What a Pain

To whom it may concern:

Have you ever noticed that when you move your cursor to locate a point in a line of text, that it's always in the way? It seems that every time I have to relocate it for any reason, I abandon it in place in my eagerness to begin typing, only to curse at it for blocking my view of what I'm trying to type. Maybe it's just me, but apparently, the cursor is aptly named. 

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, such as this one, and remember to breathe (and more the cursor after you've located what you want). 

Moon River

Meet, our Frog. 

He is one of our most recent purchases at out favorite second hand store. As often happens with items we love, we saw it on Saturday, for some unknown reason delayed purchasing it, only to return on Sunday and buy it. If nothing else, it makes the purchase special and stand out in our memory. To say it's her favorite piece in the house would be an understatement so huge I do not possess the hyperbole to express it.

What makes him so intriguing is his pose. No. His intensity. She even pointed out the other night that the sinews in his neck are standing out. At first we just assumed he was praying. Well, if frogs pray, or have the need to. But as we have sat, night after night, contemplating him, we have begun to see alternate interpretations. So far we have dozens. 

For example, is he a suppliant or a celebrant? Is he really praying or beseeching the frog deity? Is there a frog deity? Or is he clapping? I offered the possibility that he was the reptilian equivalent of Rodin's The Thinker Before the Gates of Hell. She offered the more reasonable likelihood that he is serenading his girlfriend. 

Early on, we wondered if he was simply enraptured at a piece of art on some unseen wall. You know, the way frogs gaze in awe at a painting. Well, anyway, they do. 

A neighborhood boy, upon seeing him for the first time, reacted a lot like we did. He was nearly stunned by the electric energy he expresses. His whole body taut with whatever he's really doing or anticipating. Then he offered, "It looks like he's about to do a backward dive." 

Regardless, last night, without any hedging, she said, "I know what he's doing tonight." 

"What?" I replied.

"He's whistling Moon River!" as though there could ever be any doubt.

"And," she continued, "His name is Irving. Irving Berlin."

Suspicious, I asked, "And how do you know that?"

"I just do," she replied. "Doesn't he look like an Irving?"

I offered, sarcastically, "I suppose the other night he was serenading his girlfriend, named Lilly . . . at her pad?"

"Maybe," unflinching, "but his name is Irving, and tonight he's whistling Moon River."

Strangely enough, that seemed reasonable to me. However, maybe we shouldn't apply reason to such an emotional piece.

So, we enjoy sharing the room with a frog named Irving. Tonight, however, for whatever reason, he's just a frog standing on our coffee table in his baffling pose again, clearly not making any sound at all. 

Regardless of what he does on a daily basis from this position, we both love him. On the up side, since he is, after all, only a statue of a frog, he'll never croak!

Book Hangover

Been there too many times. However, sometimes taking two aspirin and getting a good night's sleep helps . . . . When that fails, a stiff whiskey sours will do the trick.

Maybe it's Time

To whom it m may concern:

After months of on-again-off-again reading, I've finally finished Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. To begin, let me mention why it took so long. Besides the normal drama life throws at us all, I relocated very long distance, not once, but twice during my tenure in this massive tome. 

Published in 1749, like its predecessor, Don Quixote by Cervantes, it is a mammoth book, nearly 800 pages. The similarities don't stop at mere length though. Like Cervantes's work, this book is chocked full of chapters. No, correct that, this work is full of books like Homer or Virgil. However, there are 18 books in all which are then subdivided into short chapters, usually between 10 and 18 per book. So it doesn't take a rocket scientist or math whiz to see the magnitude of verbiage awaiting the reader. 

For those who have mercifully forgotten, or who wish to re-read my semi-review of Don Quixote, you will find it embedded in a much longer post here. However, in case it's not clear, the similarities to Cervantes is primarily restricted to age and length. Otherwise, Fielding's "history", as he's fond of calling it, bears little resemblance to the idiotic foolery of Cervantes's deluded, and most times, down right dangerous, Clouseauesque knight. 

However, for all his improvements on Cervantes, he manages to create some annoying features of his own. Namely, at the beginning of each book, he introduces them with a first chapter "preface" as he will later call them. Naturally, and might I add, ironically, he eventually writes one of these introductions, late in the book, sadly, explaining that they are worthless, have nothing to do with the topic, slams those who write them for plays, and claims one could mix and match the ones written for plays without any ill effects to the reader, the topic at hand, or the work thereto appended. Many are interesting in their own right, but most are simply side bar reading material, typically unrelated to the topic at hand, dragging out his already too long narrative far beyond reasonable expectations. In any event, one can easily do the mental arithmetic and determine that there are 18 "filler" chapters (and one horrid, dedicatory epistle to his patron at the beginning of the book) which, by the author's own admission, are worthless and have nothing to add to the story. 

