May 2008 Archives

The second volume in Octavia E. Butler's classic series on the Human Contradiction refers to coming-of-age. Everything about the series has been either nurturing or thought-provoking as I live an intervention within my family. Near the conclusion of the first book (Dawn), the human protagonist insists that the alien Oankali give her a taste (p. 226) of their expansive perception - what, she wants to know, is death to them?

It gave her . . . a new color. A totally alien, unique, nameless thing, half seen, half felt or . . . tasted. A blaze of something frightening, yet overwhelming, compelling.
Extinguished.
A half known mystery beautiful and complex. A deep, impossibly sensuous promise.
Broken.
Gone.
Dead.

I was asked a few times over the past week and a half if I had a plan. No, not more than hopeful intention seeking openings. "My perception isn't what it will be eventually." (p. 501)

Even if Humans lack the extraordinary multidimensional perception of the Oankali, I still believe we are more connected, more collective, than we usually acknowledge. I can align myself with "Akin...[who] had learned an important lesson: he would share any pain he caused. Best, then, to be careful and not cause pain . . . . he shifted his attention from the frustration of what he could not perceive to the fascination of what he could find." (p. 257)

What are the things I find, the things I perceive? I yearn for Akin's Oankali perception: "[Akin] investigated the DNA that made up the genes, the nucleotides of the DNA. There was something beyond the nucleotides that he could not perceive - a world of smaller particles that he could not cross into. He did not understand why he could not make this final crossing - if it were the final one....he came to think of it as a horizon, always receding when he approached it." (p. 257) But I also know my own horizon in/within/of communication - the ways we talk with, to, and about each other; the words and phrases of daily interaction; the patterns of meaning we weave together, reinforcing them with regular repetition and resisting the unknown new relationships that change might bring.

I suppose it is fantastic to imagine that I sense the ways we co-create each other - how your actions toward or against me invoke my actions about/involving you. My intellect (such as it is) could be reducible to the years of marijuana-induced sensory thought bleeding over, somehow, into the regular firing of neurons in the cognitive structure of my mind. My personal hypothesis is that the pot-smoking era of my youth showed my brain another way to function, but it has taken years of intensive effort to develop the particular pathways that constitute my contemporary mode of thinking. I had to, first, gain a window of perception onto myself from the outside; second, evaluate myself through the juxtaposition of my internal sense-of-self with the projections other people give back to me about myself; third, recognize the elements that could be changed; fourth, learn more about so many things .... the coursework in Communication has provided me with the conceptual tools to understand the ramifications of different skill sets and ethical commitments.

There is an intimacy humans share that we tend not to acknowledge beyond a recognizable preference for similarity and the politics of identity. We - each "one" of us - are inextricably bound to groups. Even if we are not with the people who compose these groups - be it the family who raised us, the friends who embrace us, or the demographic groups we align with and/or are stereotyped into by others. Even hermits are defined as such by their (lack of) relationship with others. Despite an adolescent embrace of Simon and Garfunkel, none of us is irrevocably alone.

"...just for an instant, they showed him, brought him into that incredible unity. He could not even manage terror until the moment had ended. How did they not lose themselves? How was it possible to break apart again? It was as though two containers of water had been poured together, then separated - each molecule was returned to its original container." (p. 454)

Emotions are treasure; and they are supremely dangerous. Akin's terror at group merger is dismissed: "The Akjai responded. Even at your stage of growth, Eka, you can perceive molecules. We perceive subatomic particles. Making and breaking this contact is no more difficult for us than clasping and releasing hands is for Humans." (p. 454) What if we accept the evidence of chemistry, biology, and especially physics - shaking hands is not only a moment of skin-to-skin contact: it is an instance of literal interaction. So many people discouraged me from this endeavor. So much fear that "it won't work" or that "things could get worse" - so easily do we accept awful situations, convincing ourselves that slow, inexorable dying is preferable to bursts of engaged life and presence.

Is this a competition? I dearly hope not. I have been un-whole for so long, bereft of those most-loved. I want my family to take part in calling me and each other into new being. Still, Butler's incisive insight cautions, because everywhere one looks, there it is:

"The Human Contradiction again. The Contradiction, it was more often called among the Oankali. Intelligence and hierarchical behavior. It was fascinating, seductive, and lethal. It had brought Humans to their final war." (p. 442)

"[The Oankali say] that you can't grow out of it, can't resolve it in favor of intelligence. That hierarchical behavior selects for hierarchical behavior, whether it should or not. That not even Mars will be enough of a challenge to change you." He paused. "That to give you a new world and let you procreate again would . . . would be like breeding intelligent beings for the solve purpose of having them kill one another."

