The After Action Report

Twisted Perspective

2011-03-15T12:28:00.005-05:00

It's hard to believe that it's been a year and a half. But it has. Many times I have sat down and started to write something, only to take a break and never finish what I had started. But I finally had something to say today that was more than that other outlet would let me publish.

Here goes.

The "reporting" that has been going on concerning this latest tragedy is disgusting, and perverse. ALL tv news media outlest are standing around with mouths agape, drooling shamelessly in the expectation that there will be a catastrophic nuclear failure in our beloved Japan. Where is Joe Friday when you need him? "Just the facts Ma'am, just the facts."

Fact: when Chernobyl melted down in 1986 it was designed and constructed by Communist Russia who had aboslutely NO interest in creating the cleanest and safest energy available to us today, but where solely focussed on the developement of material for their nuclear missiles. They thumbed their nose at God and he said "What did you say?"

Fact: when Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania occured in 1979, that reactor DID meltdown, but the containment vessel did it's job; radioactive materials where released into the atmosphere WITH NO NEGATIVE IMPACT. While the plant in Japan was constructed some years before TMI, it was built upon the same exacting guidelines, and to anticipate anything but the best from this situation is dispicable, especially when all the evidence that this layman has seen points to the brilliant Japanese having everything in hand.

And what is this notion that Japan, a Sovereign Nation, is not giving us enough information? It's THEIR country. They are the ones who are being directly impacted by this catastrophe. They are the ones who are best suited to deal with it, as the only country in the world who has endured first hand the destructive power of intentionally detonated weapons of mass destruction, designed to do the greatest amount of damage possible on every level of understanding. (And it absolutely boggels my mind that now they LOVE us. So much so that when the World Trade Center was blown to bits by diabolical barbarians, they flew their flags at half mast. When have we ever done that? An American in Japan asked about that, and he was told "When America weeps, Japan weeps"). Where's the weeping America?

Fact: more people have died from working in the Wind Farm industry in the last ten years than in the Atomic Energy Industry: 44 to 7, respectively. But don't take my word on these things; follow the link

http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/jamesdelingpole/100079763/nuclear-power-some-perspective/

To All My Ninja Peeps

2009-11-18T12:59:00.006-06:00

Avoid the sake. Avoid the fences with sharp pointed tops. And above all else, never over estimate your skills or underestimate your opponents power. Learn from someone else's mistakes, young Insect-of-Your-Choosing. (The Fly, the Grasshopper, and the Ladybug are taken)

The aftermath

2009-11-08T20:42:00.005-06:00

Last Saturday I was wondering how to follow up my last post.

How does one segue from the most traumatic experience in the last eighteen years of their life?

How do you go from: "I helped carry my mentor, Granddad, and friend's body out" to "The weather is wonderful out here . . ."

I kept looking at this thing and wondering: "What is the point? Why bother? This cathartic therapy is so insignificant in light of recent events."

But then we had the local memorial service, and I was presented with the perfect close to the volume.

I didn't realise how much I had been affected by Granddad's passing until I noticed that every day after, I felt a little bit better than I did the day before. One week after the event I think that I must have been about ninety percent. Up from about sixty or seventy percent.

Then last Sunday we had the service.

Over the week there had been much debate about whether or not there would be an open casket. Some needless debate had prevented the mortician from performing his task promptly and nature had undauntedly continued on its coarse.

Having seen Granddad, a few short hours after he had passed, and having his image to this moment sealed into my mind, I personally had no desire to see him. Obviously I had no say, other than my opinion, which was never asked for, but freely given at the first opportunity.

I have never understood the need to see a corpse to find closure. I wonder if disbelief prevents people from finding peace and moving on, and so, like Philip, until they actually see the body, they refuse to believe, or accept the stated facts. After all, just because you disagree with a truth, doesn't make it untrue. And the longer that you disagree with truth, the more difficult, and dangerous, it becomes to align yourself with the truth. But I digress.

Please believe me that I have no problem with people who need to see the corpse to find closure. I don't think any less of those persons. I just don't understand. And lack of understanding is not a sin. With some things we have to grow up in order to understand.

So last Sunday they had an open casket. I still had no desire to see the body, but as I am the sound guy I new that there would be no way I could avoid it. So, fortune favors the bold, I went up front, and peered down upon the man that was laid at state in the simple brown casket. It was not Granddad. Sure, the man wore his glasses, but it wasn't him. It looked nothing like him. Nature had seen to that. I think that I breathed a sigh of relief. And now, looking back, I am glad that I looked.

I told some friends that if I was a conspiracist I would have started shouting "Where is he?! What have you done with him?! I know he's not dead! Take me to him now!" We joked that yeah, maybe he was on a secret South Pacific island with JFK, Hoffa, Elvis, and Apostle John.

But he is not. He is now more resplendent than imagination could possibly comprehend.

The service itself was far too long. It took four, wandering, meandering hours to get to the eulogy, which should have been gotten to in an hour.

But then it was too soon. My brothers spoke and I realised, not having spoken with them in depth about Granddad's passing, that they where just as devastated as I had been. And then the pallbearers were called, of which I was one.

I was disappointed that there was no actual carrying of the casket, we simply held the handles and rolled it along on its gurney until we got to the back of the hearse, and then we lifted; a little.

I understand why there was no manual portage, but man, that would have been the icing.

I didn't think I had any tears left. I hadn't cried since the day of his transition. But after they shut the back hatch of the hearse and pulled away, I had to find a quiet place by myself for a few minutes.

Today was the funeral proper. Again it was too long.

I was curious about how I would do. I did just fine. I think that the last nail was sunk with the "clunk" of that Cadillac's back door. And eighteen hundred miles and a sketchy Internet connection probably also helped.

I had been concerned for my father. He had been affected by Granddad's passing harder than I had ever seen anything affect him. After today I was encouraged. He has made it over the hump and is moving onward, upward, and inward. (Don't tell him I said this. He doesn't like fusses.)

So, I think that I am ready to move on now.

The Smell of Death

2009-10-21T07:49:00.008-05:00

I was going to post a comment responding to the comments that I received on the last post.

So please don't think that I'm ignoring anything that was said.

When I replied "WOW" to the comments left it was because I didn't know what else to say and because I did not have the strength nor the desire to wage Holy High Verbal Combat.

But then I got some more sleep and I suddenly found that I did have the strength.

But that was then, and the worm has turned yet again, and that conversation seems too irrelevant in light of yesterdays events.

My Grandad died yesterday. And though he was eighty-seven years of awesome Jamaicaness, and I am decidedly white, he really was my Granddad. While I have fond "playtime" memories of my father's father, Cecil duCille impacted my life more profoundly than any natural Grandparent ever has.

I hope and pray that his fingerprints will ever be visible upon me.

He was the one person in whom I had total and absolute confidence. I have told people that if he told me to jump off of a cliff, I would, (I like to think without hesitation) because I always knew that he actually did have my best interest in mind.

Now please believe me when I say that I was not a blind acolyte, that I was not a Cool-Aid drinking disciple. And do not think for one moment that I was compelled by his will to follow. He always said, like a good General, "This is where I have come from. This is where I am. This is where I am going. This is what we may, will, and probably shall encounter. Follow me as I follow Christ."

When I got the call yesterday morning that he had passed away, I was surprised, but not shocked. It was unanticipated, definitely unexpected. I thought that he would live forever.

And I was a little surprised at my lack of devastation. I remembered when three of my natural Grandparents died and how little it affected me. No crying, just a stranger's dissociated calm. It wasn't callousness, but for two it was a lack of relationship, and for the third it was relief, because of the Hellish ride he had taken and because I knew that he was in a better place and for the first time in his life he was truly happy, and that his tenuous relationship with Christ had finally been sealed, locked into an everlasting bond.

As I was listening to the man on the other end of the phone, and the apparent devastation that Granddad's passing had created in him, I was a little dismayed at my own inner calm. And filled with selfish regret that I hadn't spent more time with him.

I got off the phone and told Belle that I wanted to go to where his body was.

I haven't looked at a corpse in fifteen years. I want to remember people for who they are. They aren't that person in the box. And as a Christian, I know that they have put off mortality for immortality, and that they have left behind the trivial trials of this world.

But for some reason I had to see Grandad.

And I'm glad that I went. As hard as it has turned out.

When I arrived the paramedics where leaving, the new deputy coroner was doing an inordinately thorough job, and the sheriff's deputy was, initially, keeping any and all comers from going down into the plush finished basement where Grandad lived.

After the deputy coroner was finished satisfying her reservations and her check lists, the Sheriff's Deputy came up stairs and with him came a very peculiar odor.

I have always thought that the "smell of death" talked about in books and movies was some spiritual experience, something metaphysical created by the human mind in response to the knowledge that something human is dead nearby.

I am here to attest that it is not. It is real. And though not pleasant, it's not repulsing. Though perhaps the circumstances may affect this perception.

We were granted permission to go down then, and we did.

And I saw him lying on the floor where the paramedics had left him.

He looked small. He looked oddly like a wax statue. And like he was preaching a sermon. His hands were raised slightly and held in a timeless duCille gesture. He had such expressive hands.

And for the first time since I had gotten the call something stirred in my chest.

My mother-in-law, whose house Grandad had been staying in, was crying and all I could think was, "He's not here anymore. And yet he's still here."

I touched his leg: cool, soft, and pliable, and said "God speed Grandad" and sat down on the end of the bed. And I heard him shout, in my head or the Spirit or whatever, like I had heard him shout so many times in so many meetings.

The Klingons have it right: we sit with our dead.

After a short while the coroner was ready to leave, and take Grandad with her. Only one small problem, for her: no one to help carry him out. The sheriff's deputy ushered us all out of basement when it came time to enclose Grandad in the nondescript blue plastic bag. It was like a heavy duty tarp with black nylon straps and a zipper.

Then they asked me and another, with much apologizing, to help.

It was absolutely no problem for me. "Terms of the service" I told them. And it was a great honor for me, if only in some small insignificantly belated way, to take care of the man who had so often taken care of me.

We carried him up the switch back stairs and around the switch back corner out into the garage and onto the waiting gurney. I held Granddad's head, through the impersonal plastic body bag, so that it wouldn't knock on the gurney rail as the deputy coroner pulled him farther down. He really wasn't as small as he had looked lying on that cold basement floor.

"I have it from here" the woman said, and I think that she was ordering me back inside. I didn't go inside, I followed her out onto the driveway, keeping my distance, watching her load Grandad into the back of the one-ton ford van.

It was very nice. Completely unmarked except for the government plates. The back interior was neat, carpeted, and clean. And they had maroon velvet covers to draw, with elastic ends, over the utilitarian body bags. It was nice to see our tax dollars actually doing something decent for a change.

She closed the doors and I gave a two finger salute from my eyebrow to the man who was no longer there.

I went back inside and down to Granddad's room and started to pick up. Shoes where left all over, like a teenagers. So I pulled the stuffed in socks out of them and took them to the closet to put them away.

In the back of the closet a walking stick had fallen down and I picked it up, and began to laugh, because it wasn't just a cane but what can best be described as a "pimp stick." (I would later learn that the "gentleman's walking stick" had been a gift and it was something that "he would never us."

It was a total Lifetime Movie moment. I started out laughing and ended up crying, bitterly, if only briefly, as the words of a song came flooding through my mind: ". . . I guess you got what you wanted, but what about me 'cause Without you I'm not okay And without you I've lost my way . . ."

I found my composure, and some consolation from the Director, and finished the task that I had set for myself and then I left and went heavily through a regular day.

On my way home the melody of a song kept coming to me but I chose rather to just go to bed as soon as I had eaten and showered, and try and forget about the day by burying myself in a good book. It worked until chapter 34, when the hero's father figure contracts a vicious viral bug and withers away and dies. But then later I found some more consolation in the same book, something that I had actually been thinking about earlier in the day:

"If you weren't going to ask me to have my troops break some heads, then why did you ask me here?"

"Not to ask anything of you, my friend. To ask how you're managing. Ord was more to you than an exceptional noncommissioned officer."

I stared out across the city, at the slow-flowing River Marin. "I don't know. How did you manage when your mother died?"

"Badly at first. But they say a son isn't fully realized until his last parent is gone. I suppose that's literally true for an heir to a throne. You lost your parents long ago, but the sergeant major, I think, stepped into that role for you since. Now, Jason, we're both orphans. There's no one to point the way for us. Now it's our job to point the way for others, and the only compass we have is within us." - Robert Buettner, Orphan's Triumph

I no longer have a completely objective compass to turn to when I am completely lost in the fog of this life. It's time to grow beyond that dependency I guess. Dig deeper into Jesus. Find that relationship with Christ that Grandad had. That true friendship that he walked in with the Lord.

There are only two ways that I want to go from this life into the next (if at all):

The first and currently preferred is with my arms full of explosives, hurling myself into the enemy bunker so that my comrads can live. (Of course I am speaking metaphorically.) No greater love, you know?

The second is exactly like Granddad: on my knees praying, in a blaze of spiritual glory. (I'm sure that one day this will become my first choice.)

Today was strange. It was a full, normal, work day and in the late afternoon I had to struggle with the thought that yesterday was all a bad dream.

But I know it wasn't. It was real. Painfully real.

So I'll close now, and leave you with the song that has been keeping me company all day.

So say goodbye 'cause you'll be leaving soon. I know it's hard and I'll be missing you. I know it's time to say goodbye. I know the road has worn you down. You never broke, you always held your ground, but now it's time to say goodbye. And I know we'll meet again. But I wish it'd never end. You don't mean to make me cry but it's so hard to say goodbye. And though you're gone I remember now the time we shared, your words still ring out. You're never far, you're in my heart. Some day we'll meet again, cause that's how the story ends. It's so hard to say goodbye. - Sanctus Real

The Cold Truth

2009-10-14T10:36:00.002-05:00

As many of you have doubtlessly observed, the Great IncompleteOne has been reticent to join the rest of the world in the broader scene of "social networking."

I've always thought: What's the point in telling people that I'm brushing my teeth, or going to the store, or going to the beach, or coming home from the beach, or my mood is "mine" or some such other nonsense?

Then I saw something just now that perfectly articulates what I never took the time to fully think through.

What?

Yeah. Though I have never been interested in Social Networking I have also never taken the
time to fully identify why. It just didn't interest me.

And when I say that I am not interested in S.N. I mean that completely. Not only do I not post the goings on of my life every five minutes, I don't waste my time by following the mundane happenings of the entire world.

I have MUCH better and MUCH funner ways of wasting time.

But as I said, I just saw something that says exactly what I have always thought, and more, and I encourage you to allow, your curiosity to lead you down the link, and your objective higher brain to seriously consider what is being said.

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/26184891/#33273484

I AM HERE! Where are you?

2009-10-04T21:39:00.001-05:00

I didn't plan on taking the summer off. It just sort of happened.

In May, Belle and I got notice from our Laird's son that we needed to be out by August first. After eight years in that run down little hovel, we had to move on. Of course it was naturally daunting but bearable as it wasn't completely unexpected.

We knew that this was going to be our last summer at the old house, but we never really expected to leave. We kinda hoped that our landlord would say "Yeah, sure Tyson, lets fix this dive up."

After all, it was all we had known. (The year in the one bedroom apartment is barely a memory) My entire family (save one) was within a one block radius, Belle's best friend was three blocks away. How could we leave? I mean, my girls had grown up there, two of the three were born on the living room floor. The older ones where just starting to play with the back yard neighbor kids (and the neighbor kids were actually WANTING to pay with my kids.)

OH JOY! And how could we walk away from this?

Easy. Especially when we didn't have a choice. Okay, it wasn't easy; at least not at first.

But more on that later.

I just wanted to drop a few quick lines and let everyone know that, I AM HERE! And judging from sight meter, some of you have been checking up on me, my own small little mind says "Oh, maybe they miss me!" (Think Giselle's voice)

Well, that's it for now. I am bleary eyed, and it's only ten (and that is p.m. for those who were wondering if I had stayed up all night. Not tonight, only just the last week.)

Hopefully this is me saying "I'M BACK, BAAAAABYYYYY!"

Whupped

2009-06-13T09:21:00.006-05:00

I am here to confess that for the first time, that I can remember, in my life I have been soundly thrashed by a book.

I was doing some research recently and I sellected two books from the library from a particular "Universe."

Many years ago, like ten, I had attempted to read some books from this Universe for two reasons: one, I love the universe that has been created and two I was curious to see what some of my friends loved so much about them.

The universe that was created was this awesome blend of super advanced technology and old west rough and tumble swagger. My favorite two things melded together in an awesome package. So I read a couple of books, four, maybe five, I'm sure that it wasn't six, all by different authors, all taking place in this created Universe and I came up with one sound conclusion: they were all stupid. Some of the foundational ideas where good, but the delivery was ineffectual and without error they all took the same in-universe cliched turn.

So I stopped reading books from that part of the gallaxy, until recently.

As I was saying, I was doing research.

The first book was based on a recent video game so understandably the author had contraints that he had to work within, but he didn't quite pull it off, especially as at the end the hero dies, albeit to save his comrads, but nontheless ingloriously, and with a cliched bang.

The second book . . .I only made it to page 77. From the very begining I was having moments where I thought that the author was channeling Clive Cussler. This new author was a pedantic hack who was in love with the sound of his own voice and fifteen letter words. I can understand the sporadic use of unknown words, like coriacious, but to use great big obscure words from a foreign, forgotten dialect of Ancient English every other sentance is a bit over-whelming. And then his story was virtually a patch quilt of other people's literary inventions from the same Universe; from great master warriors being easily killed by cannon fodder pawn-like foot soldiers and robots on quests and criminal syndicate henchmen striving to rise in the ranks of their orginizations and the scourge of the Galaxy searching for one specific individual . . . . . . . . .I could continue but my blood pressure is rising.

If it weren't for Belle, I would probly be shouting at the book right now like I did with Clive Cussler. I am glad that she encouraged me to put it down. There's nothing wrong with NOT reading a lousy story. I am not any less of a man.

Frustration, Concluded

2009-04-06T09:06:00.002-05:00

Now I said that I had learned something from this ultimately frustrating experience. And I suppose that nothing is a waste if something is learned of it.

What I learned is that High Fantasy is the cheapest, easiest, most unimaginative form of fiction in existence.

What brings me to this conclusion?

William Goldman says, essentially, that a writers main objective is to write himself into a corner, into a box that he can’t easily get out of. Because it is then that you become truly creative. You are forced to wade through the clichés and the contrivances in order to reach the creatively original solution to your dilemma.

High Fantasy operates outside of any such limitation. Got a problem? Just us magic. There is a spell for everything. Insurmountable odds? Don’t worry, a dragon will swoop out of the sky for no logical reason and deliver you. Fortunately there is no spell to make an author a better writer, or a dragon to bear him to the land of GloriousInspiration.

The other thing that I noticed was how much fantasy has been influenced by The Lord of the Rings. Now don’t get me wrong. I love The Lord of the Rings. And infact have been thinking on a LOTR inspired story for some time. What I am talking about are the storys that range from pure knockoffs, to what this work is. Not a pure copy, but containing enough similar points as to be obvious: like the assimilation of a company of heroes to combat a similar number of adversaries; the "dragon crown" with the power to rule over the world, much like the "one ring" in LOTR; a man who was "raised" by the elves; etc. ad infinitum.

I wonder how Tolkien feels about this. I wonder if he would be happy for inspiring people to create similar works of fancy, or if he would be appalled by the monster that has come into existence in his wake.

My final quip has to do with titles. Mainly, what Mr. Stackpole titled his books. Or perhaps, what the Publishers titled his books.

