Jeff Duntemann's ContraPositive Diary

• Christmas is now officially over for most of the world—especially the commercial part of the world, for which it ended about noon yesterday—but over here we celebrate Christmas for a considerable while longer, generally until January 6. Our tree has stopped taking up water, so it may need to come down sooner than that, but our hard-won Lionel layout will remain at least that long, and we have pfeffernuss cookies, bourbon egg nog, and other goodies that may last longer still. (I don't wolf down cookies like I used to, and a little bourbon goes a long, long way with me.)
• There is another nuclear waste car in the Lionel canon: The 6805 Atomic Waste Disposal Car (see above) which was sold in 1958-59, and worked with a small crane that I haven't found a good photo of yet. The little containers had red lights inside them, and when the batteries were fresh would glow ominously as they spun around the Christmas tree.
• Among the many gifts that Carol gave me yesterday, the best is probably a shredder that shreds CDs and credit cards as well as paper. I have a stack of old backup CDs awaiting proper destruction, and the device will be most useful.
• If you haven't already read it, I recommend Frederick Forsyth's The Shepherd, especially if you're into military aviation. Pete Albrecht gave me a copy for Christmas two years ago, and you can read it in an hour. I had not heard of the odd De Havilland Vampire fighter/bomber before reading it, and I now have a very good feel for what a fighter pilot's lot was like in peacetime 1957. It's a Christmas novella that some call a ghost story, but that's not quite fair; some heroes just don't allow little things like death to get in the way of their missions.
• Wired has an intriguing article about the effects of high-tech gadgetry on the housing market. Demand for existing (and especially older) houses is down in part because people really want home theater rooms and CAT5E in all the walls.
• If one of you Linux gurus could recommend a hard drive cloning utility running under Linux that would allow me to make a bit-copy of a hard drive (including the MBR) to a second blank drive, I would appreciate it, especially if it's free software.

Christmas Day. Somewhere between those who cannot abide religion and those who cannot live without it is a group that doesn't get much press: Those who sense transcendence and are drawn to it, but who cannot frame a rational response to the impulse. "I'd love to have faith in God but I don't know how to do it!" is how one person put the problem to me. Others have freely admitted that they don't know what faith is or how it happens within a person. Is faith inborn? Can faith be learned? What are faith's limits?

I know how they feel. I've struggled with the issue of faith for my entire life, and much of that struggle was and remains pure torment. I don't know for sure if faith can be learned—to be honest, it seems to be something you're born with in some measure, all of us scattered across a bell curve on the faith scale, as we are for so many other things. I think, however, that I can define faith, at least as it works for me: Faith is taking something seriously enough to act appropriately.

Taking something seriously is the core of faith. If you're in the outfield and you believe that you have a chance of catching a pop fly ball, you'll start calculating its trajectory and moving toward it. If you don't take the game seriously—or if you don't take your own ability seriously—you may just let someone else run for it. If you believe that an upcoming exam is going to be tough but unavoidable, you'll cracks the books and do what you can to improve your score. If you don't take the exam seriously, you may just blow it off.

Saying, "I believe in God" doesn't mean much unless it changes the way you act. What changes those might be will vary with your culture and the way you think about God. It's possible to be interested in the divine as a concept, and in religion as a fascinating thread flowing down through human history, but if you don't somehow convert that interest into a system of guidelines for everyday action, it's just an interest without any least hint of faith.

The flipside may be true as well. I find it fascinating that there are a great many people who will state flatly that they don't believe in God at all, but who nonetheless act in accordance with the universal principles espoused by all the major religions: Be honest, be truthful, be faithful to your spouse, do not engage in cruelty; and in general do unto others as you would have them do unto you. They would claim that they have no faith at all, but virtue is a decision, and whether or not we can fully explain how we came to that decision matters much less than simply getting there. Taking virtue seriously enough to be virtuous may not be religion, but it is definitely a sign of faith—and if I were God, I think I'd grin and say, "Mission accomplished."

There's much more to the issue of faith than that, but I'll let it rest for now. Carol and I wish you and your loved ones all the best in this Christmas season. Thanks for reading, thanks for your comments, and above all thanks for your friendship. Friendship is the best clue I've ever found indicating that God is real and at work in the world. Have friends. Take them seriously. All the rest will follow from that!

