Okay, the New York Mets completed the most spectacular end-of-season meltdown last night. How is that two weeks ago they were seven and half games in first place and after last night, they are down a game, with two games left, behind the Phillies? My little noodle of a brain doesn't compute that; to make matters worse... the Chicago Cubs clinched their division. Pretty soon pigs may fly, watch the skies.
There is still a chance that the Mets will be able to pull something off, but now it is imcombent on the Philies tripping up. If the Phillies lose and the Mets win tonight they will be tied up. Then, tomorrow, if the Mets win and the Phillies lose the Mets will win the division. I was reading an article on ESPN.com about the various scenerios that might emerge in the National League. Let's just say it sounded an awful lot like a football playoff schedule... if so and so wins, then they'll have to play such and such here, but if whoie-what-is wins, they'll play such and such at home... it was quite confusing, but also the excitement of a crazy playoff season did increase.
But the question remains: how did the Mets meltdown? That shouldn't of happened. They have been in first place, comfortably, for most of the season, something like 135 games... and yet, here at the end they are fighting for ever loving lives... I don't know, all I can say is:
LETS GO METS!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Talks About the Emergency Room at 0530
The Emergecy Room at 0530 is quiet. Its not like the frantic, kinectic place one got used to seeing on NBC's shock-drama ER. It is, to quote a Hemingway title "A Clean, Well-lit Place." Yesterday morning when we took my father to the ER because of chest pains it was very quiet, almost lonely.
The waiting room was empty save for a tv blaring the early morning news and a nurse sitting at the reception desk. They took my father quickly, chest pains equal immediate reaction. They took him, we followed, to room 9, I think. And suddenly four or five nurses just kind appeared, I haven't the foggiest where they came from. I looked for a stage-trap door in the floor, but I saw none. They start asking questions like: how are you feeling? on a scale from one to ten, how is your pain? How old are you? When were you born? What happened? You took how many nitro pills tonight? When? Did they make you feel better? If I had put a bassbeat to it, those questions might sounded like a fast rap. My father and we answered the questions the best we could, it was verbal tennis match.
As they ask the questions, they hook him up to monitors, and IV's. I've done this whole ER thing enough times to know when the numbers on his heart monitor are good. They looked good yesterday morning. And I know that the nice peak and valley of the heart monitor is a good thing. The more the steady and same it is the better it is. Once the uber-activity subsides we sit there. He in bed, my mom and I on chairs that were not designed for long term sitting. The minutes tick by and I wrap my arms around myself for warmth (the ER tends to be chilly) and the silence continues. About 0630, or 0700 it starts to get a bit louder: night shift leaves, morning shift/day shift starts to arrive. A new nurse comes in, this time his name is Greg. He checks my father's blood pressure and checks his heart monitor and all that, takes some readings, prints them out, attaches them to his chart and leaves.
When we got there last night there was or two other people in the ER. There was a woman in the room to the left. She was asleep in a darkened room. Eventually another patient came in. He was probably in early-20's. I was able to learn about him and the woman next door through simple act of inadvertent eavesdroopping. The woman to the left had a migraine, a real bad one, I could and can relate, I've had migraines since I was a kid and I had one so bad that it sent me to the doctor. I felt sorry for her. The guy to the right was something else. He may or may not have tried to commit suicide. He certainly had too much of something. I wasn't sure if it was drugs or alcohol or both. I did hear the word Xanax at one point. The conversations were one-sided in that I could only hear what the doctor and the nurses were asking. I couldn't hear that patient. I felt a bit guilty about listening, I'm pretty sure I was breaching the whole doctor/patient priviledge thing.
Eventually, my mom and I left. There's only so much we can do in the ER, sit and wait. My dad was comfortable and sleeping off and on. He was going to be admitted so we left to take care of somethings, i.e. feed cats and other mundane daily activities, I went and got a haircut, you stuff.
We got a call from dad that he had been moved up a room on third floor, the "progressive care unit." The rooms are very nice, nicer in fact than many hotel rooms I've been in: single occupancy room, big window looks outside (in this case to trees and a parking lot), flatscreen tv attached to the wall, subtle brown hues throughout the room and floor. In fact, it the color scheme does wonders to relax the patient, but also the family. Its not that cold, hard, institutional hospital color of blue and white. If I was into Feng Shui I'd say that the Feng Shui was acheived, but I'm not, so I really can't.
The tests they ran were nothing special. Its not like the tests are going to reveal anything new: bad heart. But to be on the safe side and maybe for shits and giggles, the doctors shoved a camera down my father's throat to check to see if his stomach was okay and that his chest pains were in fact chest pains and not some really bad indigestion. It wasn't indegestion. On happy note we won't have to get to know a stomach doctor on a personal basis-- my father has enough doctors: eye doctor, kidney doctor, heart doctor, general practiction doctor, foot doctor, diabetes doctor...
Right now, they want to do a catherization. They've been wanting to do that for a while, but my father won't let them and its driving the doctors nuts. He had one three or four years ago. That time he passed out in church (actually during Sunday School) was taken to the hospital and was found to have a heart rate of less than 20 beats a minute. That was scary for me. That was also when he got his defribulator in his chest.
The doctors did a cath and then came out, a bit white faced and apologized for doing it. It didn't go well and they almost lost him on the table, so they said, or maybe that's the way I remember it. Either way, it was a scary time. Last night, a nurse came with some forms and asked my father to sign them for the "procedure" and he asked what procedure that might be and she said "a catherization" he said "I'm not going to have that done" and sent her on her way. This morning they didn't give him breakfast because they thought he was going to have it, but he again reiterated the fact that he wasn't going to do it. So they gave him breakfast. It would be almost funny, if it wasn't so serious.
I saved this entry in the "draft" stage for a while. I went and visited my dad in the interim. He was sitting in a chair by the window reading a book in his hospital johnny. His heart monitor (wireless) was stuffed into the big pocket on front of his johnny, his hair was a bit mussed and he watned his razor so he could shave, but other than that he looked like he was feeling better.
I'm not sure when the man is going to come home. Hopefully this evening, but probably tomorrow. Who knows. So long as I don't have to go to the ER at 0530 for a long time, I'll be happy.
The waiting room was empty save for a tv blaring the early morning news and a nurse sitting at the reception desk. They took my father quickly, chest pains equal immediate reaction. They took him, we followed, to room 9, I think. And suddenly four or five nurses just kind appeared, I haven't the foggiest where they came from. I looked for a stage-trap door in the floor, but I saw none. They start asking questions like: how are you feeling? on a scale from one to ten, how is your pain? How old are you? When were you born? What happened? You took how many nitro pills tonight? When? Did they make you feel better? If I had put a bassbeat to it, those questions might sounded like a fast rap. My father and we answered the questions the best we could, it was verbal tennis match.
As they ask the questions, they hook him up to monitors, and IV's. I've done this whole ER thing enough times to know when the numbers on his heart monitor are good. They looked good yesterday morning. And I know that the nice peak and valley of the heart monitor is a good thing. The more the steady and same it is the better it is. Once the uber-activity subsides we sit there. He in bed, my mom and I on chairs that were not designed for long term sitting. The minutes tick by and I wrap my arms around myself for warmth (the ER tends to be chilly) and the silence continues. About 0630, or 0700 it starts to get a bit louder: night shift leaves, morning shift/day shift starts to arrive. A new nurse comes in, this time his name is Greg. He checks my father's blood pressure and checks his heart monitor and all that, takes some readings, prints them out, attaches them to his chart and leaves.