"That wouldn't be our purpose," she protested.

He thought about that for a moment, wondered what he should say. The truth or nothing. The truth. "Yori, Human purpose isn't what you say it is or what I say it is. It's what your biology says it is - what your genes say it is."

"Do you believe that?"

" . . . yes."

"Then why - [help?]"

"Chance exists. Mutation. Unexpected effects of the new environment. Things no one has thought of." (p. 501-502)

Note:
Book One: Dawn
Book Three: Imago

George Lakoff's important book, Moral Politics, describes the root metaphor at the base of conservative and liberal worldviews. "Cognitive studies," Lakoff explains, have concluded "that moral thinking is imaginative and that it depends fundamentally on metaphorical thinking" (p. 41). The explanatory metaphor for both conservatives and liberals extends a notion of the family/parent to the nation/government. "The resulting moral systems, put together out of the same elements, but in different order, are radically opposed" (p. 35).

One of the interesting challenges of Lakoff's book (i.e., another finding of cognitive science) is the myth of being conscious of one's own worldview, and "that all one has to do to find out about people's views of the world is to ask them" (36). Lakoff describes realizing the myth of transparent belief as "the most fundamental result of cognitive science" (p. 36).

"What people will tell you about their worldview does not necessarily accurately reflect how they reason, how they categorize, how they speak, and how they act" (p. 36).

Lakoff is careful not to tell us what our politics or our morality should be; he is not preaching or giving a prescription. Instead, he is describing the two logics composing the deep split in political thinking between conservatives and liberals in the United States. This is not philosophy; this is description. It is up to us to understand the descriptions and then figure out how to talk and reason based on the reality of these starkly different moralities.

"Our public discourse about the nature of morality and its relation to politics [is] sadly impoverished. We must find a way to talk about alternative moral systems and how they give rise to alternative forms of politics. Journalists - including the most intelligent and insightful of journalists - have been at a loss. They have to rely on existing forms of public discourse, and since those forms are not adequate to the task, even the most thoughtful and honest journalists need help. Public discourse has to be enriched so that the media can do its job better." (2nd edition, 2002, p. 32)

Lakoff goes much further and deeper than merely slapping labels on certain brands of politics. "Classification in itself," writes Lakoff, "is relatively boring" (p. 17). What we need - what Lakoff provides - are models. Models do much more than mere categorization, they

• analyze modes of reasoning
• show how modes of reasoning about different issues fit together
• show how different forms of reasoning are related to each in other in such a way that they are all understood to be instances of the same thing (in this case, politics)
• show links between forms of political reasoning and forms of moral reasoning
• show how moral reasoning in politics is ultimately based on models of the family

Lakoff's hope - and mine in reading his book and trying to understand the basic point - is that by understanding how our minds work, and especially how our words give clues to how our minds work we can address political dilemmas more effectively.

"The same mind that we study for scientific reasons creates moral and political systems of thought and uses them every day. For this reason, the findings of conceptual systems research will eventually come to matter more and more in understanding moral and political life" (p. 17).

We had one heck of a haul from Albuquerque, New Mexico to Shawnee, Kansas. Weather was good, company decent, but it is a long drive. Few other fools were on the road like us - even on Memorial Day weekend. That $4/gallon gas has discouraged the masses. We figure it's still "economical" compared with the purchase of airfare (especially for three) and the convenience of not renting or depending upon others while we're in town. (Not that I'm not doing that anyway! Thanks Kay!)

We headed to Tucumcari and missed it. After getting back on track it was a long, late slog to Liberal, KS but we made it (arrival, 3:30 am, Mountain Standard Time). Few other vehicles were on the road. Mom told stories most of the way: my uncle's buried treasure, my paternal grandfather's mother's dad, Greenwood Blackburn Turner, "who must have been born in this country with Scottish memories," the backstory to my aunt's moving in with us fresh out of high school, many more. Tommy also recounted some of his stories: football prowess, life in the Navy, white boys in the North Carolina mountains, his mom's charity. "God will bless you!"

After spending the night in Liberal, Kansas, we managed to miss Dorothy's House but did see the Rock Island Railroad Bridge, "one of the largest of its kind" according to the AAA Tourbook to Arkansas, Kansas, Missouri, and Oklahoma (2008). We did not go through Goodland, but mom informed me that I've been there before. Apparently we slept overnight there on one of our family drives from Denver to Mt. Carmel, IL. Dad did not enjoy driving across Kansas. It seems his time in the military soured the state. Something recalled to mom's mind taking me to the Eisenhower Museum in Abilene, and she informed Tommy that I used to live within a few blocks of the Truman Museum in Independence, MO. Indeed I did.

