Interview With God, Part 2

Conclusion of my interview with God:

About Morality:

JPT: Could you give us some pointers on how to live?

God: I don’t think I’m the best person to ask. You should measure the effects of your actions, whether they’re good or not. And your actions don’t affect me. You will do much better to look at your close environment and ask the people around you, who are affected by your actions. They can tell you if you’re living well or not.

JPT: So you don’t care if we live morally or not?

God: Let’s say I do care. What difference does that make? Lots of people think they know exactly what I want. Look at how they live. Do you think they are better or worse than people who don’t make that claim? 

JPT: But if you made it plain, what you wanted from people . . . 

God: I haven’t and I won’t. Give up on that and get on with your life.

About Religion:

JPT: Forgive me if I try your patience, God, but I must ask some standard human questions, for the sake of my readers.

God: I understand, you have a job to do. Go ahead.

JPT: We have recorded many books about you. Do they contain any truth?

God: I can’t say for certain, because I didn’t finish reading any of them. Invariably, I got bogged down and just couldn’t read another line. I can tell you that none of your holy books is great literature. 

JPT: Do you endorse any religion? 

God: You walked past an anthill yesterday. Did you stop to concern yourself over what those ants think of you? If they failed to bow to you in the ‘correct’ way, would that ruin your day?

JPT: I get the sense that you’re not impressed with humankind’s attempts to reach and understand you.

God: Well, you’re laboring under a misapprehension. You want the ‘inside story’ about me and there isn’t one. I’m exactly the same at home as I am on the job. Look around you, use your instruments. That’s the whole story; there’s nothing more to tell. 

JPT: Thank you for your patience. One last question: Has any human done anything that impressed you lately?

God: Yes. I like the actor and singer, Jim Nabors. Do you know him? He played Gomer Pyle on television in the 1960s.

JPT: Well I’m flattened! Please tell me what you like about him.

God: He’s complete, there’s nothing extra in him. Few humans—and even fewer Americans—are truly confident in their own skins. You people always try to appear different; more cool, younger, smarter, richer, whatever. Americans travel abroad and hope foreigners won’t recognize they are Americans. I mean, that’s just sad! And the joke of it is: to act like you’re not American . . . it’s the most American thing you could do! The locals will know instantly you're an American, because nobody else does that. Can you imagine a French man hoping no one notices he’s from France? 

JPT: So Jim Nabors . . .

God: Jim Nabors is different. He can’t be thrown off course like that. I’ll give you my favorite example. Jim made a recording of that Freddie Fender song, Before the Next Teardrop Falls, do you know the song?

JPT: Yes.

God: Remember, the middle verse is in Spanish. Anyone else, if they were singing, would try to put at least a little Spanish accent on the words, but not Jim. He just belts out the Spanish lyrics, and he sounds like exactly the person he is, a white guy from Alabama. His voice is refreshing like a summer rain. 

JPT: Thank you for your time, God.

God: No problem.

Interview With God, Part 1

Hello everyone, 

Thank you for your comments on FaceBook. If you like, please post them here, so more people can participate in discussion. 

I recently had a chance of a lifetime to interview God, the creator of our universe. I'd been phoning his people for some time, and he finally agreed to a phone conversation. I was disappointed that I didn't get to see him, but he said it was a bad hair day, so I really wasn't missing anything. 

For the record, God has a rich voice, similar to that of the late Laurence Olivier, when he narrated the series World At War.

Interview with God

About HIM:

 

JPT: Can you tell me something about yourself? What should every human know about their creator?

God: That’s tough. I’d like to tell you something useful, because your life is short and you need all the useful information you can get. The thing is, I’m not sure I can say anything about me that will help. 

I’m slowing down here, can you be more specific?

JPT: Suppose you were human and we just met. We’ll be friends or do business together. What can you tell me about God that would be important?

God: I’m kind of boring. My attention gets trapped in whatever project I’m working on, and I don’t think about anything else. Right now I’m between projects. I’m running late, getting my plan together for 2010. 

JPT: What project did you just complete?

God: I tried to make a universe where the strongest communicating force was smell. In your universe, light and gravity link matter together. But in the new one, every object would smell every other object. 

JPT: Are you pleased with the result?

God: No, it was a complete disaster. I got in the middle of making it, and realized I’d have to give every little bit of matter consciousness, so the smelling would be meaningful.

JPT: And a nose, every asteroid would need a nose, right?