When we got there last night there was or two other people in the ER. There was a woman in the room to the left. She was asleep in a darkened room. Eventually another patient came in. He was probably in early-20's. I was able to learn about him and the woman next door through simple act of inadvertent eavesdroopping. The woman to the left had a migraine, a real bad one, I could and can relate, I've had migraines since I was a kid and I had one so bad that it sent me to the doctor. I felt sorry for her. The guy to the right was something else. He may or may not have tried to commit suicide. He certainly had too much of something. I wasn't sure if it was drugs or alcohol or both. I did hear the word Xanax at one point. The conversations were one-sided in that I could only hear what the doctor and the nurses were asking. I couldn't hear that patient. I felt a bit guilty about listening, I'm pretty sure I was breaching the whole doctor/patient priviledge thing.
Eventually, my mom and I left. There's only so much we can do in the ER, sit and wait. My dad was comfortable and sleeping off and on. He was going to be admitted so we left to take care of somethings, i.e. feed cats and other mundane daily activities, I went and got a haircut, you stuff.
We got a call from dad that he had been moved up a room on third floor, the "progressive care unit." The rooms are very nice, nicer in fact than many hotel rooms I've been in: single occupancy room, big window looks outside (in this case to trees and a parking lot), flatscreen tv attached to the wall, subtle brown hues throughout the room and floor. In fact, it the color scheme does wonders to relax the patient, but also the family. Its not that cold, hard, institutional hospital color of blue and white. If I was into Feng Shui I'd say that the Feng Shui was acheived, but I'm not, so I really can't.
The tests they ran were nothing special. Its not like the tests are going to reveal anything new: bad heart. But to be on the safe side and maybe for shits and giggles, the doctors shoved a camera down my father's throat to check to see if his stomach was okay and that his chest pains were in fact chest pains and not some really bad indigestion. It wasn't indegestion. On happy note we won't have to get to know a stomach doctor on a personal basis-- my father has enough doctors: eye doctor, kidney doctor, heart doctor, general practiction doctor, foot doctor, diabetes doctor...
Right now, they want to do a catherization. They've been wanting to do that for a while, but my father won't let them and its driving the doctors nuts. He had one three or four years ago. That time he passed out in church (actually during Sunday School) was taken to the hospital and was found to have a heart rate of less than 20 beats a minute. That was scary for me. That was also when he got his defribulator in his chest.
The doctors did a cath and then came out, a bit white faced and apologized for doing it. It didn't go well and they almost lost him on the table, so they said, or maybe that's the way I remember it. Either way, it was a scary time. Last night, a nurse came with some forms and asked my father to sign them for the "procedure" and he asked what procedure that might be and she said "a catherization" he said "I'm not going to have that done" and sent her on her way. This morning they didn't give him breakfast because they thought he was going to have it, but he again reiterated the fact that he wasn't going to do it. So they gave him breakfast. It would be almost funny, if it wasn't so serious.
I saved this entry in the "draft" stage for a while. I went and visited my dad in the interim. He was sitting in a chair by the window reading a book in his hospital johnny. His heart monitor (wireless) was stuffed into the big pocket on front of his johnny, his hair was a bit mussed and he watned his razor so he could shave, but other than that he looked like he was feeling better.
I'm not sure when the man is going to come home. Hopefully this evening, but probably tomorrow. Who knows. So long as I don't have to go to the ER at 0530 for a long time, I'll be happy.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Gives a Prayer of Thanksgiving
I took my father to the emergency room this morning. He was complaining of chest pains and general discomfort. Those two things are not played with lightly in our household. I took him this morning about 5:30. He was admitted to the hospital, but he is doing well and the tests they took have come back okay.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Feels "Chuff" Because a Term He Coined is Being Used Elsewhere
I would just like give a shout out to my newest Loofrin-cyberfriend David Yow. It seems that he's "snagged" the term "loofrin" and made it his own with "Looferin," so okay, I ain't mad. Makes me happy to see my basic disgruntled world view is making inroads to the cyber-consciousness. So, a throaty HUZZAH!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Becomes a Lutheran Carnival Barker, aka Luther's Punkin Hat Carnival
Before commencing withLutheran Carnival 59 I feel it important to give a shout out to Concordia Wisconsin's football team. Congratulations on the drubbing you gave to Eureka College yesterday on the gridiron... 70-0... I'd've loved to see that game. I certainly hope you treated the defeated to beer and brauts afterwards. Lord knows, they probably could of used the cheering up. But either way here's a Disgruntled World Citizen HAZZAH! in your honor.
Speaking of the Con-Yous, and being a graduate of Con-You Austin (hence forth to be known as Con-You Texas and also being a "Behnken Boy" (I lived in Behnken Hall) I thought it might be fun to highlight
John Behnken, former president of the LCMS.Born: 19 March 1884, Cypress, Texas
Died: 23 February 1968, Hollywood, Florida
After graduating from Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, John Behnken was ordained by Rev. Gotthilf Birkmann at Trinity Lutheran Church in Fedor, Texas, on 12 August 1906. He was awarded an honory Doctor of Divinity degree from Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, in 1934, and in 1953 he received an LL.D. from Valparaiso University.
He first served as a missionary-at-large in Houston. Two years later, he accepted a call to Trinity Lutheran Church in Houston.
In 1909, he married Gertrude Geisler (1890-1910). He married Hilda Grassmuck (1890-1954) in 1914.
Behnken served the Texas District first as the chair of the Church Extension Board, then as second vice-president (1920-1926), and finally as president (1926-1929). He served the Synod as second vice-president (1929-1932), as first vice-president (1929-1932), and as president (1935-1962). At the end of his presidency, he was named honorary president.
Behnken is the author of God Is Our Refuge and Strength (1942), Know Your Synod's Work (1961), Mercies Manifold: Radio Messages Broadcast During the Summer of 1949 (1950), Noonday Sermons (1925), and This I Recall (1964).
He was the President of the LCMS when my father was ordained in 1962. And, I lived in the dorm named after him on Concordia Austin's campus. So, I just wanted to give the "Original Behnken Boy" his proper due. (source)
Oh, before I forget: Luther's Punkin Hat!
was taken on October 31, 1999 on Concordia St. Louis', aka The Big House, Campus. It seems that some of students from the Catholic school nearby decided to dress up ol Marty Luther. I thought it was a hoot, but when the Dean o' Students, aka Fourth Use of The Law found out, he was none-to-pleased (party pooper). Sorry I wasn't able to get a better picture. I scanned the picture I took. If you want a better look at it, go here. Its been awhile since I did was a Carnival host. So, I may be a bit rusty, but lets give it a shot and see what happens. Our first submission for your purusal comes from ye olde blog of
House, M.Div (cool title for the blog btw). This entry discusses Lawsuit against God. He, House, has a nice little rebuttal for Mr. Chambers at the end. I've heard of Chambers before; he played an important role in this documentary I saw a few months back. Then there's this submission in which House discusses praying for Muslims during their holy days.
James Wilson, co-author of the House, M.Div blog, sent along two of his posts as well. The first takes on the New York Times book review (which is always fun to do) and the review for the recently published book How to Read the Bible. Mssr. Wilson does a fine job of deconstructing and arguing against the New York Times, HUZZAH! James Wilson's second submission discusses an interesting side note to the debate over illegal aliens, but also puts a little smack down on the role of the church.
