Me Make With Blah-Blah

I've screwed up my back again, and I again blame the office desk. It was installed for a small person, a dainty person. I am neither, and now I am in pain. I've switched chairs again from ergonomic to traditional. I know this routine: The pain will linger for a week or so, and I'll grit through it and avoid pain pills. It's almost a fall tradition. Maybe it's temperature related.

Someone at Your Sister's school thought it would be a great idea to have the drama kids act out a play in the library. I couldn't even talk in a normal voice in my school libraries. Civilization is crumbling. Obama is to blame. I bet he whammied my back too.

Your Sister's classroom bookshelves are stocked to provide a variety of literature for the kids. One book is Enemy at Home, an infamous screed against the "cultural left" by a Westerner raised in a Muslim family. The author's claim is that the West exports secular liberalism to an Eastern culture that can't abide it. This is why we were attacked on 9/11:Al Qaeda was defending the Muslim culture. I knew of this book. It's one of a hundred of rants blaming someone else for 9/11.

This one lumps all the alleged bad guys together. He says the left is working to the same ends as Al Qaeda and cites such inflammatory practices as homosexuality, abortion, and feminism. Then he starts to lump in "working women," and one realizes he's not protecting the sanctity of Muslim dogma, he wants to rewind the hourglass back to global patriarchies. 9/11, he's saying, is a high-tide buoy signaling the world has gone too far afield.

Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson said the same thing when we were attacked. It was the feminists and secularists and abortionists that brought this upon us. I tend to blame the people who actually planned and attacked us, but then I'm not using end-times rhetoric to make a buck. The same babble comes from those claiming 9/11 was an inside job. The allure of imagined conspiracy blunts the horror of a real-life conspiracy. It's pathetic.

Your Sister defends the book's presence in her classroom. The kids need a spectrum of perspectives. They need to build critical muscles to agree or denounce such material. I agree. And I agree, of course, that he has the right to peddle his wares, hokey as they may be. But a muckraking huckster is still a muckraking huckster. The book ends with an Enemies List of the people he claims made 9/11 happen with their comments and actions. If you're pinning the deaths of 3,000 people on Rosie O'Donnell and rationalizing the schemes of Bin Laden, you are wearing crackpot undies. You've lost your way.

I'll read the book, as I promised Your Sister I would. She thought my initial comments were unwarranted. I say no salient examination of moderate Muslim indignation can rationalize 9/11. So far, I'm not reading anything to change my mind.

Moving Picture of the Day
Here's the Wednesday concert's best moment.

Bruuuuuuuuuuce

According to the Census Bureau the midwest stretches from North Dakota to Iowa to Michigan. Fuck. I owned up to it on the drive to Greenville last night. I confessed I will not look up its definition of Texas; I didn't want to lose two battles in one day.

I got home a little early, and, we zipped down the mountain to see Springsteen. We batted around ideas for your t-shirt, and I'll send you sketches this weekend. They aren't finalized notions, but they can spark brainstorming. I saw the seating chart for our tickets yesterday, and they were almost behind the stage near the roof. When we handed them to the last ticket checker, he took them and upgraded us to dead center. No one sat in our original section, and they squished the audience together to face the stage. We found ourselves sitting in the row of people who won tickets from local media outlets. The woman on my right just got her tickets a few hours earlier.

All I knew about Springsteen shows was that they are long and they are religious experiences. I'm not a big fan. Your Sis loves roots rockers like Bruce and Fogerty and Mellancamp. I know some of his songs and suffered through dily play on the classic rock station during my alt-weekly paper days. I suspect DJs play Born to Run when they need a bathroom break.

This was transcendent. We were buffeted by the music for three hours. They took the stage at 8:17 and left the stage at 11:07. They did not stop. There was no intermission. The encore has more than half an hour. Bruce accepts requests from the audience on handmade signs, and the band played the Stones' Satisfaction for what they claimed was the first time ever. It was the best version I've heard. In fact, every song last night was my favorite song. That band brings the gospel of rock and roll. It's a tent-revival meeting with 15,000 people screaming for three hours. I am beat up. Not as badly as I was after Nine Inch Nails, but still. I knew much more of his songs than I thought and sang as loudly as my lungs would let me. Your Sister couldn't stop smiling the entire time.

We drove back home up the mountain forests listening to the remastered Beatles tracks, and they are a revelation. The music has more character. It breathes more. I'm hearing pieces of music cut off on my original CDs. A Day in the Life, for example, has a weird Number 9-like coda. Paul's vocal range is clearer, and Ringo's drumming gets a lot of love here. This is worth the money. I suggest Abbey Road above all the others.