The two most important attractants, after word of mouth referral, are Title and Cover. The title and cover of a book are what draws the reader in. They are what makes you stop and look closer. And in this case, it was both that got me started. The art on the first two books was very good, the third not so much, and the titles where a complete misleading dissapointment

First, there is Fortress Draconis. Now, the name promises an adventure at a fortress called Draconis. But none really ever happened. Oh, the companions do briefly visit said fortress, and one of the secondary characters does wander around in the fortress for a little while, but it never gets enough action to truly warrant the title.

And the second, When Dragon’s Rage just seemed like an outright lie. One gets the image of dragons fighting constantly from page to page while riders on their backs hurl spears and swing swords and axes at each other. When in fact, the actual dragon fights take place over the span of probably three pages. Again, not that I was looking forward to mythical, magical creatures brawling through my imagination, I felt robbed.

And the final installment, The Grand Crusade, while filled with lots of technical stuff (to the point of boring me), when the two "new" leads weren’t pining over each other or lamenting the loss of the Norington, was, as I said earlier, anything but grand. And there was no actual crusade. There was no pressing into the enemies country to conquer and expell. In fact, it was really the Evil Chytrine who was Crusading, and the Southern countries were simply marshaling against her. Now it’s possible that The Grand Crusade was really referencing Chytrine’s endevors, but I do not believe that, nor was there anything in the work to suggest it.

Now, I’m not saying that the title of books should be lifted dirrectly from the pages of the work; but it can’t be so abstract that you can’t tie the two together.

The title of these books where the exact oposite of the title of the second most boring mystery that I have ever read: A Safe Place for Dying. Catchy isn’t it? Intriguing, right? That’s why I picked it up. And, in keeping with it’s title, it is about a series of explosions that take place in a very exclusive, very secure, gated community. Unfortunately, I solved the mystery half way through and made myself finish it. But it’s a great title.

At the start of this monster I said that I was interested in finding out what made the current top listed authors great, and I am beginnning to wonder if it is just depravity calling to depravity. Birds of a feather, that sort of thing.

Now you might be wondering: why don’t you just read the other works by authors that you have tried and know are true?

If you are an avid reader you already know the answer: there is only just so much of the same author that you can take before you need a break. And I KNOW that tallent isn’t dead. I know that there are more writers out there writing in the classic, logical, precise, elloquent styles of the 19th/early 20th century masters.

I’m just trying to find them.

As always: Let ‘em rip!

Frustration, Part 8

2009-04-04T11:42:00.002-05:00

Now I said that Stackpole’s story was intriguing. And it was. At it’s core, its skeleton, it was a great idea. But the flesh was flabby and the clothing was horrendous.

My main complaint is the treatment of his initial main protagonist. Here is this fifteen year old boy living in the slums, aspiring to be the greatest thief ever, but not likely to reach sixteen. Who gets plucked out of this environment and given a crash course in life, that some would pay for, by two vaunted and fearsome warriors. The truly dynamic character of Will starts out as this callous child who cares for no one, and slowly turns into a young man, beginning to understand that there are bigger things at stake in life than the next heist. He begins to live adventures that he could never have dreamed about in his wildest imagination. He goes from being nothing, to being responsible for the well being of many men who have pledged their live to his service. But in the middle of his development he gets cut off. And instead of metamorphosing into a rounded, new man, he is turned into a lump of animated stone. Literally. I never got to see the fulfillment of Will’s character development

Now, I understand that Stackpole didn’t write his books specifically for me. I also understand that there are a great many things in this world that I will not agree with and that will disappoint me. So don’t worry, I’m not Pollyanna

But THERE ARE some basic fundamentals to story writing.

All storytelling is Conflict and Resolution. A story without conflict is boring.

The Resolution of the Conflict must be proportionate to, if not greater than the Conflict.

In order to be engaging, a story must contain Dynamic characters.

Heroic characters in a story MUST be dynamic.

Dynamic, at its simplest means "change." And the vehicle of change is Conflict. It is in Conflict that the nature of the character is revealed.

And the character of Will was being exposed, scrubbed, and recreated. And after nine hundred pages, I was left with two supporting characters that could only ever be described as static. And they became Stackpole’s new focus.

I am left to surmise that the then late forty, almost fifty year old author became bored with the fifteen year old main character; the strongest character of the entire bunch, and instead preferred to focus on the forty year old Crow and his twenty-five year old contrived wife.

Hmmmmm..

For my part, I wasn’t interested in the moral perturbations and subsequent meandering of two flat, static characters.

" ‘But I’m old enough to be your father . . .’

‘Yes, but love knows no age . . .’

‘Oh, you are so right, my love’ he admitted passionately, as tears welled up in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks into his white beard."

Think I’m exaggerating? Feel free to find out for yourself.

To be continued . . .

Frustration, Part 7

2009-04-03T08:52:00.002-05:00

So now you know the general points. Let’s now discuss the important points.

Now, as I read the first book, there was a storm developing in the back of my mind. Something was bothering me and it took probably two thirds of the first book before I realized what the problems were.

While the kernel of his story was intriguing, and some what original, Stackpole didn't give enough detail where it counted. While he would spend sentence after sentence on the description of a characters clothing, it took me seven hundred pages to fully realize that Resolute, the elf that kidnapped Will way back in the beginning, wore his hair in a tall, spiked mohawk. The bad guys, in my imagination, where a kinda colored blur. The grunt soldiers were this kinda black dog/monkey/cat shape and the evil "lieutenants" where a kinda bird like white shape. And it was like that with many things.

The other problem was his voice. How he wrote, was convoluted. It was like being told to go stand on the X and being shown into a room where there was a giant path painted in white on the floor, ever spiraling towards the X at the center and the only thing that prevented me from crossing all the white lines and gaining the X in three simple strides where the instructions: please stay on the path.

Pointless.

Frustrating.

Another problem was his relentless repetition. It drives me to distraction when an author repeats himself, repeatedly (ha!) And I don’t mean the sharing of information between characters within the dialogue. Understandably, if Joe didn’t see what Frank saw, then Joe has to learn of it somehow. I am referencing when the author repeats himself in the narrative, with stenographic detail, time after time after time. I don’t need to be told five times that Slim is six feet four inches tall, and covered in three hundred pounds of finely chiseled muscles (by way of example). I’m smarter than that. And if I’m not, I CAN always look back.

And the third thing that bothered me, was that the series was portrayed as medieval. But no one behaved midieval-esque. Now, I know what you’re asking: How do YOU know what medieval behavior is like? Where you alive back then? Do you have a time machine Mr. No-Published Critic? Do you go back and perform clandestine StarTrekian studies of primitive cultures?

No. But I do know this: they didn’t behave like people do now. A fifteen year old in, say, 1200 was half way to the grave. If it was a girl, she was probably married off. If it was a boy, he was probably looking pretty seriously at getting married and in either case they not only had the ability to function as adults, but many times where expected to. Not so in Stackpole's universe. Teenagers acted like modern spoiled rich kids. Even the characters that were supposed to be hundreds of years old, didn’t behave like it.

To be continued . . .

Frustration, Part 6

2009-04-02T08:33:00.003-05:00

Yes, that’s right. Will Norrington, the Scourge of Evil, the Bane of Wickedness Incarnate dies after nine hundred pages of adventuring.

And that is the end of book two. Will dies, leaving his companions dumb struck.

The End.

Or rather "Next book coming soon; I know, I know, Write faster"

So, I didn’t panic. I knew it was going to be a trilogy before I started the second book. I even read the back of the third book to see if it actually belonged to the trilogy, so I knew Will was going to die from page one of book two. I just didn’t know anything about the scenery on the drive there.
But I did know this: I was reading a fantasy.

I finished Book Two thinking, "Okay. They killed him. I knew that was coming. But he has dragon blood in him. He’ll come back some how. Stacky will bring him back some how. Lets find out how."

So, I went to the library and procured The Grand Crusade. And discovered it to be anything but.

The focus of the story was told mainly from that Princess that you’ll remember I could have taken or left, the Golden Wolf (I now remember that her name is Alyx, but I won’t call her that) and Crow.

For half the book they are lamenting the loss of Will the Norrington. Wondering what they are going to do, and doing what ever they have to.

For half the book I am waiting for the return of Will, the one that got me hooked some one thousand pages earlier. For half the book I am waiting for him return and say, "Here I am! Lets go kill the NorWitch!"

And finally, after dragging through two hundred, three hundred pages of Stackpole’s increasingly grating voice (more on that to come) I am finally told that Will’s not dead, he’s just waiting for some of his companions to find him.

Finally. At last.

So some set off to do just that, while others go off to fight in high combat.

Of course I am interested only in the rediscovery of my hero, Will the Nimble, King of the Dims, the Norrington.

And what do I discover? Stackpole has turned him into an enraged golem. At first I think that it really is a golem, in the pure Jewish sense of it being a cocoon, and that Will is incubating within the fire eyed stone monster. Or some such other High Fantasy nonsense. After all, he has dragon blood in him, and, and . . .

Wrong.

Will never does return. He never gets paired with the beautiful Lady Snowflake Isaura, who, though Evil Chytrine’s heir, helps to overthrow her.

Chytrine is killed and the various companions go on to be big muckity-mucks throughout the varied kingdoms. And what is left of Will, or rather what I am supposed to believe is left of Will, goes off into the Far North to relentlessly eradicate the remains of Chytrine’s army.

The End.

I felt so cheated. Robbed. Hood winked. For nine hundred pages I had been following the truly dynamic character that I first discovered hanging from a rope in a rainstorm, waiting to break into the room of the badest dude in the Dims.

And what do I get instead? Some forty-something, scar covered, white haired man named Crow crying like a little girl with a Princess that I found as intriguing a package of steel wool.

I want my money back! Oh, wait . . .

Thank goodness for libraries.

I want my time back! I want my emotional investment back! Oh, well, I didn’t really get in to it that much. In fact, I pretty much had to force myself to finish the last book.

So now you know the general points. Let’s now discuss the important points.

To be continued . . .

The Key to Understanding the Opposition

2009-04-01T08:41:00.005-05:00

"While in the short run the once-victimized may need to be deterred in their anger from harming the United States or themselves, in the long run their legitimate grievances must be addressed through a variety of concessions, apologies, or dialogues in order to promote the general peace. That a Hugo Chávez calls Americans "gringos," or Brazil's President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva blames "white, blue-eyed" bankers for the financial mess, or that state-run Palestinian papers refer to Jews as "pigs and apes," or that the Iranian president serially claims the Holocaust is a concoction of Zionists, is all an unfortunate rhetoric of the oppressed (in the same way Reverend Wright once referred to Italians as "garlic noses"), brought on by colonization and exploitation, rather than proof that a large portion of the world beyond our shores is run by racist -and rather loony- people." - Victor David Hanson

This article, President Obama’s First 70 Days is a MUST read.

Frustration, Part 5

2009-03-30T08:26:00.004-05:00

As a Christian who believes that the life is in the blood and believes in the Power of the Blood of Jesus Christ, I thought it was rather interesting that in the midst of all this written darkness, and believe me it was, would be a pinpoint of light. Here is a character that has been prophesied to be the downfall of evil incarnate who discovers a powerful weapon in his blood. I don’t believe in coincidence. And I don’t believe that Mr. Stackpole even knew what he stumbled upon and then promptly forgot. Because Will never used this new found ability again, nor did he or his comrades explore what other capabilities he might have come back from the brink with.

After this conflict they arrive at Sayce’s country and capital city, and begin to pitch in to resist the Evil Chytrine.

Now remember, the book is skipping all around to multiple characters that I have varying degree’s of care for: from intriguing to pointless. And also remember that, at the heart of the story, there is this crown that has been broken into many pieces.

At Sayce’s city it is discovered that one of the side characters has a piece of the Dragon Crown. I of course know this already as I have been forced to follow along in order to get back to Will. So Will and some of his comrades set out to intercept the side character, which leads to the second of only three scenes in the entire one thousand three hundred pages that I even care about.

Unfortunately, again, Stackpole failed to optimize on it.

In the scene, the rag tag band of men who have assemble around Will have all taken to wearing black masks. All but Crow, who, for his failures twenty-five years earlier, doesn’t feel that he is worthy to wear a mask. Finally, Crow’s formerly estranged brother, another character that was thankfully not granted his own perspective, and Will convince Crow to don the ubiquitous Dread Pirate Roberts mask (sorry, I couldn’t help myself.) Will, who is Crow’s rightful Lord, lays his hand on his shoulder and gives him a new name. Saying something to the effect that Tarrant Hawkings, Crow’s real name, is dead and that Keyden’s Crow is now alive and ennobled.

And then Will should have turned and, viewing the entire band of men that surround him and their various liveries and their unanimous black masks, said, "From this day on, we shall no more be many different soldiers from different countries. But we shall be one people, we shall be known as Keyden’s Raiders!" To which Crow would promptly interject before anyone else could huzzah "No My Lord. We shall be Norrington’s Marauders!" (because that was Will’s last name) to which the entire group would have burst into cacophonous huzzahs. But none of that happened.

And of course, I understand, it’s not my story. I’m just saying.

To make this long story short, so that I can get on to the last book of the three and to the point of my frustration, Will and his group meet up with the above mentioned additional character, another Prince, who is carrying a piece of the desired crown. And at this point a dragon comes onto the scene and begins to eat them for lunch. Literally. The good guys get thinned down, but in the process, one of Will’s companions, a character that was always with Will but I had to be reminded existed, who is an amnesiac, turns out to be a dragon. Apparently taking human form for the first time was so traumatic that it caused him to lose his memory and took getting roasted like an apple by another dragon to wake him from his amnesia. This character was so unnoticed that I had to look back to figure out who it was. "Who? What? What just happened?"

This Companion Dragon beats the bad dragon and the bad guys that have been hounding the good guys and then takes Will and his closest companions, and the piece of the vaunted dragon crown to the hall of the dragons. A very, very, hot, lava filled cave. It is a sort of bazaar, preternatural sauna.

In the dragon’s pad, all of the original companions are reunited. And Will discovers that he has Dragon blood flowing in his veins. For the first time since he was almost killed, he is warm.
The dragon’s hold a congress. And like all good congresses, nothing is decided. Not only is nothing decided, but one of Evil Chytrine’s Lieutenants is given a seat at the table. The individual dragon’s are left to make up their own minds about who they will fight for. While, as a whole, the dragon’s remain neutral.

The companions also learn that the stones set in the dragon crown are actually the true, physical essence of a dragon, their souls if you will. And if they are destroyed, then the dragon that they belong to will also die.

So the bad guy gets one of these dragon true stones and throws the stone into the lava. Or at least attempts too. But Will, without thinking, leaps after it, nimble thief that he is, grabs it and flings it to one of his companions, before promptly bursting into flaming ash.

Again I was scratching my head (my scalp was very tender after this read) because I remembered that the amnesiac dragon, of just a few pages before, while in human form, was encased in lava and that was what "woke him up." But throwing their "true stones" into lava would kill them? Huh? It seems to me that that would be the safest place for them: at the bottom of a lake of lava where no-one could ever get them.

And

Yes, that’s right. Will Norrington, the Scourge of Evil, the Bane of Wickedness Incarnate dies after nine hundred pages of adventuring.

And that is the end of book two. Will dies, leaving his companions dumb struck.

The End.

Or rather "Next book coming soon; I know, I know, Write faster"

To be continued . . .

URGENT! URGENT! URGENT!

2009-03-28T11:21:00.003-05:00

Friends! Bloggers! Compatriots! Lend me your eyes!

Today is the return of Earth Hour. We have been admonished, encouraged, Nay I say, Ordered to "Vote Earth" tonight at 8:30 local time, wherever we are, by turning off all of our lights and electrical components for an hour, to reduce the drain upon great Gaia's loving bosom

Stand fast with me my fellow lovers of freedom! My fellow lovers of man and lovers of the mandate to "be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth"!

Draw your swords with me, my brothers, my sisters! Link your shields in mine! Let the spears of righteous truth be set at array! Let us push back against the onslaught of fascist liberal tyranny!

Tonight, at 8 p.m. local time, turn every light you own on. Activate every electric device you posses. And do not stop in your resistance of stupidity until 10 p.m.

In this fashion we shall show the world, the enemy that here, they shall find no sheep, but men! Hold the line, my brothers, my sisters! Like the mighty Spartans and their faithful servants, we too can hold back the millions of public stupidity!

Vote for man! Vote against the promulgators of violence! Vote for the stewardly dominion of the wild and unruly earth!

Frustration, Part 4

2009-03-24T09:43:00.003-05:00

So, I ran quickly to said library and plucked the sequel off of the shelf and dove in.
When Dragons Rage was pretty much more of the same.

Stackpole created another character for us to view the world through: the heir of the Evil Chytrine, Isuara, or something like that.

The first third of the book involves the trial of Crow and the contrivances to set him at liberty. And while Stackpole’s solution to this dilemma was not unimaginative, if felt forced. Like an easy out. I felt the solutions where decent, but I couldn’t help but think that there must have been a better, cleaner way. It was like a puzzle worth two dollars being sold for ten cents.

Basically, the afore mentioned Golden Wolf, a princess in her own right, with the help of her friends, fakes a marriage with Crow, a man who held her in his arms when she was a baby. This "marriage" elevates Crow from vassal to noble and therefore warrants him another trial, as he had been tried and convicted in abstention. At this point I scratched my head: "This is a medieval-esque world and they try their accused in abstention?" But that’s beside the point. Now, I don’t particularly have a problem with age gap relationships but this solution, as I said above, felt contrived. It was like Stackpole needed a way to get Crow off the hook quickly and pair his Affirmative Action character up with someone.

During the trial, Will is poisoned by a bad guy; one of Evil Chytrine’s lieutenants. But he is then saved by Evil Chytrine’s heir and a dragon in human form (not Evil Chytrine’s heir). The Heir wasn’t really responsible for her actions nor did she know that Will was her mother’s nemesis, and we don’t find out about the dragon until the end of the book.

So Will comes back from the brink; only different. He finds that he is perpetually cold. And something else. And then the trial comes to an end. And just as Crow is being set at liberty, a new character enters. Only this one is (in hind sight) refreshingly different: we never get to see the world through her eyes. Thank goodness. This new character has come for Will, so that he and his comrades can liberate her country from the Scourge From the North, the Evil Chytrine.

A couple chapters after Stackpole created Isaura I began to see that she and Will would be paired up. Or at least, I thought that they should be. But then entered Sayce, the previously mentioned new character. She was described as a red headed beauty. So Isaura, who Will never really met, did not stand a chance.

So the comrades set off to liberate Sayce’s country. Along the way they encounter the enemy and that something-else-different-about-Will is exposed. It seems that he has developed the incredible ability to make commands that must be obeyed.

In the only moving part of the entire thriteen hundred page story, Sayce is knocked down in a fight and Will, who has been injured and is bleeding all over the place, leaps to her defense. He stands over her unconscious body and shouts to the enemy:

BY MY BLOOD, YOU WILL NOT PASS! Lo and behold, anywhere that Will’s blood has fallen, the enemy cannot get through. So he starts splattering his blood all over the place, effectively, temporarily holding off the assault. Long enough to gather up the fallen damsel and beat a hasty retreat so that his comrades can regroup and set about the annihilation of their enemies.

As a Christian who believes that the life is in the blood and believes in the Power of the Blood of Jesus Christ, I thought it was rather interesting that in the midst of all this written darkness, and believe me it was, would be a pinpoint of light. Here is a character that has been prophesied to be the downfall of evil incarnate who discovers a powerful weapon in his blood. I don’t believe in coincidence. And I don’t believe that Mr. Stackpole even knew what he stumbled upon and then promptly forgot. Because Will never used this new found ability again, nor did he or his comrades explore what other capabilities he might have come back from the brink with.

To be continued . . .

