Jehovah Thinks Chess is of the Debbil

More JW miscellany to amuse yourselves with. Here's a delicious little piece from 1973 that's never been retracted, i.e. it still stands as doctrine:

However, pitting one mind against another, with the element of chance eliminated entirely, tends to stir up a competitive spirit in chess players. In fact, chess is frequently characterized as an 'intellectualized fight.' For example, dethroned world chess champion Boris Spassky noted: "By nature I do not have a combative urge. . . . But in chess you have to be a fighter, and of necessity I became one."

This helps to explain why there are no topflight women chess players-the more than eighty chess grand masters in the world are all men. Actress Sylvia Miles observed regarding this: "To be a professional chess player, you have to be a killer. If the spirit of competition in American women ever does become that strong, then I think we'll get some major female players."

In these two paragraphs, we get to be idiots and misogynists. Wheeee! Although my Navy buddy can vouch for my crappy chess playing, he will also tell you that I have a bizarre style, which I've dubbed "kamikaze." So God forbid, literally, that we put our intellects to the test, eh? Here's some more from that same piece about why chess is so very, very dangerous.

Probably most modern chess players do not think of themselves as maneuvering an army in battle. Yet are not the game's connections with war obvious? The word for pawn is derived from a Medieval Latin word meaning "foot soldier." A knight was a mounted man-at-arms of the European feudal period. Bishops took an active part in supporting their side's military efforts. And rooks, or castles, places of protection, were important in medieval warfare.

Thus Reuben Fine, a chess player of international stature, wrote in his book The Psychology of the Chess Player: "Quite obviously, chess is a play-substitute for the art of war." And Time magazine reported: "Chess originated as a war game. It is an adult, intellectualized equivalent of the maneuvers enacted by little boys with toy soldiers."

Chess leads to war!! And we all know who's behind war: Satan. But wait, we're still not done. We need further evidence that Chess Is Bad. So, let's turn to one of the most reliable sources of evidence:

Some chess players have recognized the harm that can result from playing the game. According to The Encyclopaedia Britannica, the religious reformer "John Huss, . . . when in prison, deplored his having played at chess, whereby he had lost time and run the risk of being subject to violent passions."

That's right. Some wild dude from the 1400s gets the last and defining word on the subject.

Considering my love of chess, it's becoming clearer and clearer to me why I was just damn unsuitable material for the JWs. I was born of the debbil's kind!

-- Virgil

I Heart Men

I really do. I've realized that I'm as bad as a guy when it comes to ogling. Fortunately, it's mostly harmless. But I heart men.

Especially ones who are out working on something and are dirty with no shirt

Or one whose hair is just a little too long & probably needs a cut

Or those with devilish eyes

Or those in uniform--but not the dressy stuff. The work clothes, like this (and yes, I fully realize the hell that's coming for posting the Air Force and not the Navy--serves you right):

I like men who can drink and not seem drunk. I especially like men who can drink whiskey and not be sloppy.

I think it's sexy when men are together and laughing and having a good time

I like soccer players, even though they're mostly primadonnas

A man and his dog is very sexy

Men riding bulls in a rodeo are verrry sexy, especially if they have black hats


I like men who smoke cigarettes and know how to light them

I think it's sexy when men light women's cigarettes

Men who think big thoughts are sexy.


I like men with good aim.


I love a hard-boiled detective.

Why I'm Pro-Choice

In celebration of the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, I've signed up to blog on the issue of why I'm pro-choice. After thinking about how I was going to approach this, it started coming to me in list form.

-- Because my best friend was raped, and she didn't deserve to have to carry that baby if she didn't want to.

-- Because I know a girl whose father got her pregnant at 14 years old--why should she have to get his permission to have an abortion?

-- Because sometimes things go horribly wrong inside the uterus, and the parents should get the choice as to whether they want to go down that road or not.

-- Because sometimes even the most composed people aren't ready to have a baby yet.

-- Because even the most reckless of people are still owners of their bodies.

-- Because I am the owner of my body, and I either own it or I don't. There is no such thing as a suspended period of nine months during which my body does not belong to me.

-- Because if you take anti-choice to its logical extreme, it means you are willing to lock women up in jail and force them to deliver. Think about that mental image for a while.

-- Because I don't care if you contributed the sperm; you don't have to carry it for nine months and nourish it with your own flesh. I do 99.9% of the work of a pregnancy; I'll not be told by men what to do with it.

