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.

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!"

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.

Manfred Mann's Earth Band - Blinded By The Light

These lyrics can't be as obscene as I think they are.

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.

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.

(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!

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

I'm Not Talkin' Bout Movin' In!

Great hair, great tune.

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.

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.

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.

The Joker - Steve Miller Band

I wish I was cool enough to be a midnight toker! Hot video!

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.