The longer I live, the more I read, the more patiently I think, and the more anxiously I inquire, the less I seem to know. . . . Do justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly. This is enough. . .
–John Adams

I know I’m a few days late for New Year’s resolutions, but the spring semester beginning tomorrow seems more like a point of a new beginning than an arbitrary day on a calendar. So, with that, I propose the following as resolutions.

I don’t really have much to add to the last two times I attempted such an exercise. They are very similar, but perhaps with a slightly different emphasis.

That’s about it.

In many ways, 2011 was a trying year. Three deaths affected me in different ways — Apollo, Steve Jobs, and Christopher Hitchens. Each died of cancer — the latter of the same pernicious variety that killed my cousin Dale Knack. McEwan’s tribute to Hitchens was both beautiful and difficult; we know the latter is what death is, but what makes it beautiful? Death is not beautiful — only life. It takes a good life to make death less dreadful. As Hemingway said: “Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”

I finally watched the HBO miniseries John Adams over the break, and the last episode of this series illustrates this point. It is a difficult episode to watch. Throughout the series, Adams — and those around him — age. Aging in the late-eithteenth, early-nineteenth centuries was much more noticeable — especially the teeth. I remember reading that George Washington suffered his whole life from bad teeth, and that likely he had not a one left when he became president. In fact, even some of his portraits — like Gilbert Stuart’s — show his swollen mouth and the obvious discomfort he must have endured much of his life. This seems an apt metaphor for life at this time.

One of the problems with biographies is you know how they all end. The final episode, “Peacefield,” is about not only Adams’ death, but the deaths of those most dear to him, especially his wife Abigail’s and Thomas Jefferson’s. Adams lived a long life — he was nearly 91 when he died — and he had been an observer and participant in the birth of the US. OK, this is getting morbid; I’ll have more to say about Adams in a future post.

2011 was great in many ways. I taught in London in the summer again, and Autumn and I traveled to Greece. Fantastic. I am healthy and happy. I have a wife who loves me — I’m still trying to figure out my luck there. My family and I are closer than we have been in recent years, and I hope that trend continues.

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope 2012 is even better.

Values worth having are not done so blindly. They must be examined critically and thoroughly in the harsh light of day by every generation. We must be deliberate in choosing and supporting our values if they are to have, well, value. It’s in this nebulous area where real education is integral for a healthy and prosperous society.

Real education is the water that cleans the grit of fear and ignorance out of our eyes. It washes away the superstition that allows us to be cowardly and hateful. It clears the way for us to see the possibilities that our lives could have free of the detritus of fearful tradition to trip us up. Today’s NYTimes obituary of Christopher Hitchens makes a similar point:

Not only do the things in the hate column inspire hate, they also try their best to destroy those things in the love column — the things that are a part of the subversive education.

I’m not talking about revolution. Subversion is more akin to quiet resistance à la Michel de Certeau. In The Diamond Age, Neal Stephenson puts it this way: “intelligent people can handle subtlety. They are not baffled by ambiguous or even contradictory situations—in fact, they expect them and are apt to become suspicious when things seem overly straightforward.” Later, the protagonist is discussing a similar topic with the constable; he asks her which path will she take: “conformity or rebellion.” She answers:

Real education teaches the subtleties in life — the nuances. It teaches us to revel in ambiguity, not run from it. Contradiction is a time for consideration and dialog, not guns.

Yet, the demagogy that teaches absolutes and obeisance might also be a necessary part of education, only in giving the truly educated something to subvert and challenge. As Ted Nelson points out: primary education is more about training us how to behave than it is about teaching knowledge. Creativity is sacrificed for conformity. When we get through this structured system of imposed boredom and systematized indoctrination, we are called citizens and patriots and normal. If we stop here, we’re never truly educated.

Only after getting through my first two years as an undergraduate did I begin to get a real education. In these classes, I took an active part in my learning; instead of sitting in grids, we sat around conference tables; instead of being told what I should be learning, I was able to discover the knowledge for myself under the guidance of the professor. This was a time when poetry began to sing for me. This was a time when I discovered that the way I had always ordered my life — white, heterosexual, catholic, capitalist, male — was not the only way to see the world. In fact, it was a fairly  narrow way to look at life, and I have since discarded most of those arbitrary categories.

