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I thought I’d post the music video for The Decemberists’ Sixteen Military Wives, which I found quite enjoyable. If you enjoy Wes Anderson, you’ll certainly enjoy this:

It’s snowing outside. Yeah, that’s right. After four days of playing Ultimate until 11:30 at night, today it decides to snow. Fortunately, none of its sticking and it’s pretty warm– I suppose I should be happy because snow = precipitation and precipitation = a greener Bozeman, but just the same I’m going to complain. =P

In other news, it’s Thursday which means that it’s practically the week-end. Whoo! I’m excited to go to the Lacross game tomorrow night– that’ll be something of a new experience.

William asked a great question yesterday. He asked, “why is the flag at half-mast?” Thinking about it, he answered his own question, “oh, it must be because the Pope died.”

A week after the death of the Pope, the flags are still at half-mast. If the flags had been down for a day or two, I would have few complaints, but being humbled as a nation for a full week due to the fully anticipated death of a man seems obscene (especially here on our so-called “secular” campus). Sure, maybe the Pope was a good man. But a lot of good men die everyday. Men who’ve lived with integrity and honor and have made the world a better place are found in the obituaries of the local newspapers across the nation, and yet the flag is not lowered for these– even though many of these were not leaders of organizations that harbors and provides sanctuary for child-sex-offenders (ooh! cheap shot, I know).

He was just another man. John Paul II. The second. How pretentious. How is it that this man, for the last two weeks, has dominated the headlines of our nation’s newspapers (the Financial Times, thank god, made no mention of his death) and even warranted uninterrupted televised coverage of his funeral on CNN. People are born, people live, and people die. Why is the death of this single religious figurehead the biggest news story since invasion of Iraq?

Put the flag back up. Let’s be a proud nation, or let’s be a humiliated nation, but for the love of god, put the flag at half-mast for something worthy. Put it at half-mast to commemorate the 1,100+ soldiers that have been killed fighting Bush’s war in Iraq– who died fighting for their home and country. Perhaps if each of those soldiers, killed in the line of duty, gained a small portion of the news frenzy that the pope has, then maybe the American populace would be more adamant about bringing our troops home.

Hotel Rowanda

I want so much to say “go see this film,” but I can’t. No, instead with all my sincerity I would say do not see this film. Why not? Because it’s well done. Because it does what seems to an accurately appalling job of depicting the full immensity of humanity’s inhumanity. Don’t see it because it depicts the act of genocide and its effect. It shows families and homes and lives gunned down, ripped apart, and destroyed. It shows the agony of parents being separated from children, and it puts orphaned children’s fear right in front of you where you can’t avoid seeing it. You can’t avoid seeing the hatred and the violence and brutality and the gore and the pain and the suffering. But what’s worse, you can’t help seeing the stupidity of it– of neighbors murdering neighbors over some imaginary ethnic separation invented by Belgian colonialists. You can’t help but to see the utter indifference of France and Britain and the United States and every other Western nation as an entire race is systematically hunted down and murdered.

It’s all so damning– to see this, and to feel some small portion of the terror and confusion and pain– and to be indifferent or impotent. It’s like watching the news over dinner– one says “oh, how terrible” and keeps on eating. Or one says “dear god, how terrible” and one’s heart breaks as you wish desperately that there was something–anything you could to help just one of displaced and distraught and you fully realize that there is nothing in your power or ability to do that could possibly lessen the suffering. It’s damning to walk out of the movie theatre, and climb into my nice Toyota Corolla and listen to Howie Day while being amused at the drunks staggering down the street, being so fully aware of how …

I hate it. I hate the apathy and the powerlessness. I am less happy because I saw this film. Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy, while thousands are daily dying of famine and malnutrition and provincial civil wars… but even if I don’t deserve to be happy, what good does it for me to be wretchedly unhappy?

William and I went to the Decemberists concert in Helena tonight. They were a very fun and enjoyable group. The Decemberists are the type of band whose live performance makes their studio recordings seem rather bland– there was so much energy among the band and the crowd…

Anyhow. I snuck my camera in. Here’s some pictures:

The band in all their glory

They played an incredible variety of instruments in an incredible variety of ways. In this picture, drummer John Moen is playing the drum with, that’s right, an oversized drum stick and his tambourine. It was very impressive, especially when he started kicking the drum around the stage and still managing to play on it in perfect rhythm.

During The Mariner’s Revenge Song, John pulled the drum up nice and close.

What might have been the highlight of the night, however, was when Petra Haden (the female background vocalist) sang a solo song. Her vocals were quintessentially Decemberists non-traditional, melodious, and very intriguing. Unfortunately, this song isn’t on any of their albums.

All in all, it was an incredible concert with an amazing band, and I would do a lot of indecent things to obtain a recording of the concert.

