I don’t post on this blog a lot. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I love writing, and do it often. I just don’t finish what I write. My Google Drive is chock full of large, complicated pieces that I’ve had ideas for, began writing, and then abandoned. Which is a shame, because some of them are fairly promising. Theoretically, I’d like to finish most of these pieces. But, it seems wasteful to just let the words go stale in my digital pantry. So, I’m releasing them. At least, some of them.
What follows are fragments. Bits and pieces of unfinished writing, exploring a whole lot of topics. If anyone is interested in me completing any particular piece, feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I’ll just get to them whenever I get to them. Or, maybe just keep them in the pantry, while I spend my time looking at pictures of cute animals on the Internet.
Part of an in-depth series on the built environment:
In this great land, there are lots of things we like to question and critique. We are, after all, Americans. If our fries don’t deliver the combination of deep-fried crunch and lightly salted flavor we crave, we shame the local greasy spoon with a one-star rating on Yelp. If a Pakistani has the gall to answer our tech-support questions, we vent our anger on talk radio. But one thing -- an absolutely inescapable and essential part of life -- seems to avoid this treatment on a regular basis. We largely take it for granted, despite the fact that it defines most aspects of our existence.
I’m talking about the built environment. The spaces we live in, work in, and travel through. The physical reality behind almost every experience in our lives. The elevated highways, parking lots, lawns, drive-throughs, elevators, and living rooms that contain us every hour of every day.
The whole kaboodle.
Criticism of “suburbia,” the most dominant form of built environment in America, isn’t new. Academics have generated volumes of detailed criticism of every element of suburban life since the post-war age began. Even a few suburbanites occasionally voice misgivings about their own way of life.
In some ways, I’ll be continuing this grand tradition of sophisticated suburban criticism*. My thinking on this subject has been shaped by a number of other writers, and I won’t pretend like my ideas emerged from a vacuum. But I think the issues go much deeper than a simple dichotomy between the city and the suburb. Given that the population of almost every metropolitan area in America is overwhelmingly suburban, scoffing at single family homes and wondering why everyone doesn’t want to live in Manhattan is unproductive and silly.
What I’m really attempting to do is to convey two simple ideas: the built environment matters, and it isn’t static. Most of the spaces we inhabit are very new, and the way Americans live and work have been radically transformed in a relatively short period of time. Things can, and will, change again. And because the built environment is such a key part of our lives, the way we organize human existence in the physical realm has moral and spiritual components. This isn’t a subject that should be pushed the periphery. Whether we acknowledge it or not, the question of where we choose to live has massive implications for how we live.
Part of a related essay on the effect the pattern of suburban development has had on our conception of the church:
For individual congregants, there are certainly benefits to choice and competition. Separating church from any physical community allows modern Christians to select congregations that fit their preferences for worship, theology, preaching, and fellowship. The problem is that this choice inherently subverts our conception of what church is. Choosing a church the way you might choose a grocery store or a dry-cleaner leads to a consumer mentality among churchgoers. Rather than being a people who belong to the church, we are people who go to a church. Young pastors talk in the capitalist language of growth, and even congregations with similar theological persuasions often have no meaningful communion with one another. What was established as a unified body has become something more like the competition between Burger King and McDonalds.
There are no easy answers to the challenges the church will continue to face in the age of urban sprawl. But perhaps the best lesson to learn is that place matters. The physical organization of life in America has been almost entirely transformed in the last century. Changes like this come at a price. But the story is far from over. Unlike many other countries, America is still growing. The form of our cities and towns will likely change, in one direction or another. During the transformation of American in the 20th century, the church was a largely absent player in the conversation. (Although, to be fair, the conversation itself was often absent, outside of left-wing intellectual circles). Recognizing that the form our cities take have implications for our spiritual lives is a good first step to avoiding these mistakes.
Part of an essay on how modern conservatism doesn’t seem that interested in conserving anything in particular:
Conservatives have long held that many things that are theoretically legal are nonetheless bad, and should be discouraged, and vice-versa -- albeit not necessarily at the level of government. For example, it isn’t a legal requirement for parents to spend quality time with their children, and pass on their values, but it's a good thing. But in the brave new world of modern conservatism, bad choices are celebrated, and common sense is derided as elitism. Are big boxes stores transforming small towns into homogenous wastelands, and erasing centuries of tradition and history? It’s legal, so it must be awesome!
The problem is that if conservatives wish to shrink government, they must be far more vigilant when it comes to their choices. Federal regulation can be a pain, but most are borne out of neccesity. The EPA didn’t come into existence because some “environmental wackos” wanted to control our lives -- it was created because America was so polluted that a freakin’ river was on fire.
Thoughts on the smartphone wars:
When Android first came out, it was a laggy, incoherent mess compared to iOS’s sparkly polish. Today, Android is a much smoother experience. Bugs remain, but it’s clear that things are progressing at an exponential clip. In the long run, it’s a pretty safe bet that Android will end up more than a match for iOS’s speed and polish.
