Wednesday, October 31, 2007

It's really going to happen.

So to the insanity of yesterday I feel I should add that after work I hopped in a car with the editors of the Point Weekly and had dinner at PLNU President Bob Brower's house. That would be so much more exciting if the best thing that has ever happened to me ever had not happened.

I met with my prof and it's for sure. I'll get paid a minumum $200 to look for style discrepancies, and I got the green-light to edit for content. I couched it tactfully: "When I read it, I could hear your voice, because I'm in your class and know you, but I don't think the reader can hear you." I told him I wanted to make it sound more like him.

I'm going to go edit my prof's manuscript now. I have never been happier in my entire life.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Be still, my beating heart.

I crept unwillingly out of my covers this morning, staving off the early beachy chill with yoga pants and a hooded jacket. I chewed an apple pensively as I meandered toward my 7:30 am Old Testament class, uneasy over the three impending midterms and speech (how did this happen?) that had loomed in the back of my mind all last week, having been postponed because of the fires.

But once I saw the first, I relaxed and remembered how much I love test days. I got out of class ten minutes early and took my time making breakfast and selecting a proper outfit for my speech. In Psych I finished the midterm there and rather leapt out of my seat to redeem my much-deserved thirty minutes of freedom. In Communication I uploaded my PowerPoint, and everyone else's, and delivered a five-minute informative "Knowledge is [Executive] Power" as well as I could expect myself to. I'd been practicing it all week and in doing so had memorized the thing. I stuttered occasionally as I always do, my tongue overwhelmed by the task of choosing the most effective words to express my thoughts. But the words escaped eventually.

I ate a banana and strode to Psych Convocation for midterm number three. Assured that puzzling over my answers would not likely improve my score, I dashed off the Scantron and exited as awkwardly as one wearing "interview casual" in an auditorium seating 300 freshmen and leaving first could possibly exit.

Then I came to work and checked my e-mail. My World Civ professor asked me to edit his book (quoted below). I would be paid out of department funds. Be still, my beating heart.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Words appearing in bold are not mine.

This week's required reading in World Civ was a book written by my professor, not even in print yet. A lot of it deals with obscure historical issues, not terribly essential information, and as a whole it could have benefitted greatly from a kind but incisive editor's red pen. Nevertheless, I found the following passages insightful and encouraging.

From Jesus, History, and Mt. Darwin by Rick Kennedy:

Today only twenty or so people in succession separate us from the eyewitnesses to Jesus’ resurrection. Wendell Berry, in his novel Jayber Crow (2000), has Jayber, an aging village barber, reminisce:

"History grows shorter. I remember old men who remembered the Civil War. I have in my mind word-of-mouth memories more than a hundred years old. It is only twenty hundred years since the birth of Christ. Fifteen or twenty memories such as mine would reach all the way back to the halo-light in the manger at Bethlehem. So few rememberers could sit down together in a small room."

Our modern schools do much to undermine the closeness of history. Our history textbooks encourage us to think of ourselves as separated from the past. We are taught to assume the past to be a foreign and exotic place. A vast distance is supposed to exist between us and the eyewitnesses to the resurrection. Trusting the reported events in the New Testament is considered a “leap” of faith, something risky, possibly unreasonable. But Jayber Crow is right. A small room of people is all that is needed to link us personally to the eyewitnesses. No leap is necessary.

Eyewitnesses were the first rememberers. The gospel and letter writers were either eyewitnesses or early hearers of eyewitness reports who wisely created a strong bond between oral and written testimony that could pass across deserts and seas and on into the future. Confident knowledge of the event of the resurrection could pass through time and space by human links of people trusting each other's memories with the additional support of the New Testament as a memory aid. A testimonial succession of rememberers could reach through the centuries to us. To reach us only twenty or so trustworthy and non-gullible people are all that is needed...

...The nice thing about Jayber Crow’s historical insight in Wendell Berry’s novel is that it bridges the gap between both The Port-Royal Logic and John Locke’s Essay. Even if you agree with Locke and think historical credibility diminishes in proportion to the number of people it passes through, Jayber Crow points out that the story of Jesus only has to pass through twenty or so people to get to you and me. Credibility can’t have diminished that much even by this time. On the other hand, if you think of twenty or so people who have attested like a notary to the basic facts of the written gospel story, we can claim, at minimum, the confidence of a real estate deed coming down to us through time.