Starbucks got us down the mountain. Pepsi got us back up the mountain. Caffeine is proof Odin loves us.

Picture of the Day
My new hunting trophy.

Here's Why She's Wrong

One of our longest lived arguments concerns the direction of Texas. She says southwest. I say south. She considers culture, and I only consider geography. If you put a compass on a map of the U.S., dead South is Texas. It's smack in the middle of the bottom of the country. It's the epitome of south. Is it The South as in Civil War? No. But neither is it southwest, as it has two large states and half another to its left, very much west of it. This has gone on for years.

It happened again last night watching Jeopardy. A clue identified Detroit as a mid-west city. I said this was a bad clue as Detroit is better stated a northern city. She wouldn't have it. It's a plains state, she argued. It's over Ohio, she argued. It's squarely a mid-west state. I countered that more than half the country is to its west, and it's east of the Mississippi. More important, it's over 80% of the contiguous states. To go to Detroit, everyone has to go northward. It's north as north can be. It's over all of North Carolina and half of North Dakota. (Thank God she didn't remember it's to the left of West Virginia). She pulled out a map. Much pointing to states ensued ("St. Louis is the gateway to the west." "Do you think Kansas is a western state?"). She agreed to disagree, and I agreed that she's wrong. And then we ate ice cream in the ancient Viking peace-accord tradition.

Tonight we see Springsteen live, and, judging by the seating chart, we'll be lucky to see his face three times. We're sitting in the back corner, probably staring at the tushes of the horn section. But, hey, it's Springsteen. And we can imagine everyone else is shouting for us. Your Sister is vibrating with glee.

Picture of the Day
How to read an Aztec calendar.

A Slim Offering

A late night at work for Your Sister allowed me to watch some football and draw today's Sketchtember artwork. A senior asked her about the possibility of me mentoring his project: an original comic book. Yes, I think I can help. Hello, caller. I'm Dr. Gregory, and I'm listening.

I'm working on ideas for your t-shirt, and I can give you sketches after the weekend. I don't consider any of them home runs, and we'll need to noodle this through.


NFL Week One: I Prematurely Claim Supremacy!
Her Teams (boo!)
AFC
New England (1-0)
Pittsburgh (1-0)

NFC
St. Louis (0-1)
New York Giants (1-0)

My Teams (yea!)
AFC
New England (1-0)
Pittsburgh (1-0)

NFC
Philadelphia (1-0)
Atlanta (1-0)

I'm also tied for second in my online fantasy league. I'm not juggling a fantasy roster. I'm picking which teams I think will win each week.

The theatre script committee suggested Glass Menagerie for a drama for next season, and it struck a nerve. The argument now is that it won't bring in audiences. It does, however, fit the criteria of a simple-set, small-cast production with name recognition. There's one actress who is dying to play the mother, but good luck finding the two young male actors.

I hear you now: I thought you were through with this bunch? All I'm doing is emailing to other committee members. It's a passive contribution.

Picture of the Day
Beware the Kitchen Sarlaac.

We're All Booked Up

I didn't realize how tired I was until I got home. I could do nothing but lazily anticipate the embrace of the bed. Your Sister may have snuck some ill-conceived notions by me, and I agreed to them in my goofy haze.

The cabinets look sharp. We spent Saturday morning organizing and shelving virtually every book we own. It took hours. The installation company are not my favorite people. First they lie about the agreement with Your Sister to work unsupervised. Then they cut a shelving unit to the wrong size. Then they try to install the wrong sliding drawer pieces and inform us the real ones are on back order. There's no telling when the shelves will be finished. I hope they enjoy not getting paid until then. Otherwise we're tickled with the shelves. They smell great, they look great, and there's room for a library ladder.

Your Sister did much schoolwork, and I mowed the jungle outside the house. The garden corn is on the wane, but the tomatoes and jalapenos will not stop. The new mailbox is still standing, and that's a daily victory.

Picture of the Day
Fringe comes back very soon, and we are thrilled. The entire first season built toward a major plot turn in its last episode, and the new season can go in many directions. I love the potential.

I Am Ready, Thanks for Asking.

Another football season has begun, and I always forget how much its absence saddens me. I am lighthearted again. I am glee manifest. Your Sis and I reviewed the New York Times team previews for our annual bet. I am the defending champ-een.

Her Teams (boo!)
AFC
New England
Pittsburgh

NFC
St. Louis
New York Giants

My Teams (yea!)
AFC
New England
Pittsburgh

NFC
Philadelphia
Atlanta

Yes, we picked two identical teams again. Great minds.

