Underlying both the general theme that power represses sex and the idea that the law constitutes desire, one encounters the same putative mechanics of power. It is defined in a strangely restrictive way, in that, to begin with, this power is poor in resources, sparing of its methods, incapable of invention, and seemingly doomed always to repeat itself. Further, it is a power that only has the force of the negative on its side, a power to say no; in no condition to produce, capable only of posting limits, it is basically anti-energy. This is the paradox of its effective-ness: it is incapable of doing anything, except to render what it dominates incapable of doing anything either, except what this power allows it to do. ...whose model is essentially juridical, centered on nothing more than the statement of the law and the operation of taboos. All the modes of domination, submission, and subjugation are ultimately reduced to an effect of obedience.
-- Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality: Vol. 1

Therefore, in the current power structure in which we now live, the parameters of taboo and how they are to operate, fall more inline with instituted monarchal jurisprudence than any notion of morality. And in this i wrestle. How do we continue in a system of which a nationalistic identity is established as a safeguard, which in turn, creates a sub-culture, of which the Church seemingly has attached, when He was among the fringe, and turning tables in the church.

In searching for a familial context and listening to the story of a friend about to join the ranks of those in vocational ministry, why do I cringe? More and more I am finding the church alined with the same power structure whose dictates are not for the lost, but for the already privileged; the saved if you will. I am frustrated.

someone keeps dropping bombs in here, damn!

I'm going to read at home...

coffee = flatulence

this is not conducive to studying.

I said, "but if we deconstruct without a backdrop/ reference or, even more importantly, something to replace avoiding a vacuum, then we cause nothing but striff."

the professor said, "no. Then you become a scholar."

One of the points in a conversation/argument my professor and I had, today, where I just stopped and said, 'huh.'

In deconstructing women's identity in modern times we find that domesticity in the confines of the nuclear family are basic nationalistic, static parameters to ensure a nations propagation and legitimacy. Law in it's purest form legitimizes this national identity through power. It does not free, it confines. It stifles fluidity of ones identity through ID's like gender, sexual orientation and attributes therein, thus creating the fringe, if you will. Identity should come from ones response to life, a fluid, organic response to our mutating context.

There is need for law. But there is, also, a need in understanding of what law does. In reading Egypt's internal and external struggle to legitimize and create its 'national identity,' it's easy to see their reinterpretation of law (the Shari'a) as a means by which to apply more rights to women; but when juxtapose to the modernizing of European law during the late 19th century, early 20th, we see it used as a tool of modernization and nationalization. Educated women in Europe equaled modernity. The question comes down to whether or not you believe the movement south, in Egypt (whose influence would later transmigrate through the Near East into Pakistan and India), was simultaneous or instituted.

This is what i wrestle with. And deconstruct. The influence of the "West" and Islamic jurisprudence. In here there is a link to my deconstructing/contrarian nature and Christianity's exigency to create the fringe.

As we (meaning Katie and I) sat in the corner of the Royale coffee shop, hours before she was to leave me for the rainy-coast, we had some of the best conversation. I sit at these tables everyday, hours at a time, but never has the conversation been so perfect and organic: From her singing along to Michael Jackson, my obvious correlation to Alien Ant Farm (and our mutual apathy for them), to how much she hates flying, misses the "boy" and the fluidity of patience. Again, a classic Joel moment was about to spill-forth with pills of wisdom countered by her obvious ability to recount the empirical evidence that is my lack thereof.

The discourse between us lasted for awhile, I imparted many pearls, and Katie patiently listened. Then I got up, walked over to the counter for a napkin and returned. Her face looking strikingly similar to how I left it; as if she was holding it still as to not forget, or maybe properly process, the air of profundity eagerly shared by one so patient as myself. Then it shifted. And Katie proceeded to acknowledge my words as right on (i think wise even....not sure), and that, on most days, they could be digested as easy as water had it not been mixed with the oil of observation from the previous day.