We drove through Meade but did not witness evidence of artesian wells. In Haviland, we searched for Lonny's Café (I was tempted by espresso, mom by homemade pie) but had to continue on to Pratt. We ate in a downtown sportsbar, Tommy displaying his sportsmanship despite asserting, "ain't no black people go in there!" Just past Pratt, before Cunningham (?), we saw evidence of a twister.

Not five minutes after stopping to snap photos we heard a tornado watch on the radio. "Wonderful," mom said. We whipped through Wichita, despite its impressive credentials: "For 11,000 years Wichita served as a trading center and meeting place for nomadic people."

Leaving the desert behind, we thoroughly enjoyed the profusion of spring on the plains. Not only did the gently rolling landscape turn an exquisite green, cows dotted the hills and were silhouetted on the horizon. "This sure is pretty," Tommy said, more than once. :-)

Enjoying the pastoral beauty was in stark contrast to the cemeteries we passed with flags a-flying for Memorial Day. "I don't believe in that," Tommy announced after I took a few photos of this large cemetery on the outskirts of Wichita. "I don't either," I said, "but we gotta talk about why we disagree." Tommy, built fit to pummel, is a gentle soul.

Jose was in town for graduation. Yes, that's Dr. Jose.

Several folk did, in fact, gather in his honor. Stories were told, memories recounted, teasing ensued, plans were postulated...

I learned of the first event by hook & by crook, via the grapevine - altering my departure date just so I could see The Man himself. (Actually, I confess, it was a relief to have the extra few days to get myself and the apartment more ready for what's to come.) After receiving my replacement phone, I discovered that he had called, with few specific details and cryptic instructions. Is this what collaboration is going to be like?!?

Meanwhile, I've just finished re-reading Dawn, by Octavia E. Butler. "The twilight before sunrise" seems an apt metaphor for my lifephase.

Humanity, having destroyed earth in a nuclear holocaust, is rescued by an alien species whose life purpose is to acquire and trade genetic material - constantly and consciously morphing into new species. Humans are a fascination to the Oankali because we have "two incompatible characteristics... [Lilith asks] what are they?"

Jdahya made a rustling noise that could have been a sigh, but that did not seem to come from his mouth or throat. "You are intelligent," he said. "That's the newer of the two characteristics, and the one you might have to put to work to save yourselves. You are potentially one of the most intelligent species we've found, though your focus is different from ours. Still, you've a good start in the life sciences, and even in genetics."
"What's the second characteristic?"
"You are hierarchical. That's the older and more entrenched characteristic. We saw it in your closest animal relatives and in your most distant ones. It's a terrestrial characteristic. When human intelligence served it instead of guiding it, when human intelligence did not even acknowledge it as a problem, but took pride in it or did not notice it at all . . ." The rattling sounded again. "That was like ignoring cancer. I think your people did not realize what a dangerous thing they were doing." (p. 39, Lilith's Brood)

Note:
Book Two: Adulthood Rites
Book Three: Imago

There's a discouraging blogpost from a year ago about service for Apples in Belgium, but one of the commenters recommends "ARC Repair Centre just outside Brussels in Dilbeek." Someone else recommends MacLine Belgium.

. . . dental floss!

Emiko was rough, I'm telling you - give someone a little bit of insight into a weakness and whoosh a professional dental staff (see last paragraph) goes for it all!

I do have the best dentist in the world. "Nice haircut," Tom says, "What's it called?" "Forty-five." Then we cut him loose with the drill. Oh my. Yes yes we had targeted three of the front teeth with ancient fillings, all yellowing out and icky. He expanded to five just cuz he got on a roll. Rebecca was a great help. "We've got to reduce the signs of aging!"

Honest? I am not sure anything I do is going to fool the folks I'm going to meet during upcoming parliamentary adventures: they'll peg me soon enough as from some other social class. (Which one could be an open question!)

I did not get to see it but the stranger on the street corner in Northampton was convinced. "You heard it here first," he hollered after me, grinning. The burst of rain came at the conclusion of the Manchester victory over Chelsea in the Champions Cup - the first international soccer event held at Southpoint this year. More stuff was taken, as the Scissor Ceremony trickles to a close.