My grandmother a few years ago gave me a Griswold #8 frying pan when she was packing to move into a place where she would not have to cook. She told me that my grandfather gave that frying pan to her on their first Christmas together. She was born in 1911 and the pan would have been given in 1931. I am forty-four years old now and my kids not yet in high school. If I pass that frying pan and story on to a future grandchild, that pan and true story could easily still be passed on almost two centuries after the fact having only gone through two people: me and my grandchild. A good and true story can be easily carried over hundreds of years by just a few people who want to tell a true story. To help my memory, my grandmother also wrote down the story. Even if my memory of the story gets fuzzy, I can attest to her written testimony as what she had initially told me. As Christians founded upon the historical fact of the resurrection of Jesus, we only need twenty or so conscientious people linked through time to give us the confidence of listening to the eyewitnesses. And to give us greater confidence, we have written attestations that have been passed along to keep the testimony on track.

Jayber Crow is not offering a Christian apologetic; rather, he is simply meditating on how history is so close and personal. Our schools want to make history too hard. They want us to over-think it by half. Jayber is not promoting gullibility; rather, he stands in the Classical tradition of knowing history, that history is linked to us by humans. John who stood at the base of the cross calls to us in his first letter to trust him as a testifier to what he has seen, heard, and touched so that we can have fellowship with him. He calls not from long ago and far away, but only from across a small room of friends and family...

...Christianity’s intellectual foundation—the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection—is weak at universities. It is weak in the way ancient human history is a weak academic discipline. Both depend on social methods of knowledge. Being weak, however, does not mean wrong. There is a story of Peter in the sixth chapter of John where some of the disciples desert Jesus because of hard teachings. Other disciples are grumbling, and Jesus upbraids them: “Does this offend you?” He then turned to his core twelve and asks “You do not want to leave too, do you?” Peter answered “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Peter’s answer is not full of triumph; rather, it recognizes that our hope is in weakness; the weakness of words from one who, himself, became weak...

...Ancient history has no hope in academic rationalism. Where else can it go but to cling to reasonableness? Ancient history accepts the reality of paradox, inconsistency, and human weakness. History recognizes that truths can be unsuccessful, that tragedy and irony often prevail, that what is quirky and odd can be more influential than what is respected and normal.

Natural history is rational. It is powerful. But should its confidence wash over into history negating the quirky fact that we have strong eyewitness and hearsay testimony that Jesus rose from the dead? Is natural history so powerful with its inferences drawn from observation that it has veto power over facts learned from ancient sources?


There is a rational argument that destroys our historical knowledge of Jesus. I have an academic friend who grants that eyewitnesses experienced the resurrected Jesus, but then he says that seeing the resurrected Jesus doesn’t mean they actually saw the resurrected Jesus. “The critical issue,” he wrote me in an email “is whether credibility extends to the truth of their claims or only to the truth of their reports.” I grant him his point. It’s a tricky point: Seeing Jesus doesn’t mean Jesus is being seen. By extension: when Peter, on top of the mountain, heard God tell him to listen to Jesus, Peter may actually have been listening to himself tell himself to listen to himself.

It is a tricky argument, and Greekish academic traditions always allow for the truth of the tricky. At its core, the argument undermines human perception of anything. Can any of us know anything? Can any of us get outside of our own minds to know anything outside of our brains? Is it possible for a creator God to actually communicate or act in a way we humans could confidently assert as true? What is a scientist observing when he observes something? His or her own mind?

Ancient Greeks enjoyed conundrums and circular reasoning such as “All that I know is that I know nothing.” Our minds can tie us in knots. Greek rationalism is wise to always allow for the tricky. Greek reasonableness is also wise to encourage people not to get bogged down in the tricky. All university disciplines can collapse into a toilet swirl if we allow our minds to play the rationality games that our minds are capable of. Nobody can convince an obstinate skeptic of anything, even the existence of the world around us. All I can say is that I stand in a long Aristotelian and university tradition of optimistic and social reasonableness that offers alternative, practical, maybe-not-fully-persuasive methods of creating credibility for assertions about things we perceive and we believe other people perceive too, now, in the past, and probably into at least the near future. Darwin and I stand together in this tradition.