God: Yes, but that part was easy. It was the consciousness that mucked everything up. Soon I had a sea of molecules, all arguing with each other. It was just a bad idea, really. I wiped it out after Thanksgiving. 

About HIS Creation:

JPT: What were you thinking when you made this universe we live in?

God: I wanted space in the plainest sense — distance, empty of anything. I’m a minimalist. I wanted to see how much I could take out, and leave it uncluttered. Just before your universe, I made one with no matter whatever. There was just me, roaming around in this black void. 

JPT: Sounds like you achieved the perfect minimal environment.

God: Well, you might think so. The problem was, there were no markers. I could travel through vast stretches at a bazillion miles per hour, but it felt like sitting still. And even though I had all this room, without reference points it was quite claustrophobic. I may as well have put myself in a shoebox!

JPT: Did you react against that minimalism when you put so much matter in this universe?

God: No. Have you studied astronomy? I put just enough stuff in here to mark the empty space. I was aiming for an uncluttered cosmos. Did you ever see Woody Allen’s movie, Interiors? I wanted a universe like the almost-empty rooms in his opening scenes.

JPT: Is our universe infinite?

God: It has limits, but you’ll never bump into them; they’re too far away. So if you’d like to think of it as infinite, that will work. You’ll never be contradicted.

JPT: What about the Earth? What did you have in mind there?

God: I wasn’t aware Earth existed, at first. Later it looked like a suitable petri dish for experiments. I liked watching the bacteria reproduce, until it got out of hand. Soon other life had to compete with the bacteria, or they’d cover the whole ball with slime. Of course it got covered with slime anyway, just from different organisms. 

JPT: So Earth wasn’t created specifically to produce humans?

God: Good heavens no! Why would you think so? Oh, I know why. It’s that psychology term, what was it?

JPT: “Projection?”

God: Yes, that’s it. You’re important to yourselves, which is natural enough. But because you have this strong feeling, you project it onto the larger environment and onto me. 

JPT: So you’re not . . . interested in people?

God: Well no. I’m sorry to disappoint you. If it helps any, I do find you slightly interesting, but it’s an interest as slight as your size, contrasted with what you see around you. The bacteria were interesting for a while, but humans are just humans.

JPT: Does intelligent life exist on other planets?

God: I don’t know; haven’t checked. Why do you ask?

JPT: If it did, and we could know about it . . . 

God: Yes, go on.

JPT: I’m not sure, but it would broaden our understanding, wouldn’t it?

God: Look, I’m beginning to like you, but you really must start thinking before asking me silly questions. Let’s say there’s an advanced civilization on another planet. Why would they want to contact you? Do you realize how far the nearest star is? You won’t get there in a few minutes, even on the Starship Enterprise.

JPT: But . . . 

God: I know you’re still fascinated with the idea, so go ahead and imagine it. Say I take you there myself, and you stand in front of a living thing from another planet. What are you going to do?

JPT: You’ve got me there; I didn’t plan that far.

God: What was the name of that guy, the one who was eaten by bears? 

JPT: Timothy Treadwell.

God: Right. Do you know how close you are to bears?  Biologically speaking, a bear might as well be your identical twin. But they ate him. You think you can converse with E.T.? An organism from another planet has less in common with you than a trilobite does. It couldn’t even relate to you as food. 

JPT: Alright then, what’s the significance of life on other planets, if it exists? We’ve made measurements of light from other solar systems, and there are other planets that might have liquid water, so it seems possible. 

God: Don’t you see what’s happening? Your scientists scour light years of empty space, looking for two molecules of water to rub together, because there might be life on another planet. You’ve missed a more important, terribly obvious observation.

JPT: Which is?

God: The universe you live in doesn’t care much about creating life. If it did, life wouldn't be so hard to find.

To be continued.

Game Change: I read, so you don't have to.*

Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime

by John Heileman and Mark Halperin

I try to stay away from political drama. This takes quite an effort, in San Francisco. 

Even when benign, political passions waste valuable energies, treasures better spent in areas where we have some control. The fact that we have the vote feeds our natural fascination with our own opinions, no matter how impotent or ill-founded they are. I get wrought up over a politician or issue just like anyone else, but let's get real, folks: I have no idea what I'm talking about. Neither does 99.9% of the American electorate. 

I suspect that most of the people paid to comment on politics are equally clueless. They aren't much closer to the action than we are.

