Those who pay close attention, or who have nothing better to do in July, may have noticed that I missed a day posting on this blog on Saturday. That hasn’t happened for a few years now. I think maybe I ‘m growing up. Or learning to resist. Saturday was a travel day—the first I had to make from Pennsylvania, back to Newark in order to fly to Washington state and drive a few hours to the lake. All in all, it turned out to be a long day in which I didn’t even notice that I was unplugged. I had a book that I read along the way. Although it’s against my religion—(call it Moby)—(but I jest)—I even fell into a cat nap or two on the plane. I didn’t have a window seat and strangers don’t like you staring in their direction for five hours at a time.
Upon awaking, eyes refusing at first to work in tandem, in the chill mountain air, I realized I’d spent the entire day off the internet. We had to pull out at 2:30 a.m. to meet TSA requirements, and you have to pay for the privilege of connecting to the web in airports and on board jets. I’ve become so accustomed to being wired that I feel I have to explain why I wasn’t able to post a few thoughts when circumstances were so adverse to getting tangled in the world-wide web. Yes, it still has a few gaps where one might buzz through without being caught.
It was remarkably freeing to be unplugged. I believe Morpheus may be correct that they want us to believe reality is otherwise. I feel guilty for not checking email manically. What if someone requires something right away? Some sage response to a communique that just can’t wait until I’m back from vacation? Some reason that I must ask to be inserted back into the matrix if just for a few moments, to hit the reply button? We’ve perhaps been exposed to what The Incredibles 2 calls the Screenslaver, the force that draws our gaze from even the beauty of a mountain lake to the device in our hand, whining for attention. We have wifi here, of course, for the fantasy of living raw is sustainable for only a few hours at a time. Reality, as you know if you’re reading this, is electronic. But until I have to reinsert myself at the cost of my soul, I think I’m going to take a dip in the lake.
Although the Allegheny Mountains are hardly the Rockies—they’re much older and gentler on the eye—they harbor many tourist locations. Even before my daughter attended Binghamton University, I’d been drawn to the natural beauty of upstate New York. Prior to when college changed everything, we used to take two family car trips a year, predictably on Memorial and Labor day weekends, when the weather wasn’t extreme and you had a day off work to put on a few miles. One year we decided to go to Sam’s Point Preserve (actually part of Minnewaska State Park) near Cragsmoor, New York. It features panoramic views, a few ice caves, and, as we learned, huckleberries. What my innocent family didn’t suspect is that I’d been inspired to this location suggestion by the proximity of Pine Bush.
A friend just pointed me to an article on Smithsonian.com by my colleague Joseph Laycock. Titled “A Search for Mysteries and Monsters in Small Town America,” Laycock’s article discusses how monster pilgrimages share features with nascent religion. People report strange encounters with all kinds of creatures and objects, and science routinely dismisses them. Odd encounters, however, leave lasting impressions—you probably remember the weird things that have happened to you better than the ordinary—and many towns establish festivals or businesses associated with these paranormal events. Laycock has a solid record of publishing academic books on such things and this article was a fun and thoughtful piece. But what has it to do with Pine Bush?
Although it’s now been removed from the town’s Wikipedia page, in the mid 1980s through the ‘90s Pine Bush was one of the UFO hot spots of America. Almost nightly sightings were recorded, and the paranormal pilgrims grew so intense that local police began enforcing parking violations on rural roads where people had come to see something extraordinary. By the time we got to Pine Bush, however, the phenomena had faded. There was still a UFO café, but no sign of the pilgrims. I can’t stay up too late any more, so if something flew overhead that night, I wasn’t awake to see it. Like Dr. Laycock, I travel to such places with a sense of wonder. I may not see anything, but something strange passed this way and I want to be where it happened. This is the dynamic of pilgrimage. Nearly all religions recognize the validity of the practice. It has long been my contention, frequently spelled out on this blog, that monsters are religious creatures. They bring the supernatural back to a dull, capitalist, materialistic world. And for that we should be grateful. Even if it’s a little strange.
