Friday, August 31, 2007
Why I Think The Internet Isn't That Important!
I have had a couple of conversations lately about how the internet has changed our lives, and how it will change our lives. I don't think it changes our lives all that much. Of course, I lead a strange life, and I am not into social/political thinking so I may be way off base here.
(1) Does the internet make us waste time?
I guess it depends on what you would be doing were you not on the internet. If you were watching TV before and now you are reading more, I think chances are this is a good change. If this takes you away from your family, this is probably bad, but then it's just like everything else-it can turn into a problem if you use it as a substitute for better things. There's no such thing as an internet addiction, or if there is, then you can be addicted to anything. I like the idea of people sticking it to their bosses by reading articles or playing video games instead of filling out TPS reports. I don't think people would have so easily put up with cubicles if there was no internet, but cubicles would be here anyway: it fits so well with the American idea of preferring utility (or nearly anything else) to beauty. As far as shopping goes: I don't buy many gifts so I can't comment, but the internet has definitely increased the amount of time I spend shopping for books since you can't replace the bookstore experience, and the internet book shopping experience is pretty fun, what with the reviews on Amazon and all.
(2) The sharing of knowledge.
Books are still the best place to go to know something deeply, but what about all of these facts that are at our fingertips? Fact lovers will get their facts a little faster, but that doesn't matter much. It is perhaps easier for journalists to put on a show of erudition, but everyone sees through that right? As far as the exchanging of information between cultures: the barriers broke long ago. Iran for example is going to be Muslim and therefore politically different from us, regardless of anything mere information can do. If you wanted to talk about what makes revolutions happen, you have to talk about religion and I can't see the internet as being anything more than a side topic in such a discussion.
(3) Porn and Gambling
It's definitely easier to get porn, and to gamble, which is probably the worst change the internet brings: it's harder to be good, but not so hard that we are excused.
(4) Blogging
Near and dear to me right now, so I'm probably wrong about what I think. Plus the rules I set for the Eleven Posts To Glory preclude me from talking about writing, so I'll leave it for another day.
(1) Does the internet make us waste time?
I guess it depends on what you would be doing were you not on the internet. If you were watching TV before and now you are reading more, I think chances are this is a good change. If this takes you away from your family, this is probably bad, but then it's just like everything else-it can turn into a problem if you use it as a substitute for better things. There's no such thing as an internet addiction, or if there is, then you can be addicted to anything. I like the idea of people sticking it to their bosses by reading articles or playing video games instead of filling out TPS reports. I don't think people would have so easily put up with cubicles if there was no internet, but cubicles would be here anyway: it fits so well with the American idea of preferring utility (or nearly anything else) to beauty. As far as shopping goes: I don't buy many gifts so I can't comment, but the internet has definitely increased the amount of time I spend shopping for books since you can't replace the bookstore experience, and the internet book shopping experience is pretty fun, what with the reviews on Amazon and all.
(2) The sharing of knowledge.
Books are still the best place to go to know something deeply, but what about all of these facts that are at our fingertips? Fact lovers will get their facts a little faster, but that doesn't matter much. It is perhaps easier for journalists to put on a show of erudition, but everyone sees through that right? As far as the exchanging of information between cultures: the barriers broke long ago. Iran for example is going to be Muslim and therefore politically different from us, regardless of anything mere information can do. If you wanted to talk about what makes revolutions happen, you have to talk about religion and I can't see the internet as being anything more than a side topic in such a discussion.
(3) Porn and Gambling
It's definitely easier to get porn, and to gamble, which is probably the worst change the internet brings: it's harder to be good, but not so hard that we are excused.
(4) Blogging
Near and dear to me right now, so I'm probably wrong about what I think. Plus the rules I set for the Eleven Posts To Glory preclude me from talking about writing, so I'll leave it for another day.
The Best Book You've Probably Never Read!
Muhammad: His Life Based On The Earliest Sources
By Martin Lings
Now, I'm not encouraging any of my Orthodox brethren or sistren to read about Islam if they don't want to, but if they do want to, this is the best book I have read on it. I think it might be helpful for a Christian approaching Islam to start with the figure of Muhammad, though he is not the center of their religion: the Quran is. As Christians, we think of religion as centered around a person, so it might be helpful for us to see Islam's most central person from an Islamic perspective. This book is good if you are looking not so much for information, as for meaning, though it has a lot of important information in it too. If you would like to get an idea of why Muslims revere Muhammad, I wouldn't know where better to tell you to turn. Martin Lings, the author of this book, spoke approvingly of Karen Armstrong's book on Muhammad, but she is coming from a mindset which is concerned with maintaining (in my view) a false kind of objectivity, whereas Lings writes from the perspective of a practicing Muslim (albeit a strange kind of Muslim-that's another post in itself).
This book is not easy to get into, because there are a lot of Arabic names and a lot of people to keep track of, but once you get into the story, it becomes easier. The book it most resembles to me is Lord of The Rings, because it tells something of an adventure story, and it has an air of nobility and holiness about it. I wouldn't recommend reading it if you feel weak in faith, because, if it affects you like it did me, it will raise questions about being religious in general and make you think deeply about why you are a Christian and not something else. I read it before I became Orthodox, so I had a lot of convert zeal, some rational, some irrational, to get me through it. I came out of it with a greater appreciation for the holiness of Christ. This book made me want to pray.
Almost There
When will it end?
Too many missed moments have whiled away the days,
While we wait-for what?
Too many hours spent in languishing,
Languishing, and suffering: a muted kind with no glory.
The afternoon is golden.
The dust is floating in the light, out of the light.
There is a sweetness here, down in the waters, down in the reservoir of tears.
But it is a dark sweetness, too real to taste here.
We await your coming, O Lord.
Too many missed moments have whiled away the days,
While we wait-for what?
Too many hours spent in languishing,
Languishing, and suffering: a muted kind with no glory.
The afternoon is golden.
The dust is floating in the light, out of the light.
There is a sweetness here, down in the waters, down in the reservoir of tears.
But it is a dark sweetness, too real to taste here.
We await your coming, O Lord.
Coffee!!!
Coffee is mother earth's brown avenger.
The just fruit of our wanderlust's ambition. (what a bad line)
Each day is a case of the jitters,
When far-flung imports start our ignitions.
Would that we cared about what made for peace.
Then we might start our mornings with water.
Instead we use a filter pulped from trees,
To strain our souls through caffeine's tense grinder. (what a bad line)
And so we owe our thoughts to poor farmers.
Unless our muse is drinking free trade.
In that case we're safe from Karma.
Though I shudder at the price we paid.
It's no wonder that none of us sleep sound
When we start our mornings on shaky grounds. (I apologize for this poem)
The just fruit of our wanderlust's ambition. (what a bad line)
Each day is a case of the jitters,
When far-flung imports start our ignitions.
Would that we cared about what made for peace.
Then we might start our mornings with water.
Instead we use a filter pulped from trees,
To strain our souls through caffeine's tense grinder. (what a bad line)
And so we owe our thoughts to poor farmers.
Unless our muse is drinking free trade.
In that case we're safe from Karma.
Though I shudder at the price we paid.
It's no wonder that none of us sleep sound
When we start our mornings on shaky grounds. (I apologize for this poem)
Fourth Gospel-Four (Now Five) Reasons!
Why is the Gospel of John my favorite?
(1) The Prologue is poetic. I don't doubt that many good books could be written exploring the first eighteen verses of John. On the one hand, it reads like a poem:
In the Beginning was the Word,
And the Word was with God,
And the Word was God,
The same was, in the Beginning, with God.
Looking over those first few lines, I am tempted to say that it reads like the poem: the first and last poem ever written, because it vehicles the presence of the Word, the source of all meaning poetic and otherwise.
(2) On the other hand, those first few lines are also philosophical: the little argument maker in me sees the potential for much thought over the idea of something that both is God and is with God: "how should we express this paradox?", we say to ourselves. So, while the prologue may be poetic, it is not obscurely so. Or, if it seems obscure, it is because it is being clear in laying out the problems that thinkers will have in approaching the Word. I must admit to having a hard time finding fodder in the rest of the Gospel for my little argument maker, but I don't doubt it can be done.
(3) It, more than the other Gospels, gratifies a love of characters. I don't mean to disparage the other three Gospels, or suggest I have made a thorough study of the various characters in them, but on first glance, the Gospel of John is the one that most effectively presents us with varied personalities. The first character that comes to mind is that of Nathaniel. Jesus calls our attention to his peculiar, paradoxical attribute: "An Isrealite indeed, in whom is no guile". The next one is Nicodemus. He is the first character to have an extended one-on-one dialogue with Christ. He pops up later in the Gospel, still concerning himself over Christ, and a great essay or book could be written on his spiritual struggles. The other striking one-on-one dialogue is the one between Christ and the Samaritan woman. Talk about a character! I think Chaucer owes his portrayal of the Wife Of Bath to John. Of course the character hanging over the whole book is that of the Beloved Disciple. I have nothing profound to say in a short space, but that is not because I lack things to say about him.
(4) Finally, the cosmological aspects of John appeal to me. Wind, Water and Light: Rebirth in the Gospel of John: that was the pretentious title to my final paper at St. John's. In his dialogue with the Samaritan woman, Jesus is using the word 'water' in a way that just teases me. I want to know what he is getting at. I get the feeling that if someone were to understand this, then every word Jesus used would take on a new significance. Of course, the point is not to understand water, but to get a handle of Jesus' way of speaking. There is perhaps some Platonism that could be brought in: like he is talking about the form of water, but that just seems like a starting place. I get the feeling that, for my mental health, I need to back off from symbolic thinking, but if I thought it was a good idea, John is the place I would start.
(5) I originally only wrote four reasons for preferring the Gospel of John, but I remembered a fifth. I don't know what it means that I forgot about this, but the Gospel of John seems to have much to say about knowing the Truth. The man born blind is given a whole chapter in John, whereas he is treated briefly in the Synoptics. Doubting Thomas has a prominent place. Jesus beckons in the beginning of the Gospel to "Come and see". And of course, Christ calls Himself the "the Truth" in this Gospel. I mentioned above that the philospher will find argument fodder if he looks. Of course, he will also find the consummation of his arguing in John. Wayward seeker that I am, I forgot this!
(1) The Prologue is poetic. I don't doubt that many good books could be written exploring the first eighteen verses of John. On the one hand, it reads like a poem:
In the Beginning was the Word,
And the Word was with God,
And the Word was God,
The same was, in the Beginning, with God.
Looking over those first few lines, I am tempted to say that it reads like the poem: the first and last poem ever written, because it vehicles the presence of the Word, the source of all meaning poetic and otherwise.
(2) On the other hand, those first few lines are also philosophical: the little argument maker in me sees the potential for much thought over the idea of something that both is God and is with God: "how should we express this paradox?", we say to ourselves. So, while the prologue may be poetic, it is not obscurely so. Or, if it seems obscure, it is because it is being clear in laying out the problems that thinkers will have in approaching the Word. I must admit to having a hard time finding fodder in the rest of the Gospel for my little argument maker, but I don't doubt it can be done.
(3) It, more than the other Gospels, gratifies a love of characters. I don't mean to disparage the other three Gospels, or suggest I have made a thorough study of the various characters in them, but on first glance, the Gospel of John is the one that most effectively presents us with varied personalities. The first character that comes to mind is that of Nathaniel. Jesus calls our attention to his peculiar, paradoxical attribute: "An Isrealite indeed, in whom is no guile". The next one is Nicodemus. He is the first character to have an extended one-on-one dialogue with Christ. He pops up later in the Gospel, still concerning himself over Christ, and a great essay or book could be written on his spiritual struggles. The other striking one-on-one dialogue is the one between Christ and the Samaritan woman. Talk about a character! I think Chaucer owes his portrayal of the Wife Of Bath to John. Of course the character hanging over the whole book is that of the Beloved Disciple. I have nothing profound to say in a short space, but that is not because I lack things to say about him.
(4) Finally, the cosmological aspects of John appeal to me. Wind, Water and Light: Rebirth in the Gospel of John: that was the pretentious title to my final paper at St. John's. In his dialogue with the Samaritan woman, Jesus is using the word 'water' in a way that just teases me. I want to know what he is getting at. I get the feeling that if someone were to understand this, then every word Jesus used would take on a new significance. Of course, the point is not to understand water, but to get a handle of Jesus' way of speaking. There is perhaps some Platonism that could be brought in: like he is talking about the form of water, but that just seems like a starting place. I get the feeling that, for my mental health, I need to back off from symbolic thinking, but if I thought it was a good idea, John is the place I would start.
(5) I originally only wrote four reasons for preferring the Gospel of John, but I remembered a fifth. I don't know what it means that I forgot about this, but the Gospel of John seems to have much to say about knowing the Truth. The man born blind is given a whole chapter in John, whereas he is treated briefly in the Synoptics. Doubting Thomas has a prominent place. Jesus beckons in the beginning of the Gospel to "Come and see". And of course, Christ calls Himself the "the Truth" in this Gospel. I mentioned above that the philospher will find argument fodder if he looks. Of course, he will also find the consummation of his arguing in John. Wayward seeker that I am, I forgot this!
An Old Story!!