-- Because rarely will you find anti-choicers who have had to face abortion (except for the few who have had an abortion and have been made to feel extremely guilty for it) with limited income and resources or support networks.

-- Because so-called "pro-lifers" are not in favor of the life that already exists; they (in general) oppose free healthcare for pregnant women and benefits for those who are likely to be hit hardest by lack of access to abortion (low income women), yet they want to hold those same women responsible for giving those resources to the unborn. They are anti-mother while demanding that she become one. Go help ease adoption restrictions, or something, if you really want to help.

-- Because it doesn't matter if you want to label it a zygote, a "clump of cells", a fetus, or a baby. It is still a part of my body. The argument is still about whether or not I have the right to have control over my body. All other anti-abortion/pro-choice arguments boil down to this irriducable fact.

-- Because I don't want any woman to have to have an abortion; I want her to have had choices available to her along the way to the point where women don't even need abortion as a choice anymore. Until that glorious day happens, if she wants an abortion, I will help walk her to the clinic.

-- Because I have the right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." I'm sorry that pisses you anti-lifers off. No, actually, I'm not.

I have a child. I had a choice. I made the right choice for me. I would never presume to have the right to make that lifetime choice for someone else.

-- Virgil

A Photo Journal

Here are some photos from my last few trips to Kentucky, where Dante is now a solid 4'9" and god knows how much he weighs, but apparently not so much that he can't still climb on Mommy.

Dante is out in the yard, taking advantage of the really mild late fall weather Kentucky had.



And, of course, ruining the picture for Mom with a what we call a "mucked-up" face. Just like Calvin. A sight every mother wants to see--falling asleep with a book, apparently in midturn of the page! He's reading Calvin & Hobbes, his favorite, although we're trying to also get him hooked on Bone this spring. He has his own version of Hobbes in the bed with him.

Just before a huge family dinner in Harlan, Kentucky.

The after dinner football game--a first in the family's history. It was boys against girls. While the boys won, the girls made the play of the day, by running around the hedges in the property to score points, as the boundaries were not defined before the game.

Brilliant strategizing by the boys' side. We're pretty sure the girls lost only because they did not have the proper footwear.

Dante comes back from Florida to yet another Christmas. This was his third present opening session, lucky boy. He deserved every bit of it. He's done such a good job this year, and I'm impressed with his fortitude.

The major theme of this present session was Wrestling. He was thrilled. Here you get to see two of his favorite wrestlers: Booker T. and the Boogie Man. The Boogie Man is really gross because he actually eats worms on stage. Eww!! We watch part of Monday Night Raw together. And Smackdown, if we're able. It may not be to every parent's taste, but we have a good time.

What would a wrestling match be without a ladder for them to bang each other up with and climb up for belts? He got a breakaway table as well, which now has masking tape on it, because, well, it broke one too many times.

And, of course, we may be a Very Big Boy, but that doesn't stop us (and everything else in the house) from climbing onto Mommy's lap. That's OK. He's a monster to hold, but I'm sure it probably won't last much longer. On the other hand, I can equally imagine having a photo of a 16 year old sprawled out on the chair, and me peeking out behind him. The toy poodle in the chair is Sugar Pie, and she is desperately in need of the Dog Whisperer.

-- Virgil

Hemingway-isms To Live By

Below are some quotes I just love from big Papa.


All our words from loose using have lost their edge.

An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.
Not that I think any of my drinking buddies are fools, or anything.

I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.

It's none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.

The shortest answer is doing the thing.

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.

When I have an idea, I turn down the flame, as if it were a little alcohol stove, as low as it will go. Then it explodes and that is my idea.

I love you, Papa!

-- Virgil

An Easy Way To Get Involved. Whoo-hoo!

Last night I went to my local feminist meeting. I haven't been to a fem meeting in a long time, and decided that it was time I got directly involved again; plus, their meetings are right after my Wednesday night class, so there really isn't any excuse not to give that extra hour out of the day. The gals (and two guys) were really nice, although as usual they were mainly made up of very young undergraduates, which is OK, just a different group atmosphere. I was also saddened to see that out of a university of several ten thousand, there were under twenty people in that room. That isn't particularly unusual, though. I was brought up to speed on their planned activities for this semester (tabling with free contraception, producing the Vagina Monologues among other things, a Take Back the Night rape awareness thing, etc.). I think this Saturday I am going with them to a women's basketball game in my new t-shirt to support women's sports. Whoo-hoo!