From the Rebellious Pastor's Wife sent this post; being a PK, I can relate to it quite well. I think her tagline sums it up nicely: "Some basic, hurtful assumptions that are directed at pastors...how they hurt, and how we really should treat our pastors," if only your parishoners did see how hard you guys worked every week... but that's neither here nor there...
Next we have everyone's favorite cyber anteater, Aardvark. He was kind enough to send along two posts, which, of course taught me something... darnit! The first one discuses Holy Cross Day and the second discusses St. Matthew, but also shows the etymology of the word Gospel. An aside, how does the 'Vark has so much time to devote to blogging? There must be more than one of him, either that, or he is the most caffinated Lutheran ever... anyway, moving on...
Rev. Snyder comes at us with two posts this week. The first could probably dovetail from House M.Div's post regarding Ernie Chambers' suite against God. But Rev. Snyder discusses in detail the ins and outs of Christians and lawsuits, not from a lawyler point of view, but from the position of a faithful Lutheran pastor. Thought provoking as per usual. Then Rev. Snyder hits us with a post based on 1 Thes. 5:16-18 and discusses the "pray without ceasing..." what does that look like? How does it feel? Answers here.
From the Lutheran Library we get this post; in which Noah's Ark is discussed. After reading this review, I may have to give this book a looksee for myself.
Dan the Man from Necessary Roughness sent this post about a television show I've never seen: Survivor and its "token" Christian. It will be interesting to see how well she does on the show.
I add this to the mix: review of the book American Band, a book that I'm pretty excited about right now.
And last but not least: This post from livingsermons, over at wordpress.com: "Chaplain Boarts shares a story about four valiant chaplains in World War II and how their sacrifice is remembered today by young Airmen, Soldiers and Sailors." This one has video to go with it.
Well, I guess that's it. Thanks for stopping by. Peace and blessings to all.
DWC
Saturday, September 22, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Writes Disparaging Remarks About Baby Lawyers
Sometimes the Baby Lawyers drive me to drink. Really. They can be so needy and are so entitled, I find myself wanting to line them up against the wall and walk down said line smacking each one of them. Oh, they aren't all bad, but you know the phrase about bad apples ruining the batch, right? I just had to go up the stairs and tell one Baby Lawyer to either stop talking on his cellphone in the stairwell or take said conversation outside. He waved his hand at me like I was a gnat. Good thing I'm a righteous fellow, luckily he did stop talking so he's not echoing throughout the library. Yesterday I was in the restroom. There was roll of toilet paper on the floor. While I was in there, three or four other guys either came in or left (not all washed their hands, by the by) not a one of them leaned over and picked up the paper. I did when I left, but come on folks, is it that hard to lean over and pick something up?
Oh, then there's the *scorn in voice* Law Review Baby Lawyers. I think they think they walk on water, piss rosewater, and their sweat don't stink. In other words their entitlement quotient goes through the roof. Can't take food into the library... oh, I'm law review... can't take a bottle of Coke into the library... oh, I'm Law Review... so what? But I have to let them go because their law review... gah! Drives me batty.
I'm sitting at the circ desk tonight. I'm closing the library down tonight. Yeah, so exciting. So, I'm I just chilling and surfing the internet and clicking on "the next blog" link atop the screen. That can be dangerous, one never knows when one will land upon a risque blog, most have been in a foreign language so I can't read them any way.
IU lost to Illinois today. Ball State almost beat Nebraska (lost by one point, that would of been an upset) and West Virginia manhandled East Carolina. And the Baby Lawyers are really starting to bug the hell outta me.
Oh, then there's the *scorn in voice* Law Review Baby Lawyers. I think they think they walk on water, piss rosewater, and their sweat don't stink. In other words their entitlement quotient goes through the roof. Can't take food into the library... oh, I'm law review... can't take a bottle of Coke into the library... oh, I'm Law Review... so what? But I have to let them go because their law review... gah! Drives me batty.
I'm sitting at the circ desk tonight. I'm closing the library down tonight. Yeah, so exciting. So, I'm I just chilling and surfing the internet and clicking on "the next blog" link atop the screen. That can be dangerous, one never knows when one will land upon a risque blog, most have been in a foreign language so I can't read them any way.
IU lost to Illinois today. Ball State almost beat Nebraska (lost by one point, that would of been an upset) and West Virginia manhandled East Carolina. And the Baby Lawyers are really starting to bug the hell outta me.
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Describes Lunch With an Author and Reviews Her Book, Again
I had the opportunity to have lunch with Kristen Laine, the author of the bookAmerican Band: Music, Dreams and Coming of Age in the Heartland this afternoon. I had emailed her a couple weeks ago after reading her book and told her how much I had enjoyed it. She emailed me back thanking me and from there we kind of had this ongoing email exchange.
She told me that she was going to be in the area and BN was going to be helping with a book signing, so last week I was able to meet her at the signing and visit for a few hours as we sold her books. It was good fun, cold, but good fun. We decided that we would meet up again today seeing how she was going to be at the Greenwood Band Invitational in good old Greenwood, Indiana. So we set up a time to meet at the local Panera Bread and we chatted about the book and writing in general and she grilled (okay, maybe not grilled, but talked to me) about my interest in editing. I even gave her may resume. She said she would get me in contact with her agent and her editor and I could talk to them about what they do and such. I guess we'll see what happens with that.
I've written about the book American Band before. I did a quick Google search on the title and discovered a few interesting reviews about the book, all positive. My favorite one came from popmatters, though I'm not sure I like the fact that they wrote that "...American Band is Friday Night Lights for the geek set..." that's a bit disparaging and kind of backhanded insult. Though, I do agree with them that it does have the feeling of a Friday Night Lights, or another great Hoosier classic Rudy. In short, it is a feel good book, but it does take you on a journey and at times it is not necessarily a journey you might want to go on. I found myself rooting for these kids and could easily identify with them even though I was never in the band. And you know, there was never a once-in-band-camp moment which was nice. Its good see American teens portrayed in a positive light, dealing with real problems and not running away from them, and stepping up to take on challenges.
Is it just band kids and their families? No. As I can testify. As I said, I was never a bandkid, but I found myself identifying with the kids Laine wrote about. Granted, bandkids and their families might identify more strongly with aspects of the book than I did, but the feelings and emotions and even the challenges these kids face, particularly Grant, are universal. It really is worth a trip to your local bookstore to pick this book up.
Friday, September 21, 2007
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Tuesday, September 18, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discusses Pulp Fiction
I just finished watching Pulp Fiction. It has probably been three or four years since I actually sat down and watched the whole thing through. When I saw it in the movie theatres it totally turned my head around. I was amazed and awed by the film. I remember going back to the theatre to see it again, this time with a notebook so I could scrall notes to myself. I don't think I took any notes, but it was the thought that counted. Pulp Fiction really did affect me in many ways, for one, I discovered film. I discovered that movies can more than entertainment, they can make one think.
I have always been intriqued by the debate surrounding various aspects of the film. Particularly, in relation to the briefcase. What is in the briefcase? Some postulate that it is nothing more than gold, others say that it is the diamonds that were stolen from the jewlery store in Reservoir Dogs (the character name Marsallis does appear in that movie, so one can give that theory a little credence). Then there is the spiritual thoughts of the film. The briefcase contains Marsallis' soul. That is an interesting thought because I have heard that there are faiths that think the sould is taken through the back of the neck, Marsallis has a large bandaid on the back of his neck throughout the movie. There is no explaination for that, it just is. So, if you wanted to you could postulate that yes, that glowing briefcase does in fact contain Marsallis' soul. I kind of like that idea. Another "clue," if you will, that the briefcase holds a soul is when Jules and Vincent shoot the guys in the apartment there is a yellow glow that fills in the screen. Okay, I'm thinking too hard on this, I'm sure.
