Something Beautiful

Here's something to dream over; a complete set of first edition Andrew Lang fairy books.

This, I think, was the art of bookmaking at its highest. The beauty of the exterior was as magical as that of the interior, and it was as appealing to the eye as it was to the imagination. One can imagine how having a set of books like this in the nursery could have nourished the intellect and stirred the imagination of a Victorian child. If it had been me, I think I could have been content to have dwelt alone with my books and my dreams. Even now, I would love to have these in my library. I could spend countless hours lost in Fairyland.

"I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!"

-- Charles Perrault, original author of Little Red Riding Hood

The Final Phase

I ended my fast four weeks ago. I bottomed out at 189 pounds and 18.7% bodyfat.

The past month has been one of rest and recovery: it takes the body some time to adjust to eating again after six months of being deprived. The digestive system has got to come back online, and the body has to rebuild its stores of glycogen and whatnot. There is inevitably some significant weight gain--it's unavoidable--but most of it is just muscles being replenished and re-bulked. So after a month of resting and eating--clean, healthy food, but as much of it as I wanted (with the exception of one night I allowed myself for eating pizza, donuts, gummi bears, and chocolate. And beer!), I'm at 212 and 21% bodyfat. That means that out of 23 pounds re-gained I've only put on 3% bf, or about 6 pounds, which really is not bad at all; like I said, it's just unavoidable, because when you end a fast your body goes into hardcore, overtime fat-storage mode. It's a survival mechanism.

So, now for the final phase of my fitness quest: tightening and toning. I've decided not to go back to the gym for now, and leave weights alone completely--I really don't need to add any more bulk; if my arms get much bigger, I'm going to have to get my shirts tailor-made. Instead, I'm going to focus on functional strength and overall athleticism, doing bodyweight exercises and concentrating on good form. My current workout is:

3x/week:
3 sets of 10 good morning squats; an exercise of my own creation, which combines a prison squat with a good-morning to work the lower back.

3 sets of 10 perfect pushups; no fudging, body plank-stiff, chest all the way to the floor.

3 sets of 10 incline pullups. I'm not quite where I can do that many regular pullups yet.

3 sets of 10 burpees. Hoorah! Burpees are the the exercise that makes you feel like you're exercising.

3 sets of 20 situps. Again, no fudging: no rocking or bouncing, except maybe at the very end to get a little beyond muscle failure.

Full-body stretching. Few things feel as good as a really good, long, slow stretch after a hard workout. And with all my injuries, it's a necessity.

2x/week
A hike on the Appalachian Trail, with a light day-pack (and a high-tech knee brace). Up the mountain, rest, and back down, about 3 miles.

Diet: about 2,000 calories/day of good, clean, healthy food. Chicken, eggs, tuna, fresh vegetables & fruit, Ezekiel bread, olive oil. My biggest challenge these days is actually limiting my fruit intake: I LOVE fruit now. It's fun to have a pizza and candy night now and then, but I really don't even crave that stuff anymore. I'll save it for holidays and special occasions.

The final goal is to get back down to about 189, but with more muscle mass; at somewhere between 10 and 12% bodyfat. Which looks like this:

Espouse Obfuscation

Sometimes I love this stuff for the sheer density of its language. Like the satisfaction you get from chewing on something really dense and crunchy.

"Nay, even if Plato thinks there exists one [world] of which this of ours is the image, that likewise must necessarily have similarly to undergo mutation; inasmuch as, if it is a 'world,' it will consist of diverse substances and offices, answerable to the form of that which is here the 'world': for 'world' it will not be if it be not just as the 'world' is. Things which, in diversity, tend to unity, are diverse by demutation. In short, it is their vicissitudes which federate the discord of their diversity. Thus it will be by mutation that every 'world' will exist whose corporate structure is the result of diversities, and whose attemperation is the result of vicissitudes. At all events, this hostelry of ours is versiform, --a fact which is patent to eyes that are closed, or utterly Homeric." -- Tertullian, On the Pallium

All this (and this is only a small extract from the entire argument) to say that "change is natural". This is why I love reading the old translations rather than contemporary ones: the Victorian and other pre-modern translators didn't try to dumb it down. They assumed that their readers would be intelligent and educated. This is why I don't like modern Bible translations, either--as translations, that is--the texts on which they are based is a different question. For instance, the Orthodox Study Bible I've been reading bases its translation of the Septuagint on the New King James version, and it seriously irritates me by translating what was, in the Authorized Version, translated as "stranger" in the Law as "resident alien". As in, "Remember that you were resident aliens in Egypt". Why? Is "stranger" too difficult for moderns to understand, or is it somehow politically incorrect? Every time I read it, I get a picture of Mexicans and green cards.

J.S. Bach - Toccata and Fugue in D Minor: Amy Turk, Harp

I'm speechless. A completely different perspective on both the harp and this piece. Magnificent.

Miss Meadows

This may be my new favorite movie.

