The Desk.

Alright, you vultures, here's a freshly slaughtered update so you can quit picking at that dead horse. And it's even about something more substantial than the ego-boosting self-reflections of an angry little man...

Religion, to me, is like leaving a tip in change. To those versed in social etiquette, it is well-known that a tip left in change is considered an insult to the server and the establishment, and it makes you look like an idiot and a pompous jerk. Even if you calculate the proper percentage of the tab exactly, it is apprpriate to round to the next (yes, up, not down) dollar because your deliberate selection of each nickel adds to the insult of leaving coins on the table. It shows that you've gone that extra mile to make sure they know they didn't earn that other 35 cents of the dollar. And this is how I see religion - as an insult to he whom it's meant to honor. The intent is there, but the execution comes off insulting because people are ignorant. Just as the restaraunt patron attempts to follow etiquette by calculating the precise tip, the patron of religion is bombarded with so many rules that have been perverted over the generations, that even to follow them exactly as they are written does not satisfy their intent. The supposed "proper" tip percentage is just center field in the ball-park of what is accepted, and is intended to give you a measure by which you can determine what is appropriate. And by the same token, religious laws and methodologies of any given sect are just one out of a thousand, none of which are the precise holy decree for correct worship. It's the intent that counts, and if you go too far down a road you think is correct, you're going to end up being more of a heretic than the one who didn't tip at all, if you follow what I'm doing. If there is a God, I believe he would find the perversion of spirituality that is religion more insulting than atheism.

Just another one of my little comparisons of religious things to simple, everyday things; it's what I do; take it or leave it, I know I could've spelled it out a little better if it wasn't 2:30 in the morning.

So the other day I droppd by my cousin's house for a little while after work because I didn't want to go home and had nowhere better to go or anything better to do. It turned out to be really wierd and cool at the same time. He's getting to the age where he can talk intelligently on a number of subjects, and we ended up just chilling out, talking shop about the stuff I study. It was weird to see him in that arena, but at the same time, I haven't had an intelligent conversation in months, so it was welcome. Anyway, that night made me more certain than I've ever been in what I want to do with my life.

We talked about everything from history to psychology to sociology (I steered away from religion and politics with this one). I've always enjoyed seeing that look of awe at my incredible wealth of knowledge, but I was more satisfied at seeing the wheels turning in his head as I began to explain it all to him in a way he could understand. Everyone has always said I'd make a good teacher, but for the first time I felt like they weren't all jiving me. Here on the Desk I can just ramble and never really get to the point, but with a live audience you get that instant feedback. I could see when he was losing interest, or when he didn't understand a word or a concept, and I found a way to change my approach. I put everything I've done to the test. Being on stage has taught me to accept and relish attention. I knew how to read him like that from studying people like I do, and from knowing him and his responses personally. Improv trained me to think quick on my feet and put words together without thinking. Working with kids at camp and in the scout troop gave me a lesson in how these little people think, and how you have to talk to them like adults so they don't feel patronized, but still find a way to simplify the concept so they can understand. And how you have to keep them entertained at the same time as teaching them. But I had done all that before. What made this different was the subject.

In scouts I'm always doing first aid or leave no trace, and those are all well and good, but that night, for the first time, I was teaching history, and it was more than I thought it could be. Everybody thinks history is boring because it's all names and dates, and he was no different, and I expected that. But I got him to see it like I see it. I got him to see that history isn't just stuff that happened to happen a long time ago, but that it's everything that is and has ever been, that the way we live, indeed his very existence, is a product of the course of history. That it's not just the happenstance of a series of events to be memorized, but a living, intertwining, constantly changing beast. Later I asked him what subjects he likes in school and he said math, and that's when he realized he had just engaged in an academic conversation about history. He now agrees that a knowledge of practical and relevant history is critical to a satisfying engagement in whatever you intend to pursue. You can know all the math and science there is to know, and indeed we need people to know those things, but (as I have said before) "Unless you know some history, you don't know jack shit about a damn thing." Without history, you cannot know who you are or why things happen the way they do in the world.

Anyway, point is I was able to give another person some amount of appreciation for a matter for which I have a great passion, and I did so by speaking on said matter with a degree of passion, intelligence, and the ability to read my audience and adapt. I have taught many sorts of people many sorts of things, and I have performed in many venues, but, ladies and gentlemen, as of that night, I can call myself history teacher. And a damn good one with a damn fine gift (and the accompanying responsibility).

I wasn't challenged, but I'll do you one better anyway.

I just found a new feature on my Windows media player that lets me see how many times a given song has been played on my computer. So I sorted my library by this, so I could see the songs that had been played most. Here's a list of my top artists, based on the first song of their's that appears when songs are sorted this way. I did it this way because all my top songs are Guster or Jimmy Buffett just because I have so much more by them, and pretty much the top half of my played list is a mix-and-match of these names. These are just the top song by each.