As I said, its been awhile since I've seen the film and I am happy to report that I am able to quote whole portions of it as I watch it. Matter of fact, sections of dialogue have found their way into my everyday speech (some of the pithy phrases, not the curse words so much).
What did I think of the film as I watched it again? First of all, topping off at over two and half hours it is a long movie. I never realized how long Pulp Fiction really is; it seems to go on and on at times. Tarantino has a tendency to use too much dialogue. He doesn't let the action help the movie, he often over powers the view with his dialogue. At times, it works, at others, it doesn't (he is particularly guilty of that in Reservoir Dogs). I think Tarantino's scenes are too long and his camera work, thought good, is a bit too static some times, though the scene outside the apartment as Jules and Verne discuss the pros and cons of foot massage is still one of my favorite scenes in any movie because the camera work and the dialogue really do work together. The Jack Rabbit Slim section of the film really doesn't seem to do too much for film. I found myself wishing it had been shortened and edited a bit tighter.
This is an important film. It certainly did move modern cinema into new directions. Looking at the film again for the first time in a long time I am able to say that it is a good film (though, I'll admit calling it a film and not a movie is actually kind of difficult), it doesn't spin my head like it did the first time, but that's probably because I watched once a week when I was in college so its like wearing a well worn pair of jeans, there is a certain amount of familiarity that I brought to the viewing. Pulp Fiction certainly is a film worth studying.
If I had to grade it, I'd give it a good solid B+
I have always been intriqued by the debate surrounding various aspects of the film. Particularly, in relation to the briefcase. What is in the briefcase? Some postulate that it is nothing more than gold, others say that it is the diamonds that were stolen from the jewlery store in Reservoir Dogs (the character name Marsallis does appear in that movie, so one can give that theory a little credence). Then there is the spiritual thoughts of the film. The briefcase contains Marsallis' soul. That is an interesting thought because I have heard that there are faiths that think the sould is taken through the back of the neck, Marsallis has a large bandaid on the back of his neck throughout the movie. There is no explaination for that, it just is. So, if you wanted to you could postulate that yes, that glowing briefcase does in fact contain Marsallis' soul. I kind of like that idea. Another "clue," if you will, that the briefcase holds a soul is when Jules and Vincent shoot the guys in the apartment there is a yellow glow that fills in the screen. Okay, I'm thinking too hard on this, I'm sure.
As I said, its been awhile since I've seen the film and I am happy to report that I am able to quote whole portions of it as I watch it. Matter of fact, sections of dialogue have found their way into my everyday speech (some of the pithy phrases, not the curse words so much).
What did I think of the film as I watched it again? First of all, topping off at over two and half hours it is a long movie. I never realized how long Pulp Fiction really is; it seems to go on and on at times. Tarantino has a tendency to use too much dialogue. He doesn't let the action help the movie, he often over powers the view with his dialogue. At times, it works, at others, it doesn't (he is particularly guilty of that in Reservoir Dogs). I think Tarantino's scenes are too long and his camera work, thought good, is a bit too static some times, though the scene outside the apartment as Jules and Verne discuss the pros and cons of foot massage is still one of my favorite scenes in any movie because the camera work and the dialogue really do work together. The Jack Rabbit Slim section of the film really doesn't seem to do too much for film. I found myself wishing it had been shortened and edited a bit tighter.
This is an important film. It certainly did move modern cinema into new directions. Looking at the film again for the first time in a long time I am able to say that it is a good film (though, I'll admit calling it a film and not a movie is actually kind of difficult), it doesn't spin my head like it did the first time, but that's probably because I watched once a week when I was in college so its like wearing a well worn pair of jeans, there is a certain amount of familiarity that I brought to the viewing. Pulp Fiction certainly is a film worth studying.
If I had to grade it, I'd give it a good solid B+
Friday, September 14, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discusses Battle for Algiers
I watched the movie Battle for Algiers last night. It is a French film, so I had to read it, but that's actually alright. Sometimes reading a film makes me pay attention to it even closer, because I don't understand French (aside from the occasional "oui," "messeur") I am forced to really watch the images on the screen, I can't flip through a magazine or close my eyes and get the movie through my ears.
The Battle for Algiers is about the Algerian revolution in the late 50's against French colonial rule. It is actually a brutal movie. The situation quickly degenerates into guerrilla warfare on both sides. The French blow up an apartment building, the Algerian fighters blow up two cafes and a discotheque. The French torture captives for information, the Algerians shoot the French policemen patrolling the streets. It becomes a tit-for-tat kind of movie very quickly.
One cannot help but link our present situation in Iraq to the past situation in Algeria. I found myself asking the question "why" a lot. And I wasn't able to get any good answers from the film.
It is a dark film. It has to be, there is very little to celebrate in the film. Music is very important and certainly helps to move the story, but also set the tone. To the film. This is a film that requires more than one viewing in order to detach from the film, but on the other hand, it is important to work with the film.
I'm glad I bought the movie. It is an important addition to my collection.
The Battle for Algiers is about the Algerian revolution in the late 50's against French colonial rule. It is actually a brutal movie. The situation quickly degenerates into guerrilla warfare on both sides. The French blow up an apartment building, the Algerian fighters blow up two cafes and a discotheque. The French torture captives for information, the Algerians shoot the French policemen patrolling the streets. It becomes a tit-for-tat kind of movie very quickly.
One cannot help but link our present situation in Iraq to the past situation in Algeria. I found myself asking the question "why" a lot. And I wasn't able to get any good answers from the film.
It is a dark film. It has to be, there is very little to celebrate in the film. Music is very important and certainly helps to move the story, but also set the tone. To the film. This is a film that requires more than one viewing in order to detach from the film, but on the other hand, it is important to work with the film.
I'm glad I bought the movie. It is an important addition to my collection.
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Proves There is Neither Rhyme Nor Reason How His Blog is Found
gas story pedal pumping
gas tank games
empty gas tank
eat words colts football mouth
full throttle problems
harman family accident maryland
gastank
full throttle ministry
night train gas tank
seems to be in full throttle
science the thing which shucks the gas up
how long will my car last on empty
empty car fuel tank
people pushing a car empty on gas
a man said to the universe crane biblical reference
pedal pumping in sandals
meaning of 'puttin the pedal to the metal'
car troubleshoot empty gas
picture of a gas tank empty
watch kelly faith and cougar at the saints game
car tank empty
gas tank has been empty for 3 years
I am fascinated by the keywords people use to find this blog. Now, I'm sure the majority of those that fall on this blog don't stop and read it, there's good reason for that, *chuckles*.
gas tank games
empty gas tank
eat words colts football mouth
full throttle problems
harman family accident maryland
gastank
full throttle ministry
night train gas tank
seems to be in full throttle
science the thing which shucks the gas up
how long will my car last on empty
empty car fuel tank
people pushing a car empty on gas
a man said to the universe crane biblical reference
pedal pumping in sandals
meaning of 'puttin the pedal to the metal'
car troubleshoot empty gas
picture of a gas tank empty
watch kelly faith and cougar at the saints game
car tank empty
gas tank has been empty for 3 years
I am fascinated by the keywords people use to find this blog. Now, I'm sure the majority of those that fall on this blog don't stop and read it, there's good reason for that, *chuckles*.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wherein Your Faithful Narrator Discusses His Addicition to DVDs
Today I added to my dvd collection. I am a fan of Criterion dvd movies. Its something I never planned to happen, but happen it has. I have slowed down my purchasing mainly because I was buying them faster than I could watch them. Today, though, I broke down and bought Battle for Algiers. It is a movie that I have had my eye on for a long time. I watched part of it a few months ago and was quite intriqued, but I didn't finish it, but I decided that it should be one in my collection. But the price was a bit prohibitive. I just didn't have the scratch I needed, so I waited. The reason I have a Barnes & Noble Membership Card is that I can get a better deal with it than with my employee discount, I just have to be patient and wait for a coupon. The other day I got a 15 percent off coupon. I used that in conjunction with my member card and that helped bring the price down considerably. After thinking about it and doing some research on the film (thank goodness for the internet movie database! After reading about it I decided that it would fit nicely into my collection.