Posted in American Religion, Holidays, Just for Fun, Memoirs, Monsters, Posts, Science, Travel
Tagged Joseph Laycock, Monsters, NY, paranormal, pilgrimage, Pine Bush, Sam’s Point Preserve, Smithsonian, UFOs
I’m moving. It turns out that transport companies don’t offer service to Enceladus, and inter-planetary moves are expensive, so we’re moving just one state over. If, by chance, you know me from work you need not worry—my job will remain the same but the commute will become tele. Over the past several weeks my wife and I have been sorting through the accumulated effects of thirty years of married life. Our current apartment has an attic. Uninsulated, there are few days when it’s not too hot or too cold to stand to be up there for very long—kind of like other planets, come to think of it. Also neighbors don’t appreciate creaking floorboards over their heads the hours I’m awake. Going through things that were hurriedly packed to get out of Nashotah House was quite poignant. That’s the way fragments of past lives are, I guess. You see, that was an unexpected move. Life has a way of being complicated.
One of the more remarkable discoveries was how much we used to put on paper. As a scholar of ancient documents, I have an inherent distrust of electronic media. To be written means to appear on a permanent—as much as material things can be permanent—medium. Back in my teaching days assignments were handed in on paper. Grading was done on paper. Teaching evaluations were distributed on paper. Academic publications were done on paper. In order to be a professor you needed a house. I taught at five different schools over a span of nearly two decades. There was a lot of paper to go through.
The academic mindset is seasonal. I kept waiting for summer to come to have time to sort through everything. Outside academia, I’m still learning, summer is just another series of work days. Yes, you can cash in vacation time, but you’ll not have that entirely sensible canicule hiatus that allows you to examine what you’ve accumulated and determine if you’ll ever need it again. It was like archaeology in the attic. When volunteering at Tel Dor in the summer of 1987—summers were like that, as I said—I learned that by far the majority of pottery found at digs is discarded. There are literally tons of it thrown away. You can’t keep it all. So the attic was a kind of triage of memories. Not all of this was going to fit in the new house. Decisions had to be made. I guess I was thinking that if a company could take us to Enceladus they’d have figured out how to transport everything. It turns out that to escape earth’s gravity, you have to get your ship as light as possible. With over half a century of memories, however, there’s bound to be some weight to be left behind.
Posted in Archaeology, Higher Education, Holidays, Memoirs, Posts, Travel
Tagged academia, Archaeology, Enceladus, Higher Education, Nashotah House, Tel Dor
When the robot uprising comes, we have a factor in our favor, we biological beings. That is our parts, although they do break down, generally heal themselves. I write this as kind of a forecast, because I’m not at home due to the holiday weekend, and neither is the internet at my home. You see, our internet service (which is not cheap) has been going out from time to time. Our service provider thinks it may be old parts. The box was installed in our basement over a decade ago and when the technician sent me down amid the cobwebs before leaving town I had to report to her that all cables were hardwired into the box. No clip and slip here. She thinks the cable has gone bad.
The cable just sits there. It never gets moved or jostled. How it could fail I don’t know. But the consequences are two. There may not be posts on this blog for a while once I return home. I’ve posted every day, holiday and secular-day, for years now. Technology, however, is a jealous deity and will not permit humans taking it for granted. The second consequence is more optimistic; when the robots rise up against us, their parts will wear out and they won’t be able to regenerate them organically. They’ll need to order them and hope they can find a delivery system even more efficient than Amazon’s. Good luck with that! I ordered a book the other day and less than 24 hours later it was at my door. That’s service.
I decided to post this advance warning so there may be no weeping and gnashing of teeth (please—dental work is expensive!) on Monday or Tuesday when no new post appears on this blog. It’s not that I’m not thinking of you all, it’s just technical. Robots may run system tests, but can they feel it in their bones when something’s about to go? Do they indeed sing the body electric? Can they feel the poetry they write? To be human is to think with our emotions and to reason ourselves out of irrational angst. I see the slaves to technology putting on weight as they rely more and more on labor-saving devices to make their lives automated. I’m guilty too. As I sit here many miles from home, however, I worry about the internet back there. Is it sick? Is it dying? And if so, to which mechanical god should I pray to save its technical soul?