Suddenly, my face shifted. The smile on my face was now being replaced by a look of introspection, then realization that I had, in fact, hit the back of a car, just days before. That I had, in fact, raised my arms (not signaling touchdown) signaling that I was more than ready to engage his quip. That I was, in fact, not quite this picture of serenity I was so eagerly imparting on Katie.

--However, the drivers in this damn city piss me off!! I am a pedestrian. And depending on which scale you believe, I weigh either 180 (I believe this one) or 192 pounds. Each, far bellow the tonnage that recklessly careens through Boston. So, if one happens to be out of a desired beverage, OJ, at nine in the am, then one should be allowed to walk to the corner market fearing not for his life. Yet, that is not the case! As I politely nodded and bowed to the oncoming traffic, standing ever so patient in the crosswalk, pointing towards my intended direction, the cars graciously stopped. And I proceeded. Nevertheless, OUT OF NOWHERE, comes this Mercedes unable to stop for the paused traffic, thus continued AROUND the stopped vehicles, forcing me to leap backwards (or was it a mere step....not sure). In my dismay I proceeded to POUND the trunk of the car as it passed. And then gingerly made my way to other side.

Still raging, one of the cars slowed down and yelled that had it been his caaa, he would have step out and kicked my ass. Therefore, my signal of, BRING IT, YOU DICK!!, can definitely be understood. But lucky for him, he didn't, cause I'm a force to be reckon with; I'd have administered the five finger exploding heart punch.

Anyway, as she continued to point out I too have a tendency to lose my patience, I realized for only the billionth time in my life that listening is so underrated. Yes, maybe through my travels I have achieved a certain level of patience, yet as long as I live in this city I have to stop hitting cars. One of these days they might hit back. Did I miss the point?

There was no animal injured in the making of todays run.

The weather called for it: 40, barely a whisper of wind and a mood in need of tensional release. So I went for, what would become, one of the best runs of my life; I just took off, sporting shorts, a thermal, Hot Water Music and adventure to lead the way. First, I ran by Fenway as the drunken revelers spilled out onto the streets, as extra litter from the days Pat's parade. Turned right, along Mass. Ave, into the multitudes as dinner called and their credit cards gave their last breath. Through the Berkeley School of Music students, trying to avoid the occasional, not acoustic guiter, and bass. And then the cuts and turns became a blur: right and left, left and right.

Suddenly i was in a part of Boston I have yet to see. I think it was the Back Bay. No matter, this is a place I would love to live: vibe coffee shops, little Italian and Sushi restaurants, tiny snow blanked parks flanked by old churches and beautiful brownstones (with the kind of stoops with doors in them - I love that!!) and cool indie markets. Sweat. What sweat? Breathing heavy. Who needs air? Well, actually the copious amounts of that allowed me to enjoy the rest. It was just exquisite. Truly another part of Boston that made me realize how much I love it here.

As I approached a half-an-hour, I decided to head back. I ran back through Newberry St. (think old town Pasadena, but larger), juking and jiving, i know someone's knee popped out of joint. And then across Mass Ave. towards Kenmore square (that is where i live). All along the way, weaving in and out of people, stomping through as many puddles as I could; I just felt alive; like a 16 year old driving alone for the first time. I was in the zone and I think my mind (if not body) could of handled another 30 minutes.

So as I headed down the home stretch, my routine is to run out the last half a mile as fast as i can: an almost dead sprint (which for me, is not much). It felt great. One last cut through this family out for a nice evening walk. Two ladies on the left, pushing a stroller, with a little dog and its tongue waving in front. And an older lady to the right. I assess the situation and choose the middle. The fence on the left and the huge bank of snow on the right, actually, made the call. So, imitating a sprint, I cut right through them and I am home free.

SWACKKK, and SSSLLLLIIIIPPPP, BAMMM!!!, face plant! IT WAS AWESOME!!!! THE LADY ON THE RIGHT HAD A "BLACK" LEASH!! A BLACK leash!!!! At night!! Like a teether ball, this little Shitzu wrapped around me like three times. This little, four pound dog, just thrown through the air, then slams into my legs. Not to mention the fact that the old lady never let go of the leash. Oh my god. She, obviously, got pulled with me but her resistance rocketed the damn dog back towards here. SO, like a teether-ball with a hundred and something pounds of tension, the little damn dog rocketed back towards the owner. HAHA. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen. Even as the dog went back to the owner and i fell to the ground, I tried my best to stop from laughing as the family was in shock. Their poor little Shitzu got hurt. Oh man, I need to have someone follow me and videotape me. This stuff always happens to me.