Frustration, Part 3

2009-03-23T00:02:00.001-05:00

But it didn't stop there. More characters were created and given their own chapters, their own perspectives. So that Will, the character that had drawn me in, lost even more storytelling time. At the back of my mind, while I am reading about so-and-so, I was wondering "When are we going to get back to the story?" It was like commercials interrupting my favorite show.

Stackpole’s constant shifting of perspective, chapter after chapter, got to the point where I would skip ahead until I found the chapter that picked up where the last one left off. One time it was five or six chapters. Of course I did go back after that current conflict was resolved to my satisfaction.

I have never been the type of person who starts a book by reading the last chapter first. Therefore I did not know that Fortress Draconis was only Book One of Three until about seven-eighths of the way through, when it became obvious that there was no way that Stackpole could wrap everything up satisfactorily.

My philosophy is that there is as much joy in the journey, as in the destination. Sometimes even more. (Like a road-trip with good buddies to a lackluster beach with no reef and flat waves.) Unfortunately, stories are not exactly, dirrectly comparable to real life experiances. That’s why we have them. To satisfy some vicarious desire that we have. The ending of a story can either ruin the journey, or redeem it.

So Will travels through out the realm, slowly maturing as he goes. Rallying together some of the other main characters that I have mentioned above. He meets the Azure Spider and finds out that the thief is nothing to be idolized. He travels, towards the end of the story, to Fortress Draconis, for which the book is named, only to leave it promptly before it gets blown to little bits. And the book ends with Keyden’s Crow, who has become a father figure to Will, being arrested and led away for being a traitor to his home country. A grisly death awaits him. Or does it? We don’t know. Why? Because he left us hanging!

The end.

Or rather, Stackpole saying something like "Next book coming soon; I know, I know, Write faster." Literally.

Thank goodness that this series was published 01-03. Or my current opinion would be even lower. I hate cliffhanger endings in books and movies. Cliffhanger endings are a dishonest, cheap, and unethical means to fleecing "fans." Entertainments that employ this gimmick are created for the sole purpose of making money and should not be patronized, and in fact, are worthy of a silent boycott. I think that cliffhangers belong at the end of chapters to keep you turning and at the end of TV episodes to get you to tune in next week. But not when you have to wait an entire year and then spend seven to twenty-five bucks to get strung along for another two hours or four hundred and fifty pages.

That said, thank goodness for libraries.

So, I ran quickly to said library and plucked the sequel off of the shelf and dove in.
When Dragons Rage was pretty much more of the same.

To be continued . . .

Frustration, Part 2

2009-03-21T08:47:00.005-05:00

Continued from Frustration, Part 1

Even as I write, some part of me hesitates in being perfectly frank. Perhaps it's my conscience protesting my participation in "bad literature" or I am embarrased of what my very good friend's mom will think about me. But the truth is, I am not ashamed of having read the story. I actually learned something productive.

My motivation for picking up this particular series stems from a recent interested in the "big name authors." I am curious to see what makes them so popular. And so far, I have been unanimously disappointed with the big name authors.

But we are discussing Stackpole. And specifically the last three books of the DragonCrown War Cycle. (Say that three times fast.) As the title describes, the story is ultimately about a crown that has been created, and subsequently broken into pieces, to control dragons and the quest of the main antagonist to gather the dispersed pieces and reassemble them so that she can burn the world off and free the original adversaries of the dragons. [The dragons are depicted as sentient, extremely long lived (think millennia) creatures. And actually have very little time in the series.]

But I am getting ahead of myself.

The first book [actually the second in the cycle but the first that I read ( I didn't, nor do I plan on reading the first)] opens with the introduction of the main protagonist, Will. A fifteen year old thief who is pulling the biggest heist of his life on the toughest thug in the Dims, the main slum of what could be described as the America of Stackpole's created world. His entire life's ambition is to become the greatest thief ever, better than even the most notorious thief of them all, the Azure Spider.

However, his heist goes South and he is discovered by said thug and subsequently pursued through the slums. Ultimately he is cornered and as the thug is demanding the return of his stolen goods, young Will is rescued by a man and an elf with an odd name. Not what you think. It's Resolute. But is he really rescued? Will is beginning to think not.

Sound interesting? That's why I picked it up and allowed it to suck me in.

It turns out that Keyden's Crow, the man, and Resolute are basically kidnapping young Will. But no worries; Will is the orphaned son of a dead prostitute who has been raised by Fagan. No, that's not the man's name but that is obviously who Stackpole patterned the character after. I don't remember what the name is but he takes in orphans and teaches them to steal, among other things, and when they get too old to control, he "sends them away." And we all know what that means. Though we never actually meet "Fagan" and it is never expressly said, we get the impression that Will is soon to be "sent away" and Will, on some level knows this, as he is planning his big heist to please "Fagan" with his haul.

Again, no worries, because, remember, Will is being kidnapped.

The man and the elf turn out to be battle hardened warriors engaged in a two man campaign against the Evil Northern Empire Aurolan, or something like that, seeking the Chosen, Prophesied One who will defeat the Evil Chytrine. And they think that Will might just be that person.

My biggest disappointment came when several chapters in, Stackpole changed the view of the narrative from that of Will to a, at the time, seemingly secondary character. The previous chapter ended with Will and his kidnappers-lately-turned-mentors escaping into the wilds. The whole point of a chapter ending with a cliff hanger is to keep you hooked, keep you turning pages. I turned the page and discovered, not a gentle fan to keep the fire of my interest alive, but a cold wall of water. I was confronted with the perspective of the Golden Wolf. And I was left wondering, "Who is this woman and why should I care about her?" And the truth is, I never came to care about her. She was this Wonder Woman of a character who issued nonsensical orders and seemed to be created solely for the purpose of fulfilling some affirmative action requirement. Her adoptive sister, who hardly got any time in the entire series, captured my attention much more than the chapters and chapters of the Golden Wolf. I could have cared less if Stackpole had killed her off.

But it didn't stop there. More characters were created and given their own chapters, their own perspectives. So that Will, the character that had drawn me in, lost even more storytelling time. At the back of my mind, while I am reading about so-and-so, I was wondering "When are we going to get back to the story?" It was like commercials interrupting my favorite show.

To be continued . . .

Frustration, Part 1

2009-03-15T18:20:00.003-05:00

I am beginning to understand how James Fennimore Cooper and C.S. Lewis and the Inklings felt.

The first is reported to have thrown a book across the room in disgust, exclaiming to his wife that he could write a better novel than the one that he had just finished. She, of course, as all good little wives do, challenged him to do it then. Which he did. And apparently he wasn't wrong, because he became one of the greatest novelists of his time. Perhaps you've heard of The Last of the Mohicans? I read many of his books as a teenager, and loved them, despite the fact that you can skip entire chapters and not miss a thing. He is rather verbose. And loves expounding upon the glories of a single blade of grass.

C.S. Lewis and his associates where disappointed in the lack of modern literature that they could enjoy. So they decided that, if nothing else, they could wright what they liked and pass it around among themselves. One of the funniest stories that I have heard about their meetings was when Tolkein began to read some of his completed work in his deep, monotone voice, another associate said " . . . No! Not more elves!"

What has brought me to this current point of frustration? I'm glad you asked.

I can count on one hand how much Fantasy I have read in twenty-five years, and on two fingers how much High Fantasy. My current disposition comes after 1300 pages of wasted time spent on a Stackpole trilogy.

It started out Innocent enough: with a good cover, and an intriguing title: Fortress Draconis.

Now, I knew Stackpole was a fantasy writer and as a rule, I don't read Fantasy or encourage the reading of Fantasy. Much less High Fantasy. There's that whole, "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" thing. The realization and conviction that I have about witchcraft is that its practice is diametrically apposed to Christ and his teachings.

Never-the-less, I was curious. (I know, I know, "what killed the cat?") So I grabbed the book and began reading right there in the library isle. And it intrigued me. I did not encounter any foul language and as I skimmed through the book I didn't encounter any, shall we say, unbecoming behavior, or sorcery. So I took it home. And the story itself drew me in.

It wasn't long, however, before I encountered what my casual inspection had missed: the demons, and then the witches.

Even as I write, some part of me hesitates in being perfectly frank. Perhaps it's my conscience protesting my participation in "bad literature" or I am embarrassed of what my very good friends mom will think about me. But the truth is, I am not ashamed of having read the story. I actually learned something productive.

to be continued . . .

AWOL

2009-02-21T17:19:00.003-06:00

It is ironic that I should talk about Mike Tyson's Knock-Out and then promptly discover what I have been looking for for several years now.

Of course, I have to give Belle all the credit for my discovering.

Shortly after I left my New Years post, I came home and found Shannon labouring over Karsten's CarGame. Something she had discovered through her endless perusal of the blogosphere. Naturally I had to help her out. Which of course led me to playing some of his other games. Nibbly is kinda fun too. Trouble Underground is irritatingly fun. One mistake and you have to start over from the beginning. These three are puzzle solving. So, you won't feel like you're wasting any time if you play them. I never do anyway.

But naturally, I wasn't satisfied with these games. The challenges that they presented were stimulating . . . but one can only chase his tail so many times (a hint for Nibbly) before he grows tired.

So I did a query on the web for Nintendo Entertainment System Games Online, or something like that.

I struck gold, much to my surprise. A couple of years ago I did the same thing and found nothing. Butkis. Zip. Nada.

Not so at Everyvideogame.com. I discovered more NES games than I ever imagined existed.

And I was shocked at how lousy 1980s/90s Cutting Edge Video Game Technology was.

It is amazing how the mind embellishes memory. How we remember everything, good memories at least, as being much better than they really were. I wonder, with a great deal of certainty, if the same can be applied to "bad memories."

Granted there are those moments in our past that really are incredibly wonderful and incredibly horrible. But are there really, now, as many as we remember?

If you're curious to see what 1980's children's entertainment looked like, then follow the links.

This is Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!! the game that I talked about playing with my buddy Dan.

I never had an NES. But my neighbor James did. Our favorite game was Contra. He also had Double Dragon which ironically doesn't really have anything to do with dragons and everything to with street brawling and rescuing the kidnapped girl. AND it has, indisputably, the best score ever created for a video game.

He also had Ninja Gaiden my favorite single player game.

And last but not least, one of my brothers, who had an NES briefly, had Life Force which, I believe, pretty much sums up the list of games that I played as a child that I wanted to, as we called it then, flip. That is what we called beating games. "Did you flip that game?" "Dude, I totally flipped Ninja Gaiden last night!" You get the picture.

If you're familiar with gaming or like gaming then you have to check out these small tokens of all but buried history. And I have to say, if you think the games they make today are hard, then you have never played the old NES games. They are difficult to the point of inducing insanity. I don't know what kept us kiddies coming back. I have my opinion on the matter, but I'll save it for another post. Lets just say that I am totally grateful for saved games.

His True Talent Exposed

2009-01-13T09:05:00.003-06:00

So we saw this on TV the other week. I don't normally watch SNL, but after they did the Sarah Palin skits I started just checking in.

It was a re-run of a Ben Affleck hosted episode. Now, I have come to call Ben Affleck what Thomas Sowell calls him: Ben Afflicted, or what I call him Ben Can't-Act-fleck. I think he is a horrible actor, and I couldn't tell you why. Unlike his buddy Matt, I just don't believe him. But I think that you will all come to agree with me that the following parody is brilliant and brilliantly performed. Well worth watching over and over and over. Perhaps sketch comedy is where his true talent lies.

That, and I love it when the left lampoons itself, when someone has become so obnoxious that even his cohorts can't help but ridicule him.

Enjoy

New Years Resolution

2009-01-01T13:50:00.003-06:00

2008, which was over just as quickly as it began, went out with a whimper, like every other year since Sep. 11, 2001. Thank God.

Why did I say that?

Because I haven't forgotten the day that 3000 Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, Grandparents, and Cousins, got brutally blown into the next life by the Religion of Peace.

Every New Years since, I hold my breath as the hours and minutes tick down.

It's not like when I was a kid and would spend the night at my buddy Dan's. His parents always had way cool New Years Eve Parties. All those parents and kids filling up the house with warm conversation. The Mike Tyson's Knock Out tourneys with all the kids; the monster game of hide and seek outside. And staying up past midnight, AND the parents knew and were not only cool about it, but encouraging it! *Gasp!*.

You know that feeling you get when you've just had the best day ever? All full and warm and fuzzy inside? That's what the memory's like for me.

But now, that I'm verging on 1850's middle age-edness, I hold my breath and pray. 1 million merry makers revelling in the new year: a terrorist's supreme fantasy. Don't get the wrong impression, I'm not on my knees interceding for humanity and this country, though I should be. But I'm just observing, asking God for his mercy.

Thank God for our President, who is willing to be the butt of the entire worlds jokes if it means he saves one innocent life. American or otherwise.

Thank God for our Volunteer Warriors who lay their lives on the line everyday, not because they are ordered to, but because if they lose their life saving one innocent life, it was worth it.

IF you ever need some perspective on this world that we live in, read the stories about the Medal of Honor recipients coming out of Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm a grown man and I get choked up when I hear about men falling on grenades to protect their comrades; women, who should not be in combat, going into hot zones to take medicine, school supplies, and candy to children who have never seen medicine, school supplies, or candy. You should look into the Lionesses.

But we had Captain I Know and his first mate the expectant Mail Order Bride over last night. I bought scrabble earlier in the fall. I remember my mom playing it when I was a child, and decided that I wanted it too. It's been great! We've had more people over in the last month than in the last 8 years. Scrabble is a great ice breaking attractant. And if you have a sense of humor, it makes for a blast. Especially when your wife and your best friend are actively, openly engaged in Scrabble War. Doggedly determined to get the highest score. And me? I didn't even break fifty points, after penalties, on the second round. (I had lousy tiles! And I was first, which we all know, The First Shall Be Last.) But it is kinda sad when the non-native English speaking player beats you. Thems the breaks.

They left about 1: or so; me popping up every now and then the whole night to check in on Fox News, just to make sure that nothing had happened. Nothing happened. Belle went to bed about 1:30 almost 2: Bizarrely abnormal for her. She's normally narcoleptic after 8, but she drank some coffee at 9, that and the sweet thrill of victorious scrabble combat was still coursing through her veins.

I went to bed a little later, okay, a lot later. Late enough to be early enough for Shorty to get up and ask for a pre-breakfast snack. She had cold meatloaf by computer monitor light. I thought it was an hour earlier than it really was.

So, I helped Shorty finish her snack, hey, I was hungry too, and then as I was on my way to bed, I thought of some new years resolutions:

I resolve to:

Eat More Peanuts

Eat More Li'l Porgey's

Eat More . . . wait, I wonder if I was hungry

New Class Now Available

2008-12-20T11:47:00.006-06:00

So, for some months I have been considering starting a new column here at T.A.A.R.

As you may well have gathered, I love story telling. The conflict, the resolution, the adventure created by brilliant people, and illustrated by your minds eye (reading) or simply visually enjoyed.

That is why I started SpentCasings, to collaborate with my cohorts in a mutually appreciated form (for me, it's a love affair), which failed miserably. (yes, you can read that however you want.) For whatever reason. I don't care any more. I have gotten over the disappointment. And I have not forgotten about SpentCasings either. It just seems like I have.

Then I tried to encourage the exchange of ideas in reading literature with The Looking Glass Wars. And that fell flat too. But that's okay. S'all good.

And to prove that I am undaunted, unfazed by past failures, I am going to begin what I call "Film Deconstruction 101: An interactive study of movies, what works, and what doesn't."

This is the After Action Report after all.

As you may have noticed I like movies, and what you may not have noticed, I am interested in making movies. I also believes that a wise man learns from his mistakes, and an even wiser man learns from ANOTHER MAN'S mistakes. If I can avoid the mistakes that others have made, why wouldn't I?

So, look for Film Deconstruction 101 in the coming weeks.

Justified

2008-12-08T10:15:00.004-06:00

I know that it is not polite ettiquet to blow your own horn. But I can not help doing that this morning.

I am justified.

Last year (or was it longer) on SpentCasings I dressed VanHollen, and was flayed alive for my "bad taste."

But then this morning I discovered these.

I realized that that is only just a small part of her ensemble, and yes, those boots truely are hideous, and not what I envisioned, but it goes to show, that what goes around in fashion, comes back with a vengenance. And apparently someone thinks that they are fashionable.

So again, I can not help but go: HA!

downhere

2008-12-06T10:25:00.008-06:00

So last year, I discovered this band "downhere" (that's how they write it). You'll remember the post I did with two of their videos: The More and A Better Way. It was actually those two songs that led me to buying their album Wide-Eyed and Mystified and it was the tracks that they WERE NOT playing on the radio that got me hooked on downhere. They are my current favorite ACC band. (It used to be BarlowGirl but then they released "How Can We Be Silent" which is just an homage to loudness and lacks the sincerity and fun of their earlier work) I love musicians who sound just as good live as they do on their CDs, it says to me that they have actual talent, and not just a great producer/engineer. And that's downhere.

For example: there's a group in the playlist at the bottom of the page called Wavorly, I love their song Praise and Adore, inspired by one of C.S. Lewis' books, but when I went over to youtube to check them out, I felt sorry for them, firstly because they couldn't cary a tune in a bucket, and secondly because the front man was covered in ink, and not only did he have both ears pierced, but he had those hole producing barrels in his lobes. Now, I don't care if he wants to do that, but the deapth of his relationship with Christ was exposed. Shallow.

That is not the impression I get from downhere. Obviously I don't know them, but their song writing indicates to me a group of men who want to be more, and who want to encourage others to be more, through tracks like Surrender and Great Are You and From Protest to Praise and The Real Jesus.

I said all of this to say that in the course of looking for songs for my playlist, I went to their websight last night and discovered that they had produced another album, Ending is Beginning. I had company over last night so I wasn't able to spend any time there, so I went back there this morning and found the link to Jeremy Theissen's blog, and it was there that I got the imbed above for their new top 5 single, I Am Here.

Hope you enjoy.

Marching Orders

2008-11-12T09:31:00.006-06:00

It is vitally important that we maintain our objectivity.

Mr. Obama, at this writing, is still the President Elect. And it is the Office of the President that deserves respect. I think that it might be a little extreme to wonder if he has to actually kill a child on live TV before his true nature will be fully revealed and people will see him for the monster that many believe him to be. Even where he a monster and he DID do something like that, his acolytes would make excuses for him: "Oh, the child must really be the spawn of Satan, who, by the way, we don't believe in." "Oh, he is going to resurrect him in three days, because, after all he is the M-"

All banter aside, we have to respect the office. We don't have to respect the man. However, the Office demands that we behave deferentially towards the Office Holder.

Confused yet?

Many people are calling Obama the "President-Elect." I do not. I did not Elect him to that office. So, until he becomes President, and I heard today that the fight to prevent that is continuing, I shall be referring to him as The One, Obama, Mr. Obama, or Senator Obama. I know, it sounds like I'm in denial. I am not. I have heard that "respect is not earned, it is given." I do not agree with this philosophy. I agree with the Marines: "Respect: never given, always earned." Honor, on the other hand, IS given. Honor is that thing that makes you say, "Yes Ma'am, No Sir, Your Honor, Officer So-and-so" etc. Some confuse it with good manners. Good manners is not smacking at the dinner table. Respect is deep seated trust. I respect knives, because if used properly they will render great service, if they are misused, they will cut me to the bone. I respect certain men and women because they have proven themselves to be worthy of my respect. Experience is the final authority of who is and is not the recipient of my respect.

So it should come as no surprise that I have no respect for Mr. Obama. I am not even willing to concede that he "fought an excellent fight." That implies that there was some sort of level playing field, which, anyone who is intellectually honest will admit was not the case. But, as it stands now, he is going to be the President of the United States of America, and that does call for a small measure (not much though) of restraint on our parts.