I follow Peter who listened when God told him to listen to Jesus. Like Peter, my reply to the question of abandoning Jesus is "to whom shall I go?" Peter recognized that he has to cling to someone or something. There is no personal, independent truth in himself strong enough to save him. Like Peter, I see no hope for me in myself. Like Peter, I cling to words—words communicated with all the limits and frailties of human communication. Worse! Peter at least got to cling to words straight from Jesus. I have to cling to words translated, words written down in Greek, words passed from eyewitnesses through hearsay. Jesus looks at me and asks if I want to leave him like so many others. My answer is that I cling to him through his words as recorded.

I cling to his words in two ways: a church way and a university way. Among the fellowship of believers, I share the tradition and collective experience of two thousand years of believers who, at the core of Christian orthodoxy, believe in the Holy Spirit’s oversight over the writing of the whole Bible and that when its authors declare themselves bearing communications from God I must listen as carefully and conscientiously as if Jesus stood with his hand on the shoulder of every author. The Bible is an extension of the incarnation, the stooping down of Truth into mere words. God communicates, but God humbles himself to communicate through chosen authors and helps us, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to read and listen. I believe this in a church way, sharing in a fellowship of prayer and belief. On the other hand, in universities, where the traditional standards of academic disciplines rub against each other, I cling to Jesus’ words and deeds as history, as well-attested reports.

History departments, by tradition and common practice, pride themselves in “practical realism” and recognize their “post-heroic situation.” We, by traditional rights, have a role in universities as the discipline most oriented to studying human words reporting past events and people. Modern archeology and the social sciences have been developed to avoid the weaknesses of words; however, traditional history is a social study not a social science. The stronger university disciplines strive to discover things that are independent of the frailties of people. History departments, however, are mired in people, especially the words of dead people.

My dad was a weatherman, a type of natural historian. Everybody laughs at the errors of weathermen. But when my dad predicted the future, a fleet of warships immediately changed course. Dad was using history in the form of past measurements to look for patterns that could be turned into probabilities of future events. Meteorology is a field of natural history strong enough to persuade admirals that disbelief is too big a risk. I teach ancient history, a job more laughable than a weatherman’s. My job is rooted in, with, and through people. Eighteen-year old students dismiss my analyses. I can’t imagine having the power of argument capable of convincing an admiral to change the course of a fleet...

We did it again!

The chefs:
Me, my roommate Natalie, and our next-door neighbor Elizabeth

The menu:
Whole wheat spaghetti in crushed tomatoes
Italian sausage
Iced tea
Vegetable mushroom sauté
Garlic bread
Roasted butternut and acorn squash (pictured above)
Chocolate chip cookies

The result:
Seven full, happy people!

I think we're going to try and make this a regular thing. I made a Facebook group out of it, so it's pretty much official:

The Dinner Club - Because Nease won't let us into the kitchen for breakfast! Or lunch, for that matter...

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Another article! but no one's around to enjoy it...

So the campus is half-deserted, and no one's going to see it, but I wrote my first legit news article for the Point Weekly last week. You can view it here.

When I did a weeklong journalism boot camp stint at the Press-Enterprise three years ago, I fearfully approached teenagers at the Galleria and the Barnes and Noble to interview them for my story on the 2004 presidential election. Intimidated and terror-stricken, I garnered meager, barely passable quotes and wrote a so-so article redolent of mid-adolescent linguistic flourishes. Months later the paper ended up running a piece retaining my byline and lead, but nothing else remotely similar to what I had written. Disgusted, I vowed never to enter journalism. Well, okay, so I had already made my mind up by the end of that week. I knew, when an award-winning photographer gave us one of those speeches where he listed the thankless tasks and unrecognized efforts inherent to his profession, asking us if we could hack it, and then finished with something that was supposed to be inspirational, like, "But if you want to be a journalist, it's the most rewarding job you could have," and I was as far from being inspired that I could possibly be, I knew that journalism wasn't for me.

It still isn't for me. But I love the newsroom vibe, and I want to edit as much as I can, and so if, when hanging out with the PW, I get roped into writing an article every once in a while, it's all right. What a difference this time, though, compared with my first experience. I waltzed up to people I'd never properly spoken to before to get my quotes; I determined quickly who best to answer my questions and promptly scheduled an interview; I perfunctorily navigated Physical Plant and pleasantly questioned the director of transportation without so much as a single qualm, rather awed by my unaffected equanimity.