A crow sits on the judgment seat. He ruffles his feathers, clears his throat, caws. His wig sits white on his crown. His beady eyes blink at the courtroom. At the defense table, rubbing his hands, looking around, sits Man. The audience: goats, giraffes, and the rest of Noah's passengers.
The first witness, a lion, is called.
Crow caws: "And what, Lion, have you to say for the accused? What has man been to you? Had you need of him for aught?"
"On the plains, it is my prey and I and that is all. I have, these many years, eaten nothing that did not die at my claw. Man came once, to pray and fast, but he left as quick as he came. We lions went on just the same."
Next witness: the fish.
Fish: "Aye, aye that's the one: So 'ere I am mindin' my own busyness and wat! and 'ere comes this tasty bit o' worm wrigglin' and juicy. So I says to my Percy, 'hey Percy that worm looks like a tasty bite, what say you and I don't have ourselves a piece?' Next thing you know, I look up and there's Percy bein' pulled out of the drink, wrigglin' and gaspin' like a minnow with palsy. I saw Man standin' there holdin' my Percy, and Percy's still wrigglin' with wide eyes, and what does that Man do next? He fries Percy up over one of them hot things the world goes on about."
Crow: "Let the record show that Fish speaks of "fire".
Fish: "That's right judge, he fried Percy over one of them fires! No, no I 'aint got a bit 'a use for Man. All I got out of him was one less mate and a load of grief. Hang 'im I say."
It went on like this for hours. And despite the monkeys, the eagles, the platypus, the pandas, no animal found any use in man at all. The dogs had a hard time admitting it, but they didn't really need man to feed them, they just found it so exciting. They whimpered and looked ashamed in man's direction, but they had to side with the others.
As everyone was restless to go, the last witness buzzed up to the stand. Since his voice was small, and quite annoying in the ear, no one at first gave a listen. But he kept on screaming, and the crow beat the gavel. The courtroom strained their eyes to see: in the box was a little mosquito screaming: "If Man goes, what will happen to me?!"
The first witness, a lion, is called.
Crow caws: "And what, Lion, have you to say for the accused? What has man been to you? Had you need of him for aught?"
"On the plains, it is my prey and I and that is all. I have, these many years, eaten nothing that did not die at my claw. Man came once, to pray and fast, but he left as quick as he came. We lions went on just the same."
Next witness: the fish.
Fish: "Aye, aye that's the one: So 'ere I am mindin' my own busyness and wat! and 'ere comes this tasty bit o' worm wrigglin' and juicy. So I says to my Percy, 'hey Percy that worm looks like a tasty bite, what say you and I don't have ourselves a piece?' Next thing you know, I look up and there's Percy bein' pulled out of the drink, wrigglin' and gaspin' like a minnow with palsy. I saw Man standin' there holdin' my Percy, and Percy's still wrigglin' with wide eyes, and what does that Man do next? He fries Percy up over one of them hot things the world goes on about."
Crow: "Let the record show that Fish speaks of "fire".
Fish: "That's right judge, he fried Percy over one of them fires! No, no I 'aint got a bit 'a use for Man. All I got out of him was one less mate and a load of grief. Hang 'im I say."
It went on like this for hours. And despite the monkeys, the eagles, the platypus, the pandas, no animal found any use in man at all. The dogs had a hard time admitting it, but they didn't really need man to feed them, they just found it so exciting. They whimpered and looked ashamed in man's direction, but they had to side with the others.
As everyone was restless to go, the last witness buzzed up to the stand. Since his voice was small, and quite annoying in the ear, no one at first gave a listen. But he kept on screaming, and the crow beat the gavel. The courtroom strained their eyes to see: in the box was a little mosquito screaming: "If Man goes, what will happen to me?!"
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Hard to Believe!
Hard to believe, but right now somewhere, Athos I picture, there may be a man who touches all with his sight, has all that could ever be wanted by pining lovers, anxious Americans, silly writers, quarreling couples, and penitent worshippers.
His death will be his truly, and Christ's-a choice he and Christ make to die that we may live.
If he showed us his face, this great globe and its surrounding cloud of stars would burn like a flower an inch from the sun.
For us he dies, fasts, chooses to walk rocky paths, smiles with dimples and stays quiet when the pilgrims bow.
"If you wanted, you could be with me. And you do want this, you just don't know it. The most outer of spaces is in your heart. The morning star mingles with your freckles. That tiny ache in your breast is swallowing the world."
And this man breathes the same air, eats the same food, as the politicians, the academics, the movie critics, the bartenders, the movie stars, the newspaper reporters, the bloggers, the murderers. In the same world, but not of it.
Hard to believe, but we could be him, if only we would choose what we want.
His death will be his truly, and Christ's-a choice he and Christ make to die that we may live.
If he showed us his face, this great globe and its surrounding cloud of stars would burn like a flower an inch from the sun.
For us he dies, fasts, chooses to walk rocky paths, smiles with dimples and stays quiet when the pilgrims bow.
"If you wanted, you could be with me. And you do want this, you just don't know it. The most outer of spaces is in your heart. The morning star mingles with your freckles. That tiny ache in your breast is swallowing the world."
And this man breathes the same air, eats the same food, as the politicians, the academics, the movie critics, the bartenders, the movie stars, the newspaper reporters, the bloggers, the murderers. In the same world, but not of it.
Hard to believe, but we could be him, if only we would choose what we want.
Citizen Kane is Worse Than Godfather 3!!!!!!
Citizen Kane is overrated. On this we can all agree. Despite what the critics say, it is not the #1 movie of all time. The reason for this is simple: Godfather 2 is the best movie of all time. Well, then, you interject, Citizen Kane is at least the second best movie of all time. Wrong! The first Godfather is the second best movie of all time. Now, you might be thinking that Godfather 3 must be the third best movie of all time. Wrong again! Casablanca is the third best movie of all time. Godfather 3 is on the all-time list, but it is way down there somewhere around 11, after The Big Sleep and Double Indemnity. (Foreign films don't count, otherwise I would have mentioned Red and also White).
Citizen Kane is below eleven on the true all-time list, because it is worse than Godfather 3. Why is it worse than Godfather 3? It's simple:
Citizen Kane is about a man who loves a snow sled. Godfather 3 is about a man who loves his family. Now, loving a sled might make sense to movie critics, who prefer to stare at an inanimate movie screen for their whole lives. But most people would rather see a story about a man who loves other people. I can hear the whiny, high paid film school teachers sniveling right now: "But what about the symbolism?". What symbolism? Are you trying to say that Rosebud symbolized Kane's longing for a normal family life, which was 'nipped in the bud' when Kane was taken away under guardianship? Aren't you clever! Suppose this is right. Then, why would anyone want to watch a movie about a character who is such a wuss that he has to love a sled to deal with a mildly bad childhood, when they can watch a movie about a character who is so tough and real that he is directly or indirectly responsible for half his family getting killed, including his daughter and brother, and still manages to look sympathetic and manly in the end? Booya!
New Frisbee Game: Frisbam!
When this game is done right, it's fought, not played. It's more of a duel, if you will (and I hope you will). Your weapon: a frisbee.
Hat tip to Jack for collaborating on the rules during a fine camping outing to Lake Maria.
Here's what you do:
(1) Bring one (1) friend to a large grassy field.
(2) Take off your shoes. Why? I'll tell you later. Just do it! Set one of your shoes down on the grass and pace four steps away toe-to-heel. Set your other shoe down.
(3) Walk to the middle of the line you just made between your two shoes. Now stretch your arms out as far as they go and wave them over your head and all around. The area in which you are waving your arms is the spherical shaped top of your strike zone. Picture yourself as trapped inside a giant upside-down test tube. The area in this tube is your whole strike zone. Your shoes will help you keep track of it.
(4) Have your friend do the same thing at an appropriate distance away from you. What is an appropriate distance? You are going to be chucking a frisbee directly at your friend as hard as you can, so you will have to be the judge. Here is a rough guideline:
-(a) More than 25 feet away: You're a sissy. Take your purse and go home.
-(b) Less than 10 feet away: See you at the hospital.
(5) Pick up the frisbee. Each of you stand in the center of your test tube.
(6) Now chuck the frisbee at your friend as hard as you can. The goal is to get it in your friends' strike zone and to throw it so hard that your friend drops it or misses it. Your friend can only use one hand to catch it.
(7) Scoring
-(a) If your throw is in the strike zone and:
----your friend touches it and drops it, you get 1 point
----your friend catches it, he gets 1 point
----your friend completely misses it, you get 2 points
-(b) If your throw is outside the strike zone and:
----your friend catches it, he gets 2 points
----your friend merely touches it, he gets 1 point
Notice that it is okay, encouraged even, to chuck the frisbee directly at your friends' face. By the way, don't plan on using your fingers for a few days after playing.
Hat tip to Jack for collaborating on the rules during a fine camping outing to Lake Maria.
Here's what you do:
(1) Bring one (1) friend to a large grassy field.
(2) Take off your shoes. Why? I'll tell you later. Just do it! Set one of your shoes down on the grass and pace four steps away toe-to-heel. Set your other shoe down.
(3) Walk to the middle of the line you just made between your two shoes. Now stretch your arms out as far as they go and wave them over your head and all around. The area in which you are waving your arms is the spherical shaped top of your strike zone. Picture yourself as trapped inside a giant upside-down test tube. The area in this tube is your whole strike zone. Your shoes will help you keep track of it.
(4) Have your friend do the same thing at an appropriate distance away from you. What is an appropriate distance? You are going to be chucking a frisbee directly at your friend as hard as you can, so you will have to be the judge. Here is a rough guideline:
-(a) More than 25 feet away: You're a sissy. Take your purse and go home.
-(b) Less than 10 feet away: See you at the hospital.
(5) Pick up the frisbee. Each of you stand in the center of your test tube.
(6) Now chuck the frisbee at your friend as hard as you can. The goal is to get it in your friends' strike zone and to throw it so hard that your friend drops it or misses it. Your friend can only use one hand to catch it.
(7) Scoring
-(a) If your throw is in the strike zone and:
----your friend touches it and drops it, you get 1 point
----your friend catches it, he gets 1 point
----your friend completely misses it, you get 2 points
-(b) If your throw is outside the strike zone and:
----your friend catches it, he gets 2 points
----your friend merely touches it, he gets 1 point
Notice that it is okay, encouraged even, to chuck the frisbee directly at your friends' face. By the way, don't plan on using your fingers for a few days after playing.
Cars!
Traffic is fatal to a car's sense of self.
"All these wires, this metal, just to crawl?
If I go no faster than man himself,
I might as well not be driven at all.
Hey Toyota, Chevy, GMC, Ford!
Saturn, Honda, Kia, Mitsubishi
Are any of you other fine cars getting bored
Idling here or am I just being preachy?"
"No man, Audi's right, let's blow this pop stand.
Some oil's chillin' in the fridge at home.
We can watch Nascar or maybe C-Span.
On the way we can stop at Auto Zone."
"Oh man just forget it, were still just cars.
This jam's so bad we forgot who we are!"
"All these wires, this metal, just to crawl?
If I go no faster than man himself,
I might as well not be driven at all.
Hey Toyota, Chevy, GMC, Ford!
Saturn, Honda, Kia, Mitsubishi
Are any of you other fine cars getting bored
Idling here or am I just being preachy?"
"No man, Audi's right, let's blow this pop stand.
Some oil's chillin' in the fridge at home.
We can watch Nascar or maybe C-Span.
On the way we can stop at Auto Zone."
"Oh man just forget it, were still just cars.
This jam's so bad we forgot who we are!"
Gird Yourselves!
John has thrown down the gauntlet. I am eleven posts away from blogging glory. Here are the rules:
(1) No video posts.
(2) No previously written material, except for other people's writing, but then I must have a point to make about it.
(3) Must include at least one sonnet. No more than two sonnets allowed.
(4) Must include at least one non-sonnet poem. No more than two.
(5) Must include at least one reflection on scripture. I can do as many of these as I want.
(6) Must include at least one movie review.
(7) Must have the last post up by midnight.
(8) I cannot write about love, women, writing, or myself.
(9) I leave it up to readers to judge whether something is too short to be considered a real post. Keep in mind, if it is profound, one sentence may be better than a whole paragraph.
(10) This post does not count.
(1) No video posts.
(2) No previously written material, except for other people's writing, but then I must have a point to make about it.
(3) Must include at least one sonnet. No more than two sonnets allowed.
(4) Must include at least one non-sonnet poem. No more than two.
(5) Must include at least one reflection on scripture. I can do as many of these as I want.
(6) Must include at least one movie review.
(7) Must have the last post up by midnight.
(8) I cannot write about love, women, writing, or myself.
(9) I leave it up to readers to judge whether something is too short to be considered a real post. Keep in mind, if it is profound, one sentence may be better than a whole paragraph.
(10) This post does not count.
Manfred Mann's Earth Band - Blinded By The Light
These lyrics can't be as obscene as I think they are.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Ha Ha!
Once, in college, I had a terrible crush on a girl who was in my math class. She had a frustrated, flustered, intense way about her when she was presenting a proof at the board that sent me into giggle fits if I didn't control myself. One day, I just didn't care, so I giggled all the way through her presentation. Pretty rude. She finally turned to me and asked, "Why are you laughing?" I thought about it and realized I didn't know why. Part of it was because I am immature and wanted to show her affection through teasing her. You know, the sort of thing most of you stopped doing in fifth grade. But that didn't seem to me to account for all of it.