I do catch myself making various habitual gestures, but I do not miss it. :-) I do wish I could have been able to be in two places at the same time throughout the party - :-/ - I enjoyed the time spent with people as they sifted through giveaway items and I wanted to be eating, dancing, and carousing with everyone else, too!

The actual cutting was fairly undramatic, no fell swipe, rather a rhythmic, razored progression up the back of my scalp. Commentary from the crowd kept me laughing - thank god I calmed down once I was sitting! Most of the rest of the evening I spent with friends as they selected among giveaway items. Unfortunately, this meant I missed most of the actual party :-/, however I did get to dance with the late-stayers for quite a lengthy turn. I took no blog notes (!); the upcoming photo gallery will have to suffice.

As students take finals, a chance arises for more feedback about how the interpreting has worked this year. First, the old school: a moderator asks if I'll be set up somewhere so the signing "won't be a distraction to other students taking the test." In fact, unusually (!), I've arranged a chair near the deaf student so that I'm right here for consultations - if any are needed - with the teaching staff. One teacher approaches me to let me know that some students in her class, a discussion section (not lecture) had told her in private that they really appreciated the presence of an interpreter. Watching me retrace what she'd just said, pointing out the specific parts on the board, was helpful in giving them a second chance to absorb the material. Not that they understood the sign language, but just signaling (by literally pointing out) the relevant part of an equation enabled them to gain a firmer grasp of the material.

Also, as we wait and the student distracts herself from the upcoming test, I gain some feedback from her perspective. How does she feel about my moving around? "I understand more because you are right next to the teacher." I asked, what about when the teacher moves to one end of the board and I stay behind, because there's something more to explain? "Sometimes I get lost...we fall behind." Yeah, sometimes you're taking notes and I have to remember a bunch of stuff, other times I understand the words but not the concept and have to wait until I understand the point of the words. Should I just give you the words? A shrug, "we can experiment."

We agree that its neat the non-deaf students are using me, too. "Yeah, especially waiting to let you ask the questions so they don't have to." I know! The Slimeballs! :-) I love the proof, though, that I am not just interpreting "for" the deaf student; what I'm doing benefits everyone (or at least most).

I'm a little shy to ask, but the students who participated in the official research last week made some comparisons between my interpreting and that of other interpreters they had seen. Someone had said watching me was like watching "a show." Hmmm. I don't think I'm giving a show, I think I'm performing the language. The deaf student agrees. She says the other interpreters "sit in one place and show no expression." I know my colleagues are competent, and ... this habit we've developed of fixing a position takes so much away from the communicative potential of a bilingual encounter! :-/ One of my favorite Wanda's was telling me the other day that, "in the old days interpreters moved a lot" in the kinds of ways that I do now, but "somehow we got out of that." Now that would be an interesting critical-cultural analysis: what conditions prompted ASL interpreters to dispense with motion? What education is necessary to bring the movement back?

First encounter this morning:

I'm peaceful. No regrets! (Ok, a twinge, I admit, at the fact: now I blend in, I have "conformed" -- as an honest man described the look.)

I'd been aware of the growing relaxation/stress factor over the past month. I've got to learn how to transform the numerator's size so it can keep up when the denominator starts to increase. By Saturday, I was just about too busy with details and planning and riding the momentum of one serious event after another, day in and day out for the past few weeks. Heroes (cough), of course, are not supposed to get casual or careless or otherwise make the kind of clumsy stumbles that sent my cell phone into the washing machine. Not that I rely on text messages as the firmament of my social world or anything like that!

This is it. I recognized the value - the meaningfulness possible as a rescue to a momentary lapse: I shifted into the realm of fantasy. Not only is the future unknown, unpredictable, and uncertain - even its shape has been lifted from perception and any chance of managing it reduced to immediate responsive actions in the here and now.

Shit!

As I told the new roomie, this is classic: a war of good and evil. The team is separated by circumstances, misfortune, bad luck. Actually, the team doesn't even know that its a team! All that's left is do my part and trust that others will do theirs. Do the others know what their part is? In fact, do they even know that they have a part?!

What could I do but keep plugging away at mine? Every few hours I reassembled the drying cell phone. the scroll wheel wouldn't work, so all I would get was the opening screen: "you missed a call." Thanks. I could also see the message count climb: 3, 7, 9, 12. After the party it was even worse: 25! Oh dear :-/

Second Encounter (with a neighbor who I'd invited):

No one could tell I was stressed. Ha. The early arrivals were good sports: "What are we doing, they kept asking. "I'm not sure." A fog of anxiety enveloped me; spreading in ripples...."We've got to make the path." "Dhara will be here in a minute, can you wait?" "Sarbjeet hasn't heard from me in hours!" "But can you wait?" "Oh great, I forgot the markers." "For the arrows?" Heehee - where is it that I'm suggesting people might want to go?! What was I thinking when I conceived this stupendously embarrassing idea?