Maybe this is why I have always liked computers. Again, Stephenson gives us a look at a potential future for education in The Diamond Age. The primer that Hackworth illegally compiles for his daughter falls into the hands of a disenfranchised little girl living in a future China. The idea for The Young Lady’s Illustrated Primer is thought up by a Lord who tells the actual builder to consider what it means to be subversive. Hackworth at least unconsciously takes this message to heart and invents a book that allows the reader to find her own knowledge. The book does not work by itself — there is a “ractor” named Miranda that is just as integral to Nell’s education as the primer — but it is a key component to subverting the dominance of the ideologies that would have kept Nell a second-class citizen her whole life. This primer reminds me of what is beginning to happen with education in the digital age. Or at least the possibility for a real education.

While much of education is the learning of what our parents and other authorities say is True, it’s as much about understanding how it’s not — of finding our own ways and discarding those truths that no longer work for us. I teach literature, irony, humor, nuance, subtlety. My job is to help others dispel their own tyrannies of thought.

I teach subversion.

As I’ve mentioned before, I was a fat kid. Part of this had to do with the fact of the television: it was always more entertaining to me than sweating in the Florida sun with the other kids in Shadybrook Village. It also had to do with what I ate. I remember a childhood of McDonald’s and other dubious fast food. Part of this was satisfying the dietary cravings of two brothers caught in the vicissitudes of their parents’ divorce — the one who bought hamburgers and fries would trump the other’s meatloaf and green beans and curry the favor of the children. So, we ate out a lot, and nutrition was never really emphasized.

Even in sixth grade, when a “husky” Jerry joined Harllee Middle School’s Nutrition Club, I wasn’t taught about nutrition more than I was encouraged to limit my intake. I may be misremembering our weekly meetings — where a non-too-pleased Mr. Harrison would have to let one of his trumpet players miss first period to hang out with the other fatties in the lunch room — but I think it was more about fraternity and calorie counting than about actual health education.

This was the beginning of a cycle of gain and loss throughout high school, college, and graduate school. I never remember losing weight to be particularly difficult: remembering the lessons of Nutrition Club, I made up my mind to limit my intake. I’d still eat the pepperoni pizza; I would just eat less until I stripped off the excess pounds. Easy. And yes, growing helped, too.

It wasn’t until near the end of graduate school when I was at my heaviest — nearly 220 pounds — that I actually educated myself about food. I was essentially a vegan for about five years, and I maintained a constant weight of 165 pounds. Diets do not work; you have to change what you eat. If you don’t want to be fat, you must stop eating fat. Ah, Mrs. Jones’ advice finally makes sense. It only took me 25 years to get it. As long as I was on my own, I ate right and stayed thin.

However, there is another factor to food: social pressures. When I was single and lived with my two cats, I could determine what I ate and safely ignore any outside influences trying to steer me wrong. However, as soon as eating becomes social, the bad habits reassert themselves beaded on pressures both subtle and overt. If you try to eat correctly around others who are not, you make them feel bad about themselves. And instead of seeing the problem with themselves, they lash out at me. Yes, I can often stay strong, but ultimately this pressure wears me down and I just give in and eat the fried chicken just so I don’t have to hear it. How many other things in our lives can we say that about?

So, when it’s time to eat, I try to eat right: no added fat; no animal products; no overly processed foods. I do not worry about counting calories or portion sizes. If you’re eating right, these things don’t matter. However, around others, I often give in. This is indicative of the life of a happily married forty-something.

One thing I can say is that I have given up McDonald’s for good. That’s just something I cannot be.

Again, I want to be clear: I’m proud of all my students’ work this summer, and the selection below is just a taste of some overall good work. To see them all, check out the links to their photo blogs for the course. The featured portfolios are in no particular order.

Amy Anderson’s final portfolio was a surprise. Amy’s got such an easy-going personality, often I thought she was bored with the class, or just asleep. Yet, I think the whole class was quite impressed with her portfolio. It had the most cohesive theme of them all, based on a street photography approach. She calls it “Creeping through the Lens,” and while I’m not sure how the word “creeping” became associated in both of my classes with street photography, her work exceeds the expectations of her title. My favorite of the selections is her “Here’s Waldo,” featured in my selections below. Not only is it a great portrait, it captures some of the quirkiness of life in England.