It wasn't until recently, reading from Bishop Segrist's Theology of Wonder, that I began to get more of a handle on this aspect of my character.
Now I suppose folly, like humor, has at least two components: exuberance and incongruity, and both of these resonate to the heart of religious experience, do they not? Exuberance is the experience of things as ever new and ever renewed in God's ever-beginning Creation. The world is always amazing and fresh to the religious heart, the heart of the fool certainly, which knows that every day is the first day of Creation.
Beyond this there is incongruity, which can be the source of that bitter humor which points up the terrible and yet terribly funny, gap between what is and what ought to be; it is 'laughter through tears,' or instead of tears. So Freud regarded humor to be essentially a transformation of hostility.
The mention of incongruity resonated with me, because it made me realize that my laughing so much is a way to deal with the frustration I feel when love isn't meeting my expectations. That is why I laughed at the girl I had a crush on: as a way to relieve the tension in my heart. My soul thinks it must either laugh at the absurdity of a difficult love life or despair over feeling so alone.
As far as exuberance goes: As I was watching that funny girl at the board, I was getting a deeper glimpse into her character. I began to see every one of her little arm movements, her blushing, her frustrated foot tapping, as windows into her funny way of just being herself. I think I had a hard time controlling my laughter because I enjoyed seeing so intimately into someone's character. I don't know if this is quite what Bishop Segrist is talking about when he mentions the 'experience of things as ever new and ever renewed in God's ever-beginning creation', but it seems like a tiny flash of that kind of seeing.
It wasn't until recently, reading from Bishop Segrist's Theology of Wonder, that I began to get more of a handle on this aspect of my character.
Now I suppose folly, like humor, has at least two components: exuberance and incongruity, and both of these resonate to the heart of religious experience, do they not? Exuberance is the experience of things as ever new and ever renewed in God's ever-beginning Creation. The world is always amazing and fresh to the religious heart, the heart of the fool certainly, which knows that every day is the first day of Creation.
Beyond this there is incongruity, which can be the source of that bitter humor which points up the terrible and yet terribly funny, gap between what is and what ought to be; it is 'laughter through tears,' or instead of tears. So Freud regarded humor to be essentially a transformation of hostility.
The mention of incongruity resonated with me, because it made me realize that my laughing so much is a way to deal with the frustration I feel when love isn't meeting my expectations. That is why I laughed at the girl I had a crush on: as a way to relieve the tension in my heart. My soul thinks it must either laugh at the absurdity of a difficult love life or despair over feeling so alone.
As far as exuberance goes: As I was watching that funny girl at the board, I was getting a deeper glimpse into her character. I began to see every one of her little arm movements, her blushing, her frustrated foot tapping, as windows into her funny way of just being herself. I think I had a hard time controlling my laughter because I enjoyed seeing so intimately into someone's character. I don't know if this is quite what Bishop Segrist is talking about when he mentions the 'experience of things as ever new and ever renewed in God's ever-beginning creation', but it seems like a tiny flash of that kind of seeing.
Cleaning Rules!
(1) Don't clean out of guilt, clean out of love.
When you clean out of guilt, you are not actually cleaning, you are trying to get rid of guilt. Acknowledge the dirtiness and go pray instead. The easiest way to clean out of love is to clean with a friend. You will never appreciate them more than when they save you from doing all of the toilets. If you don't have a friend to clean with you, then it is harder to keep moving in a spirit of joy. In that case try to remember that God is working with you.
When you clean out of guilt, you are not actually cleaning, you are trying to get rid of guilt. Acknowledge the dirtiness and go pray instead. The easiest way to clean out of love is to clean with a friend. You will never appreciate them more than when they save you from doing all of the toilets. If you don't have a friend to clean with you, then it is harder to keep moving in a spirit of joy. In that case try to remember that God is working with you.
(2) The point is not to get the house clean, it is to remove the dirt.
No house can ever be absolutely clean, but one will always be able to remove dirt, so it is more encouraging to think this way. Focus on the job at hand: if you can forget that you still have a lot to do, it is actually peaceful to watch the little improvements you are making. But don't get lost in the little stuff. You also have to keep moving, because:
(3) The faster you can clean, the more fun it is.
My best days are when the coffee, and my state of mind combine to make me fast but at peace. The worst days are when I just can't stop thinking about something and I find myself pacing around with a rag in my hand mumbling to an empty house. Working is what snaps you out of it, but it is slow, frustrating work until you can focus more on the job at hand. The radio can help or hurt you here. It is usually a help for me because it distracts me from my thoughts. If the songs are too good, though, you end up dancing and singing instead of cleaning. At least, I do. Luckily, radio stations play a lot of bad music and have a lot of commercials. Listening to a CD that you really like is not a good idea.
(4) All you need for cleaning solutions is water and Bon Ami.
I am not in the bacteria killing business. Don't tell my clients but, unless they tell me otherwise, I just use plain old water for the mirrors, counters and floors. Windex is the cause of the streaks! Spray mirrors lightly, use a dry rag and make sure to get the mirror completely dry. You will never worry about streaks again. Bon Ami cleanser is helpful for the showers and sinks, and it doesn't have any bleach or crazy chemicals in it. Sometimes I like using a little bit of vinegar on floors and counters because I like the smell, but I doubt it helps much. If something like a stove top, or a microwave, is really greasy I just rub a dry cloth on it for a while and it picks it right up.
(5) Get an expensive feather duster.
Nothing makes you look more like a sissy, but nothing picks up knick-knack dust faster, or in a funner way, than an ostrich-feather feather duster. They are around twenty bucks at Jeff Campbell's clean team website.
(6) Pumice stone is magic.
If you have rust stains or some other tough stain on your toilet or bathtub a pumice stick is like this magical rock that removes everything without scratching anything. Just get it wet and start grinding. It feels like you're damaging stuff, but I have never seen it make a scratch. It's really good for mineral deposits on tile.
(7) Have a ton of clean dry lint-free non-disposable cloths. Don't be afraid of using too many.
Once again, go to Jeff Campbell's for some good cloths. Buy more than you need, they will disappear fast if your house is anything like mine. If you feel like one is too dirty or wet, just chuck it on the floor and get a dry one. It will save you from streaks. No paper towels: trees shouldn't have to give their lives for motes of dust.
(8) Sweeping is a mystery.
How many piles of dirt should I make? How do I know when I'm done sweeping? Did I already sweep that part? Just accept the mystery, do your best and move on.
(9) Hands and knees.
There's no better way to clean a floor and feel penitent at the same time. Get one cloth wet and have a bunch of dry ones at hand. Wax on, wax off, and keep moving.
(10) If cleaning isn't peaceful or fun, just forget about it.
Enough said!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Romance of Elevators!!
This song is good because it makes elevators seem romantic. This effect is absolutely destroyed by this video.
Listen!
I just read a beautiful little essay by Brenda Ueland about listening. Her advice is easy to understand, so here it is:
Sometimes say to yourself, "Now. What is happening now? This friend is talking. I am quiet. There is endless time. I hear it, every word." Then suddenly you begin to hear not only what people are saying, but what they are trying to say, and you sense the whole truth about them. And you sense existence, not piecemeal, not this object and that, but as a translucent whole.
Then watch your self assertiveness. And give it up. Try not to drink too many cocktails to give up that nervous pressure that feels like energy and wit but may be neither. And remember it is not enough just to will to listen to people. One must really listen. Only then does the magic begin.
Here is the link to the rest of this short essay:
http://www.ctahr.hawaii.edu/ctahr2001/rrii/downloads/Tell_Me_More_Euland.pdf
Sometimes say to yourself, "Now. What is happening now? This friend is talking. I am quiet. There is endless time. I hear it, every word." Then suddenly you begin to hear not only what people are saying, but what they are trying to say, and you sense the whole truth about them. And you sense existence, not piecemeal, not this object and that, but as a translucent whole.
Then watch your self assertiveness. And give it up. Try not to drink too many cocktails to give up that nervous pressure that feels like energy and wit but may be neither. And remember it is not enough just to will to listen to people. One must really listen. Only then does the magic begin.
Here is the link to the rest of this short essay:
http://www.ctahr.hawaii.edu/ctahr2001/rrii/downloads/Tell_Me_More_Euland.pdf
Monday, August 27, 2007
Why Indeed!
Why?
Because my life was empty.
But you could have filled it with a thousand other things.
None of them would have fit.
But she doesn’t fit.
Exactly.
What!?
I don’t know. Have you read the blog?
Some of it.
Sorry about that.
Yeah, yeah. So, why?
Because she was the best I’d seen.
Have you seen Kate Winslet?
I’m over her.
Yeah, me too.
Although, if she called, I wouldn’t let the machine get it.
Me neither. So, why?
Shall I paint a picture?
Please do.
A man finds a rock in his shoe. He wasn’t looking for it, it wasn’t bothering him. He just took his shoe off and a rock fell out. He put the rock back in his shoe and started dancing.
Is this a haiku?
It’s too long for a haiku.
Well, yeah, but coming from you….
Shut-up. Anyway, the rock is still there.
So take it out.
I don’t want to.
Yeah, but why?
I like rocking.
That doesn’t make sense.
Exactly.
You need to take yourself more seriously.
Shall I buy a tie?
It might help. So, why?
Isn’t this getting tiring to you?
Yes, but I’m your friend.
Well, I guess the why is because I’ve always loved her.
Uh-huh.
I’m taking myself seriously right now.
Okay, okay sorry. I’ll get serious too. If you have always loved her, then why did you have all those other girlfriends?
Because I needed a lot of women to equal her. They never did.
You’re a scoundrel.
Nevertheless.
So all these other women: they didn’t look like her.
My first love looked like her. She didn’t want me either.
If I was a psychologist…
We wouldn’t be friends.
True enough.
So I liked brown haired women after that.
So why did you love the first girl?
Now we’re getting somewhere. Because I didn’t like school. I thought it was boring.
But, see, women are not there to make life more exciting. They are the help-meets.
What is a help-meet?
I think they do a lot of dishes.
Sexist!
Nevertheless.
Well, she would do a lot of dishes if she lived with me.
But that’s because you would be busy doing dumb stuff.
Like what?
Writing long dialogues.
Because my life was empty.
But you could have filled it with a thousand other things.
None of them would have fit.
But she doesn’t fit.
Exactly.
What!?
I don’t know. Have you read the blog?
Some of it.
Sorry about that.
Yeah, yeah. So, why?
Because she was the best I’d seen.
Have you seen Kate Winslet?
I’m over her.
Yeah, me too.
Although, if she called, I wouldn’t let the machine get it.
Me neither. So, why?
Shall I paint a picture?
Please do.
A man finds a rock in his shoe. He wasn’t looking for it, it wasn’t bothering him. He just took his shoe off and a rock fell out. He put the rock back in his shoe and started dancing.
Is this a haiku?
It’s too long for a haiku.
Well, yeah, but coming from you….
Shut-up. Anyway, the rock is still there.
So take it out.
I don’t want to.
Yeah, but why?
I like rocking.
That doesn’t make sense.
Exactly.
You need to take yourself more seriously.
Shall I buy a tie?
It might help. So, why?
Isn’t this getting tiring to you?
Yes, but I’m your friend.
Well, I guess the why is because I’ve always loved her.
Uh-huh.
I’m taking myself seriously right now.
Okay, okay sorry. I’ll get serious too. If you have always loved her, then why did you have all those other girlfriends?
Because I needed a lot of women to equal her. They never did.
You’re a scoundrel.
Nevertheless.
So all these other women: they didn’t look like her.
My first love looked like her. She didn’t want me either.
If I was a psychologist…
We wouldn’t be friends.
True enough.
So I liked brown haired women after that.
So why did you love the first girl?
Now we’re getting somewhere. Because I didn’t like school. I thought it was boring.
But, see, women are not there to make life more exciting. They are the help-meets.
What is a help-meet?
I think they do a lot of dishes.
Sexist!
Nevertheless.
Well, she would do a lot of dishes if she lived with me.
But that’s because you would be busy doing dumb stuff.
Like what?
Writing long dialogues.
In Praise of Strength!
Steel girders riding up, pushing up, into the cloud.
The workman goes up, the workman goes down.
His lunch-pail is steel with a banana and a sandwich.
His heart is bleeding from being alone in the air.
He looks out over cars driving, with a head of steel.
He calls down to the people, but no one can hear him.
He laughs with his friends.
At night his wife wakes him up to talk about money.
In the morning he walks to the subway and gives his toast to dogs.
He drinks too much with his friends on the weekends.
He has a girl on the side.
There are too many men like this, and it is all our fault.
Not that we could fix this, if we had all the power in the world.
We would make the same evil choices, if we had it to do over.
We want the freeways, and the advertisements, the crushed workman,
The dreary cubicles.
We really don’t like nature all that much.
We step on bugs.
His wife is not much worse, not much better.
She is not a good cook, but she is a mother at heart:
Looking down when the neighbors pass by with a stroller.
She kept her accent, to use with the shop clerks.
She kept her laugh from her nights on the town with her first love.