Pete Albrecht drove out from Costa Mesa to spend Christmas with us, as he did two years ago, and of course when he's here we grant ourselves permission to be 14-year-olds again, at least with respect to toys. Our first stop was (as last time) Custom Railway Supply on Garden of the Gods Road, to pick up some Lionel track sections for this year's layout around the Christmas tree in the great room. On their used equipment shelf I spotted an interesting piece of rolling stock: a Lionel 6515-4 Reactor Fluid Transport Car, complete with an imaginary AEC insignia and the slightly puzzling legend, "When empty please return to the disposal site." Nonetheless, having been a highly contrarian fan of nuclear power for forty years now (since before ignorant condemnations of nuclear energy became a lefty fetish, in fact) it was an item I just had to have.

The car is interesting in a lot of ways. The tank is made of transparent plastic, and contains a weird-looking purple-black pearlescent liquid that probably matches what most preteen boys hold as an image of radioactive waste. There's even a ball bearing rattling around inside it, to stir up whatever makes the fluid pearlescent again after the car sits in a box for a year between Christmases. (I'm guessing aluminum dust.) The trucks have working springs.

After we put up our first shot at a layout, Pete and I celebrated nuclear power by putting my new nuclear tank car in the midst of a Pennsylvania Railroad passenger consist and running it around the tree for half an hour, shunting it onto a siding periodically to calm down all the hysterical imaginary passengers, who had booked on in Philadelphia for an anti-nuclear protest in San Fran. Half-past Wyoming we told them to love nuclear or walk home in the dark.

Maybe we had had a few too many Pfeffernuss cookies; we didn't get into the spiked egg nog until later that evening. Pete brought out a lot of German goodies, and my sugar intake since Thursday is now rivaling what I generally allow myself over the course of an entire year. We're going to make German potato pancakes Christmas Day, and salmon in cream sauce the day after (or thereabouts.) Our next project is to build a couple of Estes model rockets and see if we can launch them somewhere without having to ask permission of the local paranoids. (That would be the police department, not NORAD, which actually knows something about rockets, heh.)

So our contrarian Christmas here is going precisely as planned. Carol is washing Aero, there's snow on Cheyenne Mountain, and God made Uranium too. All is well.

By sheer coincidence, I was asked a few days ago what sort of Christmas music I was listening to this year, just as I was massaging a playlist together for a mix disc I made for myself a few weeks back. So here it is: 23 Christmas songs from my personal Christmas music collection, which consists of about thirty CDs and ten or fifteen vinyl LPs. Most of this music can be purchased from Amazon or eBay as whole CDs; whether you can get it from the online music services is unclear. (I don't use them.) The "Great Songs of Christmas" vinyl LPs were remarkable anthologies given away by Goodyear dealers when you bought tires in the fall. The ones I have are the ones we got in the early 60s, but they were an annual thing from 1961 right into the early 70s. Firestone got into the same business a few years after Goodyear (and I have a couple of those) but they are nowhere near as good. Abundant and cheap on eBay, assuming you still have the hardware to play vinyl!

All of this will fit on a single 80-minute CD-R. Let me know if you find playlists like this useful. I have others.

Carol of the Bells
Windham Hill Artists
My all-time favorite Christmas carol, performed here as the main melody alternating with variations on the melody, by several of Windham Hill's artists, including Liz Story, Andy Narell, Barbara Higbie, and Paul McCandless. From: A Winter's Solstice IV

Sing Hosanna, Alleuia
The New Christy Minstrels
Great hootenanny folker from some of the best voices and best harmonists of the past fifty years, best appreciated by those who were there when hootenanny folkers were first-run.
From: Great Songs of Christmas, #4. (1964 Vinyl)

Christmas in Killarney
Bing Crosby
I'm a thoroughgoing American mongrel, but there's enough Irish in me to appreciate this canonical performance from the soundtrack of White Christmas. Although corny and seriously bass-deprived, it was much beloved of my very South Side Irish grandmother Sade Genevieve Prendergast Duntemann (1892-1965) and I include it here in her memory.
From: White Christmas (Bing Crosby)

The Holly and the Ivy
Alex Di Grassi
A sprightly version of the ancient hymn, without the words (which no one really understands anymore) to slow it down.
From: A Winter's Solstice V