And the story came out fairly well. I even took the accompanying picture. I got the requisite nods of adequacy from my editors I required, and I got to see my name in print again. I never get tired of that.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Last night's menu:

Chicken stir fry
Vegetable sauté
Steamed rice
Iced tea
French bread with garlic oil
Pumpkin pie with hand-whipped cream

That's right; for $18 and one hour's teamwork, we fed seven people the best dinner I'm sure we've all had since we've been home. While I was surfing yesterday morning, my hallmate Elizabeth went shopping. After I got off work, we hiked down to Young Hall with our supplies and took over the kitchen there (which, I might add, is completely open, all the time, to anyone who happens to waltz in- if only I had know this when I was writing that column!). The boys and girls we were feeding joined us; we chopped, measured, and mixed, and finally ate jovially, thankfully, giddy with commiseration.

"Soooo good," was the general rejoinder. I didn't realize how much I missed making dinner at home, having my hands smell like garlic and onion, filling a tableful of people. And, as Elizabeth said afterward, "I don't feel sick to my stomach like the Caf makes me sometimes."

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Still living on a peninsula.

Nero fiddled; I surfed. Classes have been cancelled for the remainder of the week, so I took advantage of this as early as possible. The water was balmy and clear, and if it wasn't for the slight haze over half the sky, you'd never know San Diego is furiously ablaze.

I worked at the library all afternoon, and tonight I think a girl from my hall and I are going to go down to the boys' dorm and cook dinner for a bunch of us. Just another day in paradise.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Postcard from Vermont!

True story: I decided to spin the combination lock on my mailbox anyways, even though all that peeked out of the window was the same bank statement addressed to my box-mate that had been sitting there for three days. I glanced behind it, and lo and behold, greetings from the Tates! Thank you so much!

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Knowledge is [Executive] Power: Informative Speech for Com 100

Informative Speech
“Knowledge is Power: Secondary Candidates in the 2008 Presidential Election”

I. Introduction
A. Attention-getter: I’d like to ask everyone who will be eighteen or older by November 2008 to raise your hand. Well, if you didn’t know already, this means you will be able to vote! How many of you are registered to vote? I'll have forms after class if you want to get started. As voters, we need to be informed about all the issues that are going to come into play when we tap on those touch-screens next year.
B. Thesis Statement: The nominations are beginning earlier than ever, and as Dr. Lindsey Lupo, assistant professor of political science here at Point Loma, said on October 8, 2007, the accelerated races put lesser-known candidates at a disadvantage, since they don’t have the money to compete with the famous faces: Hillary, Barack, Rudy. The smaller candidates don’t have as much time to get their campaigns rolling, so it’s harder for them to make themselves known.
C. Relate: This means it is more important than ever for voters like you and me to inform ourselves of the candidates and the issues that will come into play in the next few months.
D. Preview:
i. First, we’ll look at a Republican candidate whose 100-lb. weight loss often overshadows his political accomplishments.
ii. Then we’ll cross the political line to meet a Democrat who differs from the other candidates in more than just his Mexican heritage.
iii. Finally, we’ll look at an Internet-based bipartisan movement that believes Americans want a third choice.
Transition: So about that weight-loss success story - of course I have before-and-after pictures.