She opens cans with her mother’s can opener. She likes the red handles.
These hearts keep beating, and they won’t be done until everyone else is.
They know it’s all a joke, its all for nothing, but they keep doing.
She will have a baby, it will do for a while.
She will have it christened, and worry about college.
He will give up his girl on the side, out of guilt when the kid is born.
And they will become better, with laugh lines around their eyes.
Knowing looks will be the food of their marriage.
It will be years before any fruit comes of all this sacrifice,
But it will be real fruit, and no-one will take it from them.
And then there’s the spiritual life, which is no different from the religious one,
At least not for the lucky people.
Catholics, and they care about it, but what does the church do for them?
It works in quiet too, like their marriage, through their marriage.
I forgot that they were married in the church, she was a virgin.
God works through their weakness.
They don’t enjoy their life, not in the day-to-day, but their life fills with joy:
Like a blush fills a shy face.
These people are no different from any of us.
The college kids who are worried about pleasing their parents, or about getting a pretty wife.
The writer struggling to get something going for God knows why.
We are trying, aren’t we?
This world is mad: we are all on the hunt for what God wants to give us.
We sniff it out, though it is plain before our eyes.
This moment, right here, holds all.
But, we will never see this.
We just have got to keep on plugging.
The workman goes up, the workman goes down.
His lunch-pail is steel with a banana and a sandwich.
His heart is bleeding from being alone in the air.
He looks out over cars driving, with a head of steel.
He calls down to the people, but no one can hear him.
He laughs with his friends.
At night his wife wakes him up to talk about money.
In the morning he walks to the subway and gives his toast to dogs.
He drinks too much with his friends on the weekends.
He has a girl on the side.
There are too many men like this, and it is all our fault.
Not that we could fix this, if we had all the power in the world.
We would make the same evil choices, if we had it to do over.
We want the freeways, and the advertisements, the crushed workman,
The dreary cubicles.
We really don’t like nature all that much.
We step on bugs.
His wife is not much worse, not much better.
She is not a good cook, but she is a mother at heart:
Looking down when the neighbors pass by with a stroller.
She kept her accent, to use with the shop clerks.
She kept her laugh from her nights on the town with her first love.
She opens cans with her mother’s can opener. She likes the red handles.
These hearts keep beating, and they won’t be done until everyone else is.
They know it’s all a joke, its all for nothing, but they keep doing.
She will have a baby, it will do for a while.
She will have it christened, and worry about college.
He will give up his girl on the side, out of guilt when the kid is born.
And they will become better, with laugh lines around their eyes.
Knowing looks will be the food of their marriage.
It will be years before any fruit comes of all this sacrifice,
But it will be real fruit, and no-one will take it from them.
And then there’s the spiritual life, which is no different from the religious one,
At least not for the lucky people.
Catholics, and they care about it, but what does the church do for them?
It works in quiet too, like their marriage, through their marriage.
I forgot that they were married in the church, she was a virgin.
God works through their weakness.
They don’t enjoy their life, not in the day-to-day, but their life fills with joy:
Like a blush fills a shy face.
These people are no different from any of us.
The college kids who are worried about pleasing their parents, or about getting a pretty wife.
The writer struggling to get something going for God knows why.
We are trying, aren’t we?
This world is mad: we are all on the hunt for what God wants to give us.
We sniff it out, though it is plain before our eyes.
This moment, right here, holds all.
But, we will never see this.
We just have got to keep on plugging.
Back in Business!
Close call there! My computer froze earlier. Luckily Ben called right after it happened and we got a beer or two: saved me from needless anxiety.
If You Thought Your Head Was Spinning Before...!
Sophia, The Wisdom of God, is a word coming into rather common use now, but its meaning is not always clear. I asked a friend who has translated many writers from the renaissance of Russian philosophy…the Russian Sophiologists if you will: “What is Sophia?"
“Sophia is what all men seek,” he replied,…and then after some thought… “Sophia is the blue sky, the azure of it, though usually the sky is gray or even somehow we live as if we prefer the gray sky.”
So the young Vladimir Soloviev on a truly gray day when he had been rebuffed by his first sweetheart, suddenly finds all his conciousness suffused with blue, the azure of the sky, and within that aetheric blue he sees or feels that ‘eternal womanhood’ is, unlike its particular local representative, holding out a flower to him. And the German romantic who called himself Novalis has a character of his dream of a blue flower in which he sees the face of his beloved whom he may meet but has not yet.
On the face of it there is a rather long road from the Wisdom books of the Old Testament to this romantic vision, and yet it may be a road worth traversing if indeed the one leads to the other. It seems that it can be worth traveling both ways in that case, for perhaps many who speak of Sophia now have not made the journey back to the ground of Divine Wisdom, and it may be that there are theologians who have not often looked to the sky or to the blue among flowers.
-Ripped off from pg. 77 of Theology of Wonder by Bishop Seraphim Sigrist (ellipses indicative of my omissions)
I have no knack for theology. I often look to the sky, but do not like blue flowers. I like white flowers; specifically: the daisy. Of course, the gold and white daisy goes well with the afternoon blue. I am one of those who speaks of Sophia without having made the journey back to the ground of Divine Wisdom. I have, like Soloviev, a sensitivity to the spiritual worth of jilted romantic love. So much so, that I seek out women who are more likely than not too good for me, though this means I spend most of life pining. I do not compromise when it comes to love. My brother thinks that I will lose this aspect of my character if I am lucky. This may be true, but the above passage suggests that one who is learning to worship God need not seek to lose this, but can try to channel it into his worship.
My favorite idol is woman: beautiful in body and soul. How does God destroy my idol? Like He always does: by becoming small enough to enter into it. If I desire to be conquered by a woman God conquers me through this woman by making her a window to the beauty of eternal womanhood. How does this work? Hang on for dear life, I have to talk about Rod Stewart now.
I was listening to a Rod Stewart classic today (my mom never tires of saying that Rod is a ‘serial monogamist’)
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there’s no-one else above you?
You fill my heart with gladness,
Take away all my sadness,
You ease my troubles that’s what you do.
Good old Rod seems to be getting a little carried away here. On the one hand his lover “takes away all [his] sadness” on the other she “eases [his] troubles”. These are not the same sort of thing. When all of our sadness is gone, we have forgotten the cross. That is how I respond to women: I let them fill me with an ungodly joy that leads me away from religion. I feel, when I am in this state, that “there’s no-one else above” her, not even God. That last line about easing his troubles feels like a little bit of unhelpful guilt popping in, a kind of correction aimed at appeasing God: “No, what I mean to say is, you ease my troubles. Yeah, that’s it, that’s what you do.” Later in the song, Rod makes an appeal that they turn to prayer together.
There’s a love that’s divine.
And it’s yours and it’s mine, like the sun.
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the One, to the One.
I agree Rod, we should pray, but not because the divine love belongs to us, but because it belongs to God. And isn’t it strange that he talks about the sun belonging to them? But that is an accurate description of what God forgetting joy feels like: the sun itself is burning inside of me.
What Rod and I need is a good dose of Sophia via rejection, which is what is being talked about in the above quote from Bishop Seraphim’s book. Rod’s and my theology is more akin to a making, a poeticizing, of our beloved, than it is a receiving of the truth handed down from heaven. Mercy comes to us primarily in the form of an “unlucky” love life, which is really a blessing in disguise. We are knocked back on our feet by our heaven-storming love, our attempts to capture the sun. As we fall back to earth like Icarus, we have a little time to think about what we did wrong. That is as close as I usually get to theology. One fine day Rod and I may stop storming heaven and just fly around on the breeze like birds.
“Sophia is what all men seek,” he replied,…and then after some thought… “Sophia is the blue sky, the azure of it, though usually the sky is gray or even somehow we live as if we prefer the gray sky.”
So the young Vladimir Soloviev on a truly gray day when he had been rebuffed by his first sweetheart, suddenly finds all his conciousness suffused with blue, the azure of the sky, and within that aetheric blue he sees or feels that ‘eternal womanhood’ is, unlike its particular local representative, holding out a flower to him. And the German romantic who called himself Novalis has a character of his dream of a blue flower in which he sees the face of his beloved whom he may meet but has not yet.
On the face of it there is a rather long road from the Wisdom books of the Old Testament to this romantic vision, and yet it may be a road worth traversing if indeed the one leads to the other. It seems that it can be worth traveling both ways in that case, for perhaps many who speak of Sophia now have not made the journey back to the ground of Divine Wisdom, and it may be that there are theologians who have not often looked to the sky or to the blue among flowers.
-Ripped off from pg. 77 of Theology of Wonder by Bishop Seraphim Sigrist (ellipses indicative of my omissions)
I have no knack for theology. I often look to the sky, but do not like blue flowers. I like white flowers; specifically: the daisy. Of course, the gold and white daisy goes well with the afternoon blue. I am one of those who speaks of Sophia without having made the journey back to the ground of Divine Wisdom. I have, like Soloviev, a sensitivity to the spiritual worth of jilted romantic love. So much so, that I seek out women who are more likely than not too good for me, though this means I spend most of life pining. I do not compromise when it comes to love. My brother thinks that I will lose this aspect of my character if I am lucky. This may be true, but the above passage suggests that one who is learning to worship God need not seek to lose this, but can try to channel it into his worship.
My favorite idol is woman: beautiful in body and soul. How does God destroy my idol? Like He always does: by becoming small enough to enter into it. If I desire to be conquered by a woman God conquers me through this woman by making her a window to the beauty of eternal womanhood. How does this work? Hang on for dear life, I have to talk about Rod Stewart now.
I was listening to a Rod Stewart classic today (my mom never tires of saying that Rod is a ‘serial monogamist’)
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there’s no-one else above you?
You fill my heart with gladness,
Take away all my sadness,
You ease my troubles that’s what you do.
Good old Rod seems to be getting a little carried away here. On the one hand his lover “takes away all [his] sadness” on the other she “eases [his] troubles”. These are not the same sort of thing. When all of our sadness is gone, we have forgotten the cross. That is how I respond to women: I let them fill me with an ungodly joy that leads me away from religion. I feel, when I am in this state, that “there’s no-one else above” her, not even God. That last line about easing his troubles feels like a little bit of unhelpful guilt popping in, a kind of correction aimed at appeasing God: “No, what I mean to say is, you ease my troubles. Yeah, that’s it, that’s what you do.” Later in the song, Rod makes an appeal that they turn to prayer together.
There’s a love that’s divine.
And it’s yours and it’s mine, like the sun.
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the One, to the One.
I agree Rod, we should pray, but not because the divine love belongs to us, but because it belongs to God. And isn’t it strange that he talks about the sun belonging to them? But that is an accurate description of what God forgetting joy feels like: the sun itself is burning inside of me.
What Rod and I need is a good dose of Sophia via rejection, which is what is being talked about in the above quote from Bishop Seraphim’s book. Rod’s and my theology is more akin to a making, a poeticizing, of our beloved, than it is a receiving of the truth handed down from heaven. Mercy comes to us primarily in the form of an “unlucky” love life, which is really a blessing in disguise. We are knocked back on our feet by our heaven-storming love, our attempts to capture the sun. As we fall back to earth like Icarus, we have a little time to think about what we did wrong. That is as close as I usually get to theology. One fine day Rod and I may stop storming heaven and just fly around on the breeze like birds.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Baptism!
Baby baptism today at church. Thinking about it now, I am struck by how insignificant it seemed at the time. But, it must really be a momentous occasion. This baby can't say she was not given a chance. Or maybe she can, if her life is bad enough. But she can't honestly say that God has done nothing for her. She probably will say it at some point. If she is like me, she will live most of her days not thinking much about what God has done for her. I hope she is better than me.
We dunk 'em three times, all the way in. She starts crying after the first dunk. I don't know if she cries underwater. Crying, silence in the water, crying, silence in the water, and then she is back in a warm blanket. She is carried around the church later. It looked like Father was trying to show her the icon on the ceiling: "Lord let thy servant depart in peace..." Such a strange thing to remember death at the moment when a new life is being shown around her future church. I know that in Christ life and death are close together, but the strangeness is there nonetheless.
All of this dunking and parading around: she is in our hands, we will make her cry, cause her distress.
We dunk 'em three times, all the way in. She starts crying after the first dunk. I don't know if she cries underwater. Crying, silence in the water, crying, silence in the water, and then she is back in a warm blanket. She is carried around the church later. It looked like Father was trying to show her the icon on the ceiling: "Lord let thy servant depart in peace..." Such a strange thing to remember death at the moment when a new life is being shown around her future church. I know that in Christ life and death are close together, but the strangeness is there nonetheless.
All of this dunking and parading around: she is in our hands, we will make her cry, cause her distress.
The Whiz-bang Ending to "If You Want to Write" by Brenda Ueland
1. Know that you have talent, are original and have something important to say.
2. Know that it is good to work. Work with love and think of liking it when you do it. It is easy and interesting.
3. Write freely, recklessly, in first drafts.
4. Tackle anything you want to-novels, plays, anything. Only remember Blake's admonition: "Better to strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."
5. Don't be afraid of writing bad stories. To discover what is wrong with a story write two new ones and then go back to it.