It is ironic that we, the conservative, God fearing patriots are castigated as "intolerant." When in fact it is the liberal, God hating, Country hating people who are intolerant of us, because we don't smoke, drink, or carry on, and it reflects poorly on them. "You can't judge me!" is their rallying cry. "Who are you?" is our response "I've never thought about you before. Can't judge you, huh? Wanna bet?" It is also ironic that the people who claim exemption from judgement are themselves obsessed, compulsive judges.

I am also struck with the evidence of all the conservatives that rioted on election night. How our *cough* candidate ran out to the podium and screamed "Every vote must be counted! And then if we don't win, we're going to take our battle to the courts!" Oh, wait a minute that didn't happened this year. That was AlGore in 2000. Oops. My bad.

As I said earlier. We must keep our chins up, and our noses down. As Bible believing, God fearing Christians our confidence can not be in Government. As Patriots we must continue to fight the good fight in what ever capacity we can. And remember, this was one of the lowest voter turn-out election in years. Obama did win with 3 mil plus votes, which looks like a lot of votes, but he actually only won by 2%. That's right. Obama only got 52% of the vote. THAT makes me sick. All the people, Christians included, who abstained from voting are just as guilty as those Republicans and "christians" who voted for Obama.

We do have a civic duty. If we do nothing else, than we are commanded to pray for those in authority. So let's pray for The One's salvation and the salvation of his entire family.

And to keep you optimistic, you have to read this: Here Are Your Assignments. It will lighten your spirits.

Fools Get What Fools Deserve . . .Eventually

2008-11-05T18:08:00.004-06:00

And we must suffer needlessly with them. But NOT inactively.

It is a good thing that I do not make my living as a political prognosticator. Today, I would be out of a job.

Why did I make the prediction that McCain-Palin would pull it off? Because I believed that common sense and logic would prevail. I had not even begun to understand how far the ideology of IMAGE had metastasized.

Sprite had the greatest overlooked advertising campaign of the 90's: "Image is Nothing . . ."

And when it comes to nothing, no one does it better than Mr. President-Elect Obama.

Two weeks before the election I was feeling good. For the first time I was certain that M-P would win. It was not a sudden epiphanous revelation, but the slow growing warmth of a building fire. I was keeping up with the world on NRO; I was paying attention to the sudden appearance of all of The One's previously suppressed ideas. How he used to sit at the knee of a Communist in Hawaii; how he sought out an unrepentant domestic terrorist to befriend in Chicago; how he had financial dealings with a convicted slum lord whose wife sold him a slice of land from her vacant lot, against local statute, so that a house could never be built on it; how he attended the church services of a black racist for twenty years; how he told Joe the Plumber that he just wanted to spread the wealth around; how he exposed the true reason for becoming the great constitutional scholar he is lauded to be of which there is no evidence: to undermine our founding, binding document; and how he seeks to bankrupt our domestic industries. Ironic that he has stated that he will tax companies that move jobs over-seas and yet he proposes to make it impossible to create jobs here.

I saw all of this information. I thought about it logically. I deduced that there was nothing in the man that qualified him to be CEO of the greatest enterprise in the world. And after encountering others of my opinion I thought: "Ah, there WILL be enough of us, to drag that old grey haired mule across the line ahead of the great black hype."

But I had forgotten that Logic can never win in a conflict with Unchecked Emotion.

The only way that it can prevail in such a fight, is to turn and walk away, or slap the offender silly, in hopes that it will rouse them from their hypnotic stupor. But as they say "I wouldn't hold my breath."

My buddy said that he was going to vote for Obama because he appeared smart. Because he proposed international policies to "repair" our status in the world. What proof was he able to provide of the the alleged intelligence? Sure, he could read a TelePrompter with exceptional skill, but when speaking off of the cuff, he makes Bush seem like a poet laureate. What happened to the papers that all Professors are required to write? Where's his Doctoral thesis? What proof do we have of any real, original intelligence? And our standing in the world? Do Frenchmen spit in your face when you go to the hypermarche? Do Mexicans put their dirty thumbs in your bean soup at the local Hacienda de Tamale? What about what the French President said here last year? Not to mention what he just recently had to say about The messiah. And really, does the bad opinion of someone you don't know three thousand miles away really have any effect on your day-to-day life?

Apparently it does. Even though it doesn't.

So we see that a majority of the nation has ushered in a man who is not qualified to manage a MacWendyKing on Image and Emotion alone.

You've made your bed, now you must lie in it.

Having been wrong before does not prevent me from making another prediction: I believe that the Presidency of Obama will rally the masses from their stupor. When the going gets tough, the tough move to the newly seceded Alaska, under the firm and good direction of President Palin.

Confused Symbolism

2008-11-03T14:17:00.003-06:00

It is hard to believe that the Presidential Campaign that started in 2007 is all but over. It is even harder to believe that we are left with two less than enthusing choices.

My man Thompson, Better Fred Than Dead, came in to weak and got killed off early in the fight. I didn't even get a chance to vote for him in our local primary. I had to scribble the box for Romney. And even that was to no affect after McCain and Huckabee teamed up to sandbag that honorable mormon. And the shu-in from the start of the campaign, Conventional wisdom's choice, Mr. Mayor, Judy Ruliani, went down in flames early. Which was really no great loss to me. If he had been the nominee instead I would have been still holding my nose as I scratched my opposition to Democrat Liberalism. The lesser of two weevils, you know.

When Thompson "suspended" his campaign, I was downhearted. And then when it became apparent that McCain was going to become the nominee for the Republican party, and by proxy the best candidate for us Conservatives Firsts, I became politically morose. I even thought about not voting this year.

But I soon got over that. Not voting, is a vote for the opposition. It's true. Even for those of us who are lost on a sea of blue. We can take some small conciliation in knowing that one red vote will cancel out one blue vote. And if enough of us red coats turn out, we can send those Blue Rebels packin'! Miracles do happen you know. You Betcha!

And then that happened. Palin was summoned from the Great North Country, the land that the contiguous forty-eight forgot. At first I was skeptical. I didn't know hardly anything about her. Except that she was in her early forties, and I had recently seen a picture of her at an Alaskan State press conference, very pregnant with her fifth child and looking good. I knew that she was a Republican, and that she was doing good works there in Alaska, but that was it. But as the days passed I began to grow more confident in the choice. And by the time we arrived at the RNC I was convinced that she was a good choice. And then I heard her speak. And I KNEW she was the best possible choice that McCain could have ever made. If for no other reason than by hearing what all of the media elites and the political pundants had to say: "Oh, this it the biggest mistake McCain could have ever made!" But we know better, don't we, my fellow Bitter Clingers.

It was also at that conference that my boy Thompson gave the most rousing speech of all the has-been fellas. I turned to Belle and said "Why wasn't he talking like this in the primaries? Could you imagine a Thompson-Palin ticket?"

But then McCain, or his advisers, depends on who you listen to, got ahold of Palin and said, "We have got to tone her down. We have to appeal to our beloved moderates. That conservative saber rattling will never do." And the rose bloom had a dark, wet blanket thrown over it. BUT, about three weeks ago the Bulldog chewed a hole in that dirty packing tarp and came out snapping. Just in the nick of time.

But was it enough? We'll know tomorrow night.

You have pro'bly noticed that I haven't said anything about the opposition ticket: Obiden. What's there to say? There's not much to say except that anyone who votes for Obiden is willingly ignor-let me be more blunt: Stupid On Purpose.

I have a good friend, used to be anyway, who is voting for Obiden. And in my rousing conversations with him, I became aware that he was not voting for Obiden out of a logical, conclusive, reasoning, deducing mind. (I know that sounds really bad, but I really do love him. He was closer than a brother for years and years.) My friend is voting for Obiden out of simple emotion. He has been seduced by the image that is Obama. The appearance that he is intelligent. That he is well spoken. That he can restore our standing in the world. I don't doubt that Mr. Obama is smart. The fact that he has gotten as far as he has proves that he has some kind of smarts. However, I believe that they are the smarts created by brawling in the gutter.
And it has served him well. Politics is war after all. If only our combatant had been aware of that.

But the race is not to the swift, nor to the strong, but to him that endureth to the end (NLIT - New Living Incomplete Translation-see how easy it is to create your own version.)

Undoubtedly this has been a race of mixed up mascots. The GOP has the Elephant and the Dems have the donkey. But it has been the great *ah-hem* white Elephant that the media-wing of the democrat party has been pushing toward the wire, and it is the stubborn maverick donkey that you and I have been left with the task of dragging across the finish line.

If you are eighteen. Vote. And when all the rhetoric is boiled down, you are left with only two clear criterion for making your final decision: Your pocket book. And your conscience. If you don't fully understand the greater impact of the financial debate, ask someone you trust to 'splain it to you. And if you don't have a conscience: shame on you.

One final thought. Look everywhere, and they all say that Barry's the next President. Conventional wisdom has thus declared it so. I don't subscribe to that magazine. I believe that McCain and Palin are going to pull this one out of the bag. And I don't believe that it is going to be by 500 votes in Florida. It will be undeniable. This will be the October surprise, only in November. It will be contested by the Dems, but just like in 2000, every time they count the votes, the winner's lead will increase.

Conformity

2008-10-28T19:02:00.004-05:00

Soo very rarely does something come across the net that I find genuinely interesting. You know, all those quizzes and test that you can take. Like "What does your front door say about you." As if you, if you're still living with your parents or with someone else, even chose the color of your door, or even worse, chose your house BECAUSE of the front door. Or the "What kinda mocha are you." Or there is the quizzes that you can take, but never answer every question honestly or at least directly. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. For example: Q: What is your favorite color? A: That color that is like orange but without the yellow, and like pink, but without the white.

Now imagine that the question is not about colors, but something that is actually important. Come on, you know what I'm talking about!

You've prob'ly noticed that I have never done those. What's the point, if I'm not willing to answer each question with the same degree of directness and honesty? It would feel like taking a test but failing it on purpose.

But then I saw something that was being passed around that I thought was really cool. The Blog Readability Test. The concept of something external looking at my blog and judging it, for some reason appealed to me.

So I bounced around to everyone's blog (yes, the entire blog-o-sphere) and saw the collective results. And then I tried mine. And nothing happened. It said "We were unable to check the URL you entered."

"What?" I squinted incredulously at the screen. So I tried it again. Same result. "This stupid thing," I muttered and navigated away. But that wasn't the end. I couldn't help but think about it. I was faced with a problem and I wanted to find the answer. Silly. I know. Then it hit me, lets try it without the preceding web directions. You know, the http and the www. thingies. So I did that. Copied my url without the webdircts and bounced over to the readability test sight. And what did I see? DU-UH! They had already hardcoded the http:// into the page!

So it should come as no surprise that my readability is:

TV Reviews

Go figure. I am in agreement with CowgirlE and Daisy, the lower the scoring the better. If only I could have gotten a Preschool level! Then all my *ah-hem* nemeses would be vindicated.

But Belle and I couldn't figure out how MY blog, with it's monster posts and big worded rants rated an Elementary School comprehension level and hers, with short observations and lotsa pics got a . . . well I'll let her tell you for herself, if she wants to.

. . .

2008-10-15T18:19:00.003-05:00

So it has been almost four months since I last posted. That's pretty lousy. It hasn't been for the lack of action to report on, that's for sure. If I was in the service, I'ld probly be drawn up on charges of "dereliction of duty." You know, not getting my paperwork turned in.

So here's what's happened since I last rambled on about a stupid movie.

On July 10th, I rolled my van. Yeah, I know. Stoopid. It was crazy. Long story short, I'm alright, the dog's alright, and the van was totalled. But, God is good and I was in a new van by the 2nd of August. A newer van. A bigger van. One with a bigger motor that actually moves when you put you foot down.

This is the old van

Sorry, no pics of the new one. It looks just the same as this model, only a little taller. And obviously without the rusty scratches.

Then on July 15th, Puggles, or Mea as some call her, was born and I stayed home for a couple of weeks watching film noir and taking care of Belle. That was the week that the kids had camp. It was nice and quiet. Verrry Niiiiiice. I recommend it for all parents of multiple children. Definitely farm them off whenever you have the chance. That was also the week that that I almost posted. It was a post that was going to be titled "Why I Shouldn't Be A Stay At Home Dad." I'm used to leaving everyday, going and strenuously laboring in some far off place and then coming home every night to a wonderful loving wife and family. I was glad that Belle was back up when she was. Not a moment too soon. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind doing the dishes and making the meals, lunches and breakfasts anyway, but I was beginning to get a little stir crazy.

Those are the two things that stand out the most, in a non-spectacular three/four months filled with the hum-drum of normal life

That, and The Dark Knight! I was pleasantly surprised when I heard Doug Redenius, Vice President of the Ian Flemming Foundation (don't worry, I had never heard of him before yesterday) on the radio agree with me that The Dark Knight is the best movie ever made. If you haven't seen it yet, then what are you waiting for? Come on, you gotta help push it into One Billion. That's right, last I checked, the movie that cost them 1.8 million has grossed, world wide, 980+ million. HooYah!

I was going to post about Film Noir also. I may yet. Our local library is growing it's DVD collection (I think they are planning on putting BlockWood Video out of business). In their stacks they have a burgeoning number of true classics. You know, black and white, before the moral morass of the late sixties, early seventies.

Hey Jak, don't change the name of your blog. You have got a great original name. flowershop girl. It's quick, concise, to the point. It's WHAT you are, not WHO you are. It's a like a scullery maid. It's just her job, it only describes her current position. Not what she wants to be, not what she dreams and hopes and is striving to be. And I think that you have done a pretty good job at telling us what the current flowershop girls wants to be. Something more than she is. If nothing else, it has been good therapy for you.

Saturdays Gone

2008-06-22T16:49:00.005-05:00

What did you do last Saturday? I hope it was more than I did. And more than I am doing today (I started this last Sunday) All I did was lay around and read, and fend off climbing, clambering, screaming, squawking, tricycle motors. (That is actually an accurate description of one.)

I spent the morning reading up on G.I. Joe. When I was about six or seven I was given my first second hand G.I. Joe action figure, Mutt, and that was it. It was on. Until I was thirteen that was all I spent my money on: Joes, and G.I. Joe Comics. Of course, the comics continued past 13.

What got me started on my Joe diving last Saturday is that I bounced over to IMDB (which KitKat has still not answered my question about). They have finally made a G.I. Joe movie, due to be released in '09. And much to my chagrin, I think that they have messed it up but good. I am SO TOTALLY looking forward to being proven wrong. I was whining to Belle that I have been waiting for this movie for ten years, and it threatens ominously to be another X-men.

Now, I was never a big fan of the X-men comics as a whole, all those crazy mutant "powers" with their pretentious, ostentatious galactic conflicts between good and bad mutants while normal humans squabbled in fear and stereotypical prejudice in the background, suffering the consequences of "homo-superior's" actions. But there where certain characters that I did like.

I always liked Wolverine, the tough, military anti-hero who was paternally protective of the defenseless teenage girls on their own. I always liked Storm, her black skin and white hair and ability to control air currents to fly (among other weather related abilities). Who hasn't wanted to be able to fly? I think that it's a Divine inspiration that has managed to prevail in popular literature. But I digress. Last but not least (did you know that Shakespeare coined that phrase?) There's Rouge, who could absorb the abilities of others; the villain who saw the light and was filled with remorse for her wrong actions and, like a good Catholic, sought to make reparations for them.

But then Brian Singer came along and mulluxed it up but good. "I don't want you to read one comic!" he emphatically told his actors. What brazen stupidity! How can you seek to remake something that came into existence before you were born and that, by popular consent, is not even broken? (We won't even bring up his travesty of a Superman) Contrast that action with those of Sam Raimi, of Spiderman. He took stacks of comics to his actors and said, essentially, "Here is your source material, this is what people expect." And boy did they ever. One of the highest grossing movies in the US and the World (7 and 17 respectively).

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against change in movies. With one caveat: the movie must stay within the confines of the source materials "flavor." Unfortunately, from preliminary observations: publicity stills, notation of six different writers (the more writers, the messier the script - many cooks ruin the soup), selection of actors, etc. I am deeply afraid that G.I. Joe is going to be like so many horrid Marvel creations, and NOT like their good ones. Of course, there's only two that I can think of at the moment, Spiderman (that includes all three, yeah, I'll go ahead and put the last one in there) and Ironman, which may be the best superhero movie ever made.

That last statement is hard to make as I love Batman Begins, Chris Nolan's reboot of the Batman franchise which was much needed and anticipated. (Tim Burton trashed it and it just went from one bad garbage dump to the next worst until we were served Batman and Robin on a dirty, fetid plate) But Nolan left out one major story development in Begins that I have always loved. In the movie, Bruce Wayne learns all of his arcane knowledge from Ras al-Ghul. But in the comics, the canon source material for all things Batman, he doesn't even encounter Ras al-Ghul until after he has become Batman and then only because Ras al-ghul's daughter, Talia, introduces them. In the comics he gains his knowledge from a wide variety of sources. He learns his martial arts form a Japanese master, illusion from a Master Stage Magician, detective skills from a Scotland Yard inspector, etc. Batman becomes possible because of the wealth of information that he gathers from many different instructors all over the world through years of study. In the movie, it's like he leaves as a college drop-out and wanders the world as a petty crook (yeah he picks up some martial arts training) but then in a very short frame of time, learns everything he needs from Ras al-Ghul, all in less then ten years, I guess. Now, I'm sure Chris Nolan, who did an awesome job and is a brilliant director, just didn't want to go the montage route or the narrator route, which is old hat for an adventure flic and would be awful for a Batman movie. But it could have be done. That's my only gripe with Batman Begins, and unfortunately, it's big enough to keep it out of the running for Best Super Hero Movie Ever

But I said all of that to get to this: Last Saturday I finished Bull Hunter, that I had barely started the night before and started on the sequel, Bull Hunter's Romance, which I have since finished. (I am now reading Mere Christianity and The Millionaire Next Door.) I thumbed my nose in the stern face of responsibility and maturity and the fact that my shed is a cluttered disaster that I have been needing to clean out and organize all spring and the fact that I haven't gotten into the bees since I hived them in the middle of April. Of course, I can only claim sloth for the last two weekends. Every other time, when I could have actually done something productive I either was, or the weather was not co-operating. But that didn't finish my day: stir craziness set in about at four-o-clock. So what did I do? Five hours later I kissed my girls good night, and told Belle that I loved her and that I would be back in a couple of hours and Cuz and I went to town at nine-o-clock.

Which is why SC wasn't updated. Instead of being productively creative, I was at the shows, watching the reboot of The Incredible Hulk. If it has caught your interest this is all I have to say: Saturday Morning Matinee. Or better yet, twilight pricing. But ONLY after you've watched your paint dry, and your grass grow.

It's not a bad movie, as pg-13's go. It does have some funny parts "You're making me . . .hungry. You won't like me when I'm hungry" Bruce Banner says in stumbling Portuguese. And some other scenes played to the American Pie crowd which WERE NOT funny at all.

Of course, Cuz and I whispered back and forth the whole show, laughing at different points, much to the disdain of our fellow movie goers. Oh, we weren't loud or obnoxious, there were others doing that for us. At one scene, involving a rain storm and a white shirt, one fellow threw both arms into the air and cheered. He was disappointed. hehehe. But one woman did give us a long look after the credits began to roll and the lights came up. It wasn't the hairy eyeball. But almost. I think she was undecided on what to think about us. Perhaps she was reserving judgement because she held similar opinions about the movie. But that's probably transference.

I was not disappointed with The Incredible Hulk because there were several scenes where I felt like the ushers had come in and flipped over to the Soap Opera Chanel or because of the cliches or the convenient rains storms (there is one scene where there is this massive explosion and subsequent fiery inferno at the end of a big fight and it starts raining, out of a clear blue sky) or because I felt like I should be in the front row with two robots. My problem with the movie is two fold: One - it is a Total Reboot. Two - the shocking lack of fidelity.

