atheism, sharing, and god

ok, i live and breath editing, so you'll have to pardon another ancillary mention of my work at the other journal (TOJ).

in my editing class, we've been getting the inside scoop on the publishing biz; this means chatting with acquisition editors and writing book proposals.

now several months ago, i thought it might be interesting to approach my boss's boss, the director of mental health at the seattle VA, about a book on his amazing discovery of prazosin, the nightmare-relieving pill for posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). murray's a funny guy, a great storyteller, and an important figure in the research community, so i figured that a book that walked a tightrope between biography, history, and timely political commentary could be entertaining from his perspective.

but then the miracle of calvin college happened. at the festival of faith and writing, an editor for one of the big christian publishers approached TOJ about the prospect of transforming our atheism issue into a book. the editor encouraged us to submit a book proposal and then he bounded back to his world of signed books.

as it happened, my assignment for a book proposal was due the next week, so i jettisoned the poor iraqi PTSD veterans--in fact, were i to properly edit this post, they'd have been wiped from the annals of the 17 point scale because i have nothing more to say about the dormant book idea; i suppose that it's relevant to the chronology but not to the story--and attempted to pull together a coherent thesis for the a TOJ atheism book.

here's what i determined: recent publications that write on atheism from a christian perspective tend to lapse into polemics. they exist solely as a response to richard dawkins, christopher hitchens, and company. in contrast, the content in the current issue of TOJ uses atheism as a starting point for more important discussions about what it means to be christians. how should a life of faith differ from a life without faith? what atheistic ideas challenge christians to live life better and more like christ? i was a bit surprised to find such a foundation, but i think it might work.

still, just now as i was relaxing on my couch and listening to my highest rated playlist, i couldn't help but get a little apologetical. and when i say "a little apologetical," i'm referring to the branch of apologetics that relies chiefly on easily disproved observations.

i was listening to "a friend i had" by aaron sprinkle, and i thought, gosh, this seems like such a perfect song. it was more a gut reaction than the result of a close analysis of the melodic complexity or the lyrical juxtapositions, but i was overpowered by a strong sense that everything was just right. so right, in fact, that i needed to tell someone. i needed to get the message out to as many people as possible. i needed to share.

i think that this silent urge to share beauty is everywhere in the world. it's in the thousand blogs that celebrate a quote or lyric in every post. it's in my atheism book proposal.

and what's not in my atheism book proposal is this simple proof: perhaps that beauty is truth and perhaps that truth--perhaps all truth--somehow leads to god and perhaps our innate need to share that truth is in some way reflected in the international movement known as the church.

after exchanging book proposals with an editing partner in my class, she remarked, andrew, you need to use more confident language. enough with the "may," "could", and "perhaps"--write with some authority.

ok, then.

you can poke holes in my theory or decry organized religion or dismiss church or laugh at ritual but isn't it true that there's something distinctly human about sharing beauty, and isn't that to some degree the purpose of church?

yes, it is so.

photograph: andrew david. "the shining." central park, nyc, ny.

pizza grease

i'm still on a writing haitus, so this will be brief.

today, as i was carving words from a 34 page grant proposal on TOMM40 (that's a gene, you can tell because it's written in uppercase italics) and alzheimer's disease, i happened to get pizza grease in my ear. i was so busy learning about mitochondria, haplotype expression, and mRNA splice variants that i neglected to watch my fingers as they moved from the keyboard to the digiorno and back again. then i had a sudden ear itch. and, well, you get the picture. there's some kind of a moral here, but what it is, i can't say...


andrew david. "fun on the subway" nyc.

ps. don't hire me to do your portrait. i took 5 shots of matt and jacinda during this sub ride, and every single one of them is unintentionally kooky. for instance, in this photo jacinda is a bit googly-eyed, which, on second thought, is probably more matt's fault than this here camera man. in any case, the 5 subway shots were the ONLY shots i got of the basingers during the entire weekend. argh.

