Today is Bilbo and Frodo's Birthday!

Happy birthday, Messrs. Baggins.

I hate to associate my favorite book with those ugh--movies, being an unmitigated and unapologetic book snob and purist. But the music was good. The only consistently good thing in them.

This is a bit crude, but amusing.

I'm kinda liking this new art of manliness/backwoodsman/pipe-smoking fad. Seems I'm finally cool. Well, the fact is I've always been awesome--just the rest of the world is finally catching up to me.

Author, Author

Today I walked into Barnes & Noble and bought a book by one of my best friends.

Then I sat down and read it in one sitting, in the courtyard outside Panera--and was touched, impressed, and so proud. Yay, Maggie!

"I am weak and foolish, and don't know what, and I can't fend off my miserable grief! . . . I had some faint belief in the mercy of God till I lost that woman. Yes, he prepared a gourd to shade me, and like the prophet I thanked Him and was glad. But the next day he prepared a worm to smite the gourd and wither it; and I feel it is better to die than to live!"

-- Thomas Hardy, Far from the Maddening Crowd

It's Fall!

Opened the door to my back deck this morning, and was greeted by Autumn. What a lovely day. I wish I was going to church this morning.

Am I the only one who feels really bad for Martha in The Notebook? You know, the war widow he finds companionship with while he's going insane over Allie? Poor girl. That's why I'm so hesitant about dating--that's exactly how it would be. I've already done that to at least one girl in my life, and although she's brave and strong like Martha, and we're still friends, I know I've hurt her. I don't want to do it again.

Sure would be nice to have someone to keep me company, though. God, I'm tired of being alone.

Fiona Apple - I Know

Schwarzenegger on Strength

Lars and the Real Girl: Teddy Bear Resuscitation

I'm taking my own advice, and re-watching Lars and the Real Girl followed by Her. I just love this scene: one of my all-time favorites.

“Love loves unto purity. Love has ever in view the absolute loveliness of that which it beholds. Therefore all that is not beautiful in the beloved, all that comes between and is not of love's kind, must be destroyed. And our God is a consuming fire.” -- George MacDonald

Why Falling in Love is so Hard

From the move Hitch. 

I've got an old friend who's currently going through a breakup after being treated poorly by yet another man. And she's wondering why, as she puts it, "Women always fall in love with douchebags." And I sympathize, I really do. And I hate douchebags, along with pigs, cheaters, abusers, and generally all men who treat women badly.

But I, also, along with every other "nice guy" in the world, wonder the same thing she does: Why do you fall for these guys? Or, more to the point, WHY WON'T WOMEN GIVE GOOD MEN A FRIGGIN' CHANCE? It's as if the experience of falling in love, or the method with which the man goes about winning her heart, is more important than the substance of his character and the potential for the relationship. The book I'm reading, Far from the Maddening Crowd, is a perfect example. Of the three men who are in love with Bathsheba, Troy is far and away the absolute worst for her. Yet, predictably, that's who she marries.

It seems sometimes like, as Hitch puts it in this scene, the only way for good men to have a chance is to "trick women into getting out of their own way". In case you don't know the movie, Will Smith's character, Hitch, is a dating coach for men--kind of like those guys who supposedly teach "pick-up artistry", but he only teaches decent guys who want to win the love of one woman but who don't stand a chance without his help.

So here's my answer to my friend's question: it's because you're listening to the wrong voice inside you. Listen to your heart, and marry Gabriel Oak, the guy who makes you feel safe, and valued, and comfortable--the guy you keep saying you "only like as a friend". Or at least listen to your head, and marry Farmer Boldwood, who adores you and will provide for you, cherish you, and take care of you--the guy who you think you "could learn to love". But for God's sake, and your own, STOP listening to that voice that says "I'm waiting to by swept off my feet by Prince Charming". Because I guarantee you this: the only way a man gets to be that charming is by practice. And the only kind of man who gets that much practice is the kind of man who is never, ever going to be satisfied with one woman, or be any good at all in a real relationship. Stop focusing on the courtship, and start focusing on the marriage.

End of rant. Remember, in addition to being a man in love, I'm also the father of two grown daughters.

Genuinely Random Ramblings

The more I think about this idea of travelling the more I like it. I'm thinking now that I'll compromise: keep my pact with God about going back to school if my house sells, but maybe take six months or a year to do the rambling first. It would actually work out, as I really can't start now until next fall anyway. Since I'm studying languages, it would be hard to start in the spring semester when they're offering all the second-level language courses. I could see quite a lot in that time.