Heileman and Halperin's book is a fascinating education in the reality of politics. They do know what they're talking about. The authors focus on the actual players. The first thing I noticed in their narrative was the absence of policy talk. The voters care about policies. Their rulers—both current and aspiring—care about power. Who's got it? How can I get it? How can I keep it? They think about power the way misers think about money. Power is an end in itself; what they'll do with it is a secondary concern for them.

Of course, the candidate must pretend to live in the voters' world and share their concerns. This is especially difficult in primary races. Imagine being Barack Obama and debating Hillary Clinton. You must convince the audience that your proposal for subsidized health care is completely different—and better—than hers. Ditto your proposed withdrawal from Iraq. You must serve them the exact same meal, on slightly different dishes, and say, "You'll like mine much better!"

Difficult as this dance is, we're watching professionals here. Most of the actors are so skillful, the only real excitement occurs on those rare occasions when they fall down, or forget their lines. This is the reason we loved watching Sarah Palin. She was not an actress, and couldn't become one overnight, despite the McCain team's best efforts. Forced onstage anyway, she had a crack-up almost every day. It was like watching a motor track race with a big smash-up in each lap.

Game Change is a riveting story. The authors end the book with an account of President-elect Obama's pleading with Hillary Clinton, to serve as his Secretary of State. Obama comes off pragmatic and stylish as usual. 

With the drama of Game Change fresh in my mind, I wondered how much will actually change during Obama's administration. Before the US economy slid into a ditch, the issue Obama raised highest, the one he counted on to elevate him above Clinton and McCain, was Iraq and the larger war on terror. Obama would bring a bold, new approach to these efforts, reversing President Bush's grave errors in judgment.

Today there are more American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan than there were at any time in Bush's administration—thousands more. Osama Bin Laden is still alive. Will US involvement in either country end, anytime soon? If anyone thinks this, I've yet to hear from them. Perhaps a president's options are fewer than we mere mortals imagine. Perhaps putting a new man at the desk does not necessarily expand those options.

* I listened to the audiobook, obtainable on Audible.com.

The Beach in Winter, and Leaving the Wall

The ocean near my house throws up debris in winter: tons of driftwood and a dead sea mammal or two. The scene reminds me of T.S. Eliot's poem, The Dry Salvages.

The sea is the land's edge also, the granite

Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses

Its hints of earlier and other creation.

Arty San Franciscans assemble sculpture from found objects on the beach. 

Last night I took Max for his first ice-skating session. I'd only skated once in the last thirty years, myself. Max did well; he didn't get discouraged when he fell down. Both of us noted an important rule: You must resist the urge to put a hand on the outside wall, for balance. When I pulled him far away from the wall, Max skated 800% further without falling. 

Many people have observed this principle. It is expressed masterfully by Robert Greene in his book, The 33 Strategies of War:

In the back of your mind, you keep an escape route, a crutch, something to turn to if things go bad. . . . you may see the fallback as a blessing — but in fact it is a curse. It divides you. Because you think you have options, you never involve yourself deeply enough in one thing to do it thoroughly, and you never quite get what you want. . . .

A sense of urgency comes from a powerful connection to the present. Instead of dreaming of rescue or hoping for a better future, you have to face the issue at hand. Fail and you perish. People who involve themselves completely in the immediate problem are intimidating; because they are focusing so intensely, they seem more powerful than they are. Their sense of urgency multiplies their strength and gives them momentum. 

This is the kind of error that's easy to recognize in others, but difficult to acknowledge in ourselves. We think we are exceptions, that we have enough discipline to skate and hold onto a rail. Even if this tactic worked, it wouldn't be much fun. True satisfaction can only come from complete engagement with the present. Whether we succeed or fail, we'll want to know we've put all our attention into the effort. 

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey To The End Of The Night: I read, so you don't have to

In my early twenties, I lived with a voracious reader. He infected me with his serial passions. First came Henry Miller, then Charles Bukowski, then John Fante, then Louis-Ferdinand Céline. Céline is that exceedingly rare writer whose work is exquisite in whole AND in part.

Céline's hero begins his adventures by joining the army in France, during World War I. From there he works in the African jungle and Detroit, Michigan before returning to France. Along his way, in circumstances mundane and terrifying, he maintains both openness to experience and detachment from it, a god-like clarity.

The passages below are quoted from Ralph Manheim's translation from the french.