black (death) peak - part I

i have fallen in love with the piano. for the last week every time i hear music, i want to dash out of the room or fling myself from the car to the nearest piano. it's quite strange--all i want to do is practice. so, if you happen to find my trip report long and sucky, blame it on "claire de lune" (debussy) and "philosophy" (ben folds five).

after consulting with my local hiking expert (danny warren), i determined that the hike to black peak (in the north cascades) is about 6 miles with an elevation gain of a bit less than 4000 feet. at about the 5 mile point, the trail deposits thirsty hikers at wing lake. then the trail jogs upward (and west) in an ambitious climb through scree and loose rock to the top of a ridge. once at the ridge (see yesterday's picture of steve), helmet-clad hikers and the occasional bare-headed fool (aka steve and i) can make a final ascent of the southern slope through a series of narrow gullies and precarious rocks. at the peak, one is surrounded by breathtaking views of the cascades (including glacier and baker mtn) and stomach-churning views of the world 3000 feet below.

despite my dramatic adjectives, climber-folk seem to describe the last mile of this hike as an easy scramble. there may be a few tricky places near the peak, but few reports mention any difficulty before that final ascent. well, i've decided to change that. while the summit is certainly high (8970 feet), it is the ridge that nearly killed me.

apparently there are two ways to climb death ridge: a right way and my way. the right way consists of a very steep switch-backed trail that hugs the northface of the mountain as it approaches the saddle point of the ridge. as i slugged my way toward the ridge, steve wisely chose this route and then snacked on a sandwich as he waited for my arrival. but for some reason i missed the trail and attempted to go straight up. i was within 20 feet or so of the ridgetop and was perhaps overcome by the sensation that i was almost there--go, go, go. perhaps i smelled the rye bread and lettuce. in any case, i was no longer scrambling; i was now climbing.

at first it was easy, but by the time i was within 8 feet of the top, i realized that i was in serious trouble. i ran out of handholds. i looked left, right, above me, left again, and even back down. i considered the rock around me some more--there were handfuls of loose dirt and smooth stone, but nothing substantial for my needy fingers.

"steeeeeeeve...." i called. no answer.

"steeeeeeeve," his face appeared 8 feet above me, "i think i'm stuck."

as steve tried to scout out other handholds or a method of retreat, i snuggled against the rock and tried not to look down. but i had to look--yikes. yesterday's pictures make the incline seem rather tame (perhaps 65 degrees?), as if a speedy fellow with a great big stride could easily run right up the ridge, but from my perspective it seemed like a wicked drop. if i slipped, i couldn't see a point where i would stop falling. even today, i'm pretty confident that if i fell i would have slid on my stomach for about twenty feet and then (a) ripped an arm off as i tried to slow my racing descent or (b) caught an appendage on an outcropping, accidentally spun myself around, and then tumbled down the slope with a broken neck and brain fluids oozing from the gashes in my head. i'd be seriously maimed or maybe dead.

my right leg started shaking uncontrollably. i shifted my weight a bit and looked up again. steve was trying to check out various angles, hoping that a jacob's ladder might be hiding just out of sight. he directed me to a more sturdy foot position so that my left boot had the toes wedged in a crack of some sort and the long-edge of my right boot was perched on a tiny ledge. this alleviated the shakes, at least temporarily.

far above me to my right steve spotted a handhold of unknown repute--"you'd have to lunge for it," he said.

andrew david "jazzer-sizing" brooklyn bridge, nyc.

enya makes everything poignant

alright, i'll admit it, i'm a closet enya fan.

some people use enya like ice cream or bubble baths. after a stressful day at work, they slip shepherd moons into the cd player and let enya do her magic. for others enya is something of a thought elixer. like inspirational gregorian chant, the peaceful pleasant chords melt into the background and help thoughts to crystallize.

however, i tend to associate enya with boxer briefs. at the sound of that simple perfect voice, i think back to my college roommate. he'd perch his battering ram of a cd player on the bathroom sink near the shower and then chant right along as he showered. then, clothed in nothing but fruit of the loom, he'd hit the books--our room was an academic enya sanctuary.