I watched the first pro game last night in Dad's recliner. I've been sleeping in his room and his bed, looking up at a ceiling yellowed from cigarettes and surrounded by plastic-wrapped suits. It's time to go home. I need to go home.

Mom is incrementally better. She's walking more, and the DermaBond is itching. I should be able to leave today. We've already arranged her upcoming household chores to exclude any lifting.

Picture of the Day
Someone didn't think this through.

Progress Dissolves

Not much to report. I'm hovering at a distance while Mom vegges on the couch. She's taking her medicine and says she's feeling much better this morning. I've read and sketched and fiddled online.

The house is affecting me. it's virtually unchanged since my childhood, and I too easily forget my life outside it. I feel as if I never left, never had great jobs, never got married to Your Hot Sister, and never did anything but sit in this red-carpeted room and wondered what fun existed beyond the wood-paneled walls. It's dreary. It's always been dreary. The windows are always covered. No wonder I read so much Poe as a child. It's a Suburban Ranch of Usher. I even had a stupid, stupid argument with Your Sis last night over the phone. I have to go back home Friday. I must make amends and shake off the gloomy stupor. She went to a lot of trouble to spring a surprise on me for my return, but I went Hulk when she let slip some trouble with the laborers.

I did run today, and that helped. I hope to cruise the town a bit this afternoon while Mom watches more TV. I won't get a chance to see old school buddies before I go home, but I will make lots of progress in this John Adams book.

I listened to the president's healthcare speech last night, and it was just what he needed to do. I also heard the S.C. Congressman bark out an accusation at Obama in mid-speech. Of course, he's from S.C. He's apologized, and House action may be taken. His outburst resulted in thousands of overnight pledged contributions to his opponent for the mid-term election. I'm sure he'll be a folk hero to the political shock jocks. I'm disheartened (but not surprised) to see the tone of the raucous town hall meetings has slouched toward Congress. Hacks and goons are infected with a combination of St. Vitus Dance and Tourette's. I'll be glad to see it shamed into silence.

Not that I behaved any better over the phone.

Picture of the Day
Muslim prayers in Kashmir during Ramadan.

Post-Op

I'm typing this from my childhood room, a room I last slept in more than 14 years ago. The carpet and walls are exactly the same. It was made into a sewing room, then Dad's TV room, and now it's the filing and PC room. I won' be sleeping in this room. I'm in Dad's old room, in my old bed. It's very small now. I feel 12 feet tall in it. There's a lamp on the wall that might be older than me. It has a brass pepper mill, and I wonder who thought that was a good decorative item for a four-year-old boy.

Mom is slowly falling into a drug coma after her 9:30 Darvocet pill. We arrived at the hospital at 10 a.m. as instructed for the pre-op preparation. She was supposed to be wheeled into surgery at 1 p.m. They didn't fetch her until 3. We sat in that tiny room for four hours with Mom hooked to an inactive IV drip. The nurse-anesthetist, the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, and the attending all came in to cover her drug allergies (briefly: all of them). The surgery started at 3:30, and she was done in an hour. About 90 minutes later, she was awake and snacking, now devoid of her gall bladder and sporting four tiny belly holes. They found one gall stone and sent it away for testing. About half an hour later, we drove to the local store to get her prescription. She says she already has relief from the bladder pain, but she'll feel the surgery tomorrow.

I read an entire Sunday NY Times while waiting today. The staff were helpful, but that was some wait time.

I hope to be back home Friday.

We visited with some of Your Sister's school pals this weekend: a high-school friend and her husband and baby Saturday, and a college pal and her husband and kids Sunday. It was a fine time. Lamb schwarma one night and s'mores the other. We cooked out Monday and ate many veggies from the garden. The corn was mostly a loss. It was puny and rotten. These weren't the stalks that got the baby oil; they're still growing.

I have a pile of books with me to read the next few days, and I might try to run one morning if I can avoid the school traffic of blasting sun heat. I stockpiled drawings for Sketchtember.

Oh, and this is the 800th Letter to Holly.

Picture of the Day
Just a matter of practice.

Slippery Situations

A coworker of Your Sister suggested dropping mineral oil on corn to keep the bugs off the cobs. I had no idea where to get mineral oil. I looked at the Lowe's website, and the monitor shrugged. Some more research told me that mineral oil + fragrances = baby oil. Ah. The grocery store had it cheap. Allegedly, you coat the corn silk just as it emerges. I did that when I got home and drew a bit until Your Sister got home from the parent meetings.