On the first matter. Ang Lee produced Hulk in 2003, a movie that I have seen once in it's entirety, when it came out on rental. I have never had a desire to see it again. Oh, I've watched it for a few minutes on TV and frankly I do love the scene where the big green guy is being hounded by Comanche attack helicopters and the General, from his command Huey says "Turn it into a parking lot" and the attack choppers launch their rockets and level a big portion of desert monument property. That's pretty cool.

But Ang Lee's project is only five years old. I was expecting this new version to be a sequel, picking up where the last left off and this thought was only encouraged by the fact that the movie opens with Bruce Banner in South America, where we see him in the last scene of Ang Lee's Hulk. But no, as the movie progresses, the writer and director make if very plain that their film is no sequel. As a builder, this really irked me. I would never in a thousand years come to a house that is only five years old and say: "Tear it down!" just because I don't like the trim or the paint colors or how the interior flows. If I was given the task of remodeling or adding to the existing structure I would find a way to correct its weaknesses, improve upon its qualities and leave its perfect parts alone. But that isn't what the makers of The Incredible Hulk have done. They stuck thumb to nose, waggled their fingers and said "Thbbbbbbbbbt!" to Ang Lee. And after they tore his infant house down, they built back a house that was exactly the same! And in some points, worse. One such is demonstratively noticeable. How Banner became the Hulk.

In Lee's version, as a child he was experimented on by his psychotic father and then as an adult he intervened in a lab experiment to save his companions, exposing himself to deadly gamma wave radiation which combined with his fathers previous medlings to produce the rage induced monster. In this current product, Banner's hardly controllable transformation is brought about by experimenting upon himself. You tell me, which is better?

On the Second Matter. The lack of fidelity. We discover that Bruce has not talked to the love of his life Betty Ross in five years (further muddying Ang Lee's waters). When he goes back to society he checks in on the girl of his past, and discovers that she has moved on. Met a new man and is apparently in a relationship with him, as is demonstrated by their mutual affection. But the moment that Betty discovers that not only is Bruce still alive, but that he is within reaching distance, she dumps the new beau as fast as you can say "Jack Spratt." As a dude, observing this action, I would have instantly been put upon my guard. "Wait a minute now . . . I'm out of you life for five years and you've moved on to a new man and now that I'm back you're just gonna run away from this guy without a word? What happens if/when I have to run again? Are you gonna go back to him?" I would have preferred to see that love expressed differently. Either she hadn't moved on, was still single, saving herself for her man, or "Bruce I love you, I'll always love you, like a very good friend. By the way this is Joe, my whatever. Anything you need that I can do for you, I'll do it." Instead, it was just plain ol' lust. "Oh, the object of my old desires, lets get it!"

The one good thing about The Incredible Hulk was the casting of Edward Norton. He is a very good actor and it helps that he is this short, scrawny man who then turns into this giant green monster. The polar differences are pretty cool. The advancement of computer technology helped also. This Hulk looks much better than Ang Lee's. He doesn't look like an over grown, simple minded farm boy. More like a professional wrestler, complete with lowered chin pointing down from broad shoulders to tapered waist.

So that's what I did last Saturday. And today is not shaping up to be much more exciting.

"Some Clarification Required."

2008-05-24T10:36:00.001-05:00

On my post of May 11, in the comments section, KitKat made the statement "Maybe the wall is more like the protect and provision of God to new Christians... " to which I replied "I don't believe that God gives the new believer any special EXTERNAL protection. I think that philosophy is Once Saved Always Saved. What He gives them is internal, New Found Virtue by which they can resist the old familiar external temptations."

So after I had posted that comment, I continued to think about it and God brought this verse to my mind: Ps 91:1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 2 I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. 3 Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. 4 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

Psalms 17 and 36 also speak of the Shadow of the Almighty.

And then I was listening to Scorbee at work the other day and I heard this: Job 1:8 And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil? 9 Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, Doth Job fear God for nought? 10 Hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land. 11 But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.

So we see that God does afford external protection for his saints, but the effectiveness of that protection is dependent upon OUR actions. We must dwell (live, have all of our existence) in the secret place of the Most High in order to abide under the Shadow of the Almighty.

I like the imagery of the Over Shadowing Wing of God, like a nesting fowl protecting it's young from the elements and from predators. At any time, the young chick can scurry from that protection, and at anytime the wandering chick can return, without impedance, into the protective warm.

I saw a very good picture of this the other day at the local home supply store. A pair of Geese had made their nest in one of the planter boxes right in front of the store. The sitting goose would raise its head as high as it could and hiss and bend upon every person who approached too close the Hairy Goose Eye. The third to last time that I was there, I noticed with delight, that two of the eggs had hatch. Two little yellow fluff balls where staggering about the nesting mound. For a brief period the attendant goose stood upon the nest and the two chicks huddled beneath it. Then when it was time for the goose to sit back upon the three remaining eggs, the two goslings where foisted out to huddle by themselves, looking most forlorn, if I can take the liberty of transferring my human emotions to the dumb beasts.

This has invoked in me a very curious notion. Can we not learn from God's glorious creation how we ought to behave? In the scope of this discussion, I would say that the goslings are mature Christians, and the attendant Goose is like God. That would then make the un-hatched eggs "new believers", unquestionably, inexorably dependent upon the covering and warmth of the sire and dam for existence. If we are called to be like Christ, who was God, that then places an incredible responsibility upon us for the well being of new believers.

On Prince cough Caspian

2008-05-17T13:27:00.010-05:00

Honestly? I have been looking forward to this movie's release. I thought that the first movie was awesome, after having seen it in the theaters (more on that later). I think that Belle was looking forward to it more than I was though, because it means a Big Night for her. The kids go to Grandma's and then we get all polished up and go and have a nice steak dinner and then we sit side by side for two hours with no "distractions" and then Saturday morning rolls around and there still aren't any kids to wake her up three times a night (I'm a heavy sleeper. It takes dynamite to wake me) and she gets to sleep-in, undisturbed, till about eight or so. I don't know, I was still asleep. At nine.

I have been looking forward to this movie, but not nearly as much as some others on the Blogosphere. In preparation for the release, I dug our copy of the book out last month, or so, and read it as I was driving back and forth from work. In small bites, it took me a couple of days.

When I was done with the book, I was disappointed. I wanted more. I wasn't satisfied with what I got. I wanted more detail, more action. More, substance. And then I realized, that C.S. Lewis' target audience had been children, and for a kid, 6, 7, 8, it was probably a great story. But despite this lack of satisfaction, that is pro'bly a better way of describing my thoughts, I new that as a book, it would never translate directly over into a film, like, say, Lord of the Rings did. One, it would ultimately be too short, and two, it would just be a lousy motion picture. So I was curious to see how they would make it work, and made more so by the trailers that I started to see.

Belle had been Lurking flowershopgirl, because of Jak's impending information regarding her special pre-release showing of the movie, and had relayed to me what Jak had said. So I was prepared to be disappointed, with at least the beginning. Belle and I had also been talking, over steak, that with movies like this, it's best to try and curb your expectations with the exception of two: that it would be good, and that if it wasn't better, then at least it would be as good as the first one.

After much thought, I have decided that I am disappointed with it.

Now, so that I don't get screamed at for spoiling it for you, don't read any further. Go watch it, form your own opinion and then come back and finish reading. All you need to know from me, at this point, is that it's PG, though how they pulled that off I will never know, and that there is absolutely no language or sex. And Moms and Dads, if you let your kids watch this movie, but won't let them watch LOTR, I only ask: Why? Are minators, satyrs, centaurs, fauns, hags, werewolves, incantations, and evil sorceresses really better than orcs (goblins/demons) getting what they have coming to them? But, that's another discussion.

Now. On with the story

I like the way that it opened. It wraps up that whole Prince Caspian sub-story in the first ten minutes, where if they had transliterated it, it would have taken at least a half hour. And though that whole scene would have made a good TV slot, it would have been kinda slow in a Motion Picture.

I was very surprised that the first scene that you see the Pevensie kids in, one is a lying snob, and another is a brawling jerk with a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder. The writers failed to realize that, yes, they were children in the real world, but in Narnia, they had already lived a lifetime. Aslan had breathed upon them. They had grown out of their childishness, their "adolescent fears." This would have made them odd in the real world. Superior, in the true sense, and very mature in their comportment. It had only been a year for them; the memories of a lifetime in Narnia would still be fresh, vibrant, overshadowing their behavior. If the one had been approached by a curious boy she would have been sweet and understanding. And if the one had gotten into a scrap, say, defending the defenseless, he would never have been mastered. He really would have "sorted" it. Narnian years of martial training would have seen to that. Especially when later, he "takes it to the enemy."

Its convenient how they explained how Trumpkin comes to be captured by Telmarines and about to be drowned, though I don't know how or why in the world they would have taken him all the way to Cair Paravel to do it. Where was Mirazes castle anyway?

The mice were cool. Vicious little assassins. Ankle and throat slashers.

I liked the added scene: the storming of Mirazes castle. That was cool. The gryphons are awesome. I want one. The best scene is when Edmund is deposited on the minaret roof and then you just see gryphon feet silently snatch up the wary guard. But then it turned into what it did. And it ended very poorly. When Glenstorm nods to his son, all those Narnian's left behind would have rallied to at least try and make a difference.

And what is up with the whole Susan/Caspian thing? And the kiss at the end? That just made her look easy and loose. Are they trying to set her up for The Last Battle? What can we expect in Dawn Treader? Painted face and riding in hot rods with boys? Sorry, I forget for a moment that that is an American institution. I could understand the initial reaction: Caspian to himself: That's Queen Susan? Dang, she cute! Susan to herself: Oh, that's Caspian? Wow, he handsome! But then to have it turn into some sort of romance? How? When did they have time? Comradeship forged by war, absolutely. It was a waste of time to try and gin up anything more. It left me confuzzled and ultimately disappointed. Did they really need to pander to the teeny-boppers like that?

The best part of the movie: when Edmund delivers Peter's letter to Miraz. That was clever, and smart. That whole scene was awesome.

Come to think of it, I think that Edmund was not only the best actor in the bunch, but his scenes where the strongest.

And then it just ends. The kids go home, and inside of thirty seconds the credits roll. What about all that conflict at the beginning? Where is the resolution to that? Where is the change in those two unlikable characters that we thought we knew?

There is no resolution to their real world predicament. There is no evidence of change in their previously flawed characters.

Even when "Phyllis" is given the chance to make right her wrong, she doesn't. Are we left to believe that perhaps the director saw nothing wrong with this behavior? Where were the producers who owned the rights to the story? Why didn't they set this wrong right?

And where was Aslan? You hardly see him at all. He was much more predominate in the book.

Ultimately, there were too many mistakes, and not just minor. Too many cliched shots, like five people hiding in bright clothes behind a small pile of logs in the middle of hundreds of pairs of eyes, some of which belonged to war tested Generals and Kings; falling off of towers with smiles on faces to be snatched up by flying wings, like Gandalf from Fellowship; blurry, slow motion sword fights that were always awful anyway but made archaic with the advent of Hero and House of Flying Daggers and Gladiator. And far too many cliche's in the dialogue. To many "You're not what I expected . . .Neither are you" lines for at least the first hour and a half. There was a point where the dialogue and the action got noticeably better, or perhaps it's more accurate to say that I didn't notice anymore cliches. It became more natural, fresh, flowed smoother. I think it was about the castle scene or just after.

I would really like to know who wrote what? Three people wrote this one; four for TLWW. Unless it's a writing team, that writes better as two people than most people by themselves, you run the risk of muddying the waters. Many times you end up with wallpaper over original paint and new paint over that wallpaper and new wallpaper over all of that: a great big mess. (exactly)

Now, I understand that their target audience was PG; children. But they forget about all of the adults who, as children, read the books and were looking forward to an acceptable interpretation of Master Lewis' dream. My girls won't be watching this one when it comes home on DVD. At least not for a while. 10, 12, 13 maybe. And if they were targeting children, then why was it so violent? I was expecting it to be like the first, with it's cut away scenes. Is that what they want? Stupid, silly, loose, violent children?

It was nothing like Enchanted, which I think is the cutest movie I have ever seen. Enchanted is kid friendly, at lest until the end, but smart and honestly funny. Prince Caspian had none of that. Smart and Original were left unemployed for too long.

But honestly, Incomplete, what do you expect from the director of Shrek? But the first one was so good! Yes it was. In small doses. The more you watch it, the more it's short comings are made apparent. As good as it is, it is no Princess Bride: timeless

Would I recommend going and seeing Prince Caspian? Sure. But only once. And if you can catch the twilight matinee (5 bucks around here) do that. Cuz called me on the phone and asked me what I thought. I gave him the nutshell of this briefing. He's gonna go check it out.

It's not bad. It's just not nearly as good as it could have been. What would be cool, in my humble opinion, is if they fired the director and got someone fresh. Maybe Michael Bay is available, or John Favreau, or even Kurt Wimmer. Heck, maybe Sam Raimi would even consider it, as long as he didn't try and push it over the top like he did with Spider Man 3. Of course, my preferred choice would be Peter Jackson, but that's expecting too much. After all, he is already getting a good slice of the pie with Weta doing so much already.

The second best part of the movie? Regina Spektor and The Call. I can't get enought of it.

I won't be buying any of her albums, but I love her voice. Blue eyed soul wrapped in an anti-folk package. Makes me think of my sis KitKat and my sisinlaw KT. Not the voice, the face and the behavior. I spent two hours last night watching her videos on YouTube. Let's just say, she needs Jesus.

So, go enjoy. And don't be afraid to tell me where I'm wrong. I crave change.

Long time no . . . write

2008-05-11T20:29:00.004-05:00

So there really isn't any room for me to say "It feels like forever since I've written" because it has been.

My excuse? The usual: extremely busy. Everyone wants to be their own boss, own their own business, reap the benefits of cutting out the Middle Man who's getting all the money any way, of orchestrating their work schedule as they like. They want all the glory, not realizing that owning your own business is a LOT of work.

I knew that it would be, but I didn't know how much. I think that it's something like courtship. You find yourself madly in love with a person and you just want to spend all of your time with them and you don't see any of their faults, the fire, or passion, is burning white hot, welding hot(I like to use blacksmith terminology). Sparks fly (the euphoric ones) and all is bliss. Then you get married and the fire cools, as it is supposed to (if the fire stays welding hot for too long, the metal burns up) and you discover that you never REALLY new the person you were so crazy about. Then the work begins. I believe that God created this. Because if we new before hand how difficult it was going to be, very few people would ever do it willingly.

I think that that is why so many business (and marriages) fail. Because they didn't know what they were getting into (who does?) and they were never able to get the heat just right. In business, they work too hard, take on too much work, fail to control the quality-the fire got too hot. Or they didn't work hard enough, or they thought that they didn't have to work hard, or they "lost their shirt" too many times-the fire was too cold. I have come to strongly believe that life is a razor's edge. Jesus put it the best way: 13Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: 14 Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it Matt 7.

Pilgrims Progress depicts it as a walled lane. I don't agree with this view. I think that the Christian walk, and life, is a narrow hogback. On the left hand is the world and all of its sorrows, on the right hand is the Religious System and all it's confusion. I am always encouraged by Jesus' prayer in John 17 13 And now come I to thee; and these things I speak in the world, that they might have my joy fulfilled in themselves. 14 I have given them thy word; and the world hath hated them, because they are not of the world, even as I am not of the world. 15 I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil. 16 They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world. 17 ¶ Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth. 18 As thou hast sent me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world. 19 And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through the truth. 20 ¶ Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word; 21 That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. 22 And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: 23 I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me. Doesn't that just reverberate in the core of your being?

I was saying that I didn't agree with Mr. Bunyan's depiction of the Christian walk. I think that the way is lined with narrow gates, Jesus Christ, admitting all who find it freely onto the narrow way. But not all travelers have experienced the long journey. Jesus again said as much with the parable of the hirelings; how the master hired men all through the day and payed them all the same wages at the end of the day.

But how did I get on to all of that?

I have been busy. The project that I have been on since last June is finally winding down. Pro'bly in the next three weeks I'll be all wrapped up. Of course, I have been saying that for the last three months. But my customer is awesome and the job has been really good. I don't have anything major lined up after, but God has always provided for us. Our needs are always met. I have discovered that I am only limited by my own motivation.

So, okay. I think that that is probably pretty good for now.

P.S. For those of you who have linked to me, or tagged me, thanks. I love you guys, and I love that you're thinking about me, and please don't be offended when I don't tag you back. Feel free to ask me why, if you want.

I'm outy.

At Long Last

2008-02-24T16:58:00.002-06:00

I was listening to THE MAN the other day and he read this article on the air written by a columnist named Gary Hubbel and I had to stand up and salute. Finally, someone has had the nerve to write what everyman is really thinking. No apologies. No qualifiers. No pulled punches. I don't know that Angry White Man is the best identifier, but I think that he might be using the current catch phrase that inaccurately describes REAL men. We're frustrated. And often times irritated. And everyday we get out of bed and ask God how we can make a difference in our world today and to give us the strength to do our best and to be brutally honest with ourselves.

I agreed with everything that Mr. Hubbel had to say, with the exception of one line involving a reference to a "blue moon." Check it out: In election 2008, don’t forget Angry White Man.

Bon Voyage!

2008-02-09T10:11:00.000-06:00

So, I finally saw Life is Beautiful. It was good. The writer/director is a genius. It was very well woven together. You see all sorts of little things happening in the background that are brought into the forefront later in the film. I even got choked-up at one scene, where the hero selects a record, puts it on a gramaphone and turns the bell to an open window. Belle bawled like a baby(just in general). Definitely worth seeing. The only thing wrong with it, is some marital referrences. I think that's why it's PG-13.

I love foreign films because you never know how the movie is going to turn out. I don't always like how they turn out, but that's part of the fun. Most of the time, you can see how all these other countries are several years behind in their technology and technique. Sometimes, as with Zhang Yimou, you can see how they're just Masters in their own right. It's like when I was a kid and still living in California and would go to the midwest, and would see how everyone was wearing last years fashions, styling their hair in trends that were dead and gone back home, and how even the radio stations would be playing songs that were already forgotten in Cali. I wonder if it's still like that, or if technology has equalized things. It's been so long since I've been home.

American movies are somewhat predictable. Probly because of how many of them have been made and are made every year. We kind of know what is going to happen next. The leader of the resistance is captured: the rebels are going to break him out. The leading lady and the leading man hate each others' guts: we know they're going to end up together at the end of the movie. But it's not like that in foreign films. At least not always. You never know where the movie is going to go. And that is half of why I like them. The other half is because of the language. I love foreign languages. Farsi has got to be the prettiest.

So that brings me to the the title of the post:

The only name that I recognized was Gérard Depardieu, and I recognized Peter Coyote, an American actor, but couldn't tell you, without looking at IMDB, what else he's been in. To my untrained ear, his French and German were perfect!

The movie starts out in a pre-war Paris, in a movie house. Hitler is posturing and France is caught in his head lights. One character glibly states later that the conflict won't last more than a couple weeks because not even Hitler wants war. In the theater we meet the leading lady, Viviane Denvers, played by Isabelle Adjani, who obviously has problems. Not just from the evident insecurity about her performance, she's the Angelina Jolie of the day, but also with a man in the main floor seating who has been watching her, not her movie. In the following scenes, we meet the aspiring author Auger, played by Grégori Derangère, who we learn is a childhood friend of and is hopelessly in love with Denvers. Always has been. And its not a romanticly sweet fact. Needless to say, he gets himself put into a tight spot because of it.