1. Guster (Either Way)
2. Paul Simon (You Can Call Me Al)
3. Jimmy Buffett (Tryin' to Reason With the Hurricane Season)
Billy Joel (The Longest Time)
4. Black Eyed Peas (The Apl Song)
5. Brooks & Dunn (We'll Burn That Bridge)
6. Jerry Jeff Walker (Viva Luchenbach)
Ray Charles (Busted)
7. Elton John (Daniel)
The Beatles (Yesterday)
8. Johnny Cash (I Walk the Line)
Bob James Trio (Jody Grind)
Athaneum (Different Situation)
9. Marvin Gaye (Too Busy Thinking About My Baby)
10. Everclear (Normal Like You)

Proof is an island in the setting sun, but faith is the bottom line for everyone.

In my mind, the course of human existence comes down to matter of questions and answers. To boil it down, the more of those questions we can answer, the better life is. So when we come across a method to give us a more satisfying answer to a question, we naturally abandon the old answer. The most prominent example of this is the religion versus science debate. Early on, religious answers were our only answers for everything, but as our scientific technology advanced, we found better and better answers to, say, agricultural and environmental questions. We could grow better crops, settle in permanent locations, take better care of the land, and improve our quality of life because we were able to accept the scientific knowledge over religious shots in the dark. Even within the world of science, research and improvements in our knowledge are always being made. As time passed, science continued to provide more, and better, answers to more aspects of our lives, and the role of religion faded exponentially. Based on this trend, one would think that religion would eventually become completely obsolete. One would be wrong. I'll be the first to tell you that there is no debate between science and religion, there are only questions and answers. The two occupy entirely different realms, and answer entirely different questions. Just because religion was originally used to answer questions that are now answered by science does not mean that all religious answers will give way to scientific ones. There are some aspects of life which science will never be able to satisfy. Questions like "Why am I here?" and "How should I live my life?" are the domain of a different institution. The best answer to those questions science has is "You are here to consume and digest the necessary amount of the necessary substances to sustain your biological functioning in order to reach sexual maturity and reproduce." Matters of right and wrong, are also impossible for science to answer, as the closest thing to morality in science is Darwinism, and even that comes out of a social belief system. This is one area, known as soteriology, in which religion has always provided better answers than science. What no one wants to tell you is that there are more social institutions in place than just those two, and religion isn't the only one with answers. Atheists and those without organized religion aren't necessarily lost on these questions just because they put no stock in religion. They may choose to find their answers in the arts, in sport and competition, or in the practice of science itself. What it comes down to is that every ism and every person on this planet has an answer to everything; you have to decide which answers satisfy you the most, and you don't have to pick the same one for every question. This is where the faith comes in. Your faith tells you to follow God, where mine says that to follow God is to commit a moral sin, all because I rely on a different source to answer the questions we all have. I don't have any more proof of anything I believe than you do; even trusting science takes a certain amount of faith. Proof is beautiful when possible, but proof is but an island in the setting sun. Faith is the bottom line for everyone.

The more I ride in other people's cars, the more I see that my Chariot is so me. Anyody can take one look at that Jeep and know it's mine, and know what I'm about. Besides the fact that all my stickers give away critical factual information about where I went to high school and go to college, and my connection to Scouting, the Chariot itself sends a message about me. It's big and red and shiny, with lots of, shall we say, cosmetic enhancements. And I play loud music, but it's the kind of music you wouldn't expect to be cranked out of a system like mine, like Motown or Celtic music. By its very presence, the Chariot exudes the same brash bravado that I try to. When I pull into the parking lot, people take notice, and I maintain that same power of presence when I walk into a room. Now some people who drive a recognizeable vehicle like mine just use it for show, but mine'll get a job done, too. My Chariot has character and serves a purpose beyond getting me from A to B and even beyond getting me noticed. By day she'll haul loads of whatever my job requires me to put in there, and by night, she'll park wherever I need her, if you catch my drift. The Cage, whether standard or extended, furnished or not, allows me to lead the life I do. The inside of my Jeep is just as important as the notice I get because of the outside. A lot of people like to spend more time cleaning their car than they ever entertaining guests in there, but I maintain a balance. She'll get downright stank if nobody's going to be in there, because what do I need to clean it out for, but believe me, when I do clean her up, she's nicer than a hotel. So whether the Cage is full of debris from hauling pine straw, block, and dirt, or fully furnished with pads, blankets and pillows, the Chariot is a key component of my situation, and not just my means of transportation.

Secondarily, I found this pretty cool thing on the line the other day, then grew weary of it, then found it again. It's called the Hero Machine. It's got different superhero and fantasy type character templates and you manipulate the various components on the interface to make any sort of character you want. I made myself and some other ones. It's also a neat way to see how other people see you when they make their version of you. I dunno, just another little toy to keep you entertained for five or ten minutes, thought you lot might enjoy it. Here's my me:

This morning I took a packs-off break once I got out onto the ridgeline to refill my Camelbak, and, as I usually do, I turned and sat facing what I had already done, and not what was ahead of me. Besides what this tells you about how I live the rest of my life, it set me to thinking about the larger frame of what I've done.