II. Body of the Speech
A. Mike Huckabee
i. After demolishing a chair in his office just by sitting in it, Huckabee decided to do something about his health, later writing a book about his journey: Quit Digging Your Grave with a Knife and Fork: A 12-Step Program to End Bad Habits and Begin a Healthy Lifestyle.
ii. But besides being a disciplined, dedicated exerciser and healthy eater (Max, 2007), he is a former Baptist minister and governor of Arkansas with typical conservative positions: against gay marriage, abortion, and raising taxes; for the war in Iraq, Israel, and strong national security (Huckabee, 2007).
iii. But he considers himself a “paradoxical Republican.” He cares deeply about health care, music and art education, and the environment (Winslow, 2007). He is also passionate about immigration and lower-income citizens.
iv. Does he have a chance of winning? Former president Bill Clinton considers him the “dark horse” of the candidacy campaign. "He's the best speaker…he's extremely conservative, but he's not mad at anybody about it" (Pierce, 2007).
Transition: Perhaps we will see another governor from Arkansas in the White House, but this time a conservative one. Now on to the other end of the political spectrum, and the other end of the country, with the Democratic governor of New Mexico: Bill Richardson.
B. Bill Richardson
i. As a governor of a border state, he has a strong stance on border security but supports creating a system for immigrants to earn their citizenship (Richardson, 2007). As a Hispanic, he could gain many Latino votes. As a former energy secretary, he has the experience to deal with climate change. He supports the death penalty and the right to own guns (Economist, 2007).
ii. He claims he is the only Democratic candidate who will bring all the troops in Iraq home immediately, should he win (Richardson, 2007). He also wants to scrap No Child Left Behind and nationally raise teachers’ salaries (Richardson, 2007).
iii. Because there are so many prominent contenders in the Democratic race, his best chance is probably vice-president (Economist, 2007).
Transition: We’ve seen a Republican and a Democrat. But there is a grassroots movement working to combine the two.
C. Unity 08
i. Unity 08 is a group of politicians and activists who believe Americans are frustrated with the two-party system (, 2007). They consider the American people moderate, and believe that by allowing voters to get involved they can elect candidates who truly reflect Americans’ views and positions (Simon, 2007). According to their website on October 13, they had 113, 077 total members.
ii. They are conducting surveys over the Internet to determine what Americans are concerned with: Iraq and the fight against terrorism, education, health care, climate change, energy independence, immigration and corruption in Washington top the lists (Broder, 2007). Unity 08 will conduct a party convention over the Internet in June 2008, once the other parties’ candidates have been determined (Miller, 2007).
iii. If Michael Bloomberg, mayor of New York, decides to run as Unity08’s candidate, he could win. He has enough economic resources and political clout (Kraushaar, 2007). But he has not announced his candidacy, and Unity08 has not generated enough interest yet to be considered an actual threat to the two-party system, according to Vaughan Ververs, a political columnist, in an October 2, 2007 post on
Transition: But things change, and they change quickly in politics. So no one can be written off yet, especially this early in the race.

III. Conclusion
A. Review:
i. First, we saw how Mike Huckabee’s conservative values but progressive views in health care, arts and education, and immigration could propel him to the front of the Republican race.
ii. Then, we looked at how Bill Richardson’s Hispanic heritage and strong stance on troop withdrawal could give him an edge in the Democratic primary.
iii. Last, we explored how Unity08’s appeal to moderate voters could create a viable third party in the upcoming election.
B. Restatement of Thesis: Voters need to know that there are many viable candidates in the 2008 race, not just the ones who make cable news headlines every night.
C. Tie-back to Introduction: So raise your hand again if you’ll be eighteen by next November. Now you have a little more information to make an informed decision next year.

It was the cutest thing.

One of the guys in my World Civ class, from New Hampshire, was telling another, from Massachusetts, about his trip home over the weekend, how the leaves are all at their peak now. "It was classic New England," he said. The other wistfully replied, "I wish I could have been there."

At which point the first opened his notebook and pulled out a perfect red maple leaf. He presented it to the latter. "You deserve it."

He accepted the thin gift solemnly and tucked it into the back of the copy of the Bhagavad Gita he was holding. They then proceeded to talk about the Red Sox.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

This is what my new shoes look like.

That's right; this is what my new shoes look like. I've worn them three days in a row and I haven't had a single comment on them. They are the greatest shoes ever.

Okay, perhaps that's overstating it a tad. But after the long, torturous journey it took to get them, I feel justified in exaggeration. It's a boring story involving Wal-Mart, Payless, Target, Nordstrom, a little place called the Closet, and multiple trips to Big 5 Sporting Goods, but it ends with a pair of the above size 8 Shasta men's hikers. They're not shiny, plastic, oddly-colored, or weirdly shaped; they'll wear well and match all my clothes. Moreover, I hike all over this campus every, every day. It rained all weekend, and the marine layer is beginning to get serious about sticking around. I need practicality and comfort. I now have them.

It was a genuine search to discover what I wanted, though. My family happened to accompany me on many a shoe reconnaissance. I couldn't tell if they were a help or a hindrance. They wanted to see me happy, and they did their utmost to assist me. But when they asked me what I was looking for, all I could offer was, "I'll know it when I see it." My dad encouraged me to choose what I liked, not what everyone else liked, as everyone else's opinion was there for the taking. When I was down to two pairs, the group was divided into two camps, and I, momentarily paralyzed with indecision, finally went with what I determined to be the most logical.