Here's to good cinema... *thumbs up*
The other day, I picked up the Indianapolis Colts' Road to Super Bowl XLI. I've been having a good time watching the last year's playoffs all over again.
Here's to good cinema... *thumbs up*
The other day, I picked up the Indianapolis Colts' Road to Super Bowl XLI. I've been having a good time watching the last year's playoffs all over again.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discusses Briefly "Faith is as Faith Does"
I'm not really sure why the biblical book James speaks to me so forcefully. I've tried to figure it out and I can't. From what I understand, Luther was not a huge fan of the book. I believe he said it was made of straw. That might be, but it is probably the most read book in my Bible, it certainly is the most marked up and has the most margin notes. Matter of fact, I've written and highlighted it so much its almost too hard to read, and yet I keep going back to it.
I think what it is about James that turns me on is how he talks about Faith. It is not a passive, or in physics-speak, potential energy. It is something that is alive and kinetic. Faith is a verb in James, not a noun or a platitude. It is doing something. I call James the "faith is, as faith does" book. That's it though, isn't it? That's the thing that gets it a bit poo-poo'ed by folks. I guess many folks see James as saying you have to do good works to be saved. I, of course, read it totally different.
I've always read James to say that because I have faith, I'll want to do good works. In other words, Faith through doing. I don't have to, but I want to; because Christ is in my heart and mind and his glory is given me, I want to share it. Does that mean I have to go out build houses, or change the world in huge ways? No. For some people the answer might well be "yes," one has to be careful though when one starts to think that way. It can become a game of faithful one upmanship. And that can be dangerous. That can turn into a Faith Competition and that's no good for anyone.
A couple weeks ago the guy who started Habitat for Humanity was at our church, for the life of me I have forgotten his name, but I was impressed by his sincerity of faith and his action on it. I got the impression that he did do what he did because he felt he had to, but he did it because he wanted to and that is the key. I can see some of you saying "oops, you're going against your own interpretation and you're line of thought..." and pointing and accusitory finger in my general direction, but I don't think I am. I think one of the key verses in James is in chapter 2 verses 18: "But someone will say 'You have faith; I have deeds.' Show me your faith without deeds and I will show you my faith by what I do." Faith Is as Faith Does.
Of course there is much more to James another reason I like it. I've always thought it would be interesting to do a Bible study with high school kids concerning James. Just them and word reading it together and discussing what they read. There is a lot in there that speaks to the world today.
Can you tell that I've been rereading James... he always cooks my noodle.
I think what it is about James that turns me on is how he talks about Faith. It is not a passive, or in physics-speak, potential energy. It is something that is alive and kinetic. Faith is a verb in James, not a noun or a platitude. It is doing something. I call James the "faith is, as faith does" book. That's it though, isn't it? That's the thing that gets it a bit poo-poo'ed by folks. I guess many folks see James as saying you have to do good works to be saved. I, of course, read it totally different.
I've always read James to say that because I have faith, I'll want to do good works. In other words, Faith through doing. I don't have to, but I want to; because Christ is in my heart and mind and his glory is given me, I want to share it. Does that mean I have to go out build houses, or change the world in huge ways? No. For some people the answer might well be "yes," one has to be careful though when one starts to think that way. It can become a game of faithful one upmanship. And that can be dangerous. That can turn into a Faith Competition and that's no good for anyone.
A couple weeks ago the guy who started Habitat for Humanity was at our church, for the life of me I have forgotten his name, but I was impressed by his sincerity of faith and his action on it. I got the impression that he did do what he did because he felt he had to, but he did it because he wanted to and that is the key. I can see some of you saying "oops, you're going against your own interpretation and you're line of thought..." and pointing and accusitory finger in my general direction, but I don't think I am. I think one of the key verses in James is in chapter 2 verses 18: "But someone will say 'You have faith; I have deeds.' Show me your faith without deeds and I will show you my faith by what I do." Faith Is as Faith Does.
Of course there is much more to James another reason I like it. I've always thought it would be interesting to do a Bible study with high school kids concerning James. Just them and word reading it together and discussing what they read. There is a lot in there that speaks to the world today.
Can you tell that I've been rereading James... he always cooks my noodle.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
In Which Your Narrator Forgets What Today Is
Today, as I was driving home from work I noticed that flags were at half-staff. I was mildly curious, so I turned on the radio to listen to the news. I figured someone had died, someone important, someone from the government, or something like that; but I didn't hear anything, so I didn't think much of it until I noticed more flags at half-staff. I was starting to really wonder now, who died? I hadn't heard or read anything about anyone dying, I was actually quite perplexed, but then I realized what it was: today is September 11th. Six years ago we were all in shock at least I was, but six years has passed and that day has kind of shifted to the back of my memory, but subconsciously I think I have been avoiding television news and newspapers. That backbrain memory still festers there. I avoid images of that day as best I can. The edges have dulled a bit and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Friday, September 07, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Dons the Blue and Joins the Blue Clad Masses Loses Some Hearing, Flees, and Watches a Football Game at Home
Yesterday was the big day. The first day of the 88th NFL football season. It got a rousing kickstart here in little Ol Indianapolis with a free concert in the center of town, in front of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument. I forgot my camera so I was unable to take pictures, however it was a sea of blue clad masses. I got downtown after work (about 3, or so) used my IUPUI parking permit, parked my car in the IUPUI lot, changed from work clothes to Colts Cammouflage (blue jeans, blue colts 29 jersey-- Joseph Addai runing back-- and blue Colts baseball cap) and followed the crowd. It was a surreal experience, truthfully because everyone was walking around wearing the same thing-- blue (or white) Colts jerseys. The place was, to be honest, awash in blue. Any one wearing a Saints jersey stuck out like a sore thumb.
I followed the crowd to the monument after getting turned around I found my way to the stage area. I had to get frisked, women to the left, men to the right. Now here's the thing. It was a free concert, but the musical talent that performed didn't fit my idea of "football." The first group who I'd never heard of called Hinder. Came out rocked the cashba, they reminded me alot of Aerosmith. I've never really like Aerosmith. They were the band that made me lose hearing. An outside concert and my ear drums begged for mercy. After they screeched through their 45 minute set, we got Kelly Clarkson. This is the first time I'd ever really heard Kelly Clarkson. Let me put it to you this way: I left after ten minutes, so, aww shucks, I missed Faith Hill. Here's the rub, though, Hinder, Kelly Clarkson, and Faith Hill don't really scream football to me. NASCAR, maybe, but not football and certainly not NFL. Hank Williams, Kid Rock, and Terri Clark: they scream football to me. I think that's why I left. I just wasn't feeling it, that my feet were starting to hurt from standing for so long.