6. Don't fret or be ashamed of what you have written in the past. How I always suffered from this! How I would regurgitate out of my memory (and still do) some nauseous little lumps of things I had written! But don't do this. Go on to the next. And fight against this tendency which is much of it due not to splendid modesty, but a lack of self respect. We are too ready (women especially) not to stand by what we have said or done. Often it is a way of forestalling criticism, saying hurriedly: "I know it is awful!" before anyone else does. Very bad and cowardly. It is so conceited and timid to be ashamed of one's mistakes. Of course they are mistakes. Go on to the next.
7. Try to discover your true, honest, untheoretical self.
8. Don't think of yourself as an intestinal track or tangle of nerves in the skull, that will not work unless you drink coffee. Think of yourself as incandescent power, illuminated perhaps and forever talked to by God and his messengers. Remember how wonderful you are, what a miracle! Think if Tiffany's made a mosquito, how wonderful we would think it was!
9. If you are never satisfied with what you write, that is a good sign. It means your vision can see so far that it is hard to come up to it. Again I say, the only unfortunate people are the glib ones, immediately satisfied with their work. To them the ocean is only knee-deep.
10. When discouraged, remember what Van Gogh said: "If you hear a voice within you saying: You are no painter, then paint by all means, lad, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working."
11. Don't be afraid of yourself when you write. Don't check-rein yourself. If you are afraid of being sentimental, say, for heaven's sake be as sentimental as you can or feel like being! Then you will probably pass through to the other side and slough off sentimentality because you understand it at last and really don't care about it.
12. Don't always be appraising yourself, wondering if you are better or worse than other writers. "I will not Reason & Compare," said Blake: "my business is to Create." Besides, since you are like no other being ever created since the beginning of Time, you are incomparable.
And why should you do all these things? Why should we all use our creative power and write or paint or play music or whatever it tells us to do?
Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money. Because the best way to know the Truth or Beauty is to try to express it. And what is the purpose of existence Here or Yonder but to discover truth and beauty and express it, i.e., share it with others?
And so I really believe this book will hasten the Millennium by two or three hundred years. And if it has given you the impulse to write one small story, then I am pleased.
2. Know that it is good to work. Work with love and think of liking it when you do it. It is easy and interesting.
3. Write freely, recklessly, in first drafts.
4. Tackle anything you want to-novels, plays, anything. Only remember Blake's admonition: "Better to strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."
5. Don't be afraid of writing bad stories. To discover what is wrong with a story write two new ones and then go back to it.
6. Don't fret or be ashamed of what you have written in the past. How I always suffered from this! How I would regurgitate out of my memory (and still do) some nauseous little lumps of things I had written! But don't do this. Go on to the next. And fight against this tendency which is much of it due not to splendid modesty, but a lack of self respect. We are too ready (women especially) not to stand by what we have said or done. Often it is a way of forestalling criticism, saying hurriedly: "I know it is awful!" before anyone else does. Very bad and cowardly. It is so conceited and timid to be ashamed of one's mistakes. Of course they are mistakes. Go on to the next.
7. Try to discover your true, honest, untheoretical self.
8. Don't think of yourself as an intestinal track or tangle of nerves in the skull, that will not work unless you drink coffee. Think of yourself as incandescent power, illuminated perhaps and forever talked to by God and his messengers. Remember how wonderful you are, what a miracle! Think if Tiffany's made a mosquito, how wonderful we would think it was!
9. If you are never satisfied with what you write, that is a good sign. It means your vision can see so far that it is hard to come up to it. Again I say, the only unfortunate people are the glib ones, immediately satisfied with their work. To them the ocean is only knee-deep.
10. When discouraged, remember what Van Gogh said: "If you hear a voice within you saying: You are no painter, then paint by all means, lad, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working."
11. Don't be afraid of yourself when you write. Don't check-rein yourself. If you are afraid of being sentimental, say, for heaven's sake be as sentimental as you can or feel like being! Then you will probably pass through to the other side and slough off sentimentality because you understand it at last and really don't care about it.
12. Don't always be appraising yourself, wondering if you are better or worse than other writers. "I will not Reason & Compare," said Blake: "my business is to Create." Besides, since you are like no other being ever created since the beginning of Time, you are incomparable.
And why should you do all these things? Why should we all use our creative power and write or paint or play music or whatever it tells us to do?
Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money. Because the best way to know the Truth or Beauty is to try to express it. And what is the purpose of existence Here or Yonder but to discover truth and beauty and express it, i.e., share it with others?
And so I really believe this book will hasten the Millennium by two or three hundred years. And if it has given you the impulse to write one small story, then I am pleased.
Anxiety Be Gone!
Yes, I am all against anxiety, worry. There are many people, you can see, who consider worry a kind of duty. Back of this I think it is the subconcious feeling that Fate or God is mean or resentful or tetchy and that if we do not worry enough we will certainly catch it from Him.
But they should remember that Christ said that we should cast off anxiety so that we could "seek first the Kingdom of Heaven and His righteousness" (i.e. live creatively, greatly, seekingly, in the present) "and all these things" (beauty, happiness, goodness, talent, food and clothing) "will be added unto you." Of course He is right.
pg. 56 If You Want to Write
But they should remember that Christ said that we should cast off anxiety so that we could "seek first the Kingdom of Heaven and His righteousness" (i.e. live creatively, greatly, seekingly, in the present) "and all these things" (beauty, happiness, goodness, talent, food and clothing) "will be added unto you." Of course He is right.
pg. 56 If You Want to Write
Elvis Costello - Radio! Radio! (SNL)!!!
You had better do as you are told! You better listen to the radio!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Thankful!
How deep can my thankfulness go?
In words? As deep as the sea.
In life? As deep as God wills.
He's the thankfulness in me.
In words? As deep as the sea.
In life? As deep as God wills.
He's the thankfulness in me.
David Byrne Interview!
I can't watch this video without laughing until I cry: please don't judge me.
Weezer - El Scorcho!
Here's the story: The lead singer of Weezer was going to Harvard in his off-time after the band hit it big. He was mildly famous, really rich, and pretty smart: time to get some college ladies, right? Wrong! His leg somehow got broken, so he was wearing a brace and feeling pretty old and lame. He fell in love with a half-Japanese girl who didn't want to have anything to do with him. You can imagine how he felt: powerless, desperate, at the end of his rope. Well, you don't have to imagine how he felt because it's all in the song!
Dire Straits - Romeo and Juliet Live
The sax solo sux. The rest is pure, headband-sporting gold. What an honor to have such awesome rock on my blog!
Dire Straits 2
I can't do the talk like the talk on the TV
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be.
I can't do everything, but I'll do anything for you.
I can't do anything 'cept be in love with you.
And all I do is miss you,
And the way we used to be.
All I do is keep the beat,
And bad company.
And all I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme.
Julie, I'd do the stars with you baby, anytime.
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be.
I can't do everything, but I'll do anything for you.
I can't do anything 'cept be in love with you.
And all I do is miss you,
And the way we used to be.
All I do is keep the beat,
And bad company.
And all I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme.
Julie, I'd do the stars with you baby, anytime.
Potato!
I just spelled potato with a "e" at the end. For the record, I blame my error, and my announcement of the error, on the people who thought it was newsworthy that Dan Quayle made a spelling mistake. We become what we mock!
Coffee Shop Meeting
I don't know how much I trust a man that blurts out the following before we've exchanged names: "What are you about 35?". Me, laughing, delighted, incredulous: "What?!"
"Are you about 35 years old?"
"No! I'm 28!"
"Oh....Sorry!"
"That's okay. Most people think I'm younger than I am." This is true, but most of these people know how immature I am. I don't think this guy had enough time to pick up on it.
Him: "How old do you think I am?"
"Um...I don't know. 33?"
"Oh man! Most people think I'm younger than I am too. I'm 32!...No, wait, is that right? What year is it?".
I was freakin' lovin' this guy!
"It's 2007."
"So...", scratching his head and doing some math. "Yeah, I'm 32."
God Bless coffee shop losers!
"Are you about 35 years old?"
"No! I'm 28!"
"Oh....Sorry!"
"That's okay. Most people think I'm younger than I am." This is true, but most of these people know how immature I am. I don't think this guy had enough time to pick up on it.
Him: "How old do you think I am?"
"Um...I don't know. 33?"
"Oh man! Most people think I'm younger than I am too. I'm 32!...No, wait, is that right? What year is it?".
I was freakin' lovin' this guy!
"It's 2007."
"So...", scratching his head and doing some math. "Yeah, I'm 32."
God Bless coffee shop losers!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Country Song!
I’m gonna need another sitting,
If this painting’s gonna work out.
I’ve forgotten what you look like.
That you’re pretty I’ve no doubt.
All that I remember,
Is that your eyes were pale blue.
But once I got those painted
I didn’t know what else to do.
If you give me one more sitting.
I promise that I’ll make it quick
If you give me one more sitting.
I promise it’ll stick.
So darling: give me one more sitting
Wear your best dress and do your hair.
Just sit there and look pretty
And I’ll stand here and stare.
I know the first session wasn’t too good.
You were right, I was being rude.
You might be relieved to know
That I've decided against a nude.
Oh darling: help me to remember
What I can’t seem to forget.
What I remember of you so far
Is too beautiful to quit.
Now, your nose was slightly freckled.
Your front teeth had a gap.
Your hair was long and golden.
I draw a blank after that.
Your hips were curved like tear drops.
Your hands: tiny like a doll’s.
The rest of you was so nice,
I can’t remember it at all.
Your nails were red like match tips.
Your ear lobes, white like pearls.
To put some color to the rest of you,
We’ll have to give it another whirl.
You don’t know what someone looks like,
Til’ you’ve seen ‘em at least three times.
I’ve got an opening on Friday.
Should we say round half-past nine?
If this painting’s gonna work out.
I’ve forgotten what you look like.
That you’re pretty I’ve no doubt.
All that I remember,
Is that your eyes were pale blue.
But once I got those painted
I didn’t know what else to do.
If you give me one more sitting.
I promise that I’ll make it quick
If you give me one more sitting.
I promise it’ll stick.
So darling: give me one more sitting
Wear your best dress and do your hair.
Just sit there and look pretty
And I’ll stand here and stare.
I know the first session wasn’t too good.
You were right, I was being rude.
You might be relieved to know
That I've decided against a nude.
Oh darling: help me to remember
What I can’t seem to forget.
What I remember of you so far
Is too beautiful to quit.
Now, your nose was slightly freckled.
Your front teeth had a gap.
Your hair was long and golden.
I draw a blank after that.
Your hips were curved like tear drops.
Your hands: tiny like a doll’s.
The rest of you was so nice,
I can’t remember it at all.
Your nails were red like match tips.
Your ear lobes, white like pearls.
To put some color to the rest of you,
We’ll have to give it another whirl.
You don’t know what someone looks like,
Til’ you’ve seen ‘em at least three times.
I’ve got an opening on Friday.
Should we say round half-past nine?
Strange Poem!
I think I need to have some predicaments.
Otherwise I might have to taste peace.
I'm gonna need to start solving some problems.
Give me a blackboard, an eraser and a week.
I'll see you when I've answered my riddles.
I doubt that I'll be recognized.
My face will be shrouded in splendor.
But I'll use my knowledge to open your eyes.
See you in a week!
Otherwise I might have to taste peace.
I'm gonna need to start solving some problems.
Give me a blackboard, an eraser and a week.
I'll see you when I've answered my riddles.
I doubt that I'll be recognized.
My face will be shrouded in splendor.
But I'll use my knowledge to open your eyes.
See you in a week!
Wonderful Night!
The soft green of the sunset soaked leaves,
The dusking quiet of my empty home,
The autumn whisper that breathes from the east,
The peace that comes from being alone.
The dusking quiet of my empty home,
The autumn whisper that breathes from the east,
The peace that comes from being alone.
I Love Orthodoxy!
I don't know how Orthodox this guy is, but luckily I don't have to determine it. Click on the link below for an explanation of the vestments, and some delightful weirdness. I think this guy is a Bishop! Swing Away!
I like the idea of tapping into an infinite source of ideas. Who wouldn’t? Well, actually, all of us have some part that doesn’t want to tap into this, because it means always changing. But, it also means truly believing in all of the fixed dogmas. We need the rules, but the rules don’t need us; we are not doing the infinite any favors by being good little Christians. But we must do ourselves a favor by being truthful about what we really are, each of us. The infinite has done us the real favor by somehow becoming finite: entering into each moment fully. The particular man right here is enclosing and bringing alive every possibility that ever could be. The words I type are every one a grace and a gift: a little enclosure of the all.
We make better doors than windows. If Christ said he was a door, a gate, then none of us can scorn being opaque in relation to God. We are a door, shutting out the light that shines everywhere, in order to protect our sheeply nature. We must protect ourselves from the devil by forgetting, for most of our lives, God’s strength in us. This idea, that we enclose the all, should not be the center of our spiritual lives, at least not for most of us. I still don’t know where I fit in all of this.
These are delicate matters, and I am swinging my hammer.
We make better doors than windows. If Christ said he was a door, a gate, then none of us can scorn being opaque in relation to God. We are a door, shutting out the light that shines everywhere, in order to protect our sheeply nature. We must protect ourselves from the devil by forgetting, for most of our lives, God’s strength in us. This idea, that we enclose the all, should not be the center of our spiritual lives, at least not for most of us. I still don’t know where I fit in all of this.
