How to Solve a Problem Like a Gorilla

Last week when I was at Hogle Zoo with Nancy, we saw this gorilla. When we first got there, he was banging that piece of pipe against the wall, then occasionally looking into it, or sticking his fingers in it, before banging it against the wall some more. At first we couldn't figure out what was going on, and as another woman walked off I heard her say to her companion, "Let's get out of here. This is too depressing." But as my friend and I kept watching it became clear that the gorilla wasn't acting out of frustration. There was something edible stuck inside the pipe (I overheard somebody say peanut butter, but it looked like bits of apple to me), and by banging it against the wall, he was able to knock some of it loose and eat it.

After a while, though, when it no longer seemed to be working, the gorilla looked around himself, picked up that sheet you see at his feet, twisted it up, and shoved it into the end of the pipe. But the twist of sheet was too thick to go in far enough to get to the food. That's when things got really interesting. The gorilla shook out the sheet, grabbed a corner of it in his teeth, and tore a smaller length of sheet off, then twisted this smaller piece of fabric, and pushed it back into the pipe. This time, the improvised pipe cleaner was too small, and Nancy and I began speculating about what he would try next, when a zoo keeper called him into a different part of the habitat, so we never got to see whether he eventually would have figured out how to get the rest of his snack.

Even so, it was a fascinating, eye-opening experience for us. I knew gorillas were among the smartest of animals, and besides being capable of learning rudimentary sign language, have been known to use tools both in the wild and in captivity, but I had no idea they were such good problem solvers. It made me think about other highly intelligent animals, like dolphins and corvids, and how some experts have argued that such animals deserve rights as "non-human persons". I'm still not sure how I feel about that, but the line between human and animal intelligence does seem blurrier than it used to.

I don't know how well this guy's behavior compares to wild gorillas, but it was quite impressive anyway. In fact, I wish more people would be as creative and persistent at solving their problems as this gorilla was. I'm not disparaging my fellow humans' intelligence: I'm sure that, faced with a similar challenge, the average person would have come up with a solution on the first try, with very little difficulty. What impressed me about the gorilla--and what I myself sometimes forget--is that when his solution no longer worked, he tried a different method, and when that method didn't work, rather than just giving up or trying something else entirely, he reflected on what was wrong with his current method and modified it. Sometimes, we need a completely different solution, and sometimes we only need to tweak a solution we already have. But mostly, we just need to keep trying.

Portraits of the Savior

Tonight I had the privilege of hearing Howard Lyon speak about his art. Lyon's commercial work has been primarily in the world of fantasy illustrations, RPGs, and video game art direction. He is also, like me, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he has painted a number of religious works, including the portrait of Christ above, titled "Light of the World."

Brother Lyon spoke about how important it is to him that his portraits be as accurate as possible--he uses friends and family members as models in much of his work. When painting the Savior, however, verisimilitude presents a challenge because no one really knows what Jesus looked like, and there are so many different representations of him already, in an incredible range of styles. If he were to ask a chapel full of people which painting of Christ was their favorite, he said, he would likely get at least twenty different answers. Because of these things, it's very difficult to create a portrait of Christ that will feel "accurate" to everyone. In painting "Light of the World," then, Brother Lyon decided that he would focus on accurately representing the way the Savior made him feel. 

That got me thinking about my own favorite portrait of Jesus, and by extension, those of others. I wondered what our favorite representations of Jesus might say about the Savior makes us feel, how we feel about the Savior. It has struck me in the past how within the LDS church (and probably in cultures generally) over time different paintings of Jesus seem to go in and out of popularity, and how that might reflect or influence on a cultural level what our personal preferences might reflect on an individual level. That might be an interesting research project for another time, but for now I just want to share a few of my favorite pictures of Jesus and meditate a little bit, and ask my readers to meditate, on how these representations of Christ reflect aspects of our relationship with Christ.

"Christ and the Rich Young Ruler" by Heinrich Hoffman. 

Under US Copyright law, this work is in the public domain.