as i listen to enya again, it's funny for a moment, but enya is mightier than my laughter. she is more powerful than underwear. she somehow endues everything with meaning. the ridiculous yet entirely reasonable antics of my roommate are suddenly a puzzle piece in the journey of life. a brief subway ride with beth, jacinda, and matt (see below) is an elysian image of earthly romance. my roommate's boxer briefs are somehow a symbol of our human fraility. have i gone crazy? maybe, but blame enya....

jacinda basinger. "elysian romance 1, 2, & 3" nyc, ny.

the monkey tree story

i don't really have much to say tonight so i thought i'd post a ten-minute nonsense story. i'm missing beth at the moment, so it's mostly about her (and me and a tree and a surprise guest). all of the pictures in the story are by matt basinger.

andrew and beth happen to like trees. when the weather's nice, they even climb trees--big, green, sappy trees, sweet smelling apple trees, and even tropical palm trees. however, there is one tree they don't climb. it sits silently outside of andrew's house. the limbs look so inviting, says beth. no, says andrew, remember what the landlord said. andrew leans back in the grass, scratches his chin, and bursts out in a deep bass "you may climb any tree on this lot, but never, no, never, climb the monkey tree."

as they sit and consider the landlord's words, a squirrel tentatively hops from the neighbor's carrot patch toward the tree.

"oh, no," says andrew.
"oh, yes," says beth.

the squirrel leaps from the grass onto the bark--zap! with a sudden flash the squirrel is transformed into a wreaking pile of ash.

"that smells disgusting," says andrew.
"yeah, let's leave," says beth as she wrinkles her nose.

the couple quickly purchases a last-minute deal on expedia.com and flies to new york city. as the plane lands, they are so overcome by the beauty of the cityscape that they forget all about the monkey tree and the recently deceased squirrel. "look!" cries beth, "it's the brooklyn bridge!"

after they arrive at the airport, andrew and beth scurry to the bridge and begin to kiss (see below). as their lips lock, a smart-looking pedestrian turns and watches. he adjusts his glasses in order to get a better view. "hmmm..." he thinks.

as andrew kisses away, beth suddenly senses that something is amiss. she opens an eye and spots the intelligent looking pedestrian.


beth whispers to andrew, "it's matt."

"what?" he asks mid-kiss.

"it's matt," she says.

"it's me," says matt.


after smiling for awhile, matt takes the couple to his home in morningside heights. "this is my wife, jacinda," he says.

everyone smiles. "we know jacinda!" exclaims the couple happily.

sure enough, it's jacinda. she asks everyone about the kiss and then feeds them bright green salad from a monkey tree.

THE END

back page: play it as it lays

VII.
play it as it lays by joan didion

8/10/03
"a dirty depressing book that makes me sad for those who believe in nothing (or even an erroneous something). if i want to read about nothing, i think i prefer virginia woolf."

there's a chance that didion did intendion a reaction very similar to my 2003 post-script. the moral of the story may very well be "don't be dirty, believe in something, and read virginia woolf"--well, probably not that last part--or you too will play the lead part in some depressing book from the '70s. it's the requiem for a dream approach: make it (drugs, self-centered moral corruption, whatever your poison) look cool and then mercilessly mash your characters into the dark night of reality, twist that thing (drug, corruption, etc) 180 degrees so that it destroys the protagonists and everyone she knows. and do it graphically. then anyone who reads your book, sees your movie, or hears your dream will think, "there's no way i'll ever do that."

there's also a chance that didion was just telling a story, a story that i apparently found hopeless and without merit. i shared a bit of this didion dislike over coffee with an old english professor of mine. dr. reinsma stopped mid-sip and stared. he then steered the conversation to other matters. it was as if he dismissed my dismissal as the lunacy of a sleepy, inattentive reader. still, despite ms. didion's motives or dr. reinsma's dissension (which may very well be a misattribution on my part; perhaps the good old prof had a coffee curd caught in his throat or was world-weary and tired of discussing such depressing books), i still recommend leaving as it lays where it lays. if you spot it in the $1 barrel, leave it there, that's where it belongs.