Flash forward an undisclosed period of time: Hitler is prevailing in his assualt on France and his troops are quickly approaching Paris. Everyone is fleeing to the South. Auger learns that Denvers has gone to Bordeaux with the Minister of State Jean-Étienne Beaufort, Gérard Depardieu, and so he boards an over-packed train, where he is reunited with his new found friend Raoul, played by Yvan Attal, and meets Camille, played by Virginie Ledoyen, who is a student at the University of Paris and the assistant to Professeur Kopolski, Jean-Marc Stehlé, a stateless Jew who has created an incredible liquid that everyone eventually wants.

When everyone finally arrives in Bordeaux, we learn that Raoul is a longsighted petty crook, Denvers hasn't changed at all, Auger still loves her senselessly, Camille is watching Auger, a lot, nobody wants to help Professeur Kopolski, the French governement is undecided as to what it should do, and, oh yeah, there are German's among them.

Long story short, and this has taken some serious thought: THIS IS THE BEST MOVIE THAT I HAVE SEEN SINCE THE PRESTIGE. The acting is extreemly good, and the script is tightly drawn. It's PG-13 but I think that that is for some violence. The rating noted language also, but I don't remeber much, if any. Maybe it's there in French and they didn't subtitle it

There have only been two movies that had me crawling in my seat in suspense: Frequency, with Jim "Jesus" Caviezel and Dennis Quaid, and Bon Voyage.

Bon Appetite!

Oh! How I loath where I live . . .

2008-01-05T18:16:00.000-06:00

I have lived here, yes, in "Fiji", for 12 years and quite frankly, I still hate it. Oh, I like the towns just fine, and I love the people (my people, to be specific), and frankly I do live in one of the best towns in the state, but if God told me to move ANYWHERE, tomorrow, I would be gone by the end of the week. And not just because it is one of the most liberal states in the union. What makes it worse, is that I have lived in some of the best locals in the Nation.

The best twelve years of my life were spent in a double wide, on 40 acres of A'mon's in California. An hour and a half from the beach, from Pier 39, Monterrey, Big Sur, Carmel. An hour and half from the mountains. Camping ever summer. Skiing ever winter (multiple times).

And then I moved to Colorado for two years. God smiled when he made Colorado. Two feet of snow on Monday, 70 degrees on Saturday, and NO nasty, slimy mud.

And then I lived in Florida for 18 months. Ten minutes from the beach. Snorkeling in the spring. Surfing in the late summer. "Oh, but the summer heat" Ah, but the balmy coastal summer night breezes that refresh a languishing soul.

Then I came back here(sorry I don't have any dripping letters for that word). Where the summers are painfully hot and humid and when it rains, it just gets worse. I have come to loath summer rain storms. I no longer pray "Lord, let it rain" but rather, "Lord, let it rain . . .all week" because then maybe one or two of those days will be endurable. And the winters? Oh, why did you have to ask? The winter rains bring only one thing: muck. I don't say "mud" because that would be an insult to all mud everywhere. One step in our local slime and the mutant soil monster awakes. Inside of five feet you are covered from boot soles to hips in two inches of immobilising, living, devouring clay infused gunk. And later? When it finally decides to get cold enough to snow, like in late December? It doesn't have the decency to fall straight down like civilized snow does, say, out in Colorado, but rather it runs sideways, driven by the gale force winds, screaming in demonic glee with its icy cousins sleet and hail. And only once or twice in twelves years do you get more than an inch of snow. Then it's nice.

But what has set off this stenographical tirade? On Wednesday, the pipes froze. It was 2 degrees. Today? I raked leaves off of the lawn, and sweltered in my hoody.

Now, lest you get the wrong idea, I am not discontent living here. Ah, what a paradox. Home, is after all, where the heart is. And having married a good local girl, almost eight years ago, and at first having had a good job and currently owning a growing business, I have managed to come to a place of endurance of the unbearable local settings.

So. It's all good! Thanks for listening.

On How to Break Crystal . . .

2007-12-29T17:54:00.000-06:00

As many of you may know, I absolutely love Opera. Soory, really really like, opera. But, and this caveat is honest, not all opera is created equal. There is a definite difference between romance language opera and guttural language opera. Like the difference between Puccini and Mozart. And not all singers are created equal. I personally can not stand screeching sopranos, and there are quite a few, or Tenors who try too hard. Now, this is not a dissertation on the differences between operatic composition or a study on who is the best, but rather an introduction for those of you who may not know what beauty lies at the pinnacle of classical music.

My favorite soprano: That's a tough one. The one that I like the most that anyone can hear is, Anna Netrebko. She's young (thirties), Russian, has this lower octave soprano that is incredible, and even though she is definitely not fat, after she sings, it's over. More on her to follow. Claudine Collart is awesome. But she did hardly anything. She was essentially a backup singer. How unfortunate. Mado Robin holds the claim to fame for being the highest, clearest soprano. EVER. I have some tracks, that when I figure out how to play them through the blog, I'll upload, for all to be blown away. Overall favorite: Mady Mesple. Her Lakme is unparalleled.

My favorite Tenor: is there any other than Pavarotti?

To illustrate, here is Anna Netrebko, whom I have linked to on the left (you figure it out):

And here is the definitive Pavarotti:

I am a pretty big Puccini fan. Turandot was his last opera and at the first performance, after "Liù, poesia!" the orchestra rested and the conductor turned to the audience and said: "Qui finisce l'opera, perché a questo punto il maestro è morto" ("Here the opera ends, because at this point the maestro died"). And the curtain lowered.

These are the standards that I hold opera to.

It's got to be good all the way around, as a whole, if it's going to be good at all.

Down Here

2007-11-13T21:45:00.000-06:00

So I found this group, DownHere. Maybe you have heard of them? Canadian (Caw-Naw-Dee-En) Christian Rockers. Yeah, that's what I said. Some of their stuff would be "banned" in certain un-named places but I thought you all should check this vid. out. At first I said, "Are they mocking?" But then I realized that they were actually laying down a challenge:

And this one makes Belle cry

Tell me what you think

The Looking Glass Wars

2007-11-11T20:50:00.000-06:00

So, Belle and I were at Borders one night. It was a rare, almost freak like date that we had. (She just asked me where the "freak" came from and I said it was because it was our second date in two years, yes, that's including our anniversary) When we first got together [courting, dating, interested in each other (you get the picture)] that was our Hot Date. We'd get a cheap dinner and then go to Target or someplace and then end up at the book store for an overpriced cookie and some Stuart's Orange and Cream.

I love books. I have always been envious of those libraries that you see in shows with thousands of leather bound volumes stacked to towering heights.

It was on that night when we were at Borders that this caught my attention

I guess you can see why.

Now of course, I was naturally suspicious. The whole "Fantasy Just Declared War on Reality" line will do that to you. So, I picked it up and read the back cover (it was the paper back edition) and my curiosity was further piqued, so I read the prologue, and then thumbed to about the middle and read a few pages and then thumbed toward the back and read a few more pages, and having done that, I decided that I wanted to read it. I checked the price: eight somethin'. No biggie. BUT, I have made a commitment that I will never buy another book without first knowing that it is not a waste of money. The last book I bought on a lark burned me. Did the whole skim through previewing and missed some junk. I don't even remember what it was much less what it was about. That's where those kind of books belong: forgotten.

So I did some digging and found it at one of the local libraries (we have three libraries within 12 miles) and of course I made a special trip and picked it up.

I was surprised. Not only did I like it, but it is actually really good.

It is written for about the 13 and up range. It's simple, without being juvenile, and engaging enough for me. Maybe I'm telling on myself too much. Hmm. It is in fact better written than many adult target books that I have recently read.

I know, I know, you're all demanding; "BUT, WHAT IS IT ABOUT?!"

It is about Alyss Heart. What really happened and how her true story came to be twisted and turned into a nonsensical thing called, Alice in Wonderland, by none other than Carrol Lewis (Yes, it's supposed to be like that).

I was expecting it to have witchcraft and magic, what with the word "Fantasy" printed on the front cover, but it didn't. Oh, what a relief. Imagination is the tool of preferred use and that only works in Wonderland, mostly. Oh, did I forget to mention that it takes place in both Wonderland and "our" world. It does. And I found it to be in keeping with Mr. Doug Phillips essay on fantastic writing. Black is black. White is white. And the author, Frank Beddor, makes some very good observations and statements. And from what I can remember of Alice in Wonderland (it's probably been fourteen years since I read it) it's better than the original. Just like the old saying: "The imitation of the original is better than the original, but the original is better than the imitation of the imitation." Of course, it is probably not that hard to write something better than an opiate trip induced hallucination.

Needless to say, I'm looking forward to the sequel (it's a trilogy), Seeing Redd. And it ended like a stand alone. I hate books that end right in the middle of major action and say: "Buy the next one to find out what happens, and we're going to make you buy another to really find out what happens."

So if it sounds interesting, read it, and we can Book Club it.

On Thugs Striking

2007-11-11T19:14:00.000-06:00

For those who enjoy my deranged sense of humor, I am so glad that you have finally joined me over here, on the funner side of life. (Yes Jak, that was said, shall we say, "tongue in cheek")

Well, I know that at least Kristi had the courage to waste about ten minutes of time and enjoy The Feast from start to finish. Yes, some are not so funny, but it helps to get a break every now and then, keeps it from getting stale and as far as who thinks these things up . . .Geniuses. With far too much time on their hands! Belle loves "The Feast is Ruined" and "Thief"-'Yoiks, and away.'

Has anyone else heard about the writers strike in Loonywood? I got my bubble pipe out when I heard that they had actually gone through with it and started dreaming about writing to the producers of my favorite shows and letting them know that I would do the same job for LESS money. There are some really good (of course we are talking about Crazywood so "good" is comparative and relative) shows out there. It would be a shame to see them get postponed. Of course if they did get postponed then I might actually do something productive, like further my walk with God, spend more time with my girls, WRITE. You never know. And these crazy strikers. Bunch of thugs. Oh I totally understand where they are coming from. The writing of a script is the most important part of a show (big or little screen). I don't care how good the Directors or actors are, if the script is lousy, specifically the dialogue and the realistic continuity, then the show stinks at the worst and suffers greatly at the least. Case in point, the latest StarWars movies. I don't doubt Lucas' creative ability (never mind its origins), but he can't write, or direct actors for nothin'. Doubt me? Watch the StarWars movies and tell me that they get better with time. Oh, the special effects are progressively more awesome but watch them and then tell me that The Empire Strikes Back is not the best one out of all six. Why is it the best? Because he didn't write the script or direct it. "Man's got to know his limitations." Now, of course I totally understand why he did direct the last three: they were his creation and he wasn't going to let anyone else get any credit for the work. That's okay. "A smart man surrounds himself with men who are smarter than he is."

But I got distracted. The writers, I heard, are striking because they want a cut of the DVD sales and rentals. As I said earlier I totally understand where they are coming from. I mean, they get what, 400k for a script? When the the lead actor comes in and gets 7 figures? To do what? Just repeat some lines that he doesn't even have to memorize (by memorize I mean commit to semi-permanent memory like a stage actor has to) Now, I'm not disparaging actors because we all know that there are actors (Matt Damon) and then there are hacks (Casper Van Dein) for example. Tell me though, who did all the REAL work? Without a script, the Director has no vision to shape and form; without a script the the camera man have no baseline instruction to follow; and without a script those marvelously high paid stars have no lines to repeat. BUT, and it's a big one, (Perhaps it should be more like BUT) what these strikers have done, is latch onto the the Aristocracy of Pull. They have become thugs, demanding goods over the top of a gun barrel. All strikers are thugs. The greatest part about America, besides being God's gift to the world, is that if you don't like the hand you have been dealt, you can go seek out another hand. YOU are your only hindrance. The glory of the open marketplace, is that the consumer and not the manufacture determines what goods survive. All competition is good for business. It drives the producers to strive for a more excellent, more appealing product. When you suborn realistic requests with unrealistic demands, you place creativity in jeopardy, and elevate banality.

Hopefully there will be a massive restructuring in the writing community and those who want to write in the free market will have their fresh originality produced and the hacks, with their tired cliches, will find themselves no longer receiving Top Dollar for substandard tripe.

And maybe the type of things that we really want to see will be produced, not the garbage that the elitist proclaim as enlightened, like the Emperors new clothes.

Aren't you tired of the critics saying "Oh this is the most magnificent piece of work ever made, and if you don't agree, then you are a stupid, red necked, hayseed, christian hick, and you should go kill yourself to save the whales"

But of course, I guess there is a need for a reality check: I am talking about an industry that exist for one purpose: entertainment. Entertainment that profits very little. But man its fun to escape for a little while every now and then!

So okay, I'm going stop "soap boxing" now and leave you with a little levity. Enjoy

The Dancing Feast

2007-10-27T11:27:00.000-05:00

So how does one follow last months post? The response was, humbling (though not surprising, to be perfectly honest. Ha! I know, Jak is saying, "You're very funny") In all honesty, your comments were most warmly received, and completely undeserved. Thank you one and all.

So what is up with me? The same-o-same-o. Only I think that I am getting a grasp on things. I am still running one job, laying it out, proposing work, supervising the various aspects of it (for the last two weeks it has been laying out and planning the concrete sidewalks and yesterday I spent several hours moving cabinets and tile into the house from the garage so it could be painted) and working on an exterior renovation, conveniently in the same small town, concurrently. The one job that I took over is new construction. I finished the siding about two weeks ago, had the landscaper come and set all the beds for the walk ways, three inches lower than I had specified (argh), and set the rough grade. The concrete finishers started last week and of course it wasn't just a simple bang-bang-bang, "Forms are done. Where's the mud?" The inside is drywalled and primed, and actually the project is really close. Just need tile, hardwood, trim, electrical trim out, plumbing trim out, and a good thorough cleaning, and about a thousand other little things that I can't think of and we'll be in business. Sounds like a full time job, doesn't it. It is. But, that's not enough for me, nooooooo.

This little exterior renovation was going quite smoothly; all but two of the new replacement windows were installed, and looking very good (the customer was pleased, that's always a plus) and the current steel siding was pealing off of the house like a ripe banana, and the original MDF siding, in all it's cracked, pepto-bismol pink painted glory, was coming off in typical ease, and then what do you think that I discovered? The bozo's that built the house, didn't insulate any of the exterior walls, and as if that wasn't enough the electrical service that supplies the house was jimmy-rigged by a horse. And NOT Mr. Ed. So, needless to say, I'm not getting a lot done, as of yet, with this project. What with having to call and find out what it is going to take to insulate the house, hold off on any work until I've spoke with the customer, call and meet with an electrician, determine what it's going to take to fix the Service Nightmare on Water Street, meet with the Electrical Superintendent, meet with a City Lineman, run here, run there, and just when I finally get to working, and get into the rhythm, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel for one aspect of the project, I get a call from the Finisher for the OTHER project: "Where you at, man?" ARGH!

BUT, despite all of that, everything is all good. This is what I said I wanted. Big Business Man. Ha!

I have learned that Life is not a Competition, but it is Conflict. And it is how we meet this conflict and conduct ourselves in the midst of it that determines who and what we will become. And what I have realized, just now, is that Life Escalates. It becomes more complicated, the world seeks to overwhelm us. And every day we are faced with three decisions: allow the onslaught to bury us, drown us in a torrential flood; or fight with tooth and nail against Heaven and Hell to maintain our current position; or, get out of God's way and let Life flourish in the face of all adversity, like a master Riverman going upstream against all logic and common sense, prevailing against the turbulent deluge.

So what does all this have to with a Dancing Feast? Not much, except that we have to find humor where we can, and with me, it's the simple, silly things that make me laugh. I am discovering that I really like Smart-Silly. So, I thought I would share with you some of my current favorite Smart-Silly things:

First, The Original:

And now the Remix which is even better and sillier!

And now for the Feasting Part:

I absolutely love these videos. You have to go to here and watch all of the Feast videos.
My other current favorite is this one

Although, this one is great too.

You get the point. They keep me laughing all day long!

Pattern, Anyone?

2007-09-22T10:36:00.001-05:00

So it is sad to say that this Blog has turned into a once a month occurrence. Now, that's not necessarily intentional. Just the way things have gone. The "new car shine" has kinda worn off.

When I first signed up, it was a like an addiction, not that I would know what that is really like. I'm sure that many of you can identify. But the "zeal" has aswaged. And of course it doesn't help that I have been pulling my hair out for the last two months. I have spent more time online in the last week, and that's not much, than I have in the last three months.

I finally got a two week project done at work. It only took me five. So, understandably, I was a little stressed. I underestimated how long it would take me, seems to be a general trend, and then well, I did something else on top of it. There is nothing like feeling like you are holding up the show. And then, in addition to all of that, the man that I was working for, decided that he didn't want to run the job anymore, and he walked away. Which has been a good thing. Sorry, I know that sounds bad. "Sounds" and "is" are definitely two different things.

But I finally got the slow leak plugged. And now I'm onto a more relaxed project. Oh, it's still on the same sight, but the overwhelming urgency no longer exists. There was another matter that was pulling my spirits down, like a caracal snatching a bird out of the air (they're the ones that can leap like 8 or 10 feet), but I have to come to terms with that sitch and life has stabilized. So, maybe I'll make the time to blog more frequently. Here and on SC. But that's another story. Maybe I'll get over there today. A'ight.

Buy.

Osama

2007-08-31T21:03:00.000-05:00

So I've been reading like a nutcase lately. Trying to find some new authors worth reading and I'm not having much success. I found one new writer, young English guy, that is really good, only his subject matter is, hm, shall we say, questionable. No profanity in his narrative, which is a definite must/bonus, and his first book had virtually none in the dialogue. I think that there were literally two words in the first book. Then I got his second offering: hmmmm, disappointment reigns supreme. Normally I put them down, which I have done with two authors in the last two weeks, but I did finish it. There was a lot of Jane Austin mentioned in the book, particularly Persuasion, in fact he dedicated the book to her, called her a German Poet. But I digress. This post isn't about my attempt to find good authors, but rather about Osama. And, No, not Bin Laden. This is Osama.

All that other blather was to say that I was looking through the foreign film shelf at the library, I always check it first, and I saw this film. After reading the back I figured that it at least deserved a cursory viewing, and if it was awful, and slow (some times those adjectives can been joined) I could always turn it off, like I did with a Japanese film that I brought home a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't. It captivated me. There were some parts, were it seemed to drag a little, but in the end, it shook me. I know, that sounds so, Yuppie. Mod. Hollywood Blather Speak, but I don't know how else to describe it.

A friend and I were talking on Monday night on our way into town and he said "you know art is good if it disturbs you." Now, I don't agree with that at all, (in order for art to be art, it MUST be pleasing to the senses) but I thought it was ironic that two nights after we had been discussing shows and movies and stuff, I would see something that would leave me thinking about it all of the following day. Even up till now.

Osama is the first movie made in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban and it is about a girl whose father is dead, whose mother is a doctor, or nurse, it isn't made clear, and whose dotting grandmother lovingly tells her the same "beautiful story" every night. Oh, yeah, it takes place while the Taliban is still in power. Because of the restrictions placed upon women by that perverse society, "Osama's" family is starving to death and the only solution that they have is to cut the girls hair off and send her out into that hellish world as a boy. And if she's caught, it means death.

Now, you need to understand: this is not entertainment. Don't pop popcorn. Don't crack open sodas. To that extent the film-maker starts the film out like a documentary, but only briefly. It's a slice of life, a la Taliban style. There is a little language, in subtitles (it's in Arabic) references to the legitimacy of some boys' heritage, and there is one scene in a bath house where young boys are being "instructed" by a mullah. Definitely adult conversation. Conversation only.

The film is a very pointed commentary on the oppressive conduct of the devoutly muslim.

Having seen some documentaries previously and having spent some time on www.thereligionofpeace.com, I don't doubt the accuracy of the films' claims.