Kassie Bettis’ work was also featured by me early on — and her sister looks a lot like her. Her work is thoughtful and understated, like Kassie herself. There’s a sense of the hidden there; her subjects often frame her images, and offer a tentative view into her world caught on film. Kassie also seemed to be everyone’s favorite subject for course portraits. Below, I use her image “A Nonchalant Attitude” as a strong representation of her work. The contrast between her flowery shoes and the stolid stonehenge speaks of the contrast between a harder past and a brighter present.

Many of the students played with perspective and camera placement to great effect — e.g. Sarah Gunnels’ work — and this might be Emily Moss‘ trademark. Her portrait “Movement” is not only excellently lit, but provides a great view of a common place for Londoners. Emily has a nice grasp of space and place in her portfolio, and each of her photos shows a unique perspective coupled with a similarly unique atmosphere.

One of my most consistent photographers this summer has been Brandi Gaines, but this is not surprising since her undergraduate degree is in fine art. Brandi’s submission for the Portrait Gallery assignment is not included in her final portfolio, but I include it below as a very strong image inspired by Sarah Lucas’s self portraits. Brandi is a careful photographer, and she does not display just any image. Her eye is critical and deliberate, but she has no hint of arrogance. She is always ready to find a new inspiration, and I have enjoyed her work over the last few weeks.

As I said above, this is only a sample. To view all the students’ portfolios, see the list in LitMUSE.

I like the food. The nightlife. The pubs. Alright, I love the pubs. The public house is something that we Americans need to adopt. The sports bar just doesn’t cut it. In fact, why is it that any restaurant or bar seems to think that in order to be successful, they need to have a dozen televisions? In pubs, people actually talk over a pint or two. What a novel concept. Maybe this is why Americans like TV? Do we really have nothing to say to each other? Also, we don’t need live music every night. A pint and a snug is all that is needed. Maybe two pints. Or three.

I like the transportation. Or more to the point, I like being a pedestrian. I like public transportation. In general, Londoners seem to be in much better shape. Could it be from all the walking? I don’t think they eat much more healthily than Americans do; they just exercise.

I like the parks, speaking of exercise. They have massive, green, beflowered, and well used and maintained parks. Regents, Hyde, and Green parks and Hampstead Heath are gorgeous chunks of nature right in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world. Londoners like to eat al fresco. One of the best lunches I had over the last couple of weeks was in the park surrounding St. Paul’s Cathedral. I like to see all strata of society sharing this beautiful space — even the businessmen in their suits sit on the grass to have their sandwiches. Could you see American suits doing this?

I like the diversity. Not only are there British, but people from around the world visit and live in London. Since most of them are doing their thing, I have not met many, but they bring with them their culture, food, and customs to make London a unique pastiche of difference. There are tensions, but they don’t seem to be those of the states. I see many racial and ethic mixes; all seem to have a place.

I like the culture. Every night has something great going on. The theatre is the best in the world; the music is ubiquitous; entertainment is actually hard to avoid. And often it’s affordable and convenient, yet just as often it’s not. We’ve heard blues bands in Camden Town, listened to student musicians at lunchtime in St. Martin’s in the Field, and seen Shakespeare at the Globe. There might be too much to do.

I like to drive. Even though I prefer trains in many ways, driving in the UK is invigorating not because I have to drive on the left, but because people seem to know how to drive and they do drive. They don’t eat. They don’t put on makeup. They don’t talk on their damn cellphones. When they drive, they drive. Refreshing. The roads are great, particularly in the country. The British seem to understand the importance of keeping one’s place clean and beautiful. There are no Wal-Marts; there is no city sprawl (maybe in a couple of cities); the highways end on the outskirts of the cities, they do not pass through them; there are no billboards obstructing your view on the motorways. The roads are beautiful and twisty. Great, too, for motorcycling.

I like the weather in the summer. Even in the winter, it’s not too cold. Because of the rain in the summer, there are great colors. The days and nights are cooler, even cold sometimes for this Florida boy. There are few bugs, evident by no screens on the windows. The summer breezes are cool and sweet.