San Francisco, 1992

I never saw Princhard again. He had the same trouble as all intellectuals—he was ineffectual. He knew too many things, and they confused him. He needed all sorts of gimmicks to steam him up, help make up his mind.

Tokyo, 2007

"You're already far away, Ferdinand. You're doing exactly what you want, aren't you? That's the main thing. It's the only thing that counts . . ."

The train pulled in. I wasn't so sure of my plans once I saw the engine. I kissed Molly with all the spirit I had left . . . I was sad for once, really sad, for everybody, for myself, for her, for everybody.

Maybe that’s what we look for all our lives, the worst possible grief, to make us truly ourselves before we die.

Tokyo, 2007

The worst part is wondering how you’ll find the strength tomorrow to go on doing what you did today and have been doing for much too long, where you’ll find the strength for all that stupid running around, those projects that come to nothing, those attempts to escape from crushing necessity, which always founder and serve only to convince you one more time that destiny is implacable, that every night will find you down and out, crushed by the dread of more and more sordid and insecure tomorrows.

San Francisco, 2003

I thought being in love with somebody as adorable as Musyne would give me every kind of strength and virtue, especially the courage I lacked, just because she was so pretty and such a gifted musician. Love is like liquor, the drunker and more impotent you are, the stronger and smarter you think yourself and the surer you are of your rights.

New York, 1986

Just plain living, what a drag! Life is a classroom, and boredom is the monitor, always keeping an eye on you, you have to look busy at all costs, busy with something fascinating, otherwise he comes and corrodes your brain. A day that’s nothing more than a lapse of twenty-four hours is intolerable. Like it or not, a day should be one long, almost unbearable pleasure, one long coitus.

Disgusting thoughts of this kind come to you when you’re crazed by necessity, when a desire for a thousand other things and places is squeezed into each one of your seconds.

Canadian, Texas 1987

A room changes in a few months, even if you don’t move anything. Old and rundown as things may be, they still find the strength, the Lord knows where, to get older. Everything had changed around us. Not that anything had moved, no, of course not, the things themselves had actually, changed, in depth. Things are different when you go back to them, they seem to have more power to enter into us more sadly, more deeply, more gently than before, to merge with the death which is slowly, pleasantly, sneakily growing inside us, and which we train ourselves to resist a little less each day. From moment to moment, we see life languishing, shriveling inside us, and with it the things and people who may have been commonplace or precious or imposing when we last left them. Fear of the end has marked all that with its wrinkles, while we were chasing around town in search of pleasure or bread.

Soon our past will be attended only by inoffensive, pathetic, disarmed things and people, mistakes with nothing to say for themselves.

Philadelphia, 1982

Speaking of the past, what I remembered best when I was in good spirits was Molly, like the echo of a clock striking in the distance. When something pleasant popped into my mind, I always thought of her.

After all, when our egoism lets us go for a while, when it comes time to throw it off, the only women whose memory you cherish in your hearts are the ones who really loved men a little, not just one man, even if it was you, but the whole lot.

San Francisco, 2003

When you’re not used to the comfort and luxuries of the table, they go to your head in no time. Truth is always glad to leave you. With next to no encouragement it will set you free. And we manage very nicely without it. Amid this sudden plethora of comforts a fine meglomaniacal delirium finds no difficulty in overwhelming you.

New York, 1984

Far in the distance the tugboat whistled; its call passed the bridge, one more arch, then another, the lock, another bridge, farther and farther . . . It was summoning all the barges on the river, every last one, and the whole city and the sky and the countryside and ourselves, to carry us all away, the Seine too—and that would be the end of us.

Max's Camera Work

Happy 2010 everyone. 

Max took a normal trip with Mommy to JapanTown this week. He took a camera with him, and brought back these photos. Max makes many art projects. At present, his drawing is no better than his class mates'. Probably his photographs are similar to other 5-year-olds' as well. I post them here because I like to see the world from his vantage point.

The view from the back seat. I told Max he's treated like a king now, being driven around town by a beautiful woman. Sadly, he's too young to appreciate it. I told him that life is all down hill from here.

At the grocery store, Max shot whatever looked good to him. About this photo, he said, "I like sugar." 

It's refreshing to see things from Max's lower eye-level, although he is gaining on me every day. If he stays interested in photography when he's a teenager, perhaps I'll receive aerial views.

You may recognize this Mommy face. It's the one Mommy makes while hearing, "Buy it, buy it, please!"