Leaving was, in and of itself, an experience. It is difficult, to say the least, to work your way through a sardine packed group mob of people. I'd say there were probably 15-20,000 people in front of me and probably 100,000 behind me. I found a stream of people moving through the crowd and got onto that train. I got to the back of the crowd where it was quite thinned out and felt a bit more trapped because everywhere I looked were fence-barriers. I finally sat down on the sidewalk to watch the crowd for a few minutes and try and figure out how to get out of the madness. Actually, it wasn't madness at all, it was quite calm, it was just very crowded. I used my powers of observation and discovered another single file stream of people meandering through the sea of people behind me. I got on that train, again and pushed my way through the crowd.
I finally popped out on a side street and that was when the surrealism got a bit overwhelming. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was dressed in Colts blue. They were sitting in restaraunts eating and drinking, they were steaming to the stadium, they were chatting on cell phones (I think that was the weirdest part of it, I don't know why, but it was) there were street performers playing guitars, they were panhandlers shaking their cups, there were ticket scalpers buying tickets, selling tickets, they cops trying to keep some kind of order, I found myself wondering how I would shoot something like this on film.
I was goig against the flow, I was heading to my car, but everyone else was heading towards the stadium. I got back to my car, and headed out of the city. The strangness didn't stop there. I had to drive by the stadium to get out of town. There guys standing in the street with bright orange flags beseeching me to park my car in their lot. The prices ranged anywhere from 10-20 dollars. I wasn't having any of it, I wanted to go home. I finally got myself on Meridian Street and headed south. The final surrealism was this: the further I got away from the stadium and madness behind me the more "normal" life became. Some guy was weedeating his yard, another looked like he was pulling some weeds, you know just ordinary stuff.
I got home, ate some dinner, and watched the madness on tv. I was quite amazed when I saw how many people were there... I was in that? So much for my agoraphobia kicking in.
I tried to watch the football game, I really did. I made it up to halftime and then I started to fall asleep. I know the Colts won, but I didn't see much of the second half through my lidded eyes. I was just tuckered and my knees hurt from standing all day.
I followed the crowd to the monument after getting turned around I found my way to the stage area. I had to get frisked, women to the left, men to the right. Now here's the thing. It was a free concert, but the musical talent that performed didn't fit my idea of "football." The first group who I'd never heard of called Hinder. Came out rocked the cashba, they reminded me alot of Aerosmith. I've never really like Aerosmith. They were the band that made me lose hearing. An outside concert and my ear drums begged for mercy. After they screeched through their 45 minute set, we got Kelly Clarkson. This is the first time I'd ever really heard Kelly Clarkson. Let me put it to you this way: I left after ten minutes, so, aww shucks, I missed Faith Hill. Here's the rub, though, Hinder, Kelly Clarkson, and Faith Hill don't really scream football to me. NASCAR, maybe, but not football and certainly not NFL. Hank Williams, Kid Rock, and Terri Clark: they scream football to me. I think that's why I left. I just wasn't feeling it, that my feet were starting to hurt from standing for so long.
Leaving was, in and of itself, an experience. It is difficult, to say the least, to work your way through a sardine packed group mob of people. I'd say there were probably 15-20,000 people in front of me and probably 100,000 behind me. I found a stream of people moving through the crowd and got onto that train. I got to the back of the crowd where it was quite thinned out and felt a bit more trapped because everywhere I looked were fence-barriers. I finally sat down on the sidewalk to watch the crowd for a few minutes and try and figure out how to get out of the madness. Actually, it wasn't madness at all, it was quite calm, it was just very crowded. I used my powers of observation and discovered another single file stream of people meandering through the sea of people behind me. I got on that train, again and pushed my way through the crowd.
I finally popped out on a side street and that was when the surrealism got a bit overwhelming. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was dressed in Colts blue. They were sitting in restaraunts eating and drinking, they were steaming to the stadium, they were chatting on cell phones (I think that was the weirdest part of it, I don't know why, but it was) there were street performers playing guitars, they were panhandlers shaking their cups, there were ticket scalpers buying tickets, selling tickets, they cops trying to keep some kind of order, I found myself wondering how I would shoot something like this on film.
I was goig against the flow, I was heading to my car, but everyone else was heading towards the stadium. I got back to my car, and headed out of the city. The strangness didn't stop there. I had to drive by the stadium to get out of town. There guys standing in the street with bright orange flags beseeching me to park my car in their lot. The prices ranged anywhere from 10-20 dollars. I wasn't having any of it, I wanted to go home. I finally got myself on Meridian Street and headed south. The final surrealism was this: the further I got away from the stadium and madness behind me the more "normal" life became. Some guy was weedeating his yard, another looked like he was pulling some weeds, you know just ordinary stuff.
I got home, ate some dinner, and watched the madness on tv. I was quite amazed when I saw how many people were there... I was in that? So much for my agoraphobia kicking in.
I tried to watch the football game, I really did. I made it up to halftime and then I started to fall asleep. I know the Colts won, but I didn't see much of the second half through my lidded eyes. I was just tuckered and my knees hurt from standing all day.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discusses the Difficulty of Trying to Read Hamlet at the Circulatoin Desk on a Busy Wednesday Night
Recently, I purchased the Branaugh version of Hamlet on DVD. It is a spectacular film, full of color and action, shot of 70 mm film. The picture is amazing. The only problem: the actors talk much too quickly for my modern day English ears and their Elizabethian English is lost somewhat. I know the story, the basics if you will, but I'm not familiar with the nuances. In short, I am no Harold Bloom. Not that I really want to be anyway. Since the the actors speak so quickly or maybe its my ears hear too slowly (probably more the latter as opposed to the former) I have decided to give ye olde Bard a try via libro. Stop. I've decided to muddle my way through the printed text of Hamlet. Its been slow going because I keep getting interupted and distracted as student walk by. Surpringly, I am actually getting it. Meaning I'm able to get the language. I, like most people, have a bit of a fear of Shakespeare because I don't think I can hang with the language. That I'm too stupid to get the gist of it and get the deeper meaning. Of course, I guess one could make the case that even Harold Bloom, liver lipped high priest of Bardology himself freely admits that he, too, is still peeling back layers of the Shakespeare onion.
In Which Your Faithfaul Narrator Recounts His Strangely Boring Yet Uncomfortably Weird Day and In Which He Uses the Word "Tizzy"
Last night after leaving the law library I drove home, I was trying not to be mad, but I couldn't help it. I am having some issues with my other job, not the law library, and they are starting to really cause me angst and make me rethink the whole "lets stay with this company for a long, long time" thing (I should of put dashes between those words, since in fact it was not a quotation, but more of a compound word kind of thing, but that would take more work than it is worth and I'm just not in the mood). So, by the time I got home I had worked myself into quite a tizzy. I was just put off and angry and I was fired up because I had worked in the law library and that's what I really want to do. But that's neither here nor there.
In an effort to calm myself down I got bowl of chocolate chip ice cream and turned on the boob-tube and, believe it or not, there wasn't a single thing on. Though, I did fall upon an infomercial that touted the benefits of a wonder drug that supposedly added inches to "that particular male organ" and I quite enjoyed the man-on-the-street interviews with couples whose male half just happened to be using the product, whew, thank god for that. It was interesting for about ten minutes, but even the pretty chick doing the interviews couldn't keep my interest. I eventually went to bed, filled with ice cream and a bit more relaxed than I started.