It’s not all love for us Londoners. It’s damn expensive to live in the city (especially petrol!). It rains too much. There are a lot of smokers. It’s crowded. It’s often too impersonal and alienating. People can be rude. Sometimes it does move a bit too fast. I find myself getting impatient with people who are obviously tourists; I find that particularly amusing. In a big city, things are pretty small, like accommodations, bathrooms, and restaurants. Did I mention the smoking? Oh, and could someone bring some good pizza to London, please?

I think I would trade all I had in the states (except my wife) to be able to be a permanent Londoner; Autumn would just have to come with me. Maybe I, a former English Professor, could open a Pizza Pub, and bring a revolution to the UK’s capital. I could take up cycling again — even motorcycling. I could simplify. Cut back. Live in a smaller flat. Just me and A. I could see it.

After all, I’m already a Londoner.

Even though I hear Time’s wingèd chariot drawing near, I have had little to spare in the past three weeks. Not only have I revisited my favorite spots in London and seen some new ones, I have travelled to Wincester, Bath, Salisbury, Stonehenge, Cambridge, Tinturn, Glastonbury, and Wells. (See my other blog for photos. I’m struggling to keep up.) I have seen a great play in the West End, eaten awesome food, quaffed many a pint, and taken over two thousand photographs. I have made new friends, gotten reacquainted with old ones, and discovered new beers that I likely will become much friendlier with before I leave. I am actually teaching two photography courses — what an honor and a challenge. During graduate school, I remember Olson saying: “When you teach something, you become an expert in it.” I’m not sure about that, but I’m learning a lot, and I’m getting a lot of practice. I have seen great photography exhibits from all over the world, including South Africa, London, and Afganistan, I plan to see more in my little time left. Samuel Johnson was truly correct when he said “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”

While I miss my wife and my cat, the former will be joining me very soon. I look forward to that day, while my literal dreams are haunted by the latter. I miss him very much and that despair will impale me like a dagger when I get home, but the joy he brought to my life will always remain with me. His death will likely mark the beginning of a new period for Autumn and me. Dad’s been emailing me often, and I need to call him. I’m glad he’s thinking of me, and I thought of him while I was driving through the hills of Wales. He’d really like that, as he would like standing with me at the base of the Tor in Glastonbury. Mom says she’d love to get to Ireland; I should take her. Travel really is integral to life — without it, we become ossified — creatures of little scope and imagination. Through the challenges of seeing the world, we become larger than ourselves, and we bring that breadth home with us. Odysseus knew this millennia ago.

Yes, the program is half over, but we still have so much more to go. Yes!

Apollo was about six months old when Jesse and I found him in the Petsmart cat adoption. Even then, he was a character — soft and vocal, he was cool. We were told that someone had just adopted his brother; that was probably a good thing, since we would likely have taken them both instead of just Apollo. We had no intention of adopting a cat that day, but I’m glad we did. We got him for Jesse, but circumstances brought him to me within a few months. It took Anna and him just a few days to start getting along. I wish I could say they were inseparable, but at least they liked each other. I even think they kept each other groomed, though I never really saw it.

Apollo grew to seventeen pounds at his heaviest. We called him “Fatty” and “Chub” most often. He understood that they were not sobriquets of disparagement, but of love.

Chub was with me for the rest of my time in Florida, and he and Anna moved with me to Macon in 2002. Over the next nine years, he lived with me and Anna (and eventually Autumn) in one apartment and two houses. He seemed to thrive more in the smaller places, or maybe it was around the time we moved into Hines Terrace that he got sick.

Apollo was in many ways my best bud. I even liked him better than most people. His death is like a piece of my heart cut out. He will be missed. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there at the end, but thanks to Autumn he had what he needed.

Rest in peace, buddy.

The flight on Thursday night went without a hitch. It was long and uncomfortable, but in my experience all international flights in coach are. I sat next to Hugo Broadshoulders, so that didn’t make my cramped seat next to the windowless wall any more spacious. He decided even before I sat down that the armrest we shared belonged to him. I don’t think his arm moved the whole trip, even through his snoring.

We arrived at Heathrow more or less on-time Friday morning. The customs official who welcomed me was training a new recruit, so I think he decided to be ultra-pedantic. He was dubious about my teaching in his country for five weeks without a signed note from the Queen, so he took my passport, very nicely apologized for the inconvenience (“I see all your students have already gone through.”), and had me wait while he “spoke to his manager about this unusual situation.” I was nice; what else could I do? He came back in about ten minutes, lectured me further about getting the proper permits next time, and sent me through. Welcome to the UK.

