Bricolage

The moment I heard the distinction made between a bricoleur and an engineer back in grad school, I knew that I was the former. What has given me the greatest pleasure over the years has been completing projects in which I pull together text and images scavenged from all types of cultural artifacts. In high school, I composed a Shakespearean comedy using pieces from Shakespeare's comedies. As an undergrad, I took a actress playing a bag lady, a little Miles Davis and a dance solo to choreograph a final project. In grad school, I worked with wonderfully creative colleagues to craft a video essay that was a commentary on star quality in place of a conference paper.

Given how much material is available on to work with and how easy it is to compose and present work using readily available tools, I ought to be able to weave stories together in a way that makes them matter to people. I ought to be able to design some kind of story engine (Thank you Guillermo del Toro for that concept) or at least gather some people together who'd like to try to make it. For some reason, I think that applying the rules of digital alchemy will help me do this, but I haven't yet worked out exactly what those rules are. I know they have something to do with distilling ideas from a variety of scavenged materials and transforming them into something valuable, but I just haven't figured out how to make it work. What I think I need to do is just start weaving together my current favorite narrative threads into some kind of text and stick it on my web site.

District 9

I would love to be part of the team of writers in charge of fleshing out a sequel to District 9. There are so many open questions whose answers can lead in very interesting directions. First and foremost, will Christopher Johnson return in 3 years? And will he be pissed? Will he transform Wikus back into a human?

Like the majority of critics, I thought District 9 was original and compelling. But for me it wasn't the social context that was the most interesting, but it was the fact that I could end up seeing a giant cat-food loving Prawn as the most human character in the movie, rooting for him knowing that he could very well bring back a fleet of pissed-off brethren to destroy our civilization. Moreover, it was a human's transformation into something completely Other that redeemed him. To me, the sight of Wikus as a prawn creating a metal flower out of junk was very hopeful. (Then again I thought the ending of No Country for Old Men was hopeful.) One of the things I enjoy most about sci fi is that it shows us that being human as nothing to do with a genetic code.

As far as my search for something meaningful to create goes, I'm always stopped by a voice saying, "That's useless. That's trivial."

40 days

I realized that one of the reasons I don't consistently blog is the same reason I'm not following my north star (yeah, Martha Beck does inspire as does Oprah. I'm not ashamed to admit that). I suffer from an anxiety of influence that is exacerbated by the interweb (I'm kind of digging that term). When I sit down to blog or try to figure out a plan for making digital alchemy a reality, I pull away thinking: What do I have to say that hasn't already been said or will be said? What can I create that's not derivative, mediocre or just plain redundant? What can I build that's valuable? But in spite of my anxieties, I can't seem to repress my need to build something that has value. I want to sit at a spinning wheel and turn straw into gold. I want to explore all the different ways there are to tell stories.

So I'm just going to set my anxieties aside and just start spinning. Because I've had success before with a 40-day plan, I am committing myself to spending at least 20 minutes each day trying to turn straw into gold. Part of my plan includes daily blog entries as well as daily meditation. On October 21st, I'll see reevaluate, maybe recommit and hopefully rejoice because I found a way to stay on my path.

Wordle is indeed very cool.

We just love our Luc

Lessons from Luc

While pregnant, I imagined how much I'd learn from Luc about learning itself. I thought that it would be fascinating to observe his attempts to walk, talk, read, and ride a bike. I imagined our home as a kind of learning lab where Chris and I would formulate theories of language acquisition. What I hadn't anticipated was how I'd absorb Luc into my own identity. I couldn't maintain enough objectivity with Luc to adequately assess the process. His success or failure was a reflection of my own strengths or weaknesses. I was so anxious for him to reach certain milestones that I couldn't enjoy the process of learning from his learning in the way that I wanted to. Intellectually, I understood that all children have their own timelines, but emotionally I felt that any developmental delays would be due to my mistakes.

Now that Luc has begun to to take standardized tests and receive progress reports which are more than smile sheets, I need to constantly tell myself that his success or failures are his, not mine. Otherwise I find myself feeling all the pressure I did as a child and venting it at Luc. At the same time as I want Luc to have a work ethic and succeed in all that he does, I don't want him to feel the same inner pressures from the stern internal judge that I've lived with during my life.

Though it may be the case that our home never become a learning lab, I learn from Luc in ways that continue to surprise me. The same closeness that blocked my attempts to learn about an abstract process like language acquisition has led to opportunities for self knowledge. A few years ago, Luc responded to his inability to accomplish a minor task by repeating over and over, "I hate myself. I'm so stupid. I'm an idiot." When I heard him, I was stunned because I was listening to a recording that had been playing in my mind for decades. I realized that if I didn't silence that voice in my own head, my son would hear the same words which had haunted me for the rest of his life.

Yesterday I reviewed Luc's latest progress report. It was good but not perfect. When I questioned him about why he needed to improve in two areas, I could hear the tone of the stern judge creep into my voice. I pushed it down and I think it was okay. And once I was able to do that, I could treat the report as the learning opportunity it was intended to be.

When I checked with Luc's teacher about why he seemed to have some issues working with others, I was reminded of how our strengths can so easily turn into our weaknesses. Luc's expressiveness, which manifests itself in many positive ways, also leads to a tendency to complain. And I know he'll learn to temper that strength. And rather than learn about learning itself from Luc, I have learned and I'll continue to learn about myself.

Chuck E. Cheese: The Tenth Circle of Hell

When Luc was younger, his daycare provider would take him along with his buddies to Chuck E. Cheese on his birthday. It was great for everyone concerned. The kids had a blast. Kate could rest assured they were safe and stimulated. And, best of all for me, I didn't have to go. If I had realized that Chuck E. Cheese would be considered a tradition, I might not have been so enthusiastic about all those outings because two years ago the cheese was passed to us. It is now Chris and I who have to enter the Inferno with a manic Luc.

We didn't have Chuck E. Cheese when I was a child, but Chris assures me that we both would have loved it. He reminded me of how much it was like a carnival but with security measures in place. And we do see smiling parents who seem to be reliving past birthday glory. But at this point, I'm way too old to remember a time when flashing lights, a giant Rat, loud covers of bad pop songs sung by Chuck E. Cheese mechanical children, carnival games, mediocre overpriced food and cheap toys could take me to Paradise

Wanting to get the dreaded trip out of the way, we went to Chuck E. Cheese after spending the morning playing as a family in an Improv class at the Guthrie. In retrospect, making the trip on a winter Saturday afternoon was a pretty poor decision. No sooner had we walked through the door our creative buzz dissipate. Immediately, we were pulled into a birthday party factory where kids were encouraged to be as greedy as possible. I think for many kids playing games wasn't nearly as motivating as obtaining tickets. The more tickets they possessed, the greater the chance that they could select a truly awesome trinket
such as a plastic wristwatch or a rubber snake.

About an hour into our journey, I had the overwhelming desire to dig my fingers into my ears and tear out each cochlea. But I looked around me at all the diligent parents working to make their children happy. If I forced Luc to leave before he could exhaust his greed, overwhelm his senses and tap into his bloodlust, I would be relegated to the circle of hell reserved for bad moms. (Though I probably have made enough bad decisions already to assure my place there)

When Luc finally released us from our torments and agreed to claim his prize and go, he smiled and said, "This was heaven. I can't wait until next year. " As the employee used her scanner to ensure that what I'm sure was a 666 branded on our hands was still there, Chris and I just looked at each other and hung our heads.