"Steph, what can I do to help you? You seem a little stressed." Dhara stepped up. Meanwhile, was The Doer of the Deed ever going to arrive?! She got lost. Called me. I didn't answer! What the &*^%? She went to the police. The POLICE! :-) But guess what? She showed up. (Score!)

Third Encounter (another neighbor):

So, I was assured yesterday by Consuela Bananahammock. :-)

This morning, a wish for peace:

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

This was sent by Captain today, as she preps the Peep Hen for our upcoming summer voyage.

Some boats seem to be more seaworthy than others. They survive storms unscathed where others get into serious trouble. Is this just luck? No, it's work.

Every boat has an invisible black box that stores good-luck points. You earn a point every time you check the rigging before setting sail. You earn points for taking a shore bearing after you've anchored. Points pile up when you change the engine oil on time and buy new batteries for the GPS. In short, every seamanlike precaution you take, every little bit of maintenance or checking you do, especially on dark rainy nights when you'd rather be in your bunk, every bit of pre-planning on the chart, earns another point.

In times of stress, when you're caught in a storm and you've done all you physically can, the points are cashed in as protection. You can't control their withdrawal. They withdraw themselves as needed.

Boats that have no points in the black box will later be described as "unlucky" and "unfortunate." But those with points to expend will survive the same conditions. The black box will take care of you. All you need to do is keep it topped up.

Meanwhile, I've just completed interpreting a Commencement Ceremony, those rites of passage intentionally designed to be inspirational at the transition point of an ending/beginning. In the midst of the celebration, a memorial was performed for a student who died this past year. Next I am off to a memorial for a friend who took her own life a few weeks ago. Tomorrow I'll attend a memorial for a professor from my department.

The incredible juxtapositions of life, death, potential, and accomplishment temper the context for my own celebration tomorrow. I aim to achieve much, to be so honored as to touch people's lives in ways that they appreciate. Witnessing the outpourings on behalf of these stellar human beings from those they've left behind is humbling. The bar they set is not one I imagine to actually reach. Nonetheless, proof of possibility motivates purpose.

I was honored to be invited to attend the Distinguished Teacher's Luncheon yesterday as a guest of one of this year's Award winners. I do not know how stimulating the conversation was at other tables, but I believe ours was the best because five of us stayed long after the delectable cheesecake (that even the French would love, and Allison thought was actually ok). Rob commented on my expressive eyebrows and Floyd raked in a surprise award for turning out graduate student Distinguished Teachers two years in a row (Jennie joined us too, she's doing some awesome work now with a project providing computers to schools in Kenya). The other DTA honoree gave an emotion-filled tribute to his students (notably the 18 fourth-graders showing him stringed instrument finger Number Two). Shabnam's devotion to Sumo Wrestling (and, may I add, Grand Theft Auto) played equally well: "sometimes you just have to give students a hook."
(No, she was not nervous.)

I'm not sure how to connect Eduardo's expertise with my interests, but Murray's work (in progress) with owls and squirrels seems metaphorically close (although maybe we shouldn't get too carried away with the food chain part). Human systems are not so linear, but why do I keep suspecting these mathematicians have created some ways with language that might help us address the dynamics of people in groups and societies? Just look at these Willmore surfaces! I know economists have done this somewhat - but everything they do is idealized (isn't it?), assuming rational actors and fixed variables.

I suppose what I have in mind is a fairly simple regression (to start). We had some fun talking about language and interpretation. For instance, Rob brought up this classic from English to Russian:

English:

Russian (back-translated to English):

I was intrigued by this example, which seems (to me) as if it could have been appropriately culturally adapted: that's what makes it funny, isn't it? I can imagine this as the result of an excellent interpretation among real people in real time in an actual circumstance in which the gist of the message is what matters, rather than dismissing it as a limited literal translation. Of course, in most situations these two versions of a desired way to characterize and/or move through a particular point in spacetime would not align, but the thing that a simultaneous interpreter does that is truly unique is factor in all the variables of the specific instance and generate their best sense of how to convey a preferred endgoal.