beth the s.o. "the dirty depraved one visits a cracking globe at the united nations" nyc, ny.

by the way, my association between "nothing" and virginia woolf is related to her novel to the lighthouse, in which the book goes on and on and on and on but nothing ever seems to happen. however, i was probably hoping to suggest that the nothingness in va woolf was somehow an acceptable, reading-worthy nothingness.

seattle needs help

last weekend beth and i joined nathan, telia, steve, and trisha at the nurmi cottage on cypress island. it was a lazy weekend. we soaked in the fire-fed hot tub, tempted deer with wheat bread, and ventured guesses about the upcoming seahawks season. and, between us two teachers, one engineer, one editor, one mfa coordinator, and one divinity student turned environmental conservationist, we solved the problems of life: the middle east, the education system, the schism between catholics and lutherans--easy as pie.

unfortunately, our informal council met one week too early. on tuesday, seattle sonics owner (or former owner) howard schultz announced the sale of the seattle super sonics to oklahoma entrepreneur clayton bennet. the general consensus is that this will spell the end of seattle basketball. despite promising seattle a one-year window for negotiating a new lease deal, bennet is well-known for his attempts at wrangling oklahoma city an nba team. pundits guess that clay's rhetoric is most likely a laundry list of sugar-coated lies. so, how to mend chasm between (new) sonics ownership and our tight-fisted seattle council? if only we could convene an emergency session of the cypress island sextet.

okay, this is a bit over dramatic, but to a sports fan, the loss of a home team is a little like the death of a friend. in some (shallow) way it's even worse -- few feel sympathetic for a fan and his (or her) dearly departed sports team, especially in seattle.

i really don't belong here. seattle is a fine city for liberals and zombies, but i'm neither liberal nor zombie. well, perhaps a liberal conservative, but definitely not a zombie. sorry, i should use that 'z' term with more discretion, but i'm a bit overcome by the strength of the anti-sonics. it seems that everywhere i surf, people are shouting 'good riddance!' they sputter the same million dollar logic back at one another, the same nonsense about pro-athlete salaries (yes, a million-a-month is absurd, but protesting dwyane wade's contract is a bit like telling the sun to go down), and the same complaints about the win-loss record. and the funny thing is, i might just be a zombie after all--i really can't shout back. their logic is hardly foolproof, but i'm too stunned to fight. i can't believe they don't care like i do.

i guess we're all zombies in one way or another, but it's funny that i never noticed. why is it that five guys in baggy shorts and tank tops can engineer such ardor? aurora has a prostitution problem, why am i not bothered that everyone just pretends that all is well? as a christian, shouldn't i be bothered by the fact that seattle has one of the lowest church attendance rates in the country? what is it about those guys in green? what does this say about me?

i'm not sure how to answer my questions. as usual, i'll have to think about it. in the meantime, i'll let you read a form letter from the man that's the most important of all of the anti-sonic zombies, city council president nick licata. if you don't recall, he's the man that once proclaimed the sonics to be of no cultural value AT ALL to seattle. anyway, he was kind enough to reply to my email.

and for you one or two folks that share the sonics sadness, here's a site that's attempting to garner support for a sonics future in seattle (or bellevue).



andrew david and mystery employee. "ess-a-bagel bill" nyc, ny. at first bill seemed like your stereotypical new yorker--gruff, and sarcastic. but then a delightful sweetness broke through his rough exterior. in fact, i bet he's a closet seattle sonics fan. anyway, he wanted us to take the 2nd picture and then send it to him. i'm still working on that last part...

find the dude with the yellow coat! note your time in the comments field.

as part of our wim wenders decathlon, beth and i spent this evening eating pancakes and watching million dollar hotel. bono is all over this movie (mr. t------, please remember, that's bah-no, not bo-no); he wrote the screenplay, made the music, and even cameoed. the movie also features a surprisingly harsh performance by mel gibson and a scraggly bunch of mentally ill characters. the lead role belongs to tom-tom, a puck-like 'village-idiot' who flirts curiously, speaks curiously, and hops curiously.

after sharing our thoughts on this unusual film, beth and i began to discuss tomorrow's plans. then, as i was about to propose a run around greenlake, the image of tom-tom suddenly popped into mind. before i could restrain my imagination, our hypothetical run was transformed into a three-mile hopping. and what better way to hop than by matching his-and-her pogo sticks? despite this brilliant plan, i'm afraid that the farthest i've ever pogo-stuck is about four feet. apparently, that's about 23 miles less than the world record.