What, then, have I done? I have walked. I've put countless miles under my boots and pitched my tent countless times. I've crossed paths with thousands of people, and I've told, heard, and been a part of many stories and many lives. I've camped at sea-level, and at 14,000 feet, and at every elevation inbetween. I walked there. I've hiked up and down and flat and North and South and East and West. I've seen the sun rise over the Atlantic and the Appalachians, and I've set it over the Rockies and the Gulf of Mexico. I walked there. I've hiked in rain, sleet, hail, and snow, in biting winds, blinding fog, and blistering heat. I've packed on a boat, a bike, and a horse, but never further than on my own feet - I walked. I have drunk deeply from the mountain springs and eaten fruit straight from the wild vines. I've spent anywhere from two days to two weeks on the trail. I've hiked in the daytime and at night, on marked trails and sometimes made my own. But no matter when or where or for how long, I walked. My pack has followed me through Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, and Kentucky. My boots have carried me across Utah, Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, and New Mexico. I walked. I've hiked knee-deep in tropical swamps and wild rivers, over desert plateaus and Appalachain balds, and through thick forests of pine, oak, poplar, and aspen. I've been on peaks where I could see for miles in all directions, and inside clouds that left me blind. I walked there. I have looked down on lightning storms, and looked up at roots and worms. I've been bitten, stung, burned, frostbit, sunburned, heat stroked, stabbed, and cut more times than matter, and to me, taking the wrong fork and getting lost just means I've got that much more trail to hike. And through it all, I walked. But for all the miles and all the stories, until this weekend I had done nothing.

Before this weekend, I had never hiked alone. It was always with the troop or my family or two or three other guys, but this weekend, I finally got up there by myself. Sure, there were plenty of people coming and going all along the trail, even a few camping at the same site, but it was still different. That feeling that you are utterly alone, that no one is around for miles and no one knows where you are, is something I had never experienced. Even though my mileage was down from usual and I took my time, and went to a stretch of trail I know better than my own neighborhood, it was intensely powerful. As soon as I got off the trail, I wanted it again, but in a different way than that thought has ever come. I'm going to do it. I have to do it. Even if I have to section-hike it two or three weeks at a time, I'm going to put that trail under my boot, mile for mile, step for step.

I've been trying to decide lately whether I'm a closet racist. I thought perhaps you lot could help me out with this, so I've put together a couple questions, incidences, and conversations, etc. that may or may not be pointers to potential latent racism. Mind you, these are things I have said or thought in all seriousness, and not just general racial/ethnic comments made in passing or jest, or the ambient since of ethnocentricism we all inherently carry. That being said, I give you "Does that make me a racist?"

1. At the barber yesterday, I was trying to figure out the ethnicity of the guy in front of me. Anyone could tell he was Hispanic, but I know there are many different varieties of Hispanic people. And based on his complexion, facial features, stature, and accent, I specifically guessed he was Columbian long before he mentioned his Columbian descent to the barber. Does that make me a racist?

2. If you've talked to me for more than five minutes, then I've probably made mention of my Welsh and/or Scottish and/or Dutch blood. Does this constant reminding of my ethnicity, despite the fact that it's almost completely made up based on what I feel like telling you, make me a racist?

3. I make a distinction between American individuals of different European nationalities, even if they are third generation American or more, where most people just see another white person. Does my acute awareness of the distinguishing physical characteristics and historical migration patterns of various European goups make me a racist?

4. Because I am afflicted with a massive inferiority complex on top of this acute awareness of race, I often talk about groups of people who tend to be short in stature, just because the average individual of that race is shorter than me. Do my references to "little" Mexicans, Japanese, or Jun!huansi, (or "big" Samoans, Swedes, and Masai for that matter) make me a racist?

5. I have a fascination with the origins of language, and my ability to accurately imitate so many different accents and dialects comes in part from studying the grammar structure and history of other languages, and how aspects of that language affects the way those people speak English. In order to do this I have to identify and isolate geographic regions and ethnicities whose borders are defined by linguistic differences. Does my identification of, and intense focus on, the way specific groups of people talk make me a racist?

6. I hate Christians. In primitive tribal cultures, membership in the religion of the group is inherent in being born into the tribe, and therefore the religion and the race are one and the same. The Abrahamic religions, however, are universal religions, meaning that their doctrine is open to intellectual converts, and not just people born into the group. Despite this, Judaism and Islam still have a racial identity closely tied to the religion, where Christianity does not. So if I had a bias against say, a Yanomamo Indian, just for being Yanomamo, that would be racist, and the same for a Jew because of the way in which those religions ar also viewed as races, but does my bias against Christians on account of their Christianity (and my occasional acceptance of a Christian individual despite their association with Christianity) make me a racist? Or does that just mean I have standards?

That's all I've got for right now. Keep in mind that race is a social construct, not a biological one, and that there are hundreds of genetic variabilities that only tend to follow ethnic lines. What we think of as a race is defined socially, meaning the culture you are born into has an established idea of race that is often based more on cultural differences than physical. In Brazil, for example, people were polled as to what race they would ascribe to themselves, and over 400 answers were given, whereas in America we generally think of there being only about half a dozen major groups in the world. And just as a little side tidbit, there is more genetic variability in one family band of chimpanzees than in the entire human species.

So then, do you think any of that makes me racist? Or just a History major with sociology and linguistics interests?