Wikipedia backs me up that the original story is an amusing, non factual anecdote - but nonetheless characterizes it, unquestionably, as a mistranslation. Blanket judgments like this still rely on a mechanistic view of language, because the premise remains that there is only one accurate translation that could work for all situations and contexts. Instead, suppose that what matters more than the equivalence of word-for-word is the overall shape of the relational trajectory:

In communication theory (in my area, particularly at the interpersonal/intra- and intergroup level in terms of rhetoric, performance, and social interaction) we distinguish between a transmission view of communication and a ritual view of communication. The transmission view can be (loosely) linked with the stability of a particle, while the ritual view focuses more on the energy aspects of communication as a wave. The transmission view is about power (control) "here-and-now" and the ritual view is more concerned with influence and effects over time. These are two aspects of force present in every utterance and also in each pause between utterances. The interesting question then (to ask of your interpreter), is not "did you say what I meant" but "did you say what will accomplish for me the end I seek?" A dicey question, isn't it? - that cuts both ways: interpreters are not psychic and must rely on all of the same cues perceptible to everyone else in the communication situation. Yet interlocutors often speak without a clear end-in-view, instead speaking in order to figure out what it is they mean and determine where exactly they are trying to go.

Certainly I had a grand time! :-) I am lucky to know such wonderfully bright and articulate people.

Time to let the past go.

It has been forty-five years, after all. :-) Given the average lifespan in my genealogy and contemporary conditions, I figure ninety years is a reasonable guestimate. Provides a frame for planning, anyway! I steal a sentiment from a Hallmark card: "I surrender my youth gladly; I have outgrown it."

When one of my interpreting colleagues materialized out of the ether in the midst of a job yesterday, the fact of my nearly exclusively work in college classrooms was glaringly apparent. What, a team?! She was doing what "we" do, out in the field: logistics had transpired such that the four interpreters hired for a conference with four deaf participants had to split up. Normally, since the whole job was eight hours long, we would work in pairs, restricting the four deaf participants to negotiate and compromise with each other in order to chose workshops so that the interpreters could remain together. Being flexible, and hating the ways our provision of communication acess sometimes turns into a limit on intellectual/personal choice, when it turned out there were three events desired during one and the same timeslot, we split up accordingly. When my teammate's session ended early, she did what community interpreters do - came to join me: offering relief and backup. Only I didn't see her. According to Wanda (the assigned/anonymous name for all colleagues who get blogged), I looked directly at her at least once, and she managed to catch the attention of most workshop participants waving at me from various angles in the room, but not me! I was in full solo-workmode, focused on the language: verbal and non-verbal, emanating from and directed by the workshop presenter, tightly in tune with the participation she evoked from the audience while constantly monitoring the deaf participant's feedback for indicators of reception and assertion.

Wanda literally burst into my field of vision as if Scotty had just transported her into the scene. Startling! :-)

I do, by the way, sometimes work with a team in post secondary educational settings, but many of the classes are fifty minutes long and - generally, although this depends on each particular professor's teaching style and the density of the subject matter - the pedagogical pacing of a lecture is do-able for that amount of time (at least after one has built up the mental endurance and the physical skill of keeping one's body relaxed and in proper posture).

The attitude is what struck me though, a sort of come hell or high water I'm gonna let my team know I'm here!

The American Sign Language interpreting community is good like that, nearly every place I have worked. Of course there are always individual exceptions to the teamwork ethic, but - as a community of professionals - sign language interpreters have adopted some of the cultural norms of the Deaf community. These norms include the value of collectivity and (not always, but often) a sense of mission: to preserve and maintain Deaf Culture, educate non-deaf people about American Deaf Culture and American Sign Language, etc.

Returning to work in a familiar location with skilled colleagues was a joy. :-) The day was gorgeous. The spring palette of freshly budding green intermixed with blue sky and smatterings of snow was brought into high relief by perfect temperatures, inside and out. Literally, in terms of the weather, and also figuratively: the work of this conference, with its incredible mix of participants and lofty goals, merged seamlessly with the calm, stable, and beautiful environment. Such privilege! Here was a community of people using a variety of communication technologies and two languages. I struggled with the computer-generated voices from some presenter's communication boards, a matter of pace (recommendation: design pauses and slow down the rate of words/minute) but how cool is it to converse with someone whose mind is totally active even though their body doesn't cooperate so readily? Of course, there is work on both sides - the user of facilitated communication (FC) has labored to pre-record messages (imagine the anticipation!), and the non-FC user has to slow down to order to establish relationship. Don't think this is not laborious itself! Imagine the pace at which our society compels us to move? Hurry hurry do do don't think too much be witty rush hurry twenty more things on the list time is running out!