So I got to poking around today, thinking about topics for women and issues that I could help with. I discovered that Plan B is now officially an over the counter medicine! Whoo-hoo! You used to have to go to the doctor and get a pap smear exam before he'd give you the two little pills, and you had to do it within 72 hours. Well, you still have to take the pills within 72 hours, but no more going to the doctor for something you can handle yourself. Whoo-hoo!

However, while Plan B is now OTC, that doesn't always guarantee that it's available at your local pharmacy. I was inspired by the linked story and will now go to every pharmacy in this town and see whether or not they have Plan B and do my damndest to make sure they stock it if they don't. While the cost is around $42, which can be steep for the age group that's most likely to use it, that's a hell of a lot cheaper than an abortion, and you don't have the humiliating discussion and visit with a doctor. I like, too, Bitch Ph.D.'s suggestion that even if you don't need it yourself, buy it for someone you love--a neice in college, a friend's daughter, so that they have it if they were to ever need it and don't have to scrounge up the $40+ for it. Or donate it to your local rape & domestic violence shelter.

Call or visit, purchase & give. It's an easy way to make life a little better for somebody else.

--Virgil

I'm Sorry, Were You Looking For Your Class??

There was one girl who didn't show up in my class for all of the first week. I should have dropped her, as department policy says we're supposed to drop those who don't show in the first week to make room for those on the waiting list. In my haste to get out on Friday, I forgot to do that one thing. This past weekend, I sent out a group email letting them know how to post comments on a moderated blog, because apparently it was just too damn hard for some of them, although they're smart enough to get into college--go figure. This girl was still on the class email list, and gets the same email. The next thing I know, I get this little jewel late Sunday night:

Dear Virgil-Teacher-Person:

My name is Idiot Girl, I'm in your Mon, Wed, Fri class
8:30-9:20. I was not there this week because I was trying to get my
scheduled changed, but I could not find another opening so I will this
class and I will be there Wednesday. What do I need to catch up on?
Thanks for your time!

-Idiot

Names have been changed, but sadly the grammar has not. You need to catch up on a lot. Starting with why your teacher is now so pissed off at you. You missed both sign up sheets, the syllabus, two writing assignments, two articles and the instructions for how you're going to succeed in my class. You weren't even smart enough to come up with a clever excuse! I've yet to respond to you, because I'm mulling my options, and because I have 48 hours to respond, which you'd know if you had a copy of the damned syllabus. There's no need to thank me for my time, because I'm not granting you any. I explained everything in class twice if not three times, and I don't at this point see why you should get special attention. Based on the delicious sample of critical thinking and writing that you've given me, I have grave doubts for your success, and I've not even met you yet. I'm sure I will tomorrow.

I hope my look will chill your blood.

-- Virgil

Cartoons for the Modern Age

Warning. This post will include lots of profanity. Shy away, if that bothers you.

Now, then. A discussion arose last night about the censoring of things on XM radio. We discussed the silliness of saying curse words after 10 p.m. but not before, about being able to say "damn" but not "goddamn" (who else would be doing the damning?), and how you could say in a lyric "I'm a fucking loser" but you couldn't say "fuck you" because that makes it a verb. Interesting industry double-speak. From that discussion arose what became a hilarious exercise for the rest of the night.

With the ease with which we accomodate profanity into our TV shows and music, we began to wonder what the modern version of older cartoons would really be like with all that profanity added in. We decided to pick on the Care Bears...


... only in today's society, they'd probably be labled: Li'l Give-A-Shits. "We have to help the world by giving a shit! Come on, kids! Say it with us!" And they all clasp hands and chant, "We give a shit! We give a shit!" They could also have fantastic names just like the old Care Bears. But none of this Tenderheart, Love-a-lot or Funshine business. No, the Li'l Give-A-Shits have names to match their new trendy personalities. There is Shits-a-lot, Two Shits, Shits & Giggles, Piece-a-Shit, Shit Storm, the one who loves food, which would be Eats Shit, the "smart" one, Shit-fer-Brains, the "Cousin" (remember Lion Heart?) whose name is Bull Shit, the one who "takes charge", or Tough Shit, Full-a-Shit, Big Shit, the "grumpy one" Who-Gives-A-Shit, and the cowardly one, Chicken Shit.

We're still working on their tattoos. We do know that we want their Li'l tribe name abbreviated and rounded over their fat, little bellies: G-A-S.

