the middle of the desert.
And yes, Lisa made it to the next round.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
The Yuman shopping cart: a field observation
In the suburbs and large cities, carts are fairly docile and domesticated creatures, huddling together in neat rowns and hered in and out by high school bagger boys. But in the small town of Yuma, carts' true character are revealed.
Carts are by nature wild and solitary animals. They are amazingly elusive, skulking warily in the corners of parking lots. They gather in small clumps between parked cars like surly teenagers, plotting their escape.
And they do escape. Aided by the desperation of car-less humans faced with the challenge of hauling tortillas and beans to their homes in the stifling heat, the carts break away from their asphalt corrals. From what I've observed, the preferred habitat of the Yuman carts are vacant lots and run-down apartment buildings, where they jangle along fences and walls in solitary windblown freedom. Often, they can be found rolling on their backs in the dust, wheels raised to the sky in rusty joy.
Although the carts generally enjoy the solitary life, they do congregate in canals, where they commune in submerged secrecy until a municipal water crisis exposes their box-like bodies to the sun. And it is here, in the concrete channelled ribbons of diverted Colorado River water, that these proud steel creatures go to die. Worn out by old age and wild living, they disintegrate into the minerals that give Yuma water its distinctively unappealing taste.
That's how I see it.
Carts are by nature wild and solitary animals. They are amazingly elusive, skulking warily in the corners of parking lots. They gather in small clumps between parked cars like surly teenagers, plotting their escape.
And they do escape. Aided by the desperation of car-less humans faced with the challenge of hauling tortillas and beans to their homes in the stifling heat, the carts break away from their asphalt corrals. From what I've observed, the preferred habitat of the Yuman carts are vacant lots and run-down apartment buildings, where they jangle along fences and walls in solitary windblown freedom. Often, they can be found rolling on their backs in the dust, wheels raised to the sky in rusty joy.
Although the carts generally enjoy the solitary life, they do congregate in canals, where they commune in submerged secrecy until a municipal water crisis exposes their box-like bodies to the sun. And it is here, in the concrete channelled ribbons of diverted Colorado River water, that these proud steel creatures go to die. Worn out by old age and wild living, they disintegrate into the minerals that give Yuma water its distinctively unappealing taste.
That's how I see it.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Die Hard's big lie
I went to see the latest Bourne movie yesterday. Sitting through the previews was pretty appalling. I think I saw 20 murders just in the previews. I don't know if Hollywood is coming up with more violent movies, or if because of the high military presence Yuma gets all of the finest shoot-em-ups, but it was awful. Or maybe that it what I get for going to see an action movie, even if it is an action movie where the hero has a little bit of a conscience, who is haunted by his crimes and trying to escape.
The movies that really bother me are these ones where these supposedly good loving family men turn into Rambos when someone does something to their families. These movies- Die Hard and all its spawn, Kevin Bacon being the star of the most recent one- sell the lie that it is ok to murder and maim with astonishing brutality if your family is in danger. It's this sick marriage of love for family, and brutal violence. All this, and when you've washed the blood of countless people from your hands, you can go back to your wife and kids, cleansed with gory adrenaline, as if it was all worth it. We are sick- to twist a good impulse- love and sacrifice for your family- into a license to kill.
These type of movies especially bother me because they are fundamentally dishonest. Because violence has a cost. Even violence that is undertaken with the best of intentions, for the most noble of causes. I saw another movie two weeks ago, one that was much more honest about the effects of violence. I think that any really realistic war movie leaves me with a sinking realization of the absolute inutility of war. The Wind that Shakes the Barley, about Ireland's war for independence. It shows the journey of two brothers, who, motivated by the abuses perpetrated on their beloved country by an occupying force, turn away from the lives that they should have had in a better world, and fight for their country. And it shows how the war twists them, how it ultimately destroys their family and all that they fought for, and you are left with a single despairing question: Why??? War is voracious, and once you are immersed in it you cannot get out, even if the cause is hopeless, because what of those who have already died? And so you go on fighting and dying because of those who fought and died before. So that their fighting and dying was not in vain. These men saw their death approaching, and yet could not/would not budge from a path that they had embarked on, and the movie helped me to understand why they could not escape.
I wish we had more portrayals of war like that, instead of those that portray killing as costless.