That has a nice ring to it. Man does that demand respect, and as many of you know, I want the respect. Just think, someday I'll have that emblazoned across my chest like Batman's brilliant yellow ensconced black bat or Hester's impure red 'A'. However, this is not a taxicab confession of wanted bat-like power, PhD demanding respect, or carnal cravings indulged, this is about a class - Philosophy 201: Morality and law; a class that reminds me of high school.

Now understand, this is like no class I ever took in HS, but of the cordial, life altering discourse that occurred after, at home. Know that it doesn't resonate with the same distinctly vociferous parental rights afforded those of large stature. But it does have a quality of importance and consistency one finds hard to break through and even understand. You see my professor, we'll just call him dad, well, reminds me of my dad. I find my dad to be one of the smartest people I know. A sort of jake-of-all-trades so to speak. Ask him what he thinks and sit back and enjoy the ride, because what you thought was cordial conversation has just turned into a one man diatribe and a battle of interjection. And at 32, I still lose - every time.

Nevertheless, my teacher, i mean dad, is just like my dad, who is just like my teacher, follow. And of course I love my dad. I needed to say that right. As to not make it sound like I don't, because I do, immensely. But I don't want to take a class with him. And that is what this class is like, everyday. Dad steps to the front of class and for an hour implores us with his personal views on the role morality has played in jurisprudence and how society has been shaped by said role. Interesting though, I believe a lot of what dad says, however, don't believe his job is to espouse those beliefs in a halfhearted attempt to teach us on the perceived, course subject. The 'this is what I learned from living in Europe and have found much validity from the foreign perception of our country in foreign affairs, but that's just what i had learned. You can make up your mind for yourself' doesn't work. Teach me theories and counter theories - Marx, Weber and so on. And then let the class partake. Don't cut every question off as if you've got the answer and then go off on some obscure story about your time in Belgium.

So, as i sat in class today, trying to absorb, while simultaneously participate, Lord of the Rings popped in my head. And suddenly, while I stared at the broken sword once held by my lineage, it hit me. I do that. I cut people off. I talk as if what I have to say is absolutely imperative. I often don't let people partake; and if I do, I am thinking of what to counter with instead of what the other is saying. My God, I am in class with my dad and this time i better pay attention.

No matter how cheesy and irrelevant this question is, reading a friends e-mail struck me in such a profane way. As I often query to how things are going back home - what the boys are reading, learning, and wrestling with - my friend Dave commented about the aforementioned question. Now understand, usually my contrarian personality scoffs at these attempts at profundity with the Joel-typical, negative, tactless, arrogant response. However, knowing these gents and their process of dissection, I bit. But it was my friends response to my three that made me realize how fruitful and necessary this journey has been. This is what he wrote:

Every time I think about this, my brain just starts
going over things I would ask each. You know, I think there were some
points in my life where I would have only said Jesus because that is the
"correct" answer. I believe right now, with what He has taught me, I think
I definitely would choose him.

Yes!! He is so right. For eons i would have declared Jesus a dinner guest simply as a verbal, empirical attempt at piety - 'Let my friends and family gain first hand knowledge of just how righteous I be.' However, through the last couple of years, experiencing heavy doses of humility and pain, His gentle provision has been exactly what I needed; subsequently pushing Joel aside, allowing me to truly want Him over for dinner. Now, the technological capabilities are not available to x-ray my heart, transposing it into a pie chart of percentage representations, but I'm pretty certain His portion of my heart has increased.

So, in solidarity with Dave (from the east) Wilhite, and maybe for the first time, I too would love to have Jesus over for dinner. As for the questions, well, right now, I think I need to just listen. It's not often I become so malleable.