The image above is Heinrich Hoffman’s “Christ and the Rich Young Ruler”. It's been my favorite portrait of Jesus for many years, and a copy of it hangs on my bedroom wall. The story comes from Mark 10:17–25, in which an earnest young man asks Christ what he must do to inherit eternal life. In the discourse that follows, we learn that this young man has scrupulously kept all the commandments throughout his life. Jesus tells him that the only thing he still needs to do is to give all his worldly possessions to the poor, and "take up the cross, and follow me." The young man leaves sorrowfully, and passes out of the record--we never learn whether or not he was ultimately willing to follow Christ.

Whenever I hear this story or see this painting, I'm reminded of another story, from the Book of Mormon. In Alma chapter 22, we read of a missionary named Aaron, who went to preach among the Lamanites, his hereditary enemies. In the course of time he meets with the king of the Lamanites, who, after being taught about Christ, asks Aaron, just as the rich young man asked Jesus, what he must do to inherit eternal life. When Aaron tells him that he must repent and call upon God in faith, the king offers this prayer:

"O God, Aaron hath told me that there is a God; and if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee."

My love for Hoffman's portrait is partly aesthetic. Though he wasn't a Pre-Raphaelite, it bears a similarity of style, and that style has always appealed to me. I love the warmth of the colors, the way the lines suggest gentle movement, as Christ beckons the youth to follow him. Christ's expression is one of profound compassion. Perhaps, also, I love it because it represents a powerful teaching moment. When I see it, I'm moved to ask myself what I wouldn't give to know God.

Another favorite is "Christ in Red Robe" by Minerva Teichert. Teichert is among my favorite LDS artists. Her style is rather unlike that of most other LDS painters, who tend more toward realism. She's also the only really prominent woman artist in the church that I know of, and her subjects often feature women, as in this painting of Christ, in which you can see two women reaching toward Christ at his second coming.

Walter Rane is another of my favorite LDS artists. His painting, "Jehovah Creates the Earth," really moves me in its depiction of Christ's majesty and power.

"Jesus the Christ" by Del Parson

Owned by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

May be used for personal, noncommercial use 

This last painting, by Del Parson, isn't really one of my favorites (though I do like it), but I feel I should include it because it is arguably the portrait of Christ most commonly associated with the LDS church since 1983, which is about as far back as my memory can stretch. It's certainly the picture of Jesus I recall seeing the most as a child. There's even a Mormon urban legend about it, but I won't go into that (except to say that, not surprisingly, it isn't true). This painting is definitely part of my instinctive image of the Savior.

Do a Google image search of "Christ" and you will see an enormous range of images; from downright kitschy to some of the greatest works in the history of art; you will see Him depicted in attitudes of torment, sublimity, serenity, and even mirth; in periods of His life from infancy to the cross; and while most portraits of Christ look distinctly European, if you dig a little further you will see a wider range of ethnicity represented. Ultimately, however, it matters much less how we represent Jesus in our art than how we come to reflect His image in our own countenance.

Home (or: Unrooted)

• For the past couple of months I have occasionally had this intense yearning to go home, but I honestly do not know where home is. I grew up in Orem, Utah, and spent my early teens in the Salt Lake valley. I still feel a strong sense of belonging every time I see the Wasatch mountains, yet I really have no desire to settle down in what's known by locals (with about equal measures of affection and sarcasm) as "Happy Valley." It's the place of my birth, but it isn't home. Not anymore.
  
  Nor is my parents' house in Idaho, where they've lived since I was 16. I love to visit. I enjoy my family's long conversations about all sorts of things, cooking with my mom, watching movies with my brother, and helping out around the house. It is and always will be a place of love, welcome, and safety. But there was a subtle shift that happened at some point, a few years ago, when I stopped mentally referring to it as "home" and started thinking of it as "Mom and Dad's place." Sleeping in my old room feels strange--like well-worn clothes that no longer fit right.
  