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Ed Ames
Perhaps the single most powerful Christmas lyric ever written, culminating in that magnificent affirmation: "God is not dead nor doth He sleep." As a friend of mine once more crudely put it: "That's the kind of song that makes the Devil crap his pants every time he hears it."
From: Christmas with Ed Ames (1967 vinyl)

We Need a Little Christmas
The New Christy Minstrels
A superb Christmas song from a musical (Mame) that had nothing to do with Christmas!
From: Great Songs of Christmas #3 (1963 Vinyl)

In the Bleak Midwinter
First Call
This obscure carol has in recent years come to be my second favorite, with its melody ("Cranham") by Gustav Holst and words by his friend Christina Rosetti. Good close harmony here. It never fails to bring a tear to my eye. What indeed could I possibly give back to God? Somehow computer books just don't seem to cut it.
From: Beyond December (First Call)

The Man From Caesaria
Friedemann
An arrangement of an ancient and slightly spooky Greek hymn attributed to St. Basil. The Orthodox are Catholics too, and for me this song sacramentally represents their concept of the Great Journey of Theosis, back to unity and wholeness in the Presence of God, where I believe against all denial that everyone and everything will eventually arrive.
From: Narada Christmas Collection

Logs to Burn
Golden Bough
Did you know that holly wood burns like melting wax? Or that cherry wood will scent the room? This is a wood heat user guide that you can sing over a cup of mulled wine. Damned clever, those English.
From: Winter's Dance (Golden Bough)

Christmas Eve
Ira Stein
I don't know why, but this piece (which has no words) suggests for me the watch that little kids of Polish heritage keep for the First Star on Christmas Eve (as my sister and I did) when Vigilia begins, and beyond that all good things that are worth waiting for, no matter how much the waiting makes us ache.
From: Narada Christmas Collection 2

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
The King's Singers
A choral version of perhaps my third-favorite Christmas carol, with rich harmony of a slightly odd sort, which is the trademark of this excellent group.
From: A Little Christmas Music (King's Singers)

Il Est Ne and Immaculate Mary
Liz Story
"He Is Born" (French) in a piano medley with the Mary song we sang maybe a little too much back at Immaculate Conception grade school, especially in May. An odd combo, but it works.
From: The Gift (Liz Story)

Traditions of Christmas
Mannheim Steamroller
Chip Davis decided he wanted to write a classic Christmas carol. I wish I could pull off everything I try as well as he did.
From: A Fresh Aire Christmas (Mannheim Steamroller)

Patapan and Noel Nouvelet
Nancy Rumbel
Two old French hymns done by a superb flutist in a medieval style.
From: Narada Christmas Collection

Song of the Evergreen
Kostia
If Christmas trees had a national anthem, this would be it. Makes me want to stand up and cheer when it's over. (Or maybe yell, "Play Snowball!")
From: Narada Christmas Collection 2

Joseph Dearest, Joseph Mine
Simon Wynberg
The slightly dumb lyrics are omitted, leaving a nice old melody about perhaps the least appreciated saint of all. "Stone my wife?" this muscular man asks the Pharisees, with pockets full of awls and chisels, a mallet in one hand and a razor-sharp saw in the other. "Just try it."
From: Narada Christmas Collection 2

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
Wayne Gratz
The piano stars in this superb instrumental rendition of my third-favorite carol, with only a little occasional violin for backup. Deeply moving.
From: The Best of Narada Christmas

Three Candles
Schonherz & Scott
Again, it's hard to say just why, but this instrumental piece sounds to me like an emblem of Hope, the most neglected of the Cardinal Virtues. Don't just light one candle. Light 'em all—God will give you as many as you need—and the light will never go out.
From: A Winter's Solstice IV

Wizards in Winter
Trans-Siberian Orchestra
One unauthorized video of a house virtually dancing to this tune probably sold more albums for these guys than anything their label ever did for them. Although there are some hints of The Nutcracker here, I see a gigantic Niagara steam locomotive pounding its way heedlessly through a furious Rocky Mountain blizzard. You can't stop a 4-8-4—not with something as simple as snow!
From: The Lost Christmas Eve (Trans-Siberian Orchestra)

And with that, I'll have to step up the pace on various Christmas things here. See you in a few.