These are delicate matters, and I am swinging my hammer.
Radiobloggin'
It's a beautiful mornin'. (Ahhh!)
I think I'll go outside a while,
(An' just smile!!!)
Just take in some clear fresh air, boy!
(next song)
And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.
And maybe it's quite simple but, now that it's done:
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind,
That I'm hooked on the words.
How wonderful life is, while you're in the world!
How wonderful life is, while y'all are in the world!
PM3000
I think I'll go outside a while,
(An' just smile!!!)
Just take in some clear fresh air, boy!
(next song)
And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.
And maybe it's quite simple but, now that it's done:
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind,
That I'm hooked on the words.
How wonderful life is, while you're in the world!
How wonderful life is, while y'all are in the world!
PM3000
Go Leave Comments on Nate's Blog!
Hey Everybody,
Click on the top link at right to get to my brother's brand new blog. I doubt he will post as frequently as I do, seeing as how he has a job, but if you leave him comments, maybe it will encourage him to post every day.
Anything that you find funny on his blog is due to my influence. Remember: I am the older brother!
PM3000
Here's another link to his blog:
http://itssafeandwarminhere.blogspot.com/
Click on the top link at right to get to my brother's brand new blog. I doubt he will post as frequently as I do, seeing as how he has a job, but if you leave him comments, maybe it will encourage him to post every day.
Anything that you find funny on his blog is due to my influence. Remember: I am the older brother!
PM3000
Here's another link to his blog:
http://itssafeandwarminhere.blogspot.com/
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Buy This Book: "If You Want to Write" by Brenda Ueland
I hope I don't undermine my recommendation of If You Want to Write by putting it in the vicinity of my writing. I bought the book today, so it cannot justly be held responsible for my lack of artistry. Not yet, at least.
It was written by an old Minnesotan woman who was knighted by the King of Norway. If that isn't enough for you: she set an international swimming record for people over 80! I assure you, whatever you think she looks like is so much less cool than the picture of her on the frontispiece of this book. I want to say: pirate wearing a bowtie, but that would be uncharitable. True, but uncharitable.
Here are some of the actual chapter titles (I inserted the bracketed exclamation point):
V. "Sooner strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires"-William Blake
VII. Be careless, reckless! Be a lion, be a pirate [!] when you write.
X. Why Women who do too much housework should neglect it for their writing
XIV. Keep a slovenly, headlong, impulsive, honest diary
XVIII. "He whose face gives no light shall never become a star."-William Blake
There is a lot of Blake in this book. I was (am) a little scared of the Blake thing, but the book is too wise to pass up because the author likes a weirdo. This woman has been there, kicked there's ass, and brought it back for us to see.
I don't know who Carl Sandburg is, but he called If You Want to Write, "The best book ever written about how to write." Carl, Poem Master 3000 agrees!
It was written by an old Minnesotan woman who was knighted by the King of Norway. If that isn't enough for you: she set an international swimming record for people over 80! I assure you, whatever you think she looks like is so much less cool than the picture of her on the frontispiece of this book. I want to say: pirate wearing a bowtie, but that would be uncharitable. True, but uncharitable.
Here are some of the actual chapter titles (I inserted the bracketed exclamation point):
V. "Sooner strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires"-William Blake
VII. Be careless, reckless! Be a lion, be a pirate [!] when you write.
X. Why Women who do too much housework should neglect it for their writing
XIV. Keep a slovenly, headlong, impulsive, honest diary
XVIII. "He whose face gives no light shall never become a star."-William Blake
There is a lot of Blake in this book. I was (am) a little scared of the Blake thing, but the book is too wise to pass up because the author likes a weirdo. This woman has been there, kicked there's ass, and brought it back for us to see.
I don't know who Carl Sandburg is, but he called If You Want to Write, "The best book ever written about how to write." Carl, Poem Master 3000 agrees!
Dog Sitting: A Note to John
Jensen knows I am petting him out of obligation. He doesn’t even wag his tail.
Thank You God
I thank God for these moments of peaceful writing. They are not overwhelmingly great moments, but I view this as a mercy. If they were too good, my spiritual and worldly ambitions might catch wind of this and start running. I write because I want to, not because I think it will be good for my soul or bank account, though I do hope it will.
Beware. Free Verse Approaching!
You didn't count on me, when you were counting on your rosary. Oh woah woah. I think the oh woah woah really makes that lyric. Stars, cars, bars and guitars. Writing like a fool, a total fool. That's okay. That's the idea. Easy now, boy. No rules, just right. Isn't that what they say? Who? The Outback people. Ah yes. Commercials: the lingua franca of our age. And what age is that? Thirteen, I believe. I am free! So, what now? Well re-read. Is that in the rule book? Damn your rules! And damn you! Don't be damning people now! You might be getting your very self into trouble. But am I not, are we not all, always in trouble? That's the teaching of the church. That's what the lasagna makers believe. But, we can't all be lasagna makers, now can we? No, certainly not. But, is that a hard and fast rule? It was fast in the typing, and it is hard to read, so yes, hard and fast. Three cans, stacked neatly, is this what you were looking for? I don't know what I was looking for, but three cans will have to do. This is fun! I am exercising my ambivalent potential for free unerotic verse. Good for you! No, Good for us all! Indeed, brother. Type O Negative. Type. Why? Positive!
This Washed Up In A Bottle!
Dear Friends,
I address you as friends. I hope that, in our last conversations, I have said all of the right things to each of you to prevent any one of you feeling slighted by my grouping you in the same class. The class of friend is the highest class to me, and I do not use the word lightly. If you have received this letter, then you have received my assurance, as much as it is in my power, that I love you.
I address you as friends. I hope that, in our last conversations, I have said all of the right things to each of you to prevent any one of you feeling slighted by my grouping you in the same class. The class of friend is the highest class to me, and I do not use the word lightly. If you have received this letter, then you have received my assurance, as much as it is in my power, that I love you.
As you know, I have left you. I have given each of you different reasons for my departure and told no one the real reason. I confess to lying. I have asked God for forgiveness, and have received peace in response. I feel assured my lies were white ones. I did not want to get into arguments with any of you during my final precious moments among you. I just wanted to enjoy, in our last days together, the familiar taste of unguarded conversation among those who know how to be human. Now that I am gone, I want to tell you where I really went.
If Providence has seen fit, I am in the vicinity of a coral reef near a chain of islands that shall go unnamed. In fact, if my hopes are realized, and the promises of my Beloved were not lies, I am actually living in a small, underwater cave within the above mentioned coral forest. There is no air in this cave, but I do not need air anymore. You see, I can breathe underwater.
If Providence has seen fit, I am in the vicinity of a coral reef near a chain of islands that shall go unnamed. In fact, if my hopes are realized, and the promises of my Beloved were not lies, I am actually living in a small, underwater cave within the above mentioned coral forest. There is no air in this cave, but I do not need air anymore. You see, I can breathe underwater.
I know all of you well enough to trust that none of you will think I am lying or crazy, but in the interest of sating your curiosity and of guarding against any anger that may be arising in your hearts, I wish to tell you the full story of how I came to know that I had to leave you all and become a mer-man.
(to be continued)
Dire Straits!
A love struck Romeo
Sings the streets a serenade.
He's laying everybody low.
He's got a love song that he made.
He finds a convenient streetlight.
And he steps out of the shade.
And says something like,
"You and me, babe, how about it?".
Juliet says, "Hey, its Romeo!
You nearly give me a heart attack!".
Yeah well, he's underneath the window.
She's singing, "Hey-la, my boyfriends back.
You shouldnt come around here,
Singing up at people like that.
Ah anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?".
"Oh, Juliet: The dice were loaded from the start.
And I bet, and you exploded in my heart.
And I forget, I forget the movie song.
When you gonna realize,
It was just that the time was wrong?
Juliet!"
Sings the streets a serenade.
He's laying everybody low.
He's got a love song that he made.
He finds a convenient streetlight.
And he steps out of the shade.
And says something like,
"You and me, babe, how about it?".
Juliet says, "Hey, its Romeo!
You nearly give me a heart attack!".
Yeah well, he's underneath the window.
She's singing, "Hey-la, my boyfriends back.
You shouldnt come around here,
Singing up at people like that.
Ah anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?".
"Oh, Juliet: The dice were loaded from the start.
And I bet, and you exploded in my heart.
And I forget, I forget the movie song.
When you gonna realize,
It was just that the time was wrong?
Juliet!"
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
"In Your Eyes, The Light, The Heat..."!
Knowing the power of art to mould life in its own image, many puritans have wished to abolish art altogether. If they had confined their iconoclasm to bad art, there might have been some sense in them. Boys and girls who have Dante for their pandar are more likely to make love with style, handsomely, than those whose spiritual food is drawn from the magazines and the films.
Aldous Huxley-Texts and Pretexts
Note to self: fewer movies, more Dante, and for Pete's sake, stop flipping around the radio! But, really, who am I kidding? I spent my thirteenth year listening to Tom Petty until the tape wore out. Once a rocker has started rocking, is there any way he can stop?
What would happen if a modern guy like me tried to love a woman like Dante loved Beatrice? Would my amateur poetry and promises of eternal love be more stylish and handsome than me standing outside of her window with a boom-box? They both look pretty silly compared to the real, somehow-still-together marriages I see around me.
Aldous Huxley-Texts and Pretexts
Note to self: fewer movies, more Dante, and for Pete's sake, stop flipping around the radio! But, really, who am I kidding? I spent my thirteenth year listening to Tom Petty until the tape wore out. Once a rocker has started rocking, is there any way he can stop?
What would happen if a modern guy like me tried to love a woman like Dante loved Beatrice? Would my amateur poetry and promises of eternal love be more stylish and handsome than me standing outside of her window with a boom-box? They both look pretty silly compared to the real, somehow-still-together marriages I see around me.
Both the pop songs and my poetic parody of Dante miss the point: love is quiet. The sooner I know this, the sooner this blog comes to an end. (Don't worry fans. I'm a slow learner!)
Crosswalk Rage!
An Ochlophobic suggestion (apologies to the Ochlophobist):
Pedestrians should have the right-of-way on all surface streets, regardless of whether there is a crosswalk. To give this guideline some teeth, pedestrians who are carrying baseball bats should be allowed to damage any car that comes too close when they are crossing. I leave it to the lawyers to define "too close".
An un-Ochlophobic suggestion (apologies to A):
Riding a bike on your 21st birthday should be outlawed to keep you from running into parked cars.
Pedestrians should have the right-of-way on all surface streets, regardless of whether there is a crosswalk. To give this guideline some teeth, pedestrians who are carrying baseball bats should be allowed to damage any car that comes too close when they are crossing. I leave it to the lawyers to define "too close".
An un-Ochlophobic suggestion (apologies to A):
Riding a bike on your 21st birthday should be outlawed to keep you from running into parked cars.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The Home Life of the Reluctant Bachelor
(1) I cut my own hair. It bothers me to wonder what it looks like in the back.
(2) I put shirts in the dryer to get the wrinkles out. I do not own an iron.
(3) I wash my hair, and shave, with soap. I don't know where the soap comes from. I think John buys it.
(4) I do not write thank-you notes.
(5) I drink soda for breakfast.
(6) I drink soda before bed.
(7) My floor is covered in clothes and books.
(8) After two years here, we are still not quite sure when trash day is.
(9) I eat when I am hungry. I eat when I am not hungry. I guess I eat when I want to.
(10) The people at McDonalds know me by name.
(2) I put shirts in the dryer to get the wrinkles out. I do not own an iron.
(3) I wash my hair, and shave, with soap. I don't know where the soap comes from. I think John buys it.
(4) I do not write thank-you notes.
(5) I drink soda for breakfast.
(6) I drink soda before bed.
(7) My floor is covered in clothes and books.
(8) After two years here, we are still not quite sure when trash day is.
(9) I eat when I am hungry. I eat when I am not hungry. I guess I eat when I want to.
(10) The people at McDonalds know me by name.
Pretense In Paris!
What? You dare to bother the poet as he absorbs the view from the Tour d'Eiffel en Paris? Who are you to disturb my reverie for a mere photograph? You cannot capture my soul on your Kodak. My heart flies with the birds! Look to the sea for my true self. I am in the waves. What's that? You want to get something to eat? I am hungry too! Hungry for meaning!
Happy Birthday A!
Happy Birthday to 1/2 of my favorite couple! If you don't know who I mean, just think of your favorite couple. Now pick one of them. Odds are, we are thinking of the same person.
A Sure Sign I Am About To Surrender!
This song lyric got to me today as I listened to the radio while scrubbing a floor.
I will go down with this ship.
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door.
I'm in love and always will be.
This probably means I am about to give up. It's weird being me, but I must like it. Why else would I keep doing it?
I will go down with this ship.
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door.
I'm in love and always will be.
This probably means I am about to give up. It's weird being me, but I must like it. Why else would I keep doing it?
Monday, August 20, 2007
The GDA-Post #3
My Mom told me that right at that moment Serena was catching sight of the guy dressed as Alladin at the princess-themed restaurant. I have a hard time reading her face. My Mom says that she is blushing, as any modest princess would, upon catching sight of her betrothed. I thought this might be right, until I saw a picture of Alladin. Once I saw what Alladin actually looked like I began to wonder whether Serena's expression might not be better described as shock at what a weirdo Alladin has become.