Now, my point is this, I'm one who has vowed never to read an abridged book on the first reading. I don't want some, often anonymous editor behind the curtain somewhere deciding to what I should or should not be exposed, denying me the privilege he no doubt once had while earning the credentials necessary to edit such works. I want the full experience of what the author intended, at least the first time. On subsequent journeys through a work, I might cull some material, known to be boring or insignificant, on my own, but never on my first time through. 

However, maybe it's time I do. Honestly, I'm not getting any younger. The faster time slips past me, the more I rue wasting it reading non-essential drivel. Now that I try to restrict my reading material to the "great" books, I'm finding that there are often time killers in them at times. Truth be told, I did not finish the dedicatory epistle, and realized, by the second introductory essay, as he also calls them, that they were irrelevant to the topic up coming or past. I easily could have played the odds and missed nothing, saving myself the time of reading at least 15 or 16 chapter length, and often the longest ones, time wasters. In the end, I stuck to my guns and read every word. I really need to revisit my tenacious resistance to abridgment. 

Regardless of my proclivities and his editorial style, his story is coherent and the characters are sympathetic and repeatedly thrown into difficulties which, at every turn, threaten to undo what each is trying desperately to accomplish. It's a classic tale, a boy chasing girl, with two protagonists, and no real antagonists.

Fielding's writing is lively, fresh, mostly light, and very funny. He is good with puns and turns of phrase. Like Cervantes before him, he engages in a delightful blend of meta-fictional elements, regularly, as narrator, speaking directly to his reading audience, rather than through some agent in the story. Like Cervantes, Fielding is truly a character in his own story.

One linguistic caveat: keep Google handy if you are rusty, like I am, on your Latin. There are lots of untranslated, albeit, short Latin phrases. Most are meant to mock the pseudo intellectualism of one of Tom Jones's travelling companions, who either misquotes, or worse, misapplies them to the conversation. Maybe that's what the author intends to communicate by not translating them (longer Latin quotes he does translate, btw). I'll let you decide. 

Caveat number two: there are seemingly endless conversations that, for all practical purposes, serve only to elongate the work. You know: filler, fluff, blurb. Apparently Fielding was being paid by the word *smirks*. One could easily eliminate a few books by cutting, or sharply truncating said adjunct conversations.

Lastly, as is so often the case today, one fancies that Fielding probably ran up hard against his publication date as he attempts to connect his ridiculously complex plot in book 18 alone. Thus, he is forced to render his concluding narrative in 13 chapters when previously he would have taken at least 60 chapters (often dispersed throughout 5 full books) to cover the same material. Needless to say, what began as a leisurely meander through the complications of class conscious, young love, ends more than a bit rushed. 

Nevertheless, all in all, it's a good read. Just plan on taking your time. 

Until  next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, read good, even long books, and remember to breathe.

After an unusually warm snap here

After an unusually warm snap here,
It's cold out this morning.
Nothing unusual about that.
So cold that there's frost on the bicycle tires!
Frost on the grass, even on the limbs of trees.
The squirrels are up to their usual play,
Cats skulk, and birds flutter and peck,
As people go to work.
All the while I sit here, bare footed and cozy.

I had a professor who had advice for failing students. It went much like the placard to the left. After handing back a particularly poor test result, he would look at the class and say, " Repeating the same mistakes while expecting different results is not so much a recipe for failure: It is my definition of insanity!"

Unless we change, will will remain the same. It cannot be otherwise.

Is it Just Me or?

To whom it may concern:

Each time I have to run errands, at least my homeward route takes me past a Church of Christ school. Like most modern private academies, they have one of those lighted, scrolling marque signs to remind the passersby of up coming bake sale, report cards, or various breaks. When there are no announcements, they simply flaunt their school pride with a, no doubt, heart felt, "Go Centurions." 

Now maybe it's just me, but that seems like a uniquely bad choice of mascots for a Christian school. After all, isn't a mascot supposed to symbolically embody a school's values or ideals? Moreover, given the almost fetishly strict adherence to detail which the average Church of Christ church pays to minutiae of detail regarding life and theology, choosing the type of Roman soldier which crucified Jesus of Nazareth seems  more than painfully ironic. 

Of course, I went to high school where the mascot was the Trojan. Think of it, in the late 70's, the only brand of condom sold in my town was, yes, Trojans. Needless to say, we were reminded of that fact a lot, especially after a sound defeat in football. Also, if my memory serves me correctly, the Trojans are only famous because they got their asses shamefully handed to them by accepting a gift horse from the Greeks who had hidden their best warriors in the belly. Either way one takes it, that's one unfortunate choice of mascots. 