I've actually made some substantial progress on my writing: finally finished the complete plot outline for the story I've been stuck on for years. Also, I woke up in the middle of the night with "that voice" in my heart about a new non-fiction book. It's an examination of the Bible from the perspective that it's one big love story, with God as the pursuing lover and us as the resistant beloved. The idea is to take all the passages (of which there are very many) which depict God's relationship with us this way and tie them together with the kind of commentary and analysis I sometimes do here, and then bring in some things from the medieval erotic mystics and the metaphysical poets. I felt, that night, like He was saying to me, "Tell my people how much I love them." Which is a lot. It wasn't too long ago that I came to the staggering realization while praying that God loves me (and all of you) more than I love you-know-who. I knew that, intellectually, of course. But I never really realized it, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, if the house doesn't sell, plan B in my prayers is to really get serious and GET SOMETHING PUBLISHED. Enough fooling around, already. Geez. Even if I do go back to school, I'm going to keep trying to do that.

Also, if I stay here, I'm going to get back into theatre. Did I tell you I auditioned for a play a couple of months ago? They didn't cast me, but they took the time to write me a long note saying that they were very impressed with my talent, and wanted me to come and audition for them again. I agree with their decision not to cast me for that particular show: it was a very lighthearted piece, and I was Not At All in a lighthearted place when I auditioned. Macbeth would have been about right. Also, I still need to learn to sight read music. They were blown away when I sang, but I was no good when it came to group auditions and just picking up the sheet music and joining in. Could use a little dance training, too.

Today is day 15 of my 21-day fast. Sometimes it's easy and sometimes it's very not. I'm not really hungry, actually; I just want to eat. It gets tough, just hanging around the house and not eating, so sometimes I go out and get coffee and hang around downtown or something. But then I see all the restaurants and smell the food, and that doesn't really help either. I bought some peanuts today to feed to the squirrels, and came pretty close to falling into a binge-eating session that would still be going on right now. But I gave them to a homeless guy instead. He didn't realize that he was actually doing me the bigger favor.

I always lose muscle when I fast, and to be honest I kind of like it better. People stare at me when I'm really pumped up, and treat me with--I don't know, like respect or deference. It kinda makes me uncomfortable. That's actually a bit sad, isn't it?--maybe I won't look under that rock just now. Today some girl drew me while I was sitting and smoking my pipe on the mall. I've had people ask a couple of times if they can take my picture when I'm down there. I guess maybe I look like a character or something, lol.

"Women are never tired of bewailing man's fickleness in love, but they only seem to snub his constancy." -- Thomas Hardy

Chris Stapleton - Sometimes I Cry

Sometimes the perfect thing just appears by accident.

"Her"

Ok, the movie about the man falling in love with his OS actually turned out to be a heartbreaking masterpiece. "She" (the OS) doesn't have a physical body, but in every other respect is a fully realized person (within the context of the world of the film--that is, leaving aside theological questions of the nature of the soul). This allows a very unique perspective from which to consider the essence and meaning of love. In a way, it reminds me of Lars and the Real Girl although it's by no means derivative: two unique and beautiful approaches to the same question. In fact, I'd recommend seeing them both together, if you haven't seen either. And maybe even if you have.

Ok, now I'm watching one where a guy falls in love with his computer operating system. This seems more my speed.

So sick of movies where people fall in love. Aren't there any movies without romance?

Oh, and there are war movies. But they piss me off too, because I'm broken-down and can't fight anymore.

Love and war. Denied both. What kind of life is that? Why did I quit drinking again?

Tanker Grief

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Tankers get a lot of grief from infantrymen, because we're supposedly safe behind our armor. Well here's what happens to tankers who get hit. (This is a Syrian tank being hit by an Israeli anti-tank guided missile).

What you see here after the initial hit is the ammunition inside the tank "cooking off". First the initial explosion of the missile; then the small arms or machine gun ammo starts popping; then the main gun rounds start to go off--first the gunpowder ignites, then the high explosive in the warheads. It looks like that tank might have been carrying white phosphorus rounds, which burn at 5,000 degrees fahrenheit.

This is actually the exact nightmare I used to have. Except that I was inside the tank, in the gunner's seat, watching the warhead penetrate the armor in slow motion.

So, any volunteers for the tank corps? No?

To be honest, I don't really know why I became a tanker. When I was a little boy, my brother showed me a World War II book with a picture of a German tanker burned to a blackened, shriveled husk, dead halfway out of the hatch while trying to escape. That image was in my mind as I signed the papers. Maybe there is a reason why tankers have a reputation for being dumb.

Into the Mystic - Van Morrison