Don't tell any of the princesses, but I think our friend from Agrabah is wearing lipstick! Since all the girls are lined up right there, I might as well introduce them. To the far left, wearing the Ariel wig, is Sydney. Next to her, also dressed as Ariel, is Lauren. You've already met Serena who, as you can guess, is dressed as princess Jasmine. Next to her is my cousin who lives in California. Her name is Olivia. She opted not to dress as a princess on account of being the oldest, but I think she did a good job picking an outfit that doesn't violate the spirit of a princess-themed restaurant.
I think this picture is totally awesome! Lauren, who is now having her turn with the Ariel wig, is peeking out from the back, totally enthralled by the zanyness that is Goofy. It's cute that the girls think that wig makes them look more princess-like. Ron, meanwhile, is wearing that extreme smile that comes when joy is kicking you in the face. Either that or Goofy is stepping on his foot.
Remembering My First Real Teacher!
If you have ever met a true Pagan, consider yourself blessed. These men walk among us in the guise of little gods, asking outwardly for worship, but truly desiring friendship. If you have ever befriended a modern-day Pagan, you are a better man than I. What I would give to know the precious inner pains of these little Achilles! They have been dipped by divinity into the waters, and all that remains of their humanity is that tiny bare spot on their heel. Their humanity, which is to say their need to worship someone, has been reduced to a bodily weakness. Which is not to say that they are incontinent! Far from it! The body’s energies in these men have been rechanneled to such an extent that their Eros has been lodged in it’s proper place: the place between the heart and the mind. No, these men will not leave a discussion table for a night with Helen herself.
And what of the spirited part of man, you ask? Where can you find that in a modern day pagan? It pains me to say this, but I do not know. They will sit complacently by while the most terrible blasphemies are uttered against God. In fact Neitzsche himself might enter the seminar room, raving mad with syphyills, proclaiming the death of God and the disdain of Socrates, and all you will get out of the Pagan is a chuckle, an apology for rudeness, and a pointed question formulated to expose the mad German’s careless reading of “the text”. I tell you, I have seen a modern day Nietzsche apologize to, bow before, and complement a Pagan, before hurriedly excusing himself from the classroom. The Pagan is sobriety incarnate. He cannot help but sober up the impressionable.
As I said, it is in their bodies that the Pagan’s need for worship resides. That is to say, if you wish to meet a modern-day Pagan, look for him among the academic Jews. Who else is born bodily into covenant? And not just any academic Jews: you will not find a Pagan among the liberals. Among the reformed set you will find many activists, transferring their holy anger to the injustices of the world, but you will not find a Pagan. No, a Pagan knows that man needs worship, he knows its proper object, and he rejects the existence of that object. In fact it is in this aspect of his soul that his power lies: he was born a worshipper, but has remade himself into a philosopher. His need for worship contents itself with that tiny spot of heel. Perhaps one day an arrow will fall from heaven and strike him dead to the world, but until that time, he must trod his own path by the light of his own lamp.
I say the modern-day Jewish academic Pagan rejects the existence of God. But of all men you will encounter in academia, he is the most open to the possibility of God’s existence. Not open like a Christian academic is open, (i.e. opened in confident love), but open like a wound, or like a half of a sphere. You will hear a catch in his voice when his dialectical back is against the wall, but do not let your guard down. He will find your weak premises, or he will overpower the room with his silence, but he will not get flustered. He knows that if he gets flustered, you might get flustered. If he starts taking himself more seriously than the conversation, then you might stop taking the conversation seriously. And how would you ever be able to become friends if you could not converse seriously? As I said at the outset, these men above all want equals, true friends, their other half. Their god like outward aspect is merely their default dialectical shield. If you have ever seen two of these men greet each other, then you have seen two half moons knowingly nodding from their priviledged positions orbiting the inner ring of the unmoved mover.
And what of the spirited part of man, you ask? Where can you find that in a modern day pagan? It pains me to say this, but I do not know. They will sit complacently by while the most terrible blasphemies are uttered against God. In fact Neitzsche himself might enter the seminar room, raving mad with syphyills, proclaiming the death of God and the disdain of Socrates, and all you will get out of the Pagan is a chuckle, an apology for rudeness, and a pointed question formulated to expose the mad German’s careless reading of “the text”. I tell you, I have seen a modern day Nietzsche apologize to, bow before, and complement a Pagan, before hurriedly excusing himself from the classroom. The Pagan is sobriety incarnate. He cannot help but sober up the impressionable.
As I said, it is in their bodies that the Pagan’s need for worship resides. That is to say, if you wish to meet a modern-day Pagan, look for him among the academic Jews. Who else is born bodily into covenant? And not just any academic Jews: you will not find a Pagan among the liberals. Among the reformed set you will find many activists, transferring their holy anger to the injustices of the world, but you will not find a Pagan. No, a Pagan knows that man needs worship, he knows its proper object, and he rejects the existence of that object. In fact it is in this aspect of his soul that his power lies: he was born a worshipper, but has remade himself into a philosopher. His need for worship contents itself with that tiny spot of heel. Perhaps one day an arrow will fall from heaven and strike him dead to the world, but until that time, he must trod his own path by the light of his own lamp.
I say the modern-day Jewish academic Pagan rejects the existence of God. But of all men you will encounter in academia, he is the most open to the possibility of God’s existence. Not open like a Christian academic is open, (i.e. opened in confident love), but open like a wound, or like a half of a sphere. You will hear a catch in his voice when his dialectical back is against the wall, but do not let your guard down. He will find your weak premises, or he will overpower the room with his silence, but he will not get flustered. He knows that if he gets flustered, you might get flustered. If he starts taking himself more seriously than the conversation, then you might stop taking the conversation seriously. And how would you ever be able to become friends if you could not converse seriously? As I said at the outset, these men above all want equals, true friends, their other half. Their god like outward aspect is merely their default dialectical shield. If you have ever seen two of these men greet each other, then you have seen two half moons knowingly nodding from their priviledged positions orbiting the inner ring of the unmoved mover.
The GDA-Post #2
I left someone out of the story who deserves to have his place. Ron, my stepdad, is a real trooper. The picture is too small for you to notice this, but you should know that he is wearing a T-shirt that says "Mr. Princess". He wore this, for a full day, in public, out of solidarity with the actual female princesses. You, sir, are a better man than I. Take note of the expression on Ron's face. Had I gone, that is how I would have felt for the duration of the trip. Not Ron. (Next slide please)
This picture expresses how Ron probably felt for most of the trip: happy, talkative, protective, open, warm. Once again, a better man than I. If you are wondering, the creature menacing the table in the far right of the frame is a "Critter". Back in my day they called them bears, but in the "post Lion-King era", Bear Country was overrun by lemurs and wildebeasts and who knows what else. Out of respect for diversity, Bear Country changed its name to Critter Country. As you can see, Sydney, the princess to the far right, is not happy with the idea of a Critter-visit. She told my Mom: "I don't like Critters!". I'm with you there Sydney!
P.S. I bet the Mickey shaped french toast in that picture cost like 11 dollars a plate.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The Great Disney Adventure!-Post #1!
This picture right here tells you all you need to know about my Mom to understand the story I am going to tell in this series of posts. As you puzzle over the strange things being reported, you may have to return to this post and look deeply into her genuinely gleeful eyes if you hope to maintain your sanity. See, my Mom grew up less than an hour from Disneyland. I think she had her Senior Class party there. Her name is Marilyn, but, from a young age, her nickname was Minnie. My aunt still calls her that. This picture, then, is of "The Two Minnies". That partially explains why my Mom, who is over thirty, is smiling like a twelve year old girl.Okay. So a couple of weeks ago my Mom takes three of her step-grandchildren, all girls, all the way from Minnesota to California to go to Disneyland for a long weekend. Once in California, they meet up with a fourth girl who is my Mom's niece and my cousin. They all stay at the Disneyland hotel for a night, and then at my Grandpa's for a couple more nights. I will get to the names, photos and profiles of the girls later but all you need to know right now is that there are two five year olds, and two eight year olds. Who, in their right mind, would actually decide to do the following things with such a group?
(1) take two four hour plane rides
(2) spend night in the same hotel room
(3) wait in line for multiple rides
(4) eat at "Princess" themed restaurant
(5) eat at a "Critter" themed restaurant (whatever the heck that is)
(6) go to the beach
(7) go to the pool (twice)
Who would not only want to do this, but would actually pay for all of this?
Minnie, that's who!
Jeff Johnston's E-mail?
Do any St. John's people read this blog? Does anyone know how to get in touch with Jeff Johnston?
A Little Bit of Crazy Courtesy of the Talking Heads!
I see the clouds that move across the sky.
I see the wind that moves the clouds away.
It moves the clouds over by the building.
I pick the building that I want to live in.
I smell the pine trees and the peaches in the woods.
I see the pinecones that fall by the highway.
That's the highway that goes to the building.
I pick the building that I want to live in.
Its over there, its over there.
My building has every convenience.
It's gonna make life easy for me.
It's gonna be easy to get things done.
I will relax alone with my loved ones.
Loved ones, loved ones visit the building!
Take the highway, park and come up and see me.
I'll be working, working but if you come visit
I'll put down what I'm doing. My friends are important.
Don't you worry bout me. I wouldn't worry about me.
I see the states, across this big nation
I see the laws made in Washington, D.C.
I think of the ones I consider my favorites.
I think of the people that are working for me.
Some civil servants are just like my loved ones.
They work so hard and they try to be strong.
I'm a lucky guy to live in my building.
They own the buildings to help them along.
Its over there, its over there!
My building has every convenience!
-The Talking Heads
I see the wind that moves the clouds away.
It moves the clouds over by the building.
I pick the building that I want to live in.
I smell the pine trees and the peaches in the woods.
I see the pinecones that fall by the highway.
That's the highway that goes to the building.
I pick the building that I want to live in.
Its over there, its over there.
My building has every convenience.
It's gonna make life easy for me.
It's gonna be easy to get things done.
I will relax alone with my loved ones.
Loved ones, loved ones visit the building!
Take the highway, park and come up and see me.
I'll be working, working but if you come visit
I'll put down what I'm doing. My friends are important.
Don't you worry bout me. I wouldn't worry about me.
I see the states, across this big nation
I see the laws made in Washington, D.C.
I think of the ones I consider my favorites.
I think of the people that are working for me.
Some civil servants are just like my loved ones.
They work so hard and they try to be strong.
I'm a lucky guy to live in my building.
They own the buildings to help them along.
Its over there, its over there!
My building has every convenience!
-The Talking Heads
Buds!!!
Me, Sayra and P-funk. My beard is a little out of control. I still don't know how to trim it to fit my face.
OWM, 28, Shirtless, No Pets, Seeks Sincere Atheist!
Orthodox White Male (late 20's) seeking sincere atheist of any age to drive him to church, witness services, and argue for at least two hours afterwards. I will buy the coffee/other cheap menu item. Mere materialists need not apply, because they have no good arguments and I will refute them on the first meeting. I repeat: understanding physics does not make you an atheist! My ideal match would be well versed enough in the works of Plato to correct my errors regarding the nature of Christ without resorting to un-intuitive appeals to dogmatic statements or liturgical snippets. I will settle for an Aristotelian, as long as he provides me with a typed, double-spaced glossary of terms. Must be willing to receive blessed bread!
Stop Picking on Blogging!
"Though online publishing threatens to turn us all into self-celebrants in our own cults of idiom, I will still affirm that TO SPEAK is a religious act, in the highest sense of the word, and imitative of the very Primordial Act of God."
-An excerpt from the final post of the Scrivener.
Fair enough. To speak, and therefore, to blog is in keeping with a God-centered life. But, is this really so hard to believe? If an Orthodox friend were to tell us he is writing a book, we would nod our heads and wish him luck. Would we think, for a moment, that in so doing he is putting himself at greater risk of becoming a self-celebrant in his own cult of idiom? I don't think so. We might think he is overestimating his talents, and taking the risk of spreading his errors. But, if he is honest with his readers that he is not a priest, and if he makes his best efforts to be truthful and clear, then why shouldn't he write the book? We might even think it would be good for him, and for us, to get his errors out in the open where they can be refuted. If we should be worried about anything, shouldn't it be an unreflective way of living? It's not like deep errors just disappear without work on our part.
So, if we are okay with the cloistered self-reflective life of the author, why do we feel the need to worry about the open, sometimes contentious, life of blogging? Isn't the internet a great place for our individual errors to be exposed?
-An excerpt from the final post of the Scrivener.
Fair enough. To speak, and therefore, to blog is in keeping with a God-centered life. But, is this really so hard to believe? If an Orthodox friend were to tell us he is writing a book, we would nod our heads and wish him luck. Would we think, for a moment, that in so doing he is putting himself at greater risk of becoming a self-celebrant in his own cult of idiom? I don't think so. We might think he is overestimating his talents, and taking the risk of spreading his errors. But, if he is honest with his readers that he is not a priest, and if he makes his best efforts to be truthful and clear, then why shouldn't he write the book? We might even think it would be good for him, and for us, to get his errors out in the open where they can be refuted. If we should be worried about anything, shouldn't it be an unreflective way of living? It's not like deep errors just disappear without work on our part.