Yet, in the rarified setting of a well-cared for state, with deeply institutionalized rights and support structures enabling the achievement of those rights, such creative engagement becomes possible. Relationships across incredible difference are built. This will seem like a tangent, but imagine if such privilege was the norm? There might be a Day of No News, also rendered like this: No News.

We are quite a long way off from the dilemmas such stability and prosperity might cause (methinks we'd invent plenty of new, exciting forms of news), but - in order to have a chance of getting there - the need for strategically building the capacity of resources to sustain such relationships is key. Cheryl Moose wrote about this in her recent President's Report (VIEWS, May 2008). I'd like to propose that in addition to firming up the bedrock partnership between Deaf communities and sign language interpreters, we also need to think even more broadly to alliances with spoken language interpreters. As globalization forces more and more different kinds of people into "relationships" premised upon the need to work - remaining fragmented as (for instance) community or conference interpreters, signed or spoken language interpreters could leave the profession of simultaneous interpretation scrambling. (Whether or not this bodes well or ill for the users of our services is another story! We are, according to many logics, a luxury.)

Work on optical illusions show how the distance from which one views a face alters the expression you think you're seeing. Some constructions are creepy!

I'm intrigued with the function of distance. Part of what me and my committee need to sketch out is the scope of the lens I'll use in exploring the practice of simultaneous interpretation at the European Parliament. Since each of our relative distances from the object of study differ, establishing a reasonable range might be a challenge.

They did give me exactly what I needed during my prospectus defense, even though a hazing frenzy seemed to build as we spoke. Perhaps I still give off the vibe that being clubbed with a two-by-four is the only way to get my attention.

I had meant to mention my science fiction mind at the beginning of the presentation - not that they aren't already aware (!), but to highlight the challenge of fitting my perceptions into academic boxes. Science fiction was the first wholistic knowledge system that I encountered, followed by fantasy. The frame of a person being randomly at a juncture in time and space from which things unfold seems, as near as I can tell, to be the deepest level of neuronic organization in my brain: cognition overlays the rhizomic net.

They want me to fix the time/space of the study in accordance with pre-established knowledge. This is the tricky one. The other feedback about clarifying and expanding the details of methodology is useful and productive: although I have confidence that I will successfully navigate whatever happens during the fieldwork process, anticipating the possibilities (a series of "if-then" imaginings) can only help. Most of this nitty-gritty I have intended to do in August anyway; now I just need to organize it sensibly for them as well.

The crux of the matter seems to be a concern that I won't deliver something that they expect, emphasis on lack of surprise. We are entering into a contract, and my conformity to the terms of the deal is demanded. The conservative bent of academia weighs heavily here, and the question of whose authority is in play is, in fact, the very point of the entire exercise. What else is voice if not the ability to put words into action? I clamber through my own extraordinarily limited exposure to this world, (this lifeworld?), taking in so much: not "feeling" as in mere emotion, but sensory perception. English lacks common vocabulary to distinguish among types of "feeling," hence I am often in trouble/at risk of conflation.

Not only that, I'm not so keen on reifying institutionalized authority of any kind. So, for instance, in this moment of spacetime, I do a Google search (gasp!) to see if there's anything out there right now that complements the notions I have in mind. Nice! So what that I can't translate the text of Blommaert's rejoinder; or that the "lifeworld" reference I found has to do with computer science - these two references say what I intend:

"The concept of a lifeworld will not appear as a specific mathematical entity in our formalism. The intuition, however, is this: while there is an objective material environment, the agent does not directly deal with all of this environment's complexity. Instead it deals with a functional environment that is projected from the material environment. That projection is possible because of various conventions and invariants that are stably present in the environment or actively maintained by the agent."

Such an eclectic, synergistic mode of knowledge construction is anathema to the stable march of paradigmatic knowledge sanctioned by universities. How, why can I trust the authority of these authors? What if they "got it wrong" and I, foolish and naive that I am, perpetuate the error?

Now we're into morality.

Granted, I have not always understood the nuances or sophistication of certain ideas at particular times. So what? I have understood others. Yes, I am not always as clear as seems desirable - not only to others, to me, too - and (!) clarity is also an interactive accomplishment. The challenges presented by my committee carve edges into the frame of what this study will actually become.

What environment is being actively maintained by discourses about simultaneous interpreting in the European Parliament? What stable conventions and invariants are currently present? Which functional environments are being projected? My role in the projections of Members of Parliament and EP Interpreters matters just as much as their role in mine: this is what makes the proposed research action and process-based. Nonetheless, all that swirl does have a center: a contractually fixed point-of-reference in the practice of simultaneous interpretation.