Today was an interesting day, though boring, to a point. My cousin, Chris, lives in a part of town that I generally don't go to. It is, I wouldn't call it a ghetto, but a more PC term might be "economically challenged," or "depressed." It looks like maybe fifty years ago it might of been a happening place, but time and money seem to have passed it by. My cousin lives in this area because he can afford it and its close to work for him. His parents, my aunt and uncle, decided to buy him Direct TV or the DishNetwork, there's a story behind it, but its not that important. Since my aunt and uncle are out of town (Florida) we were asked if we could go to his apartment and meet the installer. We did. It wasn't creepy, per se, but I certainly felt that I didn't belong there. There was a guy in a second floor apartment that was watching us through his window, he tried to be inconspicuous, but he didn't do a very good job. I kept catching him watching us and then he decided to use a mirror, he sat just on the side of the window and held out a small mirror watching us, I was able to see it out of the corner of my eye and I look up, he'd pull the mirror back quickly, usually bumping the window sill in the process. It would of been funny if it didn't add to the discomfort level I had.
When the installer guy finally got there, I had to into Chris' apartment, that was creepy, too. I had to unlock a couple doors and I again had spectral shadow-people watching me. One guy named, so he said, Chris, walked up to me to see if I was moving in. I said I was just there to help my cousin. For some reason, I felt really uncomfortable in the whole situation. My cousins apartment is nice, rundown, but nice. Its a one bedroom affair with the living room and kitchen kind off attached into a big room. His small bathroom is off from his bedroom. The longer I stayed in the apartment, though, I just wanted to get out. I started pacing back and forth, sweating (no AC).
When I was finally able to leave I drove through Indy and I had to make sure I avoided the Circle (Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument) because its closed down and on lockdown because of the big show they are going to have tomorrow night for the NFL, from what I understand you'll be able to see it on national TV. I may go and check it out, I'll see how I feel after work tomorrow.
Now, I'm sitting in the computer lab of the law library. Its cool here. The AC is going and there are only two people in here with me: a girl in a red hoodie shirt looking at some kind of anatomy program and some guy two rows down on the left looking something on the internet, I'm not sure what. Either way, I'm a bit more comfortable.
In an effort to calm myself down I got bowl of chocolate chip ice cream and turned on the boob-tube and, believe it or not, there wasn't a single thing on. Though, I did fall upon an infomercial that touted the benefits of a wonder drug that supposedly added inches to "that particular male organ" and I quite enjoyed the man-on-the-street interviews with couples whose male half just happened to be using the product, whew, thank god for that. It was interesting for about ten minutes, but even the pretty chick doing the interviews couldn't keep my interest. I eventually went to bed, filled with ice cream and a bit more relaxed than I started.
Today was an interesting day, though boring, to a point. My cousin, Chris, lives in a part of town that I generally don't go to. It is, I wouldn't call it a ghetto, but a more PC term might be "economically challenged," or "depressed." It looks like maybe fifty years ago it might of been a happening place, but time and money seem to have passed it by. My cousin lives in this area because he can afford it and its close to work for him. His parents, my aunt and uncle, decided to buy him Direct TV or the DishNetwork, there's a story behind it, but its not that important. Since my aunt and uncle are out of town (Florida) we were asked if we could go to his apartment and meet the installer. We did. It wasn't creepy, per se, but I certainly felt that I didn't belong there. There was a guy in a second floor apartment that was watching us through his window, he tried to be inconspicuous, but he didn't do a very good job. I kept catching him watching us and then he decided to use a mirror, he sat just on the side of the window and held out a small mirror watching us, I was able to see it out of the corner of my eye and I look up, he'd pull the mirror back quickly, usually bumping the window sill in the process. It would of been funny if it didn't add to the discomfort level I had.
When the installer guy finally got there, I had to into Chris' apartment, that was creepy, too. I had to unlock a couple doors and I again had spectral shadow-people watching me. One guy named, so he said, Chris, walked up to me to see if I was moving in. I said I was just there to help my cousin. For some reason, I felt really uncomfortable in the whole situation. My cousins apartment is nice, rundown, but nice. Its a one bedroom affair with the living room and kitchen kind off attached into a big room. His small bathroom is off from his bedroom. The longer I stayed in the apartment, though, I just wanted to get out. I started pacing back and forth, sweating (no AC).
When I was finally able to leave I drove through Indy and I had to make sure I avoided the Circle (Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument) because its closed down and on lockdown because of the big show they are going to have tomorrow night for the NFL, from what I understand you'll be able to see it on national TV. I may go and check it out, I'll see how I feel after work tomorrow.
Now, I'm sitting in the computer lab of the law library. Its cool here. The AC is going and there are only two people in here with me: a girl in a red hoodie shirt looking at some kind of anatomy program and some guy two rows down on the left looking something on the internet, I'm not sure what. Either way, I'm a bit more comfortable.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
In This Episode Your Faithful Narrator Admits to Being a Wimp and a Scardey-Cat All In One Entry
My blog is the home for sexual deviants. I have proof. I'm not sure why they find my blog, but they do. I seem to be a stop off point for searches that deal with "pedal pushing," which seems, after some very cautious, careful, and brief research has led me to believe that it is, it you will, a subcategory of foot fetishism. Weird. I could've, if I so wanted, gotten video of some red toenail painted women pushing on a brake pedal. The only reason I know that was an "enticing" still picture was posted of said red painted toe. I declined the offer.
I know that just writing about this will allow more pedal pushing fetishists to find my little slice of blog-heaven.
I have decided that this little blue marble we inhabit is indeed a weird place. Its simple to see that with the traffic I get. I should probably do a "how you find me" post again. Those are always enlightening. At least to me they are and I'll admit at times I'm a wee bit flumuxed and at others I am somewhat aghast, and a time or two I've been agog at the keywords and searches folks use to find me. Can you tell that I'm bored and I've gotten the writing bug suddenly. Thirdworst will be so proud, or maybe just perplexed by my sudden literary output, its not literary, but it is output.
For fun earlier, I went to a website for roommates. I have a dream, I'm not sure why, well I do, but I'll get to that some other time, about living in New York City, or one of the boroughs (particularly Brooklyn). I was looking at roommate postings and I found a few that looked interesting, but I have a couple problems. The first and this is the regular refrain to my life's verse is this: I ain't got the scratch to do something as harebrained as move to New York City, much less live there. The second thing is this: I'm a scaredy cat. I'm a wimp. I'm 33 years old and I'm scared to death do something like that. Though, I have come close to sending my resume to the New York City Public Library and the Brooklyn Public Library. When I even thought that I had the weird sensation of being atop the high dive...
Why am I such a schnook?
So, instead of picking up stakes and doing something like that, I read books about New York and watch movies about New York (the Rick Burns New York Documentary is a favorite). Another is the book (short essay really) entitled Here is New York, by EB White.
I know that just writing about this will allow more pedal pushing fetishists to find my little slice of blog-heaven.
I have decided that this little blue marble we inhabit is indeed a weird place. Its simple to see that with the traffic I get. I should probably do a "how you find me" post again. Those are always enlightening. At least to me they are and I'll admit at times I'm a wee bit flumuxed and at others I am somewhat aghast, and a time or two I've been agog at the keywords and searches folks use to find me. Can you tell that I'm bored and I've gotten the writing bug suddenly. Thirdworst will be so proud, or maybe just perplexed by my sudden literary output, its not literary, but it is output.