12
1. andrew david "magical kingdom" central park, ny. -- in case you can't tell, i tampered with the colors of this photo. i just felt obligated to post at least one picture of central park scenery.
2. "where's waldo" grand central station, ny. -- find the dude with the yellow coat! double-click the picture to enlarge it and then start counting. once you've found waldo, note your time in the comments field. it took me many, many minutes because i didn't know i was looking for him until after i posted the picture.

five days in review

thursday: watched smoke on the mountain at the taproot theater. the music and acting were great. i'm not sure if the play was hoping to be good-natured and funny, spiritual, or satirical. if you like blue grass, ol' time gospel, and either of those three things motives, go see some smoke.
friday: boated to cypress island (in the san juans)
saturday: hiked to something-or-rather point and hot-tubbed
sunday: out-farmed beth, mr. and mrs. van selus, and mr. and mrs. oines
monday: i am tentatively planning to buy alex a drink in honor of his promotion to executive assistant at dc3

my computer is acting lazy. it's about three keystrokes behind everything that i write. this means an end to the evening's post.

matt basinger. "the solitary subline" nyc, ny.

(by the way, that's me. if i were to guess, i'd say that i'm either considering how a blithe twenty-something-year-old seattlite could best serve the urban dungeons of nyc or i'm posing)

who's crazy? everyone that you know.

i'm not usually a link hound, but i have yet another website to share with you. back when i attended the redmond church of the nazarene (now redwood family church) an evangelist visited our church. his name was reverend paul bentley or pastor paul. he played guitar, told jokes, and had a son, pj, that was about my age. anyway, a few years after the revival, pastor paul briefly settled down and pastored our church. then he ventured north to alaska and then east to idaho. i guess he was something of a preaching nomad, a twentieth century john the baptist or johnny appleseed. one source (my roommate mark's friend jed) claims that while in idaho pastor paul contracted the west nile virus and, due to health problems, was forced to quit preaching (i'm hoping this isn't true; it sounds very sad). in any case, if one believes the internet, pastor paul is pulling a forrest gump--he's going to walk from idaho to florida! what the goose? real people do this? real people that i know go on 3000 mile hikes?

here's another real person that i know; i think she does a bit of walking too:

andrew david 'how beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news' nyc, ny.
(by the way, that's jacinda basinger; she's cool, real cool)

jesus loves porn stars

hey, everyone.

a few years ago i found this online group called xxxchurch.com. at the time i was looking for some free software to block porn. after installing their software, i found that it operates more like spyware than a defense against pornography -- it records ALL of the sites that the computer visits and then emails a bi-weekly report to someone that the user designates as an accountability partner. like any spyware, it seemed to cause minor problems with other programs on my computer, so i uninstalled it.

but i'm still lucky enough to receive email updates. in turns out that the guys at the triple-ex church also run a ministry to folks in the porn industry. yesterday i glanced at their newsletter and found an interesting story about the erotica conference in los angeles. apparently xxx church are distributing bibles with a front cover that reads: "jesus loves porn stars." it's wacky enough that they were featured on abc world news tonight. check it out. let me know what you think.

on to nyc:

andrew david. "coach class sleeper" nyc, ny. this was my best attempt. i couldn't manage to get a sharp shot of sleeping dude sharp when lighted scenery was traveling past our window. also, beth was worried that he might not be the photogenic type; she thought he'd hear the click of my shutter, wake up, and conk me on the head.