  In the first five years after moving out of my parents' house, I moved seven times (that's student life for you). I've had good roommates, and I've lived alone. I've lived in a couple of houses and a few apartments; in Rexburg, Idaho; Pullman, Washington; Rexburg again; then St. George, Utah; and finally Mesa, Arizona, where I've stayed put, thankfully, for nearly two solid years now in a nice house with roommates who are also friends, great rent, a garden and chickens, and room enough for all my books. I have no plans to move again until life moves me. Yet none of these places have felt like home--just a good place to live for a while.
  
  I feel unrooted. Home is a place that doesn't exist yet. What if I never get there?
  
  
  

  "Home", a Piano Guys cover filmed near Zion National Park in Utah

  
  

Entertainment Reviews

I'm thinking about posting something complicated and academic to do with the nature of words. But let's face it, I've pretty much blown the first two weeks of summer on entertainment, instead of making progress on my giant pile of academic reading or, you know, analyzing the data for that research project that I'm supposed to have finished by the end of June. Anyway. I'm still procrastinating brain work, so I'm going to write about entertainment instead.

Part 1: Portal 2 Is the Best Game Ever

Don't even try to argue with me. I spent much of last weekend playing Portal 2. Nancy got me to play Portal way back in 2011, and I've been waiting forever for a chance to play the sequel because up until last month, my PC only ever ran Linux. Since I finally broke down and bought a Windows desktop, I got the Portal Pack from Steam (and the Universe laughed, because right about the same time, Steam added Linux support--but it wouldn't have run well on my geriatric Ubuntu laptop anyway).

I could explain what makes Portal and Portal 2 so awesome, but these games have been around for ages, so I'm sure you can google an actual review. Instead, I'll just finish this section by observing that Portal 2 and zucchini bread are now forever linked in my mind, because who has time for proper meals when there's science to be done?

Part 2: Zucchini Bread, The Nearly Perfect Food?

Making food and eating it (with our without sharing, but preferably with) are among the oldest and best forms of entertainment. We recently started harvesting zucchini from Stephanie's garden, so naturally I had to make some bread. It's got vegetables (the eponymous zucchini), protein (an egg), and grains (I even use part whole wheat flour). And I don't eat dairy, so that's all the necessary food groups right there. Makes you wonder why anybody ever eats anything else.

Part 3: I Suck at Kickball, or Maybe Kickball Just Sucks

It just might be the easiest team sport ever, yet I managed to take myself out of the game during my second inning by tripping at a run over a pathetically small mound of dirt and narrowly averting a total faceplant. Now my bad knee is worse. I think in future I'll stick to safer sports, like slacklining and rock climbing.

Part 4: Summer Blockbusters

Even though sequels are rarely brilliant, I've been looking forward to Iron Man 3 and Star Trek Into Darkness. I thoroughly enjoyed their predecessors and I was prepared for more of the same, if somewhat watered-down, which is pretty much what I got. Of the two, I think Iron Man 3 is the better film. The reveal in IM3 actually surprised me, unlike the total non-surprise of STID. Also, I've emotionally invested in the Marvel universe's characters in a way that I have yet to do with anybody but maybe Spock in the Abrams Star Trek universe, so that helps. I really like what they've done with Tony Stark's character arc, though I'm not sure how much character development is left for him at this point--enough to get him through Avengers 2, I hope. Iron Man 3 wasn't as good as 1 and 2, but I'll happily add it to my collection. I think STID was worth the price of admission, but Benedict Cumberbatch aside, I'm not all that eager to watch it again.

Part 5: Books!

My pile of grad student reading is so large that I feel guilty about reading for fun, but lately I've been really wanting to re-read Dune. Plus, I borrowed In the Beginning Was the Command Line from a friend the other day. Decisions, decisions....

Doctor Who Season 7 Review (No spoilers, sweetie!)

I just finished watching the finale to the seventh season of Doctor Who. Here's my spoiler-free review:

I really liked "The Name of the Doctor"! It delivered some surprises plus the biggest dose of classic Who references all season (as is only right), was solidly plotted (by Doctor Who standards) and was visually really, really impressive. Also, the ending has me stoked for the 50th anniversary special this November. It was far from perfect, but then season finales often are. By comparison, I'd say this is one of the better ones--certainly better than the season 6 finale.