Despite those entertaining and now laughable snags, the rest of the weekend was a blast. I had a bit of trouble getting my (jailbroken) iPhone to work with Orange, but after switching to a T-Mobile SIM, I’m now uploading photos and checking in with the best of them.

A group of us saw Mark off on Friday night. It’s a shame he had to leave so early; now I only have Todd to make fun of. Seriously, Mark’s a great guy, and we all were sad to see him go. We had a couple of pints and an meal at a little Indian restaurant in Hampstead. Sorry, but I can never recall the name, even though I’ve been there three times.

On Saturday, and thanks to Greg, we saw Harold Pinter’s Betrayal, with Kristin Scott Thomas. The play was excellent, but I don’t see why every character named Jerry in western literature is always either oblivious or an oaf. And sometimes both. Anyway, the performances were stellar and the play was thought-provoking and visceral. If you can do it, do it. Thanks, again, Greg, for scoring us great tickets.

Sunday was the program’s trip to Hampton Court. It was warm, but an otherwise beautiful outing. Here are a couple of snaps.

For a further sampling, see my other web site. I think Todd and Jennifer are going to be my main models this year. I hope they don’t mind.

After a very busy weekend with little time to prepare, I was a bit worried about teaching today, but I think things went well. It was hot and noisy, but the students seemed prepared and as enthusiastic as I would expect on the first day. Tomorrow is the first field trip to the National Gallery and Westminster. Even though the forecast predicts rain, it should still be a great time.

At least it will be cooler.

One of my colleagues teaching on the program also has a blog. Go visit Brian Ray and tell him I sent you. More later.

As I’ve already mentioned, this summer I’m teaching a hybrid cultural studies and photography course. In preparation, I’ve been reading the textbook I assigned: London and Stone’s A Short Course in Digital Photography. It’s been a great review for me, and it’s given me some vocabulary and ways of talking about photography that are helpful. The best chapters have been the ones that discuss the art of photography rather than technical aspects. Most of the chapters are about using the equipment, but chapter nine gets into portraits, landscapes, perspective, etc. — bringing into practice the technical know-how of the first part of the book. It also offers exercises that I’ll likely make use of during class time.

My students have also been getting ready. Their first assignment was due last night, and I was so enthusiastic to see what they came up with, I graded them all this morning. Essentially, it asked them to take three portraits and four landscapes (one at night). The idea was to get them to see the familiar in new ways and try to capture that with the camera. It also asked them to use the camera’s manual settings, just to begin getting a feel for how the camera works. Here are some of my favorites from their submissions.

This is just a sampling of their work. Check out LitMUSE to see all of their portfolios. They will be adding significantly more through the end of July, so I’d invite you to check back often. If I have the time, I will highlight more of their work here.

This week, I’ll be packing and deciding on my final travel kit. I got a new shoulder bag from Think Tank, the Retrospective 30. The idea was to get a big enough bag to carry an assortment of lenses, my strobes, and other necessary equipment without being too big and bulky. I’ve very pleased with the bag so far: it’s rugged, compact, and fits all of my necessary equipment: the 5D, the 16-35mm, the 24-70mm, the 70-200mm, the Speedlite 580 EX, the Speedlite 430 EX II, batteries, lens clothes, and a few more pieces of stuff. With all that, the bag is heavy, but manageable. I’m considering taking the battery grip off the camera and ditching the 24-70mm lens (heavy glass). Instead, I’m considering the 50mm f/1.4; that small lens on the gripless 5D makes a compact but powerful combination. I might just end up doing that. I’ve even toyed with the idea of just trying to leave the 50mm on all the time. It would be a challenge, but it could be cool. It would definitely be lighter to carry around. Any thoughts on this from my photog friends? (As if anyone reads what I post here.)

Just a couple more days. Exciting. My next post will likely be from London.

Exercise is like anything else in life that’s important: it must be practiced regularly and deliberately. It needs to be fostered in children from a young age if it’s going to have a life-long impact. To see how necessary this is, just look around you. The number one cause of death in the US is heart disease, just above cancer and stroke. How much do you think poor diet and sedentary lifestyle contribute to all three?