That doesn’t mean the iPhone will somehow die out, as rabid fandroids would hope. Apple makes excellent products, and millions will continue to buy them. In the end, both sides bring a lot to the table, and push each other to excellence. The iPhone was an incredibly well-designed product from day one, and it’s perfection continues to inspire other phone makers to reach a higher level of polish. Meanwhile, the sheer diversity of the rapidly innovating Android ecosystem is a huge playground for new features and form factors, giving people choices that open up new possibilities.
And ultimately, these are just phones. They are tools for communication, and not holy relics to be worshipped. If you think the kind of phone you have makes you a better person, get over yourself.
Part of a critique of the “food movement”:
Ethical considerations should, of course, come into play in practical decisions. In the case of industrial farming, the most common complaints surround the manner in which meat-producing animals are grown. I, like most good white people, have watched Food Inc., and seen all the the terrors of coops practically bursting with obese hens. These are then contrasted with the proud, free-range chickens, which strut their stuff through glorious meadows. They are, we are meant to believe, happy chickens.
But, to be honest, those free-range chickens don’t really seem any happier than other chickens. They just seem like... chickens. Chickens who will be killed once they become delicious enough.
(Sidenote: chickens are mean, and I don’t really like them on a personal level. So, I guess that’s probably why I wrote this whole thing. Just a personal chicken vendetta).
The big problem with the fight between locavores and big ag is the either/or assumptions. Big farms aren’t very nice to animals, and grow too much corn, therefore, everyone should buy kale from some bearded guy who lives 30 miles away. What if, for example, big farms still raised lots of chickens in big barns, but gave them a little more space? Or if we subsidized corn less, and encouraged more diverse, healthy crops, taking into account their effects on long-term soil quality? What if instead of getting rid of big farms, food activists focused on making big farms better? Like it or not, little farms aren’t that efficient, and most people dont want to be farmers. Big farms will continue to produce most of our food. Making the perfect the enemy of the good isn’t a recipe for positive changes in agriculture.
Part of a complicated foreign policy piece:
More than any other president in recent history, Obama seems to lack any sort of clearly articulated vision for America’s role in the world. On the balance, this is probably a good thing. I’d much rather have a lack of vision than a destructive one. But unfortunately, Obama seems to be bent on continuing the worst of the Bush years (rampantly overrunning the sovereignty of other nations to fight an objective-less war against shadowy terrorist organizations), without any sort of comprehensive rationale behind it.
All of this brings us to a single question. It’s a question that our leaders don’t seem interested in answering. But it deserves to be considered.
(It’s also kind of a long question. Deal.)
What is America’s obligation to the citizens of other states, specifically regarding violations of what we believe to be human rights and the resolution of violent conflict? Here’s the crux of the issue: the world is a big, messy place. America is one medium-sized (but powerful) slice of it. Bad things are happening all over the place, all the time. There are tyrants, and terrorists, and warlords. Our response to these issues has been all over the map. We’ve tried to establish democracies, while simultaneously partnering with dictators. We’ve allied ourselves with terrorists when it suited our interests, and then declared war on them later. We’ve insisted on staying out of foreign conflicts, but then mourned when we failed to prevent genocide. We support international justice for war criminals, unless they happen to be American. We’re damned when we do, and damned when we don’t.
Part of a bulleted list of things I like about living in Lincoln, Nebraska:
- It’s cheap. This is actually kind of a big deal. If you’re a poor kid who is in college, or just got out of college, you can afford your own place. Elsewhere in the United States, living in your mom’s basement is basically your only option until you start making a six-figure income. That would suck.
- It’s safe. Even if you live in a sub-$400 apartment in a sketchy neighborhood, you will likely not be murdered. I’ve never been crime-ed in any way. Crime-ed is totally a word.
- The people are pretty okay. Generally, I reject the whole “people are friendly” description people tack onto cities they like, as there are friendly people and jerks everywhere. But, there are good people here, and I know some of them.
- It isn’t too big for its britches. Neighboring Omaha exists under the delusion that it is the Next Big Thing in the midwest. Unfortunately, every other similarly-sized city in America believes it also the Next Big Thing. Eventually, they will probably battle to the death, before realizing that they are still medium-sized cities whose importance will always be regional, rather than national. Lincoln, as a whole, seems to be more content to be Lincoln. Anyway. Moving on.
- It’s kind of cool. No, really. Local coffee shops are abundant, the music scene is diverse, and if getting drunk on the cheap is your thing, Lincoln is your place. The fact that Lincoln is a college town keeps it from being too conservative, and the fact that Lincoln is in Nebraska keeps it from being too liberal. It’s the perfect balance between redneck and pretentious.
So, there you have it. Many written things. All of them unfinished. Perhaps someday, I’ll develop the attention span to finish stuff.