--Virgil

Mommy is Sooo Proud!!

Today was the first day of real discussion since school has started back. The first two class periods are difficult to work with, because students are adding and dropping, so you might as well just resign yourself to covering the syllabus, doing ice-breakers and helping them understand the breakdown of the class. Today is when the real thing starts, and I did something a bit different, so I was a little nervous.

I assigned a reading from Paulo Freire, and I photocopied about 8 pages from the second chapter of his book Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Freire is really important to my own teaching pedagogy, but I feel he has something important to contribute to everyone. The second chapter in particular deals with what he calls the banking model of education, and it's a fascinating read. The entire chapter can be found here.

A banking model assumes students are vessels to be filled with knowledge and the teacher will pour it in when and how she chooses. It assumes that there is nothing to be gained by the teacher from the student. The student only has a voice when the teacher decides to grant it. Example: the class is to remain quiet until I need you to answer a question. But then, you'll raise your hand, and I get to pick who gets to speak. While a certain amount of structure is important, and Freire discusses the students "apprenticing" themselves to a teacher, it is the stifling of creativity and communication he is most concerned with. It is a revolutionary book. Those who unschool will readily resonate with the material. This book caught on like wildfire outside of the developed First world. Students were photocopying sections of it and passing it around. Students under totalitarian regimes caught with part of the book risked prison and punishment.

I was concerned because I felt that we should start our critical thinking exploration with just such a piece. But most of the time, a student will only encounter Freire in a graduate program, if then. Not exactly something normally handed out to 18-19 year olds. So I was expecting a difficult time discussing the piece. Students for reasons of their own hate, hate, hate to discuss things in class. Probably because of the very banking model that they were educated in. They also don't want to appear foolish and unknowledgeable in front of their peers. I thought it was going to be hard.

Boy, was I in for a surprise! I had budgeted 15 minutes to discuss this article, thinking it would be like pulling teeth. The next thing I know, I look down at my watch and we have 5 minutes left in class! They took to the material in a livlier and fresher way than some graduate classes I've been in. And did they have things to say! We went from schooling to choice to the media to the Iraq war (we always end up on the Iraq war nowadays)back to schooling to what on earth are we going to do about it. They were full of observations. They were quick to correct and supplement each other. It was the perfect discussion.

And it was exactly what Freire would've wanted. The students become teachers and the teacher shuts up for a while and becomes a student. They engage in dialogue, in communication, and they poke around the edges of ideas together. They leave class still talking about it.

Mommy is so proud!!

-- Virgil

Of All The Luck

Well, I thought the first day back to classes went off without a hitch. I didn't feel very prepared today. I reworked my courses and I feel they're stronger than last semester, so it wasn't as if I was unprepared. If anything, I was even more prepared academically. I think it's because I haven't been home long enough to get back into the mindset of my life here.

I finished installing the blog for my students. It's called Generation Back Talk, and it's linked in my sidebar. All comments on that blog are moderated, so no one can mess with the kiddies. We'll see how it works. My expectations are moderate.

I said previously that I thought the first day back went off without a hitch. Well didn't thought think wrong! After discovering the Orwellian nature of this university and feeling quite angry on behalf of a friend, I realized something else much more trivial but no less horrifying...

...I taught the first day of classes in both sections with my fly completely unzipped.

As my Undesirable Element friend has heard me say a thousand times already today, I think my sweater covered it.

-- Virgil

P.S. TUE--Is it any coincidence that I walked our bad luck charm across the street today and nothing happens to her but MY luck turns sour?! I think this is yet further evidence...See you for Connor Coors.

'Twas the Night Before Classes

*yawn*

I've been busy with the last minute business of preparing for a new semester. I've completely revamped my syllabus to include more readings and lots more informal writing. Last semester my students had to do four major papers and 8 short writes. This semester they are doing four major papers, 8 short writes, 6 journal entries, one grammar group presentation, one blog entry, responding to the other blog entries, and a partridge in a pear tree!

Suck it up, kiddies, and sharpen your pencils.

I'm most excited about the composition blog. It's something new that I'm trying to help encourage those students who hate to speak up in class as well as hopefully capitalizing on this generation's ease with the internet. I'm allowing the writing to be very informal, and I'll likely give out the prompts, but I'm curious to see how this will play out. It's probably not going to be too spontaneous, as anything that you *have* to do generally turns out to be non-spontaneous. But we'll see.

