Today’s Community of Christ lectionary passage is from 1 Corinthians 10, and includes this, from verse 9 (NRSVUE):

We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did, and were destroyed by serpents.

This is one of a few different stories that Paul evokes in 1 Corinthians 10 that all rub me the wrong way (I’m not a big fan of any punitive God), but this one stands out in particular because it reminds me of how the “serpents” story (originally in Numbers 21) gets evoked twice in the Book of Mormon. Here they are, from Community of Christ’s Revised Authorized Version:

Last month, I wrote on both my reading up on Jacques Ellul and on concerns about how we understand the purpose and value of research. I’m continuing to read—or, rather, listen to—Ellul’s The Technological Society, and I was interested to find a passage that brought together these two ideas. Here’s Ellul, writing in the mid-twentieth century:

We have already examined the requirement of immediate applicability; here we meet it again on the state level. The state is not disinterested any more than private capitalists, but it is concerned in a different way. The state claims to represent the public interest and hence to have the duty of being a “good manager,” dispensing the public revenues only on condition that they mean something, that they pay off. Disinterested activity on the part of the state is inconceivable. Some may such that such activity should not be impossible; but in fact it is impossible. Neither individuals nor public opinion nor the structure of the state is oriented toward the acceptance of the kind of culture pure scientific research would represent.

My Day One journaling app told me this morning that today marks one year since I read Cory Doctorow’s For the Win after picking it (and many other of his books) in a Humble Bundle. That means that it’s finally time to write out some thoughts that I’ve been having over the past several weeks, all centered around wanting to reread the book. I have a lot of other books on my “to read” list right now, so it’s kind of ridiculous to want to get back to this one, but there are two things that have been really pushing this idea.

Thanks to this article from The Atlantic that I saw on Bluesky, I’ve been able to confirm something that I’ve long assumed to be the case: that my creative and scholarly work is being used to train generative AI tools. More specifically, I used the searchable database embedded in the article to search for myself and find that at least eight of my articles (plus two corrections) are available in the LibGen pirate library—which means that they were almost certainly used by Meta to train their Llama LLM.

This is a mess of a post blending thoughts on tech policy with religious ideas and lacking the kind of obvious throughline or structure that I’d like it to have. It’s also been in my head for a couple of weeks, and it’s time to release it into the world rather than wait for it to be something better. So, here it is:

I am frustrated with generative AI technology for many reasons, but one of the things at the top of that list is the knowledge that today’s kids are growing up in a world where it is possible—even likely—that their middle and high school experiences are going to involve someone using generative AI tools to produce deepfake nudes (or other non-consensual intimate imagery—NCII) of them. See, for example, this horrifying story from the New York Times last April.

I ran some errands yesterday morning, visiting two stores and a library that were all relatively close to where I live. I regularly bike a much longer distance to get to work and back, so by any right, I should have done the same for these small errands. If there had been some bike racks at the shopping center where two of the errands were, I almost certainly would have done so, but faced with the (relatively minor) inconvenience of not having anywhere to lock my bike while in a grocery store or optician’s office, I took the coward’s route and drove.

I’ve been teaching my department’s class on content management systems since Fall 2019, which means that I’m coming up on my seventh(!) time with the course next August. Every time that I’ve taught it, I’ve used the Hugo static site software and the WordPress CMS as examples of content management concepts. WordPress is the more (most!) popular web CMS out there, and so it’s always been my main area of focus; I think that Hugo does a wonderful job of illustrating some CMS concepts, but it also has a higher technical learning curve, so I’ve always felt conflicted about its role in the classroom. Since the very first time I taught with this combination of software, students have expressed a clear preference for WordPress, and so every time I teach the class, I think that I’m going to give it up and just focus on WordPress the next time around.

This last weekend, I made a brief appearance in an article from the Salt Lake Tribune discussing the influence of social media on Mormon masculinity. As I’ve noted before, the Tribune aggressively paywalls, but it’s hard to fault them. I get access to their religion coverage by paying $3/month to the Patreon for their Mormon Land podcast.

My appearance is brief—a simple mention that Jordan Peterson is mentioned a number of times in a forum site I’m studying with colleagues—but those colleagues (Levi Sands at the University of Iowa and Amy Chapman at Arizona State) have more to say about the unsurprising, ambiguous, and worrying overlap between figures like Peterson and Andrew Tate and online Mormonism. Indeed, the article later quotes one Mormon influencer as describing “Guys like Andrew Tate” as “colleagues of mine,” and the influencer in particular is a familiar face from the work Amy and I have done on the DezNat movement from Mormon Twitter.