For fun earlier, I went to a website for roommates. I have a dream, I'm not sure why, well I do, but I'll get to that some other time, about living in New York City, or one of the boroughs (particularly Brooklyn). I was looking at roommate postings and I found a few that looked interesting, but I have a couple problems. The first and this is the regular refrain to my life's verse is this: I ain't got the scratch to do something as harebrained as move to New York City, much less live there. The second thing is this: I'm a scaredy cat. I'm a wimp. I'm 33 years old and I'm scared to death do something like that. Though, I have come close to sending my resume to the New York City Public Library and the Brooklyn Public Library. When I even thought that I had the weird sensation of being atop the high dive...
Why am I such a schnook?
So, instead of picking up stakes and doing something like that, I read books about New York and watch movies about New York (the Rick Burns New York Documentary is a favorite). Another is the book (short essay really) entitled Here is New York, by EB White.
I Used the Word "Pithy" In This Post and I Expound to a Degree About Football Mainly its Just One Meandering Rant, Its Probabyl Best to Just Skip It
So, the professional football season begins in ernest on Thursday and Indianapolis is abuzz. I guess the first official real game will be Thursday night between *announcer voice* the Weeeeeeeerllllld Champeeeeeen IndianaPOLIS Colts..... and the New AAAAAAAHHHHHH-lin's Saints! (enough of that). Will I be able to go the game? No. I don't particularly want to go. I'd rather watch it on tv, my subtle agoraphobia doesn't really allow me to do the big crowd thing. That does not, however, preclude me from going to downtown to check it all out. There is a free concert going on the Circle (where the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument is located), there are some fairly big names that will be performing: Faith Hill being one of them. There other two performers I can't remember. And of course it wouldn't be an important event if John (don't call him Cougar any more) Mellencamp wasn't somehow involved. (An aside, he certainly lost something when he lost the Cougar, don'tcha think?) Ol John'll be rockin the Dome for the opening pre-game whatever.
I was reading an article the other day in the newest Indianapolis Monthly. Of course they were crowing about the Colts and they were trying to figure out why "we believe in the Colts" (another aside, no, never mind, I'm not going to rant about the over use of "You Just Gotta Believe" that has been stolen from the '69 Mets... really I'm not. I don't believe in sports teams, they invariably let me down). So, that Indianapolis Monthly was doing what the Indianapolis Monthly does, which is to say have nice glossy pictures and just barely readable prose about inane topics that really don't do much for the intellectual advancement of the reader, fluff, is what it is fluff. Lately, everytime the Indianapolis Monthly has an article about the Colts they trot out Cathy Day, an author, ex-Hoosier, who wrote a book about the Circus wintering in Indiana, its a good book (Circus in Winter) check it out, well any way, they had her pithy comments about being a born-again Colts fan (dig the religious metaphor) and how it all kind of happened watching the Steelers/Colts AFC Championship a few years back (actually it was nothing more than a two colum rehash of an article Cathy Day wrote for the Indianapolis Monthly magazine last year right around the time the Colts beat the Bears in that little game called Super Bowl. In short she became a fan as Pittsburgh cheered for the Steelers win. It was actually an interesting article, and if I could, I would link it, but alas it doesn't seem to be available online. Needless to say it was a nicely written article, subtle in tone and just the right amount of pithiness to make it worth the fifteen minutes it took me to read it.
I like football. Its fun to watch, I don't get froth at the mouth over it, though. Case in point: last Saturday after a rather long day at work I got home and I wanted to watch some tv. I didn't want to watch anything that would require any thought, thought I would of enjoyed a good good baseball game. What did I get? College football. It wouldn't of been too bad there had been one game on one channel, oh no, it was like six games of seven channels, yeah, you read that right. Now, I'm not saying that football is something you have to think about, though, maybe it is if you really want to keep track of downs and such, but what is football other than large men made larger still by big pads throwing themselves at each other in an effort to get at a brown oblong-shaped ball... so, no, it doesn't require thought, but it does require paying attention to, meaning: I had to be at least somewhat engaged and my brain just wasn't having it. I don't remember what I ended up watching, I think it might of been my Netflixed copy of A Night in the Museum which I liked by the way, it was a good fun movie... Needless to say, I was bummed that only thing on tv was college football. I didn't watch a single snap of any of the games, which was kind of bad thing because the next day my store manager wanted to talk about football at 0600... sorry, i'm not having that either.
This not a rant against football, really, its not. Granted, I'm sure, if you've gotten this far, that's what it sounds like, but its not. I do enjoy football. I can stomach a game or two, three at the most on a Sunday. I don't particularly care for college football, at all. I guess, to, as Kinky Friedman would say, "bumper sticker it" Football: I Like it, but I don't Love it."
I was reading an article the other day in the newest Indianapolis Monthly. Of course they were crowing about the Colts and they were trying to figure out why "we believe in the Colts" (another aside, no, never mind, I'm not going to rant about the over use of "You Just Gotta Believe" that has been stolen from the '69 Mets... really I'm not. I don't believe in sports teams, they invariably let me down). So, that Indianapolis Monthly was doing what the Indianapolis Monthly does, which is to say have nice glossy pictures and just barely readable prose about inane topics that really don't do much for the intellectual advancement of the reader, fluff, is what it is fluff. Lately, everytime the Indianapolis Monthly has an article about the Colts they trot out Cathy Day, an author, ex-Hoosier, who wrote a book about the Circus wintering in Indiana, its a good book (Circus in Winter) check it out, well any way, they had her pithy comments about being a born-again Colts fan (dig the religious metaphor) and how it all kind of happened watching the Steelers/Colts AFC Championship a few years back (actually it was nothing more than a two colum rehash of an article Cathy Day wrote for the Indianapolis Monthly magazine last year right around the time the Colts beat the Bears in that little game called Super Bowl. In short she became a fan as Pittsburgh cheered for the Steelers win. It was actually an interesting article, and if I could, I would link it, but alas it doesn't seem to be available online. Needless to say it was a nicely written article, subtle in tone and just the right amount of pithiness to make it worth the fifteen minutes it took me to read it.
I like football. Its fun to watch, I don't get froth at the mouth over it, though. Case in point: last Saturday after a rather long day at work I got home and I wanted to watch some tv. I didn't want to watch anything that would require any thought, thought I would of enjoyed a good good baseball game. What did I get? College football. It wouldn't of been too bad there had been one game on one channel, oh no, it was like six games of seven channels, yeah, you read that right. Now, I'm not saying that football is something you have to think about, though, maybe it is if you really want to keep track of downs and such, but what is football other than large men made larger still by big pads throwing themselves at each other in an effort to get at a brown oblong-shaped ball... so, no, it doesn't require thought, but it does require paying attention to, meaning: I had to be at least somewhat engaged and my brain just wasn't having it. I don't remember what I ended up watching, I think it might of been my Netflixed copy of A Night in the Museum which I liked by the way, it was a good fun movie... Needless to say, I was bummed that only thing on tv was college football. I didn't watch a single snap of any of the games, which was kind of bad thing because the next day my store manager wanted to talk about football at 0600... sorry, i'm not having that either.
This not a rant against football, really, its not. Granted, I'm sure, if you've gotten this far, that's what it sounds like, but its not. I do enjoy football. I can stomach a game or two, three at the most on a Sunday. I don't particularly care for college football, at all. I guess, to, as Kinky Friedman would say, "bumper sticker it" Football: I Like it, but I don't Love it."
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