Overall, though, Season 7 has been fairly weak. There was only one really terrible episode, if you ask me, but there were no stunners, either. Most people seem to be blaming current head writer, Steven Moffat, and of course as the boss, he does bear some of the blame. But I think he deserves some credit, too. This was an ambitious season. Because 2013 marks the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who, expectations were high, and Moffat's team had a plan that, on the surface, seemed like a good idea.

Each of the season's 13 episodes would be "cinematic". They even made "movie posters" for every episode. Each episode was a Doctor Who-style pastiche of a different movie genre. And it nearly worked. Some people have complained that this style was a betrayal of the show's essential character, but that's clearly rubbish. After all, in the last 50 years Doctor Who has had many identities--not just the title character, but the show itself has changed its style, its personality, many, many times.

I think there are a few reasons why the movie-of-the-week format only nearly worked this season. First, changing flavors that rapidly has got to be hellishly difficult, and Doctor Who is notoriously complicated and difficult already. Second, a number of those stories clearly needed more than 45 minutes, but thanks to all the whining about multi-part stories last season they decided that every episode this season would have to be stand-alone. Third (possibly related), the editing was frequently awful. Fourth, and probably the most important lesson to be learned from this season--Doctor Who, like the Tardis, is bigger on the inside. When you make it bigger on the outside, it becomes paradoxically smaller.

What I mean is, the bigger you try to make the show, the more obvious it becomes that it's really still quite small. People always go on about the comically low-budget effects of the classic series, and to a lesser degree the new series. I mean, it's ridiculous, right? A show that is about an enormously powerful alien with a ship that can take him anywhere in the universe, a universe that he frequently must save from total destruction--and usually all we see of these epic conflicts are a handful of stuntmen clumsily fighting rubber-suited aliens in a London back alley, and ultimately the Doctor saves the day with just a sonic screwdriver and a bit of dodgy CGI.

We fans have said it so often that it's a cliche, but that weakness is actually a strength. That smallness causes two things: one, without the budget for epic battle scenes, the show has to focus on a few key characters, on how they respond to the galaxy-shattering events around them, and in a way that makes it a lot more like real life. Two, imagination has infinitely more resources than the biggest budget (it's like the production equivalent of the Law of Conservation of Ninjutsu). I'm not saying the BBC should spend less money on the show. I'm delighted that the new series looks so much better than the classic series. I'm saying they should think differently about how they spend that money--on quality rather than quantity.

That said, in many ways I'm very pleased with how season 7 turned out. The first episode, "Asylum of the Daleks," was mostly great. Despite a couple of bad moments, it's probably the best episode of the season, though "Nightmare in Silver" was also good up until the very end (how about that! A Dalek and a Cyberman episode being among the best of the season seems fitting). The regular nods to the classic series were delightful to me as a lifelong fan, and though most of them went right over my roommate's head, she was not bothered by them. The best of these by far was the identity of the new head of UNIT back in "The Power of Three". Such "Easter eggs" highlighting the show's history could have been handled badly, but instead they were just the right amount of nostalgia, and helped to build the overall arc of the season.

Looking to the future, I am looking forward to the 50th Anniversary special. It's a multi-Doctor story (as were the 10th and 20th anniversary specials). Based on the build-up this season, we can expect an epic scope, but based on the history of Doctor Who anniversary specials, we can also expect that the story will be largely at the service of nostalgia. What I'm saying is, approach it with modest expectations and just enjoy the fan wank. I'm going to get a big bag of jelly babies and eat one every time there's a new classic series nod, and two every time the Doctors insult each other (feel free to add more "Jelly Baby Eating Game" ideas in the comments).

As for season 8, I'd like to see Clara get more character development, and Coleman is obviously having a lot of fun playing her, which makes her a pleasure to watch. I doubt Smith and Moffat will stay on much longer, though they are confirmed through 2014, and that's probably for the best. The show is always going in new directions. I do hope that, when Moffat steps down, he comes back once in a while to write an episode. He has his shortcomings as a showrunner, but when it comes to writing episodes, there's really no-one better.