If it doesn't rattle your cage, then perhaps you should seriously consider moving to Iran.

Thank God we went to Afghanistan. Thank God we went to Iraq.

And no, the job's not done in either of those countries. It's just starting.

If it piques your interest, I know that the Blockbuster here has it, so I would imagine that the others carry it also.

Higher Education

2007-07-28T15:49:00.000-05:00

I recently read a book, a big book. Actually it wasn't very big, it was a pocket book but it had 1069 pages at about point six font. (Even the big hard back is that long). It took me about a month to read, mainly as I drove to and from work. "Gasp!" The woman who wrote it is absolutely brilliant, if not flawed personally, in just a couple of points.

It was published in '57 and I was stunned at how appropriate it was for Today. In light of recent conversations that have been going around on the Bloggosphere, I thought that I would post an excerpt for public perusal.

Let me set it up and I shall try to be brief as there is 500 pages in front of the dialogue that is to follow.

The book is about the conflict between social Communism and capitalism and man's responsibility in the fight. Laws have been passed to essentially take what Big Business has earned through hard work and industry and "give" it to the "public need." A law has been passed that bans any business owner from owning a venture in more than one field of industry. If he owns more than one type of business he is forced to sell them off at a "fair rate"(give it away) until he only has one. Instead of accepting this, many "shakers and movers" have chosen to quit and simply disappear. The orchestrators behind the government have met and have devised a plan to "save" the country and stop any more people from leaving, a brilliant plan that further strips the citizens of their rights and ensures the non-producers financial safety. These men are arguing over the points of the legislation and the final straw was whether or not the people would actually allow it to happen, and this is what stood out:

"Still, I'm worried. The intellectuals are our friends. We don't want to lose them. They can make an awful lot of trouble."

"They won't" said Fred Kinnan. "Your kind of intellectuals are the first to scream when it's safe--and the first to shut their traps at the first sign of danger. They spend years spitting at the man who feeds them--and they lick the hand of the man who slaps their drooling faces. Didn't they deliver every country of Europe, one after another, to committees of goons, just like this one here? Didn't they scream their heads off to shut out ever burglar alarm and to break every padlock open for the goons? Have you heard a peep out of them since? Didn't they scream that they were friends of labor? Do you hear them raising their voices about the chain gangs, the slave camps, the fourteen-hour workday and the mortality from scurvy in the People's State of Europe? No, but you do hear them telling the whip-beaten wretches that starvation is prosperity, that slavery is freedom, that torture chambers are brother-love and that if the wretches don't understand it, then it's their own fault that they suffer, and it's the mangled corpses in the jail cellars who're to blame for all their troubles, not the benevolent leaders! Intellectuals? You might have to worry about another breed of men, but not about the modern intellectuals: they'll swallow anything. I don't feel so safe about the lousiest wharf rat in the longshoremen's union: he's liable to remember suddenly that he is a man--and then I won't be able to keep him in line. But the intellectuals? That's the one thing they've forgotten long ago. I guess it's the one thing that all their education was aimed to make them forget. Do anything you please to the intellectuals. They'll take it."

Abandoned

2007-07-11T13:20:00.000-05:00

I absolutely love derelicts. I think that I love them so much because of how irritated and frustrated it makes me feel when I look at one.

I see them and I shake my head in disgust. But not because of what the structure has become, but because of what it was allowed to become

As a builder I have an understanding of how much effort went into the thing: the money, the investment of every man's time, from the owner to the lowest laborer, the emotional investment that was made when blood was poured out in sweat and toil. The sleepless nights of anxiety and excitement. And then to see that which was so ardently fought for, left, rotting, because it holds no value for the new owner.

I am not a socialist. I don't believe that one mans goods should be turned over to another just for the sake of "need." But when men are so short sighted as to refuse to find an equitable return on the investment that was inherited or unintendedly purchased, I shake my head in disbelief. Wouldn't it be better if someone else had bought it?

But then as I write, I realise that perhaps I am not being completely just to those who posses derelicts. Perhaps they do value such structures, but their system of worth is not monetary, but rather emotional. Perhaps they love that structure so much that they can not bear to part with it.

I love to drive. I hate taking the same route to a familiar destination. It makes me feel like a rat, caught in a drab white maze. When I was coming home from my visit to the windmills one day I drove past a derelict out in a growing corn field, and I remembered that I had seen it before and I decided that I was going to have come back and shoot it with my recent some-what-past-time. Needless to say my imagination took some trips until I was able to return and actually go up to the structure.

Doesn't it look like some medieval Middle Eastern tower?

What looked like mosaic tile turned out to be honeycomb block instead

And in the side, a small door stood

And upon entering I discovered what remained of a once very cool storage bin

And knowing me, upon finding hand holds, I didn't hesitate in climbing up. It was awesome to see the elevator collapsed, as if some giant whose very existence was his work had finally succumbed to the ravages of time and all that was left were his bones

The desolate courtyard

And then there was this: see the branch growing THROUGH the other branch?

Breathe Easier

2007-06-17T13:52:00.001-05:00

Okay, all of you that have been frustratedly shaking you head. It's over. The long, dissapointing wait is over. I have updated Spent Casings. I need feedback people!

Perspective

2007-06-07T15:49:00.000-05:00

So it's been a month. What? I've been busy. Really. I have proof. Wanna see? Maybe some other time.

So I was leaving one of my jobs the other night and as I turned North on the back road towards the highway that leads me home, I saw a thousand blinking red lights off in the distance. Okay, maybe there weren't a thousand. But quite a few. And they didn't belong there. There were too many of them and they were too close together to be radio towers, and in the daylight, you couldn't see anything.

It was a mystery, one that I was more than willing to investigate.

A day or so later I finished work early. Well, not early, just late enough to not start anything new. So I picked up and packed out, stopped at the gas station on my way out of town for my End of Day Reward and a couple of Stuart's O&C and then instead of getting on the freeway, I continued North.

About two miles North of town, the mystery was solved. How disappointing, I didn't even have to get out my truck. I could see exactly what the source of all that crazy red blinking was. They stood off in the hazy distance, a literal gargantuan forest. Windmills.

Now most people would would have gone: "Ooooh. That explains it." And turned off at the first road and headed for home. But I have this natural curiosity: I have to know "How" and "Why." It's not intellectual belligerence. It's something that I was given at birth, and when I was a child, it was encouraged. So I kept on. I had to see them up close. But the farther that I went, it was like I was standing still, because it didn't seem like I was gaining any ground. They weren't getting any closer.

Eventually I began to mark a difference: they were getting bigger. No, that wasn't a small grain container. It was a hundred footer. And no, those weren't kids toys, that was a real homestead.

They were massive.

As I entered the "forest" I slowed my van from the 65 that I had been doing and began leaning over the steering wheel, rubber necking like a tourist. I pulled up under neath one and got out and was simply awed by their stature. The had to be at least three hundred feet tall. The blades at least one hundred. And they "shooooom, shooooom, shoooomed" over head. They had this little house on the back of them and I thought how completely awesome it would be to climb up to it, and see the world from there.

I looked around and saw a service truck over at another windmill and that the service door was open. So, I climbed back into my van drove over there, thinking that I might be able to talk with the technician. When I arrived, I saw a rope dangling from the "light house" and tethered to the transformer box, but no one any where. I walked tentatively up the aluminum steps and poked my head into the hatch. It was about twelve feet across and there was an aluminum ladder that ran up, in stages, to platforms, all the way up, or at least as high as I could see.

I could hear noises transferring down the metal rigging, so I new that, whoever, was up at the top working. It took everything in my NOT to just start up (I love to climb). But I knew that if i did, that that would end badly. "Uh, yeah, Jonny Law? I gots a crazy whats needs be incarcerated."

I wonder if God is like that. He is so Big and so Great that even as we are on the right path and we are heading towards Him, it doesn't seem as if we are getting any closer, until BAM! we're overwhelmed by His all encompassing vastness.

So, If a man ever gets to where he is thinking he is something, and that he is big stuff, he needs to come out here,
And realise that he is nothing. That is my full sized, 3/4 ton work van at the base of the monster, not a minivan.

Here, I'm half the distance I was in the first shot. See what I mean. Closer. But not.

Yeah-Huh, Still Nuts

2007-05-09T17:22:00.000-05:00

I am rubbing my hands together in glee, like old man Burns. "Eeeeexcellent"

Firstly let me state that I think that making the length of hair a religious tenet is, well, wrong. Borders on religious bondage. Kinda like burkhas. Length of hair is definitely not an indicator of righteousness. There are a lot of dope smoking hippies who are travelling the road to hell with long flowing tresses. But then also, if it gets the hair grown, well, who am I to condemn it. Ha.

Now JakJak would prove true to her calling, as my Arch Nemeses, and rain on my parade! How? By telling everyone that I didn't mean guys also. Oh, all right, I didn't even think about saying that, because, with me, well, that's a given and I forgot about the constraints of the medium. Now, certainly there is no "commandment" against men having long hair, but there are numerous admonitions against it. Paul says in the same passage that I quoted previously that nature itself has shone us that it is a shame for men to have long hair. I don't claim to understand this. But I agree with it. Why would a dude want to look like a chick? Rebellion. Everyone has to grow up sometime. Well, sort of. Okay, "Grow Out" of those childishly rebellious things. I saw this bumper sticker "Growing old is Inevitable. Growing Up Is Optional"

Now I get to play the complete hypocrite: I also like short hair. But not what you're thinking. I like really short hair, and yes I am talking about women. The kind that is just long enough to pin over with a barrette or a bobby pin or part down the side. I know, I know. "Yuuuuck!" Sorry, I just like it. But, not every girl can pull it off. Let me illustrate:
This is Elisabeth Gracen, she's an actress from a now defunct series. I always thought she pulled it off quite nicely, especially when she used to have hair all the way down her back (I tried to find that picture of her but failed miserably.) Maybe it was just the sword that she swung around every episode. Mentioning the sword, maybe that was why the series failed: the prop master did a lousy job. Note how the handle on her sword leans into her face, as apposed to staying true with the blade. Sorry. Tangent.

There was a woman locally, who was a little on the heavy side and she had long hair and she just looked awful. Now, I know, you're all in an uproar, but let me finish. She cut all her hair off, not as short as the picture above, and it made all the difference in the world. Nothing else changed, but it "cleaned" her up. Long hair was sacrificed for "cleanliness."

So, Ladies, you can sleep peacefully tonight. No matter how long your hair is, I don't think anymore or less of you: unless you do something so completely drastic with it that defies all logic, ergo, cutting off length for no reason, etc. etc.. I suppose the difference of my tastes can be summed up this way: Long hair is AWESOME, and short hair done tastefully, is cool. Oh, and I must add one final thought that I have been trying to communicate to Belle: braids on older women (any age over 18) are STILL cute. They DO NOT make you look like a child. They may make you feel like a child, but is that really such a bad thing?

Yup, Completely Nuts.

2007-05-04T19:15:00.000-05:00

So herein lies the truth: I am a hair nut. Don't believe me? Just ask Belle. She'll knod her head vigorously and say "Uh-huh." What is the deffinition of a "hair nut"? A person who loves long hair. If you say, "I have long hair", and it might come to your shoulders: HA! Think again. "Oh, it comes to my shoulder blades" Ha! Not yet you don't. "Oh, it's to the small of my back." Ah, now we are getting closer. Hair is officially "long" when it can be tucked into your belt, like the dwarves' beards in The Hobbit.

Yes yes yes, all you ladies are rolling your eyes, and Jak is at this very moment saying "Oh, good grief" . (Yes, I am reading over your shoulder) No, hair is not long untill it is completely in your way. But we like it that way. Why? Because there is nothing entirely as awesome as long hair. However there is one caveat: it must be neat and clean. Nothing worse than dirty, ratty hair. The transformation from Glam Queen to Indigent Queen can be a very sudden and unexpected occurance. Also, I am willing to sacrifice length, for tidyness. Even though the locks might be clean, there is just something about scraggly ends that just seem to ruin everything. A nice clip-clip with a scissors every once in a while is a deffinite must.

"But it's such a hassel." I hear this often. If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. Good things take effort, and besides But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. That's 1st Corinthians 11:15 if you were wondering. And besides that, trying doing this with short hair:
Totally awesome, huh. And that's just the tip of the Iceberg! HuHah!
So, you have to check out this sight LongLocks it will tell you how to grow long hair and how to keep it long and then you have to go to The Braided Image . It's awesome! Bookmark them both. Oh, and please forgive the classical paintings. I didn't design the sight.

Tarred (as in "excessively tired")

2007-05-01T21:40:00.000-05:00

Again, we see that the "process" is working. Arr. Ha.

J-Boy, thanks for the recommendation. I know this film, though I have never seen it. What I do remember, is when the director won the Oscar for it, he jumped on the seats and walked to the stage on the seat backs. It was very funny.

MackySu, so glad you posted again. I was going to say "Find out what it is and I'll see about checking it out myself. Does this mean that you have seen it? Was it Good?

So, anyway. I'm tired. I spent the day tearing rolled roofing off a garage and patching in 1x planking. The original builder was a farmer and it's really too bad that he did not have a wood allergy. Because it would have been awesome if his hand would have swollen up every time he picked up a hammer. At least for me. Pro'bly not so good for him. Yes, I whine when I get tired or sick. I KNOW. It's not very becoming.

Anyway, I would rather finish my unwinding lying down, and since I don't have a laptop, yet. I'm going to go do something else.

An Introduction to Foreign Films

2007-04-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

I absolutely love, sorry, strongly like foreign films. Now, I tend to stay away from the French and the Italian and Spainish (to differ from Mexican) because I can do without their kind of, um, shall we say "progressiveness." Kinda like Brokeback Mountain. I'm proud to say that that type of movie is entirely too "progressive" for me.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have loved language (it's people related). If I could afford it, I would speak twenty different languages (it costs money to learn. CDs, books, computer programs. Travel to foreign countries to learn by immersion. Blah blah blah. Time. Self diligence. Those little things). And ever since I was a kid, I have lov- strongly liked, foreign films. Back then it was the chop-socky movies of the seventies with flying ninjas and comedic violence and dubbed English. And unlike now, where they find an English word to fit the foreign language mouth movements, they would just have the English voice translate directly what the actor was saying in his native tongue. Hence, the notorious excessive lip movement. "Ho, you killed my father," as his mouth keeps moving for five more seconds.

I re-discovered foreign films with Zhang Yimou's Hero (actually it was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon but Hero is a better movie). Now there was some controversy about CT, HD, or as I like to call it Crouching Tigger, Hidden Pooh, when it came out. There were claims that the "flying" was real. That it was spiritualism captured on film. This is not true. It was all wire work, which the Chinese are the undisputed masters of. The director, in the commentary, said and I "sum up", "Of course people can't fly. But this is a different world where they can do all of these incredible things." So, it's no different than Superman. Only more entertaining. Now, the middle of CT, HD needs to be skipped over. For about a half hour there is this "romantic" background between Jiao Long and Lo, or "Darkcloud." A complete waste of time, not to mention, shall we say, tasteless. I love DVDs. You just hit "advance" and you're in the next scene. Both of these films are PG-13, but I would recommend 17 or 18 for some of the subject matter.

Most of the foreign movies that are released in the states are dubbed, but I prefer to watch them with subtitles. I love the sound of the native language, and when they subtitle them, you get the closest to the original. And besides that, you get the original actor's voice, not some voice-over performer that doesn't even match the personality or tone or timber of the original. And you learn to deal with the subtitles. At first they detract from the picture, but once you get accustomed to them, you don't even notice. In fact, I watch a lot of English movies with the subtitles. Sometimes they just don't record certain parts of the dialog at high enough levels.

Now if you are one of those people who "don't have the patience" for a foreign film, then may I suggest that perhaps you weren't watching the right film. If the only foreign language film you have seen is The Passion of the Christ, then you are off to a great start. Storytelling is universal. If the person telling the story does a good job, then you don't need to know what is being said, you're instinctively drawn in by the presentation. Subtitles take care of the need for linguistic understanding. Or, hey, turn on the English track.

The place to start, after The Passion of the Christ, is The Road Home, by Zhang Yimou. It's really cute and warm, like a puppy. I lent this to my sister-in-law, who is very particular about what she and her sons watch, and she liked it. She said it was the first movie that they had ever watched where her boys, 9 and 7, where absolutely quiet and riveted. They had to be, in order to read the subtitles! Ha! It's G rated.

Now follow that with Shall We Dance, NOT THE AMERICAN VERSION. The original Japanese version only. It's hilarious. It has a story line that might make you apprehensive, but it all straightens outs. It's PG, for a couple profanities and some "thematic" elements.

Alright. That's it for now..

Funny Funny

2007-04-12T21:09:00.000-05:00

You have got to go here and under the "Illustrating Absurdity" column on the right, click on "Barak the Magic Negro (That's What the L.A. Times Called Him)" It's absolutely hilarious!

Hu-Yah!

2007-04-08T18:47:00.000-05:00

Rock On Susu!

CowgirlE, I was a little nervous when I heard that you were laughing at my blog, but then I read your post and discovered that it was "all good." Rash guards are awesome. It's what the surfers, dudes and dudettes, wear, hence the name. I never could afford them, so, I got rash. Nothing like board wax. You know, they use wax in beauty salons for a reason. High heels are awesome. And they're finally bringing back some class and style into shoes. Some of the throw backs to the 40's and early 50s are really cool. Peep toes anyone?

Jak and I were talking the other night about that survey, and we came to the conclusion that what most of those guys where saying in their comments about bathing suit strings and high heels and hem lines and neck lines and on and on and on and on and on was "that no matter what you girls wear, you are the one responsible for how we think about you." Which of course is just a great big lie. No matter what a woman wears, or does not, we are responsible for how we think about you. All you girls need to worry about is you. Not worry about us worrying about you. Now obviously, we're not asking for you to just forget that their are men, who are not your brothers, in the world, but I really think that there is no fear of that. So. This has been fun. Let's do it again some time. I'm sure something will come up.

Wow

2007-04-06T18:45:00.000-05:00

I guess I didn't know what I was getting into. "Whewwww." Don't take it the wrong way, I just didn't realize how many people would respond, and how well. Thanks. Keep it up.

It's amazing how things sometimes go: K-ree hit my thought right out of the gate, quickly followed by CowgirlE. Modesty must start at the heart. The true essence of outward modesty is inward modesty. It's a bi-product of the nature of Christ. Whether you're a christian or not. If an individual does not have modesty inside, how can you ever expect them to behave/dress modestly outwardly. Do they know how to behave better? Have they ever been taught? Do we compromise our standards to allow for their lack of knowledge? Absolutely not.

I love the quote "Your clothing should be snug enough to show you are a woman, but loose enough to prove you're a lady." That pretty much sums up my opinion about it all.

I did see that survey that K-ree mentioned, in fact that's what got all this started, and I had to shake my head. I told Belle that "if that is how badly, and all, those guys are thinking about, then they needed to find something else to do." Especially "christian" men. But I understand that the culture is "Guys thinking about Dolls" and visa-versa, and that the christian community suffers from the same ailment.

I think that there is a tendency to over compensate in the name of "modesty." The Arab nations have adopted this practice. Burkha's anyone? Head scarves? They take these incredibly beautiful women and instead of allowing and encouraging them to dress "modestly", they enslave them, out of fear and insecurity, in shapeless bags. To what end? Selfish aggrandizement.