Maybe it's just me, but I think the powers which be, in choosing a mascot, should examine the historical context a bit better before selecting an emblem of "power" to represent their school's ideals and values. 

Just sayin'.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and mascots, and remember to breathe.

All Too True!

I blush to think of how many times I've thought this!

Elegance

It's also the ultimate complication.

***

The most elegant solution is always best.

Movies and Music

To whom it may concern:

First my apologies for such a detour through reading. Never fear, it's a topic I'll return to again and again. To say I'm addicted to books, reading, and everything else to to with words would be an understatement along the lines of the man who thought the Wright brothers were just another pair of bicycle makers. But for now, let's move on to another area of interests as a part of my introduction: Movies and Music.

When I began thinking on this topic, I had produced lists of categories and definitions. Then I realized I could go thru a huge list of movies I like, breaking them up by category, genre, or actors, but this would bore you and take more time than I think the subject deserves. Truth be told, it was a chore I wasn't enjoying. In short, movies and music aren't a prime interest of mine: pure and simple. However, when I do indulge in the visual arts, I tend to enjoy movies which are very long on dialog and VERY short on action. Car chases and shoot outs bore me to tears ordinarily. While I do enjoy Star Wars type sci-fi movies, I tend more often in the direction of Driving Miss Daisy types. For decades I told people my favorite movie of all times was Dead Poets Society. I'd still be hard pressed to name a better one. Altho, when the mood strikes I might. 

The older I get, the more I enjoy the older movies. Just last night my better half and I watched Hello Dolly, a movie I'd never seen all the way thru before. Yes, it's a musical, but what a musical! I've also been known to watch a 12 hour marathon of The Twilight Zone when shown. Nevertheless, I think I like the older movies because of their lack of special effects, dialog driven content, and scripts more akin to books than to film. I'm really a book worm, what can I say?

When it comes to music, I'm pretty much in the same camp. Well, not exactly. I do enjoy singing, and whistle as a nervous habit, so obviously I enjoy music. However, like movies, there is no single genre which compels my attention all the time. No artist is on my must buy list unheard. I enjoy a sampling of everything from classical to mild hip-hop. Like Homer Simpson, I think Rock music reached it's zenith in the mid to lat 70's and would claim that it constitutes my favorite style if forced. 

At the end of the day tho, I'm a lyrics man. I'll accept a pitiful tune, no beat, and a mediocre singer (ever heard of a guy named Bob Dylan?) if the lyrics move me. Which, yes, you guessed it, are word driven rather than music driven. Even in music, I like words over sound. Just the other night I was driving home from a trip and found old radio drama on our XM satellite radio. I listened to The Jack Benny Show, The Great Gildersleeve, and others. I guess when it comes to listening, I'm just lost in the world of words too. I love the clever poetry in country music, but don't particularly like the way it's sung. I love the complexity in classical music, even without words, but hate the pretension often associated with its practitioners. 

That's not to say that I'm not moved by a good beat or a sweet tune. There are Irish and other folk tunes which can move me to tears. There are rhythmic numbers, especially from movies, which make my graceless body want to dance. But they tend to be songs which find me rather than the other way around. I can't remember the last time I bought a CD or down loaded music simply for it's own sake. 

That said, I do understand the drive of those who love movies and music for it's own sake. But, as this is my introduction, I'm just analyzing what makes me tick. I do love nothing more than relaxing with a good movie after a long day of running around. To finally sit and rest while a story washes over me and those I love makes for memories to cherish. The same occurs with music over a nice meal at the end of a hectic day. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. 

Until next time, 

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

New Year's Resolutions

To whom it may concern:

For all the usual reasons, I'm not a fan of New Year's resolutions. Some of the best life corrections I have ever made were done on the spur of a moment. To me if something is worth doing, it's worth doing today. However, given the radical changes in my life this year, I took the week between Christmas and New Year's to evaluate the year ahead. This gestation period yielded the following:

I want to finish 50 books in 2013. I'll draw these from a list of varying topics. One or two of them might actually take the whole year to complete. Such are theoretical books. Others will be simple and consumed in a weekend or so. Regardless, I'm going to read more.

Writing seems to be my latest kick. Thus, I want to dedicate at least an hour or two each day to doing nothing but creative writing. I currently have 3 blogs. However, I really want to try my hand at short stories I could submit for publication in the real world. I can't imagine seeing my name in print, but I'd like to try. Whatever comes of it, only this time next year will tell. 

More than anything else, I want to really live this year. Like Thoreau, I don't want to come to the end of my life, or this coming year, only to find that I'd never really lived. I want to love those around me more, and grow. 

Thanks for reading, 

and until next time,

contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Happy New Year!