There’s something extremely swollen in the back left part of my throat, such that it’s quite a painful endeavor to chew and swallow. This was bothering my last night as well, and then I went out and played Ultimate for an hour in the chilly night air. I would suspect my tonsils, but unless they grow back (and they don’t) it can’t be … unless, of course, it’s just a phantom pain, and I’m imagining that my non-existent tonsils are swollen. Hmm.

Anyhow. Enough.

When I was in the airport on my way to Duluth, I happened to pick up a copy of the Financial Times. In a single issue, there was so much information of trouble and concern– so much that never reaches the mainstream news sources. Kofi Annan is rallying for the abolishment of the ineffectual UN Human Rights Committee and proposing to replace it with decentralized groups in every country. Surprising, the United States and China are offering the strongest objections against this, since they both have used the existing Human Rights Committee to cover up human rights abuses. A bus, carrying eager Indian émigrés, traveled from Pakistani controlled Kashmir to Indian Kashmir, reuniting families that have been divided for sixty years due to the division of India and Pakistan. Despite fear or bombings or terrorist attacks, nineteen brave people crossed a bridge across a border that has been uncrossed since the 1940’s. The bus was not attacked. Concerns are on the rise as OPEC gradually increases their oil production capacity, but not enough to meet demands. China’s oil demands are expected to double in the next ten years due to an increase in Chinese car ownership, and their domestic oil production can only amount for a small portion of this increase. Globally oil reserves are stretched, and, in the face of a pending oil crises, demand is still on the rise. In Peru, a town of about 30,000 people declared itself a socialist state, under the direction of Evo Morales (leader of the Movement Toward Socialism (MAS)), and has every intention of letting its government spread. Struggle threatens to resume in the French Ivory Coast, and it seems everywhere there’s political, economic or social unrest.

I say all of this only to point out that we live in such troubled, tumultuous but exciting times. Things may be calm and dormant in the United States– perhaps, but even then I don’t think that this can last long– but in the scope of the world, there are so many things demanding our attention and concern: tsunamis and floods and famines and civil wars and regime changes and colonies gaining independence… the still too close memory of genocide in the Balkans, and the exponential spread of aids in Africa, claiming two and a half million lives every year… The world is far from the utopian, self-sustaining dream that we in America try to believe but somehow never can. Every morning the newspapers and telecasts proclaim that the world needs men and women—people of integrity, who believe in the dream of humanity and human rights, who believe in fighting against hunger and abuse, hatred and senseless killing, who stand up against corporate exploitation and stand for education, health and our environment. We’re so needing for those who will give selflessly and hope and affirm, even when everything they see tells them to do otherwise. It’s my firm believe that when individuals wake up every morning with a dedication to affirm life and serve humanity that, even if the world will never be “a better place,” at least a delicate few can know a better life, and a volatile few can be saved from hunger, and a unlikely few can know human dignity and be allowed the opportunity to live and learn and love and hope and dream and perhaps continue on the cycle…

It’s so easy to say all these, and it’s so hard to do any of them. But perhaps its not as hard as we’ve been told. As for me, although I currently see none of the above qualities in myself, I do find the sincere desire that someday I’ll be one of these. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. Doubtful in a year or even ten. But everyday I think I get a little closer…

Ah. I worked for seven hours this afternoon, went to class at 7:00, got back a little after 9:00, put a load of laundry in, and then the game started around 10:00. PM. Now it’s 11:18, I’m exhausted, sore, and thoroughly content. God, I’m sure going to miss living in the quads. I don’t think I’ll ever be in a situation again where an ultimate game can be organized in four minutes at 10:00 at night (and we played last night till 11:00 or so, and we’ll probably play tomorrow night, except I won’t be here because William and I are going to the Decemberists concert in Helena)… It’s amazing. No, we’re not that good. No, we’re not competitive. But there’s nothing like laughing so hard at the person next to you who just slipped and fell flat on her back trying to throw the frisbee that you fall down yourself when you try to help her up…

Oh my. It’s 11:22, and I haven’t done ANY homework whatsoever today. BAD Mark! Bad! I need to hop on that.

And Andrew is down in his room talking to himself. Yes, he’s well aware of the fact that he’s talking to himself. He’s brainstorming, and is discussing his upcoming T&C project with himself, saying “we could do this, but…” It’s quite amazing. You can walk into the room, and he doesn’t notice. He’s such a raging genius. “Ooh! Should we put a plot twist in it? Hmm. I’m not sure that we could fit that in five pages.” Yeah. That’s a direct quote.

“I am not a poet, only a very accurate recorder.” – Lolita (Vladamir Nabokov)

WHOO!!

Duluth, here I come!

I’ll be back Sunday. Now, I just need to find someone to give me a ride. Hmm.