Once or twice a week, I get a “Reaction Daily Digest” in my work email account catching me up on some of the emoji-style reactions I’ve received to recent emails that I’ve recently missed. I hate these emails for enough reasons that I’m taking a break from clearing my morning email to write a post about this.

email shouldn’t have emoji reactions

This isn’t a criticism of emoji or emoji reactions. As I’ve been increasing my use of Signal over the past week or so, I’ve been pleased that it supports emoji reactions and that it allows a wide range of them instead of locking you into a select few. However, one of the (few) great things about email is that it’s pretty much an open, cross-platform means of communication, and adding emoji reactions to Outlook email in a way that isn’t accounted for in the protocols that email is built on just feels dumb. It’s even more annoying than seeing phones trying to account for iOS and Android’s differing approaches to emoji reactions in a mixed group chat. Emoji reactions are great, but they don’t belong in email.

My stress and anxiety levels have been high ever since the second Trump administration began and immediately started taking an axe to all sorts of things that one should not take an axe to. For admittedly selfish reasons, though, I’ve been particularly anxious since Friday, when the NIH announced that it was dramatically cutting its support to universities (and other research institutions) in the form of indirect costs. I don’t do NIH-funded work, but we’re a very medically focused campus, and there’s no way that the $40 million that the University estimates we could lose over the next year isn’t going to have ripple effects across campus (not to mention the fact that my colleagues in the College of Communication and Information regularly look to the NIH as a source of funding health communication research). There are much more vulnerable populations currently being targeted by the Trump administration, and their concerns are more salient than mine are right now, but this is one of the administration’s decisions that’s hit closest to home, and I’ve been thinking a lot about it recently.

Whenever we visit my in-laws, it’s a tradition to put any kids who are present to bed and then gather around one of the big TVs to watch something together. Sometimes it’s something that one family is watching and introducing to another, sometimes it’s something that we’re all watching and are at the same place in the season, and every once in a while it’s something new.

When we drove down to visit in January, I took advantage of that third possibility to get everyone to try Star Trek: Lower Decks, which I’ve wanted to watch for a while but never had the chance to. It’s vaguely been on my radar for its entire run, but I don’t watch a lot of TV and the only TV I watch is with my spouse, and I just was never sure that it was going to make it onto our screens. My spouse is not entirely Star Trek-averse—she was a big fan of Zachary Quinto as Spock in the Abrams movies—but we have different preferred nerddoms and I’m not even as Star Trek literate as I’d like, so even though the show sounded interesting, it just didn’t seem feasible.

Throughout my career, I’ve been a data-first researcher, and theory has always been one of my weak areas. This is not to say that I dismiss the importance of theory: I appreciate danah boyd and Kate Crawford’s critique of Chris Anderson’s “the numbers speak for themselves” in their 2012 paper Critical Questions for Big Data as much as I appreciate Catherine D’Ignazio and Lauren Klein’s similar critique in their book Data Feminism. It’s just that while I agree that theory is important, I’ve never been well-versed in it—except for the loose theoretical framework of sociocultural learning, multiple literacies, and social communities and spaces that I bring to much of my work (even that work that has gone beyond educational technology research.

Since kiddo was really little, her aunt has been sending her “notable women,” “notable people of color,” “notable Indigenous people,” and “notable queer people” books, which has been good for just setting a background level of what we want our kid to be aware of as she grows up. When she came home with a “famous American” project, she was pretty clear up front that she was not going to choose a dude, and she turned to her little collection of books to come up with the three names that she needed to turn in to her teacher for approval before she could start the project.

I have mixed feelings about the digital library app hoopla—which offers access to ebooks, electronic comics, and other media that my library doesn’t necessarily carry in physical format—but it’s so dang useful that I keep using it despite some hesitations (see this post for some recent complaints). Tonight, though, as I tried to wrap up the introduction to the English translation of Jacques Ellul’s Théologie et technique (which I ought to just buy in French-language physical format, since its publishing house offers 5€ shipping to the U.S.), I noticed something that really made me mad.

I’m trying to get back into the swing of blogging with the new year, and it’s been a bit tricky with lots of school cancellations (or “non-traditional instruction” days) and the subsequent disruptions to my work schedule. Even considering that, I’m still surprised to be posting essentially two sermons back-to-back.

A few hours after last week’s post (which was from a six-week old sermon), John Hamer reached out to me to ask if I might be willing to put something together quickly to fill in for an unexpectedly missing sermon in today’s service. I wound up saying yes, because I enjoy working with Beyond the Walls, the subject was interesting, and I wanted to put my skills to use from doing competitive extemporaneous and impromptu speaking in high school speech and debate (those were two distinct events, even though the words for them are near-synonyms).