I woke up to my roomie's status message (facebook), saying he "can't wait to mess up Steph's prospectus defense [today]!"

The Lord of the Skies has already reduced me to tears, I highly recommend this as prep for anyone getting ready to (try to) show some smarts: chicken chicken chicken. (On Saturday, Evil Kachina asked if I'm "smart yet?" Oh dear.)

There are the friends who wish me luck: "Break a leg!" and "Call me after you're finished and before you are drunk."

And those who say, "I will adamantly sit in a chair and listen to you adamantly defend your prospectus."

They're all good. :-)

“For better or worse, this is Chicago,” said Ms. Katz, who has held fund-raisers for Mr. Obama at her home.

This is what I have always appreciated about Barack Obama:

"...he’s not looking for how to exclude the people who don’t agree with him. He’s looking for ways to make the tent as large as possible” (Abner J. Mikva, a former congressman and mentor to Mr. Obama).

Both quotes are from Pragmatic Politics, Forged on the South Side. (I have a hat, a cowboy hat adorned with abalone shell, black leather, and a ceramic bird's skull, which someone once said - circa 1990 - would keep me safe on Chicago's South Side.)

AIDS prevention: "Live long enough to find the right one."

Linking food production with sustainable harvesting and youth development.

and then there's When Obama Wins.

My friends succeed marvelously at keeping me informed and entertained!

Julia was going to be a part of the combo blog project that's still struggling to get off the ground.

She was brilliant. A math genius and computer programming whiz whose work had caught the attention of some fairly prominent folks. One of her favorite activities during classes seemed to be making fun of me/my interpreting: "I can tell when you understand what you're signing and when you don't!" She was a tease - besides loving to poke fun, there were these moments of pure delight when some mathematical concept would click into my head ("matrices are three-dimensional!") and enable a much more accurate interpretation. Our pleasure in those moments compounded: my glee at getting it, hers at seeing my lightbulb go off, and mutually as the learning process was facilitated.

I've missed working with her this year but continued to enjoy texting. We'd developed a weekly check-in, often to celebrate the end of another work/study week. These messages were light contact, a "hello I'm still here how are you" touch. I was unaware her internal emotional struggles had gotten so incredibly worse. Always there was stuff - she had one of the most difficult lives of anyone I've ever known well. She managed herself and all that stuff with incredible poise. I never realized she was at risk.

Of course I knew it was bad when I got a message from a colleague asking for me to call because she had "some news." As we played phone tag for the next few hours my mind skimmed through the people we knew. I assumed an accident or health issue; I was unprepared for the reality. "Julia took her life."

Ouch.

It's been more than 24 hours since I learned; she died early last week. The initial numbness is wearing off. I keep having flashes of her body, inert.

There's no making sense of such a choice except to respect it. Yes, the timing is rough as we learn new pain was recently added to the old and lingering. Damn, I know I am going to miss her. Yet, long talks with a friend who did her dissertation on the presentation of suicide in the media have changed my level of judgment. I am terribly sad. and...

I recently began re-reading Octavia Butler, Dawn:

My own experience reminds me that pain does keep coming 'round. I think some pain is restorative: necessary to experience in order to shed harmful or adverse effects in the present and future. Most pain is probably palliative, offering temporary relief for an underlying or ongoing dynamic. Some pain is progressive - reinforced by cycles that can be exacerbated by systems/patterns of interaction (with people, with institutions).

From the outside, as it were, one can imagine all the reasons why Julia should have stuck it out. Are they all selfish? Mine are. I want to be teased by her again, to learn with her, for her to be a part of one of my pet projects, for her to open a door for me to other exciting projects that she would have developed or contributed to, for others to get to know her and benefit from her talents. I don't want to feel the pain of her absence, the loss of her friendship, the gaping hole where once she was. It always felt great to get a surprise text message from her in the middle of when&whatever! Now, no more. I am sad.

Julia knew what she was doing. Respecting her decision does not take away my sense of loss, but it is all that I know to do, now, to show my appreciation for her life.

A place to visit when I'm in Belguim next year.

Hoge Kempen is home to 6,000 species of flora and fauna, including endangered nightjar birds, smooth snakes and grasshoppers.

The music is a bit overdramatic, but the park looks good. A nice shot on flickr is more peaceful. The park itself is an achievement: created in the midst of a highly populated area as part of a targeted biodiversity program. The site info appears to be only in Flemish - that'll be a fun hurdle to encounter! :-)