Which brings me to the excruciatingly obvious metaphor. If I ever start thinking about a significant other (hey, no takers yet, but this is college, after all), is that what it's going to be like? A vague, methodless pursuit of something, make that someone, I won't know until I see? A painful, drawn-out family deliberation? Don't mock me. I'm serious. I went to the trouble of finding that picture, didn't I?

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I can spot one a million miles away.

Last week in Old Testament, my professor was giving his usual post-modern spiel (Oh, he got his degree at Emory University? Boy, you'd never know it from his complete denial of any divine inspiration in the text) in his wonted deliberate, calculated attempt to circumlocute a Southern drawl. He may say "mah-tooer" for "mature," but the inevitable "y'all" still creeps in.

He was declaring the Pentateuch was written by multiple authors, at least four of whom we can identify with source criticism. A guy in the back raised his hand.

"But doesn't Jesus say that Moses wrote the Pentateuch? If you don't believe Jesus, you've got bigger problems than that."

That argument rang a bell. For one thing, the same point had been ringing in my head.

"Oh, I believe Jesus. I like Jesus," my professor replied with his jokey smile. His suits are incessantly ill-fitting and his ears stick out slightly; between that grin and the baggy coats he looks not so much a respect-worthy professor as a kid dressing up in his dad's clothes.

Then, the other day we were discussing Abraham and the covenantal name change. The same guy in the back spoke up. "So is it true that adding the 'h' to Abram was like God breathing His spirit into him?"

Which echoed my thoughts again. My professor disagreed, going on about it changing the meaning to "father of many" or some such thing. But that wasn't the point for me. Now I had to know for sure.

I followed my partner in dissention out after class. "So, do you listen to Chuck Missler?"

"Yes, yes I do," he replied, guarded but unapologetic.

I quickly established my commiseration. "Me too, me too."

As we walked along Peppertree Lane, he told me how he listens to the Missler broadcasts on his iPod every day while working as a state guard. I vented my inability to accept the professor's patent dismissal of direct divine inspiration. We parted amiably to eat our respective breakfasts, having had to sit through that class at the ungodly hour of 7:30 am.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

It's completely worth the $7.50 a week I'm giving up.

So the other day I was walking through the magazine racks in the library, ostensibly tidying things but really just looking for a way to turn 4:45 into 5 o'clock. I decided San Diego Magazine's shiny pictures and teasing headlines piqued my attention sufficiently, and began to leaf through it. As I finished an article on San Diego's top ten rankings, I glanced at the story on the next page, "The Uncivil War at City Hall," and noted the byline. "By Dean Nelson" it read. Dean Nelson, I thought. I know a Dean Nelson. He's the head of the journalism department, the academic advisor for the school newspaper. Could it be the same guy?

I flipped to the front of the magazine. There he was, pictured among the issue's contributors. Our journalism professor is still actively reporting? So neat. Marveling at my fortuitous discovery, I looked at the clock and found my shift was over.

Today I perfunctorily clicked my radio on as I returned to my dorm room to trade my Spanish books for my World Civ ones before chapel. It was still tuned to KPBS, the local NPR affiliate and my daily breakfast accompaniment. Through the standard masculine talk radio murmuring I heard, "Dean Nelson, head of Point Loma Nazarene University's journalism department..."

There he was again! This time, he was part of a panel on the future of public broadcasting. I was absolutely floored. So this was what the approving nods at the Press-Enterprise Journalism Boot Camp I attended when I fifteen were about. When the reporters and editors had asked me where I wanted to go, I always responded, "Point Loma". "Excellent journalism program," they'd reply. And I thought they were just saying that.

So today when the library supervisor e-mailed me asking if I'd like to add 4-5 pm Mondays to my workload, I didn't hesitate to decline. That's when the Point Weekly meets. I'm getting experience under a real, active, published member of San Diego's media community.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

A triptych of literature that has helped me cope with the concept of loss.

A Grief Observed
By C.S. Lewis

A Death in the Family
By James Agee

The Death of Ivan Ilych
By Leo Tolstoy