I… didn’t mean to wait until the day before the Inauguration to post the text of my sermon on hope in the face of despair. The weekend I gave the sermon was also the weekend of a funeral and near a very busy end of semester, so blogging was on the backburner. Even if I had had more time, my website-to-social media setup was a bit borked and I’m just vain enough to not post things if I think my audience is going to be diminished. I finally had some time yesterday to figure out what was going on and fix it, so now I’m trying to get back into regular posting.

I started using the static site-friendly, largely non-creepy Tinylytics service in 2023, and a few weeks ago, I finally forked over the money for the paid version of the service. [EDIT: I’ve since cancelled my subscription to the service because I’m no longer sure it aligns with my values.] This year, I’ve become skeptical enough of quantification as a concept that I feel vaguely guilty about tracking which of my posts get how many views, but I’m also a researcher who understands the value of quantification, and it’s also, well, validating to see which of my posts get traction. That said, I still know not to put too much faith in these numbers—for example, I got a very abnormal 537 hits to my website from Finland on October 24th that I just can’t figure out.

Setting up media reviews for my blog is one of the best side projects that I’ve done in the past couple of years, and I’m happy to be doing a yearly recap for 2024 like I did for 2023. In fact, I started a new review workflow for listening to radio shows, which feels like a bonus (and helps take away from my lower read count this time around).

Before my 2025 edition of this, I hope to revamp my review posting some. I know just enough about custom taxonomies and templates in Hugo that I’m confident that with an afternoon or two of work, I could give my reviews some more interesting, almost Goodreads-like features. Fingers crossed that I can find the time to make that happen!

We’re getting to the end of the semester here at the University of Kentucky, which is my traditional time to get overly introspective about grading. There’s a lot on my mind at the end of this semester, but one thing that has popped into my head tonight and that I think will be quick to write about is a dilemma that I’m facing this semester, when I’ve had faced more suspicions about student use of generative AI than in any previous semester. By way of context, my class policy is to: 1) discourage student use of generative AI, but 2) begrudgingly allow students to use it, but 3) require that they disclose its use.

For the past couple of years, my colleague Dr. Meghan Dowell and I have been working on a paper on students’ awareness of what data the Canvas learning management system collects (and subsequently makes available to certain stakeholders). I’m a fan of Nick Proferes’s paper [Information Flow Solipsism in an Exploratory Study of Beliefs About Twitter] and have long wanted to do something similar related to LMSs. This is even more Meghan’s area of specialty than mine, though, so I was grateful that she was also interested in the subject and took the lead in turning this idea into reality.

My kid is being raised by a mother who is entirely done with anything that smacks of religion and a father who is very non-literal and not very exclusivist, so it’s unsurprising that she tends to pick and choose when she wants to do church stuff with me. If I’m driving over to Louisville to attend church in person, she’ll usually come with me. If I’m attending church via Zoom because Louisville is over an hour away, she tends to read or play in her room instead. A few weeks ago, though, when she realized it was Communion Sunday (in Community of Christ, the first Sunday of the month), she insisted that I call her over when it was time for communion so that she could be part of that.

Even after many years of attending, being a member of, and now serving in Community of Christ, I’m still alternately surprised by how many things are the same as my Latter-day Saint upbringing and how many things are different. In the latter category, even though I’ve intellectually understood this for a while, it still surprises me that the World Conferences of Community of Christ (renamed from General Conferences in the 1960s) are sites of debate and discussion rather than a series of sermons.

Leandro Palacios from the Beyond the Walls ministry out of the Toronto Community of Christ congregation gave me a heads up yesterday that they would be using a clip from the most recent sermon I gave for them as part of today’s service. I forgot about this until well after the service, but I visited the recording later in the afternoon to see what clip they’d used and to see what else I could catch from the service. Before fast forwarding to my cameo, I actually ended up watching most of John’s homily, which I thought was excellent.

After six years and over 6,000 miles¹ of bike commuting without any real incident², I took a corner too fast this morning, hydroplaned, and slid a few feet on the road before picking myself up to get back to the sidewalk and out of the way of the cars whose path I was blocking. It wasn’t a huge wreck: I didn’t hit my head, my bike seems to be fine³, and three scrapes (one bigger than others) and some torn-up clothes are the worst of the damage. I rode back home, cancelled class, cleaned myself up, and am figuring out how to adjust my work day.⁴

Several days ago, I posted that:

One of the biggest gaps in my current website-first approach to social media is an inability to snap a picture and quickly post it. I’ve wanted to tackle this for a while, but an upcoming cool vacation has me thinking I should really go for it.

A couple of days later, I realized I wasn’t alone in this when Alex Sirac picked up the post on their website, and it got another sympathetic comment there, too. That motivated me to really try to solve the problem, even though as a Hugo blogger, I knew that my solution wasn’t going to be terribly helpful for the WordPress folks who were sympathizing with me.