I'm going to let them have avatars and screen names if they want. I'm going to moderate the whole thing so that civility is maintained and so that random internet trolls can't come and abuse my babies. I may even link it to this blog so you all can watch them attempt to learn.

I'm trying to think of a catchy title for it. I'd love your suggestions...

-- Virgil

Stupid, Stupid Public Schools & Stupid, Stupid Small Town

Greetings from the backwoods, from a public library because very few people here bother to get with the times and get internet access. I got bored and ventured into the library, which always aggravates me. So, on to the rant.

I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the ludicrous requirements of public schools nowadays. Some who know my previous situation understand how much public schools get on my nerves. I wish we were still homeschooling, but life happens, and you have to bend with it. Dante went back to school today. I have never met his teacher, so I figured I'd pop in, offer to help out for the rest of the school week, blah, blah.

We-ell. Apparently you can't just pop in anymore. The old crone who turned out to be his teacher told me, "I don't think you can do that." Immediately, my spine crinkles up and my first thought is "Oh, really?" I don't like being told what I can and can't do. Pushing that aside, I asked in my sweetest white-person-business-voice, "And how can we make it so that I can?"

Principal's office and Board office visits later, I've discovered how I can pop in and read a book to my child's class. I can take a TB skin test and get a background check cleared by the FBI, and they'll be happy to let me help out in the classroom. My explanation that it didn't take that much to give birth to the child, why should it take that much effort to see him fell on protocol ears. I've been given security clearance by the FBI twice in the past four years. While I'm sure that also means they have a file on me (paranoid, much??), those times don't count because it hasn't been done within the last year. Grr. Teachers like to bitch because parents don't have as much involvement in the classroom as they want to see. Well--when you have such a ridiculous procedure, I'm sure it puts most parents off the process.

It didn't seem to matter that I sat through the entire breakfast period with him, surrounded by children. But if you want to go in and watch that teacher, you'd better get clearance. Idiots. Additional stupidity includes the fact that once I have cleared the check, it stays on file FOREVER, meaning all I have to do is clear it once and get it in their files. Then, I can go murder people and rob banks, and it won't matter--they'll never check up on me again. If you're going to be that persnickety about your rules, at least be logically consistent.

I suddenly realize what a ridiculous wish that is. Scratch that. I'll just deal with the dumbness as it comes.

I have an afternoon appointment with her to discuss Dante, meet the teacher, that kind of thing. I'm sure she'll fill my ear full of how he talks too much, socializes too much, blah blah. That's his personality. I'll probably respond with two questions. First, has she ever considered ways of incorporating that skill of teamwork into her lesson plans (from her looks I bet those plans haven't changed since 1957). And second, why didn't she send a note home about Dante getting beat up on the playground before Christmas break? We get notes home about the most mundane things like how he gets up to sharpen his pencil too many times (hello, body/kinesthetic kids NEED to do that to stay on task). But when something serious happens, they shush. I'm trying to calm down, as I have to be there in two hours, and I'd rather not go to jail this afternoon and get myself permanently barred from the school. Hmph.

So, to avoid destructive behavior, I went directly to my transexual buddy salon owner with a cup of McDonald's coffee and tried to get my blood pressure under control. Lu's place is very calming, and I get $200 cuts for an absolute steal, not to mention the designer things I get access to for having gone to high school with her and being a decent person. She has a special high end boutique that's not open to the public and by invitation only that she takes me to with the keys and lets me shop by myself. It's addictive. It's also calming, so I kvetched there for several hours.

Then I took to the only internet connection in town and headed for the public library. The same building where you can't utter a whisper, but the old biddy behind the desk will talk at top volume about the local gossip of the day. She's still rattling on. I so don't care about her sinus problems. This library is so out of date that the travel books on the shelf (things like Let's Go and Lonely Planet) have information about how to travel on the border of the iron curtain. For fuck's sake.

They don't do interlibrary loans, and the only hope of getting new books into the library is to donate them yourself. Stupid backwards town. I didn't bring my card in, so I was concerned about having to argue my right to be a public visitor on the internet in a public building. Fortunately, she remembered my family, named them all, in fact, and if that were a problem, the woman on the computer next to mine immediately said, "Oh, hi, Virgil. I'll vouch for her."

Ye gods. You can't do anything in this town without knowing the secret handshake and having it verified by others who can vouch that you belong here somehow. I've been giving the town the secret finger since 1995.

--Virgil