So, if we are okay with the cloistered self-reflective life of the author, why do we feel the need to worry about the open, sometimes contentious, life of blogging? Isn't the internet a great place for our individual errors to be exposed?
My Fantasy Quote!
"Your letter-perfect summation of my argument, coupled with your blindingly evident refutation of said argument, has not only won me over to your way of thinking, but has engendered in my newly-refashioned heart an irresistable attraction to you and your unique way of living; all of this despite your high-handed, brusque manner, your sloppy way of dressing, and your pungent body odor."
Why? What's your fantasy quote?
Why? What's your fantasy quote?
Meeow!!!: Fantasy Quote!
"Goodbye, you were the best thing that ever happened to this company and me and I will always remember your ability to create order out of chaos in a manner strangely reminiscent of God."
Awesome fantasy quote courtesy of Meow! Click on the Meow link at right for more awesomeness.
Awesome fantasy quote courtesy of Meow! Click on the Meow link at right for more awesomeness.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
5 Rules For Expelling Bats
(1) Do not assume the bat wants to get out.
There is a reason why he is in your house. Only he knows this reason. I assume it has something to do with catching bugs.
(2) Contain him in a room with a door, not merely a window, to the outside.
This is an important rule. The bat will resist your attempts to make him fly outside. You need an opening at least as big as a door. If you have french doors, you are ahead of the game.
(3) Keep him flying.
Bats can stick to walls. When he does this, wave your arms at him to get him flying. Eventually, you will have to poke him with a stick to dislodge him. After a while, he will submit to the poking and make a strange clicking noise. He has outsmarted you. He knows he is safe on the wall. In this case, skip to rule (4) subsection b.
(4) Make the bat think he is in a smaller space than he actually is.
(a) The best way to do this is to "become a wall". To do this, stand in the middle of the room and wave your arms at him when he flies near you. Do not be afraid to touch him. He is actually quite soft. Eventually, and this will take a surprisingly long time, the bat will decide to fly outside. Congratulations!
(b) If your bat will not dislodge, obtain a small garbage can or other receptacle and a piece of paper to cover the opening. By now he is tired from flying and smug from outsmarting you. It will not be hard to pop the can over him and slide the paper under the can. Run, do not walk, to the door and dump him on the lawn. If he escapes before you can get out of the house, go back to rule 4 subsection a.
(5) Do not be ashamed of wanting to kill the bat, especially if this is the 4th time in a month that you have had to deal with him.
There is a reason why he is in your house. Only he knows this reason. I assume it has something to do with catching bugs.
(2) Contain him in a room with a door, not merely a window, to the outside.
This is an important rule. The bat will resist your attempts to make him fly outside. You need an opening at least as big as a door. If you have french doors, you are ahead of the game.
(3) Keep him flying.
Bats can stick to walls. When he does this, wave your arms at him to get him flying. Eventually, you will have to poke him with a stick to dislodge him. After a while, he will submit to the poking and make a strange clicking noise. He has outsmarted you. He knows he is safe on the wall. In this case, skip to rule (4) subsection b.
(4) Make the bat think he is in a smaller space than he actually is.
(a) The best way to do this is to "become a wall". To do this, stand in the middle of the room and wave your arms at him when he flies near you. Do not be afraid to touch him. He is actually quite soft. Eventually, and this will take a surprisingly long time, the bat will decide to fly outside. Congratulations!
(b) If your bat will not dislodge, obtain a small garbage can or other receptacle and a piece of paper to cover the opening. By now he is tired from flying and smug from outsmarting you. It will not be hard to pop the can over him and slide the paper under the can. Run, do not walk, to the door and dump him on the lawn. If he escapes before you can get out of the house, go back to rule 4 subsection a.
(5) Do not be ashamed of wanting to kill the bat, especially if this is the 4th time in a month that you have had to deal with him.
Me, Big-D, and J-Dog! Swing it!
Me, Big-D, and J-dog. We are three totally swingin' bachelors, keepin' it real, and real dirty, at our pad in R-dale MN. We currently have two bats living in our house. We don't know where they go during the day, but at night they come out and fly around our living room and J-dog's room. You get used to it pretty quickly.
Yesterday we were talking about lady troubles; comparing notes and such. Big-D told us that he made the mistake of asking his ex-girlfriend whether she had ever met his Mom.
She responded, "Yes!", and walked off in a huff.
Big-D wracked his brain for when he had introduced the two. He finally remembered, which was good. But, he made the mistake of walking up to her and proudly proclaiming,
"I remember. It was at that concert in October of 2006."
Of course, she was not impressed.
I decided to lay out some bachelor wisdom for Big-D.
"Listen bro.", I said, "If you had really wanted to impress her, you should have remembered some little detail from that day like, say, what she was wearing. Then you could have said something like 'Man, you looked great in that blue dress.'"
Big-D nodded his head, mulled it over, and then hit me with some wisdom of his own.
"Or", he said, "I could have said: 'Gosh, you smelled lovely that day.'"
That's even better! Then you don't even have to remember what she was wearing. What woman would ask for specifics about her perfume? Kudos to you Big-D. The student has become the teacher!
Yesterday we were talking about lady troubles; comparing notes and such. Big-D told us that he made the mistake of asking his ex-girlfriend whether she had ever met his Mom.
She responded, "Yes!", and walked off in a huff.
Big-D wracked his brain for when he had introduced the two. He finally remembered, which was good. But, he made the mistake of walking up to her and proudly proclaiming,
"I remember. It was at that concert in October of 2006."
Of course, she was not impressed.
I decided to lay out some bachelor wisdom for Big-D.
"Listen bro.", I said, "If you had really wanted to impress her, you should have remembered some little detail from that day like, say, what she was wearing. Then you could have said something like 'Man, you looked great in that blue dress.'"
Big-D nodded his head, mulled it over, and then hit me with some wisdom of his own.
"Or", he said, "I could have said: 'Gosh, you smelled lovely that day.'"
That's even better! Then you don't even have to remember what she was wearing. What woman would ask for specifics about her perfume? Kudos to you Big-D. The student has become the teacher!
Worst Play Ever or Clever Use of Song Lyrics? You Decide!
[Joe pleads with his lover Susie on the couch at his apartment.]
Joe: We've got tonight. Who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight, babe. So why don't you stay?
[Susie stands up, grabs coat. Moves stage left.]
Susie: No. I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got no rhythm.
[Joe stands and moves stage left, puts arms around Susie]
Joe[tenderly]: Why do you build me up, buttercup, just to let me down?
Susie [tearing herself away]: I'm going to Graceland!
Joe [getting angry]: Private eyes are watching you! They see your every move!
Susie [pulling a gun]: Graceland!
Joe[hands in the air]: Relax! Don't do it!
Susie[inching out the door with the gun pointed at Joe]: Memphis, Tenessee!
Joe[scornfully]: I'll survive. As long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive.
Susie[scornfully]: What's love got to do with it?
[Susie slams door.]
[Slow Curtain]
[The End]
Joe: We've got tonight. Who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight, babe. So why don't you stay?
[Susie stands up, grabs coat. Moves stage left.]
Susie: No. I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got no rhythm.
[Joe stands and moves stage left, puts arms around Susie]
Joe[tenderly]: Why do you build me up, buttercup, just to let me down?
Susie [tearing herself away]: I'm going to Graceland!
Joe [getting angry]: Private eyes are watching you! They see your every move!
Susie [pulling a gun]: Graceland!
Joe[hands in the air]: Relax! Don't do it!
Susie[inching out the door with the gun pointed at Joe]: Memphis, Tenessee!
Joe[scornfully]: I'll survive. As long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive.
Susie[scornfully]: What's love got to do with it?
[Susie slams door.]
[Slow Curtain]
[The End]
Remembering The Sovereign Good
The first response to the profane expectation of the feeling of happiness-or to the bad habit of imprisoning oneself in this expectation, as if there were not above us a serene and boundless sky-is remembrance of the Sovereign Good or awareness of its Reality and Beatitude. It is this awareness that allows us to perceive the relativity and pettiness of our "complex" of happiness and to notice that in this expectation there are two fundamental vices, namely, concupiscence and idolatry: two things, therefore, that take us away from God and consequently from Felicity as such, the source of all happiness.
Frithjof Schuon
Prayer Fashions Man
Cookies are good because of the Sovereign Good. Have you ever seen a holy man eat a cookie? I would imagine they do it in a detached way, as if they were tasting one for the first time, and the last time. Have we ever really tasted a cookie if we have not tasted it like that? Not that the main point is to learn how to taste cookies. But, if we have trouble tasting something as small and silly as a cookie in a detached way, how about when we try to meditate on, to taste, the Truth not for any pleasure or gain to be had from it, but simply because it is the Truth? How could we, who cannot resist the lure of sweets, not be turned into some sort of lustful, raving monster, at the slightest glimpse of the Good Itself?
God, in his mercy, entered the smallest, pettiest parts of human nature, and is remaking them in the likeness of Himself. His greatness is not of an overwhelming kind. He will not clear away our pettiness if we do not want him to. He is giving us the chance to repent before He comes in power.
Frithjof Schuon
Prayer Fashions Man
Cookies are good because of the Sovereign Good. Have you ever seen a holy man eat a cookie? I would imagine they do it in a detached way, as if they were tasting one for the first time, and the last time. Have we ever really tasted a cookie if we have not tasted it like that? Not that the main point is to learn how to taste cookies. But, if we have trouble tasting something as small and silly as a cookie in a detached way, how about when we try to meditate on, to taste, the Truth not for any pleasure or gain to be had from it, but simply because it is the Truth? How could we, who cannot resist the lure of sweets, not be turned into some sort of lustful, raving monster, at the slightest glimpse of the Good Itself?
God, in his mercy, entered the smallest, pettiest parts of human nature, and is remaking them in the likeness of Himself. His greatness is not of an overwhelming kind. He will not clear away our pettiness if we do not want him to. He is giving us the chance to repent before He comes in power.
Yeah Baby!!!! I AM LOTR!!!!!
Which literature classic are you?
J.R.R. Tolkien: Lord of the Rings. You are entertaining and imaginative, creating whole new worlds around yourself. Well loved, you have a whole league of imitators, none of which is quite as profound as you are. Stories and songs give a spark of joy in the middle of your eternal battle with the forces of evil.
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Wednesday, August 15, 2007
All About "All About Eve"
"Everybody has a heart, except some people." Bette Davis in All About Eve.
Bette Davis, indisputably, has a heart. Just look at the pictures up top. She might have painted on her eyebrows, but there was no plastic surgery for this aging beauty. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then Bette Davis makes you feel like a Peeping Tom. Margo Channing, the character that Bette plays in All About Eve has a heart. But what about these "some people" who have no heart? Who are they?
Two characters in AAE stand out as particularly heartless: the young actress who calls herself Eve, and her Svengali: an obscenely urbane theatre critic. These two people are united in one thing: cold hearted excellence. Eve, as Margo's assistant, makes life easier for everyone. This is just a cover for her raging ambition. As the movie unfolds we begin to see that she will do anything to be a star. Margo has an inkling of Eve's duplicity, but can't convince herself, or others, that Eve is really as manipulative as Margo suspects. Eve, though inwardly worshipping herself, to outward appearances worships two things: the theatre (said in a high falutin' accent) and Margo, who, despite her age, is the most sought after actress on Broadway. Margo only half-worships herself. She knows that her beauty is declining, she abhors the theatre groupies that idolize her, but one part of her secretly loves the attention. It is this part of her that prompts her to hire Eve as her assistant. In struggling to see Eve for what she really is, Margo comes to purify herself of the last vestiges of self-worship that remain in her noble soul.
Margo is helped in this task by the doggedly patient love of her beau (I hate that word, but it fits in this case) Bill Sampson. Bill sees the beauty of Margo's soul and spends the whole movie trying to get Margo to accept his love. She persists in castigating herself for becoming old and out of place. In a heart-rending scene, he realizes that the only way to help her is to break it off with her. Given how right they are for each other, he can't believe what he is doing (this is a paraphrase of what he says): "This is like something in a book. I wouldn't believe it unless I had seen it." To which Margo responds sheepishly, "Where are you going? To see Eve?" It's a pathetic attempt at jealousy. Margo knows that her spiritual struggles are responsible for the rift, but she won't admit this to herself. Bill's response is perfect: "Suddenly, that makes it all believable."
With Bill out of her life, Margo's head clears. She begins to see that, in the interest of maintaining a certain image of herself, that of the beautiful actress, she is choosing a life of loneliness. [Feminists beware of oncoming quote] In a reflective moment she says (this time a direct quote):
Funny business, a woman's career, the things you drop on the way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. It's one career all females have in common - being a woman. Sooner or later we've got to work at it no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis nothing is any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed and there he is. Without that you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end.
What's that Bette? Women need men to be complete? Sounds right to me! The larger point that this movie makes is that our heartlessness comes from our choice not to rely on anyone outside of ourselves. Why do we do this if it makes us lonely? I think the movie has an answer for this, but I don't want to give it away. Rent it and get yourself some wisdom!
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