A very well-done, darkly twisted (yet surprisingly deep) story. Of course, the premise is kind of silly, and the whole thing is rather tongue-in-cheek, but it works. And most of all, Katie Holmes captures that indefinable quality of feminine Charm as no one has since Julie Andrews played Mary Poppins--the kind of allure that makes a man say that he'll marry her in federal prison if he has to. And mean it.

I've only met one woman in my entire life who has that kind of unique loveliness. I don't know if it's the times, or if they were always so rare, although I suspect the former. If so, something beautiful has gone out of the world, and the world is a poorer place for it.

Father

Thirty years ago today, I first became a father.

The first child is the one you make the most mistakes with. And especially when you're so young, like I was, it's easy to get sidetracked, and hardened, and forget who you are. You get on a path because you think you're being responsible and realistic, and doing the right thing, and you become someone else; someone you neither recognize nor like. And the ones who depend on you are the ones who pay the highest price.

Lord, forgive my many, many mistakes as a father, and be a Father to them in those places where I failed.

"When you've found out who God wants you to be, you'll never want to be anyone else."

-- Bill Johnson

We Know it Was You

Congratulations to my dear friend Maggie on the release of her second book! So proud of her. This one's a mystery novel for young people, and is superbly written, with crisp, sharp, and smart prose, interesting, nuanced, and unconventional characters, and themes that are complex, layered, and thought-provoking. Maggie has addressed some very deep and controversial subjects, while maintaining an intriguing story and an atmosphere of fun and humor, as only a truly masterful writer can, and produced something genuinely unique and memorable. Well done, sweetie! I love you.

Peter, Paul, and Mary - Wedding Song

I had completely forgotten that this song existed. It's one of those that gets overdone until it becomes so mushy, cliché, and sentimental that you get sick of it and start to hate it. All through the seventies and into the eighties, it was everywhere. Every time Hollywood needed to make a horrible "modern" wedding scene with self-written vows (gag) and artificial tears, this was the song they schlepped out.

But it popped up on my recommendations after I posted the other Peter, Paul, and Mary song yesterday, and after a break of thirty years or so from hearing it, I'm able to appreciate it again; it's quite lovely, both in its music and its sentiments. (I also never realized when I was younger how beautiful Mary was.)

Or maybe I've just become a sentimental fool.

I've composed another masterpiece, just now, while working in the garden. Sing it to your favorite tune.

Who's that grunting in my forest?
Are you a bear or are you a boar?
Are you a big, bad buck in rut?
Or are you just an itty bitty bunny?

Peter, Paul, and Mary - The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

I'd never heard this rendition of this song before. Beautiful.

"It was like people just lined up to let her down, and then acted like it was her own fault for expecting anything else. If there was one thing she'd learned in Florida, it was how much people will resent you for expecting them to be anything but predictable and petty and passionless." -- Maggie Thrash, We Know it was You

Kathy's Song - Simon and Garfunkel

Sweet Thing

Final Results

 Have to re-hang the gate: it was done kinda half-assed like everything else the previous owner did, and it's not lining up properly (the big rock is to keep it closed for now).

 The deer had been at my strawberry leaves, and I was all set to stock my freezer with venison. Waited up for them early in the morning with my rifle, then saw that it was two does with fawns, and my soft-heartedness got the better of me.

I want to add a little white picket fence around the edge once the grass is fully established.

Beck - Ramona

I love this movie. And I love this song. The band in this movie is the best made-up fake Hollywood band since the Monkees.

Evidence for the above opinion:
Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

Exhibit D:

Verdict: Sex Bob-Omb Rocks.

Free - Be My Friend

100 Years of of Armored Warfare

Today is the 100th anniversary of the first tank assault, at the battle of the Somme in France.

Try to imagine yourself as a German soldier in the trenches. You're exhausted, miserable, scared, cold, wet, and demoralized because the war has been stalemated for so long, and because of the enormous death toll on both sides. You're carrying a bolt-action rifle, and the new invention, the machine-gun, is the terrifying reason you're bogged down in these trenches. You grew up in a world of horses, carriages, woodstoves, and gas lights. Electricity and motor vehicles are novelties of the wealthy; your milk back home is still delivered by a horse and cart, the fields are plowed by horse-drawn plows, and both armies still have horse-mounted cavalry (although they've been rendered ineffective by machineguns and modern artillery). You may have seen a tractor once or twice in your life.

Then, early in the morning, after a heavy artillery barrage, you see rolling toward you with a deafening thunder of huge engines and the squeak and clank of steel tracks, thirty-two of these monstrosities:




You've never heard of, or imagined such a thing. Their development has been kept a total secret by the British government until this moment (in fact, that's why we still call them 'tanks' to this day: Tank was a code-name assigned to hide what they were really doing, making it seem like they were working on some kind of water-storage system. The original, official name was "land ships" and they were part of the Royal Navy).

My respects, both to the very first brave tankers who hazarded the inside of these experimental rolling beasts, filled with exhaust fumes, burning cordite, and deafening noise, and trying to do their duty while being thrown about the hard steel compartment by the movement of the vehicle over rough terrain, and to the infantrymen on the ground who had to face them.