My sister Gretchen Duntemann Roper and her husband Bill Roper have been here for a few days, along with my high-school friend Pete Albrecht, of the Lane Tech Astronomical Society. We've only had this many people staying over Christmas one other time, and that was years ago in Arizona. We've had to relearn what it takes to stock the house for one long, low-key Christmas party, but it's all coming back to us now: Prodigious quantities of coffee and diet soda, flavored coffee creamers (including egg nog!), potato chips and crackers, plus buckets of Chicago's own Maurice Lenell Christmas cookies, which, miraculously, can be had here in Colorado at the Sav-On Pharmacies within Albertson's supermarkets. We remembered that having a Honey Baked ham in the fridge at all times makes asynchronous meals a lot easier. We have the Lionel trains around the tree for the first time in almost eight years. Pete brought out his radio-controlled, smoking, sound-effects equipped Lionel Hudson, and we've managed tease Carol's 1952-vintage Lionel operating cars back into operation, dumping milk cans and barrels on command and with gusto. QBit has already chewed up two of the wooden barrels, and has been carrying the milk cans around in his mouth, generally dropping them down the stairs once he realizes that his teeth aren't getting any purchase. He seems indifferent to Pete's Hudson and to my own GG-1, but he goes half-nuts if we put my father's ancient, doddering 1928 American Flyer electric loco (above) on the track. It crawls slowly along with a sort of stuttering motion, its dying carbon brushes generating prodigious amounts of ozone. He must think it's a rat or something; he goes similarly nuts when I take out my radio-controlled rat and run it around the floor. (You all knew I had a radio-controlled rat, didn't you?)

It's been delightful pandemonium here. Carol and I haven't had this much fun in a very long time.

The Big Event this Christmas, however, was going shopping for big-screen TVs with Bill, who has had one for four years and is something of a guru on the topic. We've been talking about the acquisition for years now, ever since we built a niche in the wall of the great room beside the fireplace to accept one. Much online research and occasional wandering through Best Buy and Ultimate Electronics in previous months focused our attention on the 61" Samsung HL-R6178W. We already knew it was the best choice, and so what we did, pretty much, was walk into Ultimate Electronics (the only store in town with one in stock) and told the nice people there to wrap one up. The salesman seemed shellshocked at not having to actually sell us on the unit, so he tried to sell me on $200, nitrogen-injected video cables instead. Bill shook his head. "Get the cheapest ones. The nitrogen thing is bogus." I took my own turn at being shellshocked when the shipping scheduler told me the TV would be delivered the very next day.

And it was. Wow.

The thing is amazing. It's HD-ready, and Adelphia's two baitware free HD channels came in with astonishing clarity—if clarity was what we really wanted when confronted with Orange County Choppers. I can actually read the chopper dude's tattoos! (I'm not sure that's really a plus, but we're talking resolution here, and I'll confess that I'd rather watch brain-dead bikers than the football game on the other HD channel.) The TV has an interpolator that increases resolution to near-HD levels on DVD movies, and while making supper we watched Men in Black looking better, perhaps, than it did in the movies. After supper, we hooked up my laptop to the VGA input connector on the back, and ran slideshows of digital camera photos, which showed up with a clarity that made me gasp. The 1024 X 768 Windows dekstop was completely readable and absolutely usable, all the way back on the living room couch. Carol commented that I'll be trying to figure out how to rotate the screen into portrait mode pretty soon. Michael Abrash commented once that a 21" monitor was like having Windows on your bedroom wall. No. This is having Windows on your bedroom wall—or livingroom wall, as the case may be.

We're hanging out until this afternoon, when we'll all start working on our Polish vigilia, or vigil supper, replete with smoked Polish sausage, hand-made pierogis (not made by our hands, but by the hands of an expert Polish lady from Chicago, who sells them in Manitou Springs) and organic Albarello wine from Coturri. Later tonight we'll be over at St. Raphael's for Midnight Mass, and I
suspect we won't be up before 10:00 AM tomorrow.

Merry Christmas to everyone—by which I only mean, accept our wishes for all the best in your lives, and my admonition to Radical Hope. On Christmas Eve, it's easy to imagine that All Manner of Thing Will Be Well. The rest of the year it's a problem—but we'll deal with the rest of the year as it happens.