I believe that there are two types of clothes: daily wear and occasional wear. Daily Wear is, well, exactly what it sounds like: clothes you would wear daily. Occasional Wear is exactly that too. See, we're brilliant. haha. Let me give you an example. I don't wear shorts. Now, I don't have a problem with shorts, at all. I just don't wear them. I'm not a boy anymore. Except, and you guessed it, on Occasion. I wear shorts when I play soccer, when I play basketball (haven't in years), when I run (again, not in years), and I wear swim trunks when I swim, and with no shirt. Have you ever tried any of those in pants or sweats? (They call them sweats for a reason.) Have you ever swam in a T-shirt? I never enjoyed feeling like I was drowning in seaweed. When I'm on a job sight, and it's unnaturally hot, I take my shirt off, (nothing like drowning on dry land) that is unless there is a woman "on sight." I understand, the job isn't the pool. When it's just a bunch of guys and my Pops says, "Nobody wants to see your naked body." I always say "Thank Goodness!"

From this man's perspective:

For the Ladies who do or consider swimming in T's, sometimes they're worse than not. Wet cotton has this inherent ability to mold to it's substructure and from what I understand, most swimsuits are padded and designed to shed water, not retain it, therefor most of the fine details are left un-highlighted. Now swimming shorts? I completely understand.

The one quote about clothing detracting from the face was pretty interesting. My motto has always been: "If you're not in business, don't advertise." But having said that, let me give you ladies some insight into the human male mind: if a man wants to think about you, in an unrighteous manner, it doesn't matter what you wear. So please, don't fashion your wardrobe after some man's standard, throwing out all your pretty outfits and buying stock in denim. (I almost hate denim.) But rather fill your closets with the precepts of righteousness and the guiding of the Holy Ghost, which doesn't always shout. If you don't have the Holy Ghost, then never-the-less, strive to be a Lady. And Ladies never advertise. Ultimately, they just don't have to. And we are experiencing a desperate shortage of Ladies.

I think that it's important to note that modesty is not just for the Ladies. Guys must be modest as well. Correct me if I'm wrong, I think with us, it's a lot less physical. I mean, we can put on a pair of pants and a T shirt and we're done. I think with us guys, it's more about conduct. How do we interact with other guys? How do we relate to the world at large? With bragging mouths and an arrogant demeanor? Or with a simpleminded, Healthy Sense of Self Awareness? How do we treat you Ladies? Presumptuously? Or Respectfully, despite who you may be?

In closing: What is Modesty? Websters 1828 defines it as "That lowly temper which accompanies a moderate estimate of one's own worth and importance. This temper when natural, springs in some measure from timidity, and in young and inexperienced persons, is allied to bashfulness and diffidence. In persons who have seen the world, and lost their natural timidity, modesty springs no less from principle than from feeling, and is manifested by retiring, unobtrusive manners, assuming less to itself than others are willing to yield, and conceding to others all due honor and respect, or even more than they expect or require." And the last two sentences of his forth deffinition "In this sense, modesty results from purity of mind, or from the fear of disgrace and ignominy fortified by education and principle. Unaffected modesty is the sweetest charm of female excellence, the richest gem in the diadem of their honor."

I love that deffinition "fortified by education and principle." Modesty isn't something that we blindly latch onto because it's a tenant of our religion, one that we secretly despise, or because we are told to be modest. But rather, true modesty is born out of a modest soul that understands its undeserved value in the eyes of God. The same soul that could care less what the world thinks of it. Becuase really, we've been there, and we don't want to go back.

CowgirlE, yes, A.K.U.S. is Alison Krause and Union Station. Yes, I love them! They're people so I can say that. She has this great voice that is unmatched, awesome violin talent, and the band is incredible. Not that it means anything, but did you know that she has won more Grammies than any other artist in the history of Grammies? Pretty cool, huh. And as far as posting goes, post all you want. That's what it's there for.

Modesty

2007-04-03T22:42:00.001-05:00

Belle and I were talking today about this website that she found and it got me thinking the rest of the after noon:

What is Modesty?

If you only had two minutes to explain modesty to an absolute stranger, whom you would never see again, how would you?

Oh, For Updates Sake!

2007-03-28T20:06:00.000-05:00

I am glad for the response that I have gotten from my last post. The review process is fully operational.

Kristi: please speak your mind at all times. Kuz: ramble all you want. The journey is a joy of its own. Goils, thanks for the links.

When I had written the last post, it was originally twice the size that it ended up being. I had included a paragraph on Tolkien and one on Lewis and had started on a third: the summation of my thoughts. But I realized that all of that didn't have anything to do with my initial thought: Doug Phillips' Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. And I accidentally erased the last half. No worries.

See, I like to write, and I have this story in my head, actually two, that I want to write but I have been wrestling with them because they are "fantastic." I did not know how I could write these stories and have them glorify God, or at the least not be in opposition to righteousness. Mr. Phillips' article settled my immediate dilemma: as long as God is God in what ever little "universe" I create, and sin is sin and evil is evil and good is good, then there is no confusion, everything will be alright. Does that mean that there are not other issues that I have to work out? No. There are and will be, but they can be resolved. Does that mean that everyone will love my stories? Prob'ly not. I'm not naively foolish, at least about that.

Regarding Tolkien, and the recent movies: I intend to post "What Incomplete Thinks about J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings" This may take some time because my schedule is CRAZY . . . and I may have a lot to say. Who knows.

Thanks Guys.

Oh, by the way, I've updated SC

Addressing the Fantastic

2007-03-06T18:36:00.001-06:00

My Arch Nemesis was yelling at me the other day about how long it had been since I had posted. The truth is, I think I have pro'bly spent an hour online since then. Of course SC did take up my time last week so I guess the truth is being stretched a little. There's only so much a fella can do! But here. Finally!

Has anyone out there been faced with the difficult topic of todays current crop of Fantasy movies based upon and/or inspired by litterary works? Some of those books are properly called "classics." I was diving down the link on one of Jak's recent posts, the target took me to Vision Forum. Maybe some of you have followed it also. When I got there, I saw that the target was in fact what I thought it was and Jak had already sent me that link in an E some weeks back. Instead of watching the short again, I scrolled down and found this, Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. It piqued my interest, mainly because I had never heard of it. So like all good little lemmings I clicked on it and I am glad that I did.

There is a conflict in the Christian world over the "realm of fantasy." Some Christians absolutely abhor C.S. Lewis and his best friend J.R.R.R.R. . .R. Tolkien. Citing them as works of carnality and abhorrent evil; complete with talking animals, witches and wizards, magics, fantastic creatures, and so on. Other Christians blindly embrace J.K. Rowling and her like, claiming them to be "understandably fake." And I don't know if too many people, or Christians for that matter, know of George MacDonald, who wrote a veritable mountain of books. Most of them having to do with male-female relationships in the light of God's love. I am loath to call them romances, even though that is what they are; they're better than that. He also wrote many fantasies: The Princess and the Goblin; The Princess and Curdie; At the Back of the North Wind; Lilith; Phantastes . . . and many many more. What is most interesting about this man, who was a contemporary of Charles Dickens, is that C.S. Lewis called him "my master," considering him to be one of, if not the greatest fantastic writer ever. But I digress.

Why is there a conflict in the body over these works? Is it because we are naturally prejudiced against anything "fantastic"? "If it's fantastic it can't be of the Lord!" A one time very good friend of mine told me that he absolutely refused to see the Passion of the Christ because it had Monica Bellucci in it. He called her a whore (and the truth is, she has done some rather bad tasting stuff). Because of the moral state of the actors he was saying that God could not possibly be in the picture. I told him that he was putting God in a box. And that God can use anyone, or thing, that he wants to. Ballam anyone? If I remember right, God used an ass, an unclean animal, to communicate to that man.

I was in a house one time, with another friend, and the homeowners where watching The Return of the King (That's the last chapter in the LOTR books). As we left the house, he stated "What darkness in that place." Now, of course, like a brave little soldier, I kept my mouth shut. See, I love LOTR. I stand corrected, like I am always telling my girls "Love is for people." I really like LOTR. (But more on this later.) I wondered, to myslef of course, did he really sense a "darkness" in the residence? Or was it a predisposed prejudice towards Tolkien that shaped his opinion?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you should run out and start seeing every movie that you want to see, or read every book that someone tells you "You have GOT to read this!" But if someone you have confidence in, makes a suggestion about something "fantastic" don't be hasty to dismiss it. And read Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. It answered some questions that I have been asking. No one in particular. Just asking.

"Bring on the rain"

2007-03-01T18:39:00.000-06:00

There's a song that goes "Bring on the rain. I'm not gonna let it get me down, I'm not gonna cry, I might be barely breathin' but I'm still alive. Tomorrow's another day and I am thirsty any way, so bring on the rain."

Well, that's what Thursday was like. We got a call just after 8 a.m. from Belle's mother and we learned that her mother, Belle's grandmother, had passed away just that morning. Well, on top of that, Belle had to take her sister to the doctor to finally find out was was physically wrong with her. She's been sick for a couple of weeks with no accurate diagnosis. They came back with one and it was just strep. As lousy as that is, it's the prefer ed of the other names of noxious diseases that they were bandying about. So, she has to take it easy for a while. Pray for God's Devine provision for her. But after Belle got home from the hospital, her cat finally came home. He was an indoor outdoor kinda beasty (I called him Bates) that liked to disappear for days on end. Well, he was at the back door, yowling something horrible and he wouldn't even move when I opened the storm door, it just kinda scraped over the top of him and when I picked him up he just went limp. So, I set him on his chair (which is really mine) and he didn't move for the next hour. That is until he died. We think he must have gotten into some anti-freeze or ate a de-conned mouse or something. So, it really rained on Thursday. Belle's grandma dies, and then her sister is crazy sick, and on top of all that, her cat dies. But the good news is, Belle's doing great. We have come through this storm better than when we first entered it.

And on a morbidly curious note, watching the cat die was kinda cool. Not cool that he died, but from a scientific and writers stand point. I have never seen anything die, other than dove or pheasant and those don't really amount to anything. But more on that at another time.

About Time!

2007-02-28T19:11:00.000-06:00

"Can I get an Amen from the congregation!" Today, after just about a year of slavery and dogged determination (if I do say so myslef), I finally got that stupid green van fixed. It was wonderful (said with seething, dripping, sarcasm). The van itself was given to me about a year and a half ago, maybe two years now, and my wife and I drove it with great satisfaction, thankful for a vehicle that was slightly larger than a match box, you know, those old type where you slide the center of the box out and strike the match on the side. (That's about what our car is like. You have to thread the kids in, feet first, if you're in a hurry) And then, KA-BOOM! Well, alright, it didn't blow up. (Talking about the green van now) It would just die in the middle of intersections as the arrow was turning from green to red, usually in record speed, and you were already committed to the turn. Oh how frustrating that was. Then last March, when I was returning from town: billowing clouds of sweet fragrant smoke poured out of the exhaust and that old temperature gauge spiked, after one complete revolution, in the red. Buried extensively in the red. Now for all of you that do not know what that means, let me explain: Blown Head Gasket. Now, I was recently on my own, numerous Thunder clouds hanging over my head, and I was. noT. PLEASED. "Oooooooooh, I hates rabbits!"
But Thank God! And I mean it! Finally! It is done and it works like it should! Now I can sell it. "But, wait" you say. "I thought that you wanted a car bigger than your cracker box?" Oh, we do, but since it's just the four of us right now, and we kinda need the investment in the van (if you know what I mean) and I got sooo much stinking money and time into the "match book," and it's running just fine, we'll make do for a little longer. Not much longer, I hope. (I've been drooling over this new model for the last couple of years. Oh, that'd be nice.) God knows. Anybody want to buy a van?

Coooooool

2007-02-26T18:17:00.000-06:00

So I was doing a little diving this afternoon, in pursuit of one of my deepest interests: bladed implements. Upon visiting this one sight that I bookmarked, but never really looked over,( http://www.shadowofleaves.com/Shinken.htm ) I found this link to a film of a traditional katana (that's a samurai sword) being made. You talk about cool. It's a little long and you probably need high speed to view it, but it's definitely worth the viewing. Check it out. http://video.mpegnation.com/a001786578322021606131719250.html

In other notes, did anyone catch the Oscars? I intentionally didn't watch it but I read about the aftermath. You talk about a bunch of disjointed, disassociated, sycophantic narcissists. And they wonder why their industry is failing? When a film like The Departed wins four awards, including best picture and best director, when others like The Prestige get two paltry nods and no chance of winning anything and it actually conveys a point. Now, I didn't see The Departed. It didn't interest me, mainly because I can't stand Leonardo DiCapitaded (that man's head always looked like it was bout to fall off of his body when he was young), but also because it was R rated and almost always that means lots, no, let me correct that, TONS of language, and sex. And frankly, none of that helps a movie at all. "Evil communication corrupts good manners." "Oh, but it's reality. It's how the world really is. We need that kinda realism in our motion pictures." If we wanted realism in movies, we would not go and see movies like Narnia, or Lord of the Rings. We would get out the lawn chairs and the soda and the potato chips and watch the neighbors fight. We don't want their kind of reality. We want stories about heroes, and redemption, and happy endings, okay we don't always have to have a happy ending, take Zhang Yimou's films which are absolutely beautiful and most end tragically, but I think that that might be a Chinese thing. You know, no hope in their culture, no awareness of a Christ who longs to redeem them. (But that's changing.) More in him later. Now, like I said, I didn't see The Departed, but I read the extensive review at "Hours Later . . ." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Departed and I also read the review for the Chinese movie that it was adapted from and frankly, I would rather watch the Chinese version. It had seemed like it had more hope than Scorsese's!

I mentioned the The Prestige also and how it didn't get anything. This is the single most influential movie that I have seen. See, for a long time I have maintained the opinion that no mater how good a movie is, it can only be entertainment. That it doesn't have the ability to really impact, or even change ones life. This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I think that this also includes the Christian films. All of them. No matter how good they are, all they will ever be is good, on some rare occasions, very good entertainment. It has nothing to do with how well they are made or how well they are written or how well they are acted. It's the format. For so many years, movies and television have been for entertainment only. A diversion. A chance for you to forget, for two hours, that you have a life out there, beyond the double doors, where you are embroiled in trouble. If you want to be educated: you watch a documentary. If you want to be encouraged: you watch a video recorded message from a trusted minister of God's Word. But. The Prestige has got me thinking about changing that position. When I left that film, I was definitely impacted by the message that the Nolan brothers were trying to get across: Obsession will destroy you and everything that you touch. And it was a good. There wasn't any language (that I can remember. Ah, the subjective memory) and no sex, though there is some romance. And it's smart. A movie has to be smart, or it's a waste of time. There was a time when I loved B movies, not so much anymore. But more on that at another time.

So. Okay. I feel better.

Just a little . . .

2007-02-25T15:27:00.000-06:00

So, we got a little snow this last couple of weeks. Well, not this last week, stupid stuff has been melting. Now we just slog around in mud almost up to the top of our dress shoes. I went out to the start the cars so we could go to meeting this morning and without fail, I splattered mud on the cuffs of my almost white pants with the first step. "Maaaaan. Co-me O-n!" I've been here since '95 and this is the most snow that we have ever gotten. 16 inches over like three days, As you can see, this incredible model of male masculinity (yes I know it's redundant) is standing in a trench some feet thick. This snap was taken with Belle's Motorolla Razr (it's hot pink). It is just the right degree of ambiguous fuzzy. Of course this was before the troops arrived and we tunneled our way to freedom from the German concentration camps. Yes all of those attrocities did happen, despite what peopel are trying to say today. That was a good time. The tunnelling that is, not the attrocities. I was tired. I dug my neighbors out and then played with the troops for three - four hours. I was tired. Did I mention that I was tired? Now it's just nasty out. Sleating rain, muck everywere. Why can't this place be more like Colorado. God smiled when He made Colorado.

New Experiance High . . .

2007-02-24T16:44:00.000-06:00

It's been two whole hours and not one single post! Come on! Doesn't anyone out there know that THE BLOG is finally on the web?!?
No, I do have a slightly stronger relationship with reality than that. Not much though. I was talking to my little sis, whom we shall call, The Shooter, that's an occupational reference, hmmm, and I thought I would bulk up the posts a little. This is her with the Black Hole of Attetion (it's a term of endearment) in the Jamaican airport.

Also, back in 2001 the Bears' Brian Urlacher was in Papa's Store. Here's some annecdotal info about that. Obviously it's been sanitized.

It was a normal day at the [store] [somewhere]. We were busy. The Chicago Bears were in town for their training camp at the UWP. Consequently, many fans were in town as well, and hungry. I guess the players were hungry, too, for Brain Urlacher was sitting in the lobby with his wife and daughter, enjoying their lunch. We always loved it when one of the players came into the store. We not only got to meet the players ourselves, but we also thoroughly enjoyed watching other customers reaction when they walked in and saw who was there. Today was no exception. Brain Urlacher was sitting in plain view in the middle of the lobby when two young men entered. They didn’t notice him right away, and I started taking their order. The one man, with a #54 jersey on, ordered and turned to get ketchup. He stopped mid-stride, stared, then retreated to the register. He held a quick consultation with his friend as to whether his eyes were deceiving him. I was smiling to myself and confirmed their suspicions. They got their food and sat, not wanting to disturb his lunch. When Mr. Urlacher and family got up to leave, the fans approached and asked him if he would sign the jersey and a picture. Urlacher willingly complied by having the fan turn around so he could sign the back of his jersey. They thanked him and he left. They were quite pumped about the whole experience and came up to the front counter again to ask my dad, the owner/operator, if they could have the tray that Brain Urlacher had eaten off of. Dad happily agreed and complimented him on his jersey. The fan then removed the jersey so that the signature would not be smudged on the ride home. At Dad’s suggestion they put the tray inside the jersey, carefully laying the signed portion on the top of the tray and folding the jersey around it. Thanking us and still excited from their experience, they exited the store, gently laying it in the back seat of their car as if it was the 'holy grail', leaving me with yet another fun memory.
-The Shooter" -article used with express permision from the author.

Okay, so I was just a little excited. There have been some postings. Thanks guys. Er, girls.

Yeah, Whatever

2007-02-24T15:09:00.000-06:00

So, my good buddy/little sis/arch nemises finally pestered me into creating a blog. Shows how strong I am. Well, all right, she didn't really make me do it and the truth of the matter is, that despite the fact that I swim outside the mainstream (have been accused of swiming in an entirely different world altogether) I guess that I just wanted to jump on the trendy band wagon while I could. So I could be cool while it was still cool to be cool and not hot when I should really be cool. Huh? Yeah, me too. Actually, I just did this so that I could comment on my friends blogs and not have it be "Anonymous." Jak-Jak was like "if you don't comment on my Blog then I'll never know if anyones even reading it." Well, Jak-Jak, I am reading it, and now, I'm posting on it too!
So what is The After Action Report (AAR - prounced "Arrr!" like a pirate) going to be? I guess maybe some place for me to creatively vent. Kinda like plasma into space, only without the melodrama. "Dum-Dum-Dum" And no, I'm not a StarTrek fan. I'ld like to see StarTrek go up against SG-1 (RDA era). We all know who would be left standing after the dust settled and yes, StarTrek could keep all of their fancy space age gadgets and SG-1 would still come out on top. There are two things that I do like about Startrek and I have, obviously, started using them in my conversation; "Venting plasma" for when things start to get kinda "hairy" and I need to just take a deep breath; and "Scrape Shields" to describe the interpersonal conflicts that sometimes tend to just mysteriously appear without any warning and for absolutely no reason. Of course I'm being sarcastic. As my Daddy always says, "It takes two to tango."
So, we'll just let this thing evolve into what ever it does. (No, I don't believe in Evolution. To be a member of that church is to be a fool) I have a degree in computer programming that I have never used (I have the student loan payments to prove it) and all I know how to use is my Lotus Word Pro and how to play Splinter Cell so this whole blogging thing is going to be a lesson in the learning. So, sorry about the plainness and all those other cheap excuses that nobody wants to hear anyway. "All I have is a pocketfull of excuses, but you don't want to hear them."