The movies that really bother me are these ones where these supposedly good loving family men turn into Rambos when someone does something to their families. These movies- Die Hard and all its spawn, Kevin Bacon being the star of the most recent one- sell the lie that it is ok to murder and maim with astonishing brutality if your family is in danger. It's this sick marriage of love for family, and brutal violence. All this, and when you've washed the blood of countless people from your hands, you can go back to your wife and kids, cleansed with gory adrenaline, as if it was all worth it. We are sick- to twist a good impulse- love and sacrifice for your family- into a license to kill.
These type of movies especially bother me because they are fundamentally dishonest. Because violence has a cost. Even violence that is undertaken with the best of intentions, for the most noble of causes. I saw another movie two weeks ago, one that was much more honest about the effects of violence. I think that any really realistic war movie leaves me with a sinking realization of the absolute inutility of war. The Wind that Shakes the Barley, about Ireland's war for independence. It shows the journey of two brothers, who, motivated by the abuses perpetrated on their beloved country by an occupying force, turn away from the lives that they should have had in a better world, and fight for their country. And it shows how the war twists them, how it ultimately destroys their family and all that they fought for, and you are left with a single despairing question: Why??? War is voracious, and once you are immersed in it you cannot get out, even if the cause is hopeless, because what of those who have already died? And so you go on fighting and dying because of those who fought and died before. So that their fighting and dying was not in vain. These men saw their death approaching, and yet could not/would not budge from a path that they had embarked on, and the movie helped me to understand why they could not escape.
I wish we had more portrayals of war like that, instead of those that portray killing as costless.
101 things to do in Yuma
I've been very lazy about blogging lately. I'll try to do better.
A friend of mine showed me a list of 101 things to do in Yuma, which I now can't find on the internet. Maybe it's sort of a dark humor that's only funny if you actually live here, but even now I am giggling. Some of my favorites: 1. Shoot at stray cats with BB guns. 2. Shoot at stray cats with shotguns. 3. Read in the paper about how the stray cat population is growing. 4. Drag race the snowbirds down 4th Avenue. 5. Go to super Walmart. 6. Swim illegally in the canals. 7. Watch dead people float down the canals. 8. Swim with dead people in the canals. 9. Hang out in Sanguinetti park around 11pm and wait for the sprinklers to come on. 10. Go to super Walmart again. And on and on.... Please don't be offended- I don't actually advocate shooting at cats.
It's not that bad. But Yuma does have a really bad stray cat problem and there are 3 Walmarts in a town of 100,000 people, and apparently if you are smuggling drugs and you get caught the drug mafia throws your body in the canal. Speaking of canals, the water levels were really low this morning for some reason and I swear I counted 10 shopping carts in the canal within 1.5 miles. It made me laugh because I was thinking how people throw bikes in the canals in Amsterdam. Different continents, same moronic impulses...
The high today was only 101 and I kid you not, you can feel the difference. It's downright pleasant to walk around outside when it's only 95. When it's not 115, the wind feels nice instead of feeling like someone's chasing you with a blowdryer.
A friend of mine showed me a list of 101 things to do in Yuma, which I now can't find on the internet. Maybe it's sort of a dark humor that's only funny if you actually live here, but even now I am giggling. Some of my favorites: 1. Shoot at stray cats with BB guns. 2. Shoot at stray cats with shotguns. 3. Read in the paper about how the stray cat population is growing. 4. Drag race the snowbirds down 4th Avenue. 5. Go to super Walmart. 6. Swim illegally in the canals. 7. Watch dead people float down the canals. 8. Swim with dead people in the canals. 9. Hang out in Sanguinetti park around 11pm and wait for the sprinklers to come on. 10. Go to super Walmart again. And on and on.... Please don't be offended- I don't actually advocate shooting at cats.
It's not that bad. But Yuma does have a really bad stray cat problem and there are 3 Walmarts in a town of 100,000 people, and apparently if you are smuggling drugs and you get caught the drug mafia throws your body in the canal. Speaking of canals, the water levels were really low this morning for some reason and I swear I counted 10 shopping carts in the canal within 1.5 miles. It made me laugh because I was thinking how people throw bikes in the canals in Amsterdam. Different continents, same moronic impulses...
The high today was only 101 and I kid you not, you can feel the difference. It's downright pleasant to walk around outside when it's only 95. When it's not 115, the wind feels nice instead of feeling like someone's chasing you with a blowdryer.
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