I didn’t start to run until my mid-twenties. I always remember my father running; whether it was for his health or to escape my mom, I’m not sure. He used to come home from work and run three-and-a-half miles, around the Sara Bay Country Club. We happened to live near it; we were not members. I guess I started running in my twenties because that’s what I remember my father doing. Running seemed to be one of those things I could do on my own: something that would allow me to challenge myself to improve, unlike a team sport.

Yes, I did play team sports growing up, none of which I really liked or was very good at. I was probably best at baseball, but I couldn’t hit very well. That might have had something to do with my lazy eye, my lack of athletic skill, or my growing frustration and apathy for the game as I grew. I tried football and soccer, too, but those were even worse than baseball, probably because they required more movement. At least the bulk of playing baseball is standing around waiting or something to happen, like hanging out in a park on a sunny day. Dad introduced me to golf, too, but golf balls are even smaller than baseballs, so I never could drive the things very well. No, I never was a team player, nor did I like playing with balls.

My interests were never really conducive to exercise, either. I liked to watch television, listen to music, read fantasy and science fiction novels. I would much prefer staying awake all night to finish the lastest Michael Moorcock novel than getting up with the sun to go chase balls around a field. Weekends were great that way: reading all night; getting up at noon to ride my bike to the Showbiz to play video games and eat pizza; going to a matinee at the mall to sit in the air conditioning and catch a double feature. I guess if it wasn’t for the bike, I wouldn’t have moved very much as a kid.

Cars and Bikes (Click It)

Riding my bike was something I didn’t mind doing. Yet, it was a necessity more than anything else. I was an independent kid, so I preferred to be self-reliant. The bicycle was a way to do that: I rode to school, to the mall, to McDonalds. Yes, it was probably dangerous, but that sort of reality doesn’t occur to a middle-schooler. My parents didn’t raise a fearful child. I was even hit a couple of times, but I was as resilient as a basketball.

Running and cycling have become my preferred modes of exercise. Yet, they are dangerous. My current town is built for motor vehicles, not for pedestrians, nor cyclists. There are few sidewalks, and where they do exist, they are in disrepair. Streets are narrow and many of them have no shoulders. People drive bigger and bigger SUVs and trucks and seem to be interested in anything but driving. Not only are the vehicles larger, the drivers seem to be more aggressive, impatient, and distracted. All of this adds up to an environment that actually discourages its citizens to be healthy.

One of my favorite examples is the first apartment I lived in when I moved to Macon. It was a gated community that had no access — in or out — for pedestrians or cyclists (or motorcyclists, for that matter). You had to be in a car in order to trigger the gate. This would cause me no end of frustration. The management didn’t care, and led me to conclude that Macon hates pedestrians. If this sounds like a generalization, just have a look around. I don’t see that it has gotten any better. Our priorities seemed skewed.

In fact, my current state of residence makes it unlawful to purchase alcohol from a package store on Sundays. Their motivation is purely religious, which is frankly a load of shit. However, they might be on to something. I would be perfectly happy to give up alcohol on, say, Wednesday, if they made driving illegal, too. Or consuming meat. Or smoking. I mean, seriously Georgia, if you’re gonna do it, let’s really do it. Forget the bullshit religious reasons, let’s cite health as the reason. I probably drink too much alcohol, so it would probably do me good to take a day off. But, what’s worse, a beer or a grilled NY strip steak? A glass of wine, or a Big Mac? A Manhattan or a country drive in the dually?

This is not only an issue of individual health, but one of economics and environment. In fact, some of the comments on this post prompted me to write this long entry. Seriously, how can anyone disagree that cars are a major problem that will have to be addressed soon? I know that we have built our current society on and around the automobile, but can’t we see that this choice is killing us? No, I’m not talking about the planet; I’m taking about us — the humans. I’m also not talking about giving up the convenience of the car altogether, but I am suggesting that we begin to consider the consequences of this convenience. Yes, I love to drive, but I would gladly give up that love most days of the year to be able to ride my bike safely to work.

Like many things, cars make us careless and thoughtless. We just can’t afford to be that way anymore. Let’s be deliberate about our choices.