Wondering what to get me for Christmas? (I can hope, can’t I?) On-line Christmas lists seem to be de rigueur among the digerati this year, and who am I to buck the trend? Here’s mine!

I just realized that the subject of this message sounds like a sermon title. Rather than anything so worthwhile, it’s actually the first bit of music I’ve squeezed out of the Korg keyboard I picked up a few weeks ago — a very short, rather unusual rendering of Jingle Bells. You can listen to it here, or if that doesn’t work, open the URL http://media.mcmains.net/jingle.mp3 in your Quicktime Player or Windows Media Player.

Don’t worry. Most of my stuff doesn’t sound like this.

Last night our pastor Craig Corley was discussing the need for members of a church to be interdependent and to help each other out. He mentioned that this runs rather contrary to the common American ideal of “rugged individualism”, wherein each person is self-sufficient, and chooses others’ company principally for his own pleasure, rather than to compensate for any shortcoming or need of their own.

Even as a confirmed introvert, I can see that there’s value in community and healthy interdependence. I’ve long been intrigued by the changes in community over the last several decades, and how those changes have affected us. It used to be that having several generations sharing a house was entirely normal — now anything beyond a couple, their kids, and perhaps one widowed parent is atypical. (See Capra’s charming movie You Can’t Take it With You for a fine, if a bit idealized, taste of what this was like.) Neighbors used to come together for barn raisings and other community efforts, but it’s infrequent that we venture out of doors when we’re not on the way to the car now.

There are a number of things that occur to me that have probably contributed to this change. As government has taken on more duties, there’s been less need for individual citizens to become involved in corporate community activities. Ayn Rand makes a very compelling case for the rugged individualist in her novels. The ascendency of mass communication has changed the face of what comprises a community. (I often feel more connection trading Simpsons quotes with people I don’t see very often than I do discussing the state of the neighborhood with the people I live near.) And certainly air conditioning makes the indoors more appealing than the front yard when it’s 100 degrees here in Texas.

One of the most interesting theories I’ve heard is that advertisers deliberately affected this change in response to the post-World War economy. All of these factories which had been devoted to munitions and armaments couldn’t be allowed to go dark, so they switched over to pumping out consumer goods. But after a time, every household — which at this time still often consisted of extended family, borders, and friends — had what they needed or wanted. The market was getting saturated. The marketer’s solution? The American Dream! By putting each family in their own home with their own stuff, they dramatically increased the number of lawnmowers, food processors, etc. they could sell. When we don’t share, we need more stuff!

I don’t know how much truth there is to this theory, but it does seem that the loss of community is unfortunate. We’re personally trying hard to develop it with our friends by making sure that they feel welcome to use and enjoy all that we’ve been blessed with. I’ve also been intrigued by some of the organized community-building efforts, such as cohousing, which combines a lot of the benefits of a more connected lifestyle with most of the advantages of having a place of your own. I’m interested to hear others’ thoughts on these matters as well as we make establishing and maintaining rapport with the people around us a more deliberate part of our lives.

The other night we went downtown for The
Sights and Sounds of Christmas, an annual Christmas festival here in San
Marcos that features food, music, a “snow” machine (which seemed to be
blowing dishwasher soap foam), a live manger scene, and an absolutely
retina-boggling number of lights. While we were waiting in the car for some
friends to show up, Abby pulled her favorite stuffed rabbit out from
wherever it had been traveling, and somehow managed to decapitate it in the
process.

“Waaaaaaaah!” she wailed. “What is it?” we asked, our concerned parent mode
activating at the sound of that heart-wrenching cry. “My bunny’s head came
off!” Abby wailed, holding her limp rabbit body up for display. And as
concerned, loving parents, there was really only one thing we could do:
laugh our heads off. “It’s not funny!” Abby insisted, barely able to make
herself heard over our guffaws.

Straining every nerve to master ourselves, we finally managed to stop
laughing and tell Abby “You’re right sweetie. I’m sorry we laughed at your
rabbit. We know that it’s your favorite animal, and wouldn’t have done
anything to hurt you on purpose. Please forgive us.” That seemed to mollify
her, and we continued our getting-ready process.

As Abby stepped out of the car, still clutching the rabbit’s body, an impish
grin dawned on her face, and she stuck the bunny in my face. “I’m headless
bunny! I’m headless bunny!” she shouted, waving it around in my face. And in
spite of its newly bifurcated status, she still carries it around with her,
thoroughly enjoying the company of her little headless friend.

This is a photo of a striking granite boulder in Enchanted Rock State Park here in Texas. I posted most of my photos from my recent visit there on the Enchanted Rock With Steve page, but this one, which I particularly liked, escaped the first time around.

The thing I like best about this photo is that the sun was striking across the face at just the right angle to bring out the dramatic texture of the beautiful pink granite, the same stuff of which the Texas Capitol Building is constructed.

I’d been eager to see Unbreakable ever since I started reading about it. The same director as The Sixth Sense, rooted in comic book lore — what’s not to like? I went in with pretty high expectations.

They were met. The film is paced deliberately, with lots of close-in shots and high-gain sound work to provide a sense of intimacy. All the actors do a fine job, though one has to give particular kudos to Samuel L. Jackson, who was wonderful in admittedly the most interesting role in the film. I can’t say much more, lest I ruin some of your enjoyment when you finally see it. So, go see it. Now. All of you. Maybe you can get a group rate. I want to be able to ramble on freely about the film without giving it away.

Lillian Jackson Braun’s The Cat Who Robbed a Bank is nominally a mystery story, but flouts most of the conventions of the genre. There’s never any firsthand narrative with either the killer or the investigators, but instead we follow the murder from a distance through the eyes of a local newspaperman. We’re not given any clues as to the what actually happens at the crime scenes, but are limited to the oblique hints provided by a couple prescient felines. The narrative seems at least as much concerned with antiques and trinkets as with the events. And to top it all off, there wasn’t ever any intimation of a bank robbery, as the title would suggest. But in spite of all that, it’s a relatively interesting read, mainly because of its interesting characters. It just doesn’t sit particularly comfortably on the mystery shelf.

Thanks to Jim Roepcke’s excellent new WeblogView plugin and the good folks at AvantGo, you can now get Ruminations squirted right into your Palm Pilot or Windows CE machine whenever you sync it. If you’re an AvantGo user, click to subscribe. (If you’re a masochist, click to see the new version in your web browser.)

I thought it would be fun to start posting the occasional photo as part of this journal in addition to my usual inarticulate ramblings, so here’s the first of them.

This is a squirrel I encountered on Loop Street, one of my favorite streets in San Marcos. I especially like the texture of the tree in this photo. Unfortunately, it also shows why fixed-focus lenses can be a bad thing: the depth of the composition is totally flattened out, making it harder to distinguish the subject from the background.

But I do like the tree.

The other night I went shopping for jeans, as I was tired of wearing nice pants to work all the time and being mocked by my casual dress coworkers. As I spent a bit of quality time with a few pairs in the fitting room, it quickly became evident that the time in my life that I could fit comfortably into pants with a 36 inch waist had past. The shame!

So, my resolution: by hook, crook, or strategic use of shoehorns and a vacuum cleaner (don’t ask), I’m going to get back down a couple inches. I’ve been adjusting my sleep schedule so that I can get up early to take walks or to hit the company gym. I’m also trying hard to cut back on my usual gustatory enthusiasm, especially late at night.

Doggone it, if Jim can do it, so can I!