Please, if you include spoilers in the comments--that means plot details for any episode of season 7, please mark them with a "SPOILER WARNING" and include some white space. A lot of my friends haven't seen any/all of the season yet. But I'm happy to talk details of any episode.

P.S. I was right about Clara. I was also right, thank goodness, about the finale episode's title.

10 Things I Learned This Semester

In no particular order:

1. I'm a terrible, terrible blogger.
2. Insect invaders must be fought quickly, using the strongest possible methods.
3. Going to three academic conferences in one month is totally exhausting, and also kinda fun. 
4. I HATE Las Vegas, with a fiery passion of hatred.
5. The amount of things I have to do stresses me out more than the overall amount of work I have to do. Lots of little projects and tasks are more stressful than a few big ones.
6. Two computer screens are better than one.
7. If you yell and complain and sulk and snark in your prayers, God doesn't get mad. He's just glad you're still talking to him.
8. Telling people you study metadisciplinary discourses sounds impressive, but is really hard to explain.
9. Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon is totally awesome, and excellent music to study/write/grade by. Seriously, how did I not ever hear this album until a month ago?
10. Sometimes, the people close to you are not lovable. Love them anyway. Sometimes, you are not lovable. Allow yourself to be loved anyway. Love is a gift; it can't be earned. Strive to live up to it anyway.

And now for something completely different: 

Last month I gave a presentation on "Why We Need Stories" at an LDS Mid-Singles "Expert Night" (Kind of like a mini, Mormon version of a TED conference). I included this painting, "Once Upon a Time", by James Christensen, in my PowerPoint because, well, look at it! It's gorgeous! This has been one of my favorite paintings since I was a kid. But check it out: there's a Weeping Angel standing there in the corner! Those sweet faerie creatures have no idea that they're all about to die. Curse you, Steven Moffat!

Beginnings and Endings, or 2012, in Memoriam

Conventionally, one posts this sort of post a little closer to January 1st. A month in the blogsphere is an eternity, and it's been closer to three since my last post. However, time is not a straight line, conventionality is nothing to aspire to, and therefore you should forgive the giant lapse between posts, and also the self-absorption of today's post. Rebeccaland is supposed to be some kind of outside manifestation of my insides, after all, and while usually the landscape of my insides draws a lot more from the outside, right now from my vantage point that landscape looks pretty barren, and my insides are all dark and red and squishy. I promise to send my insides for a long scenic walk before my next post. Anyway, I'm afraid if I don't post something soon my blogging aspirations will atrophy completely.

In retrospect it seems like 2012 was kind of a crap year for me, except for the bits that were awesome (there are always awesome bits). There was a pretty long stretch in the middle of the year that was relatively uneventful. However, what makes my 2012 memorable is that it began with a cancer scare, and ended with...look, I tried to think of some way to write this that didn't sound cliche, but the problem with love is that it's all cliche unless you're living it, so I'm just going to embrace the cliche. My year ended with a broken heart.

I found out last January that I had a thyroid mass that was constricting my airway and might have been cancer. I had surgery, then developed several very unpleasant complications.

But. I didn't have cancer. I was supported by many wonderful friends, family, and colleagues. I did eventually fully recover. Insurance covered more than I expected. The scar healed beautifully.

In September, I fell in love. I was happier than I've ever been. A life that looked bigger and better than I hoped and dreamed and prayed for seemed within reach. But on New Years Day, I was alone again, with a life that seemed so, so much smaller.

But. I loved, and was loved. God willing, it won't be the last time.

Last year, I learned that I am stronger than I think I am, and also much more fragile. I learned that often, the most comforting thing is just a silent hug (and sometimes it's a box full of sumo wrestler rubber duckies). I learned that losing love hurts worse than having your throat slit (and takes longer to heal), but given a choice, even in hindsight, I'd choose love.

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant." 

-The Doctor, "Vincent and the Doctor", Doctor Who 

Speaking of landscapes, here is Van Gogh's "Kornfeld mit Zypressen", courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Its colors remind me of Arizona in the winter. Van Gogh knew more than I do about suffering--and about beauty.