The theatre liaison says he found someone for the role he asked me to do, a guy who will commute from Greenville each night to rehearse and perform. That's a haul. That distance is a crucial reason why I looked for a job nearer Your Sister instead of commuting to my old one. My finely honed and inerrant theatre sense says he'll back out. According to the liaison, he will be leaving a current backstage position (for a play that's just about to open) to take this onstage role. That's not a good sign. He's already backing out of one commitment before taking on a very large one. I hope his withdrawal, if it does happen, occurs early on in the rehearsals. Imagine the meltdown that would ensue if he backed out right before the show opens.

The liaison also asked if I would stage manage this show, and this makes the tenth position I've been offered within a year. It would be easier than the last production to manage, but as I don't know who is tapped to work the sound, I can't agree to it. I'm willing to bet money it will be the same woman, and I will be too tempted to behead her. Again I told him I'd have to see how work and Mom develop over the next weeks before I can say yes to anything. What I really need to say is no to everything. Just the idea of it is exhausting.

I was a zealous theatre worker earlier this decade. I was a bachelor, recently divorced. The distraction of constant stagework helped. So did, it goes without saying, Your Sister. Now we're married. I have to ration out my time for the theatre, and it has to be a project I can feel safe committing to. Everything with this group feels shaky right now. They still don't have a season to advertise. It's this fall show and the Christmas show, and that may very well be it.

We don't have Labor Day plans as we usually do, and I'll pack for the week of babysitting Mom.

Picture of the Day
President Chewie is outta here.

Different Directions

I'm trying to keep the garden plants alive, but Your Sister says they know fall is coming, and it's their time to wither. Well, that's sad. And I won't have it. I'm watering and composting and babying. I'm keeping them alive as long as I can. The latest plucked jalapeno is turning red on the dish rack and grows more evil as it brightens.

I ran my second 5k route this week yesterday as Your Sister sold soccer tickets at the school. When I cleaned up, I sat with her as the boys started playing, and we talked to another teacher. Her marriage is ending, and we know both spouses. It's sad. I tried to offer notes from my divorce, but the circumstances are too distinct. I'm not much help.

I also was told a couple I had known from my late high-school days are breaking up, and that reeks of madness. They have four grown kids. What happened just now to wedge them apart? What do they need now they didn't need before? The bookending separations weigh me down more than it should. The latter couple were the parents of my first real girlfriend, and that family treated me better than I could possibly ask. Their split hits me harder than that of the teachers. It's seismic. I hold Your Sister a little closer these days.

I slept badly in the sick bed as a precaution last night, and I'm dragging this morning. Wah.

Picture of the Day
That's no moonwalk, that's a space station trooper.

Drawing Conclusions.

I didn't expect someone to kick off Sketchtember by requesting I draw myself as a superhero. I've gotten the Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic comparison before; we both have the gray temples, and I'm thin and tall. It would make for an easy costume one year in Atlanta. Instead of practicing piano or running, I banged out the sketch when I got home last night. I recently discovered iTunes offers a free streaming station for old radio shows, and I listen to it whenever I'm in the workshop. I love those old shows: mystery, comedy, thrillers, westerns -- doesn't matter. I gobble them up.

Your Sister's first public meeting went well. The school holds an open house Thursday, and I again offered to pretend to be a parent and commandeer her allotted facetime. But she isn't wary of any parents so far, and she's not worried about meeting them. She recently heard back from an administrator about a persistent whiny parent who objects to her teaching Kite Runner. She's taken it way too far, including calling up the superintendent to gripe. Your Sis prepared a syllabus of required reading -- hers and all the other English teachers -- for the school board to scan. The administrator said the memo and accompanying letter went over well, and I don't see that parent gaining any traction in her book-burning campaign. I suppose she could go to the governor ...

Look, I hate the book -- it's simple pulp masquerading as capital-L literature -- but I can see its use in the classroom, especially when we have troops on the ground there. It does the mountain kids good to read about the other side of the world. A full fifth of her students could be over there within a year. We did run into a recent grad who's joining the Marines within a month.

Picture of the Day
The Venn Diagram of Mythical Creatures

Angered by Corn

Again, I have grubs and worms eating my cobs. I sprayed this year with Liquid Seven, a pesticide so toxic that it requires eye and mouth protections and gloves and suggests you wash your clothes after application. I sprayed the garden four times. I still have grubs. I am confused.

We plucked some cobs last night from the oldest stalks and cut away the damaged kernels and the attached creatures. The good stuff boiled up fine and ate even better. But I'm bedeviled by the monsters. Did I pluck the cobs too late? Does our heavy rainfall dilute the pesticide? Do we have mutated worm families? No other plants were bug-ified. It's a mystery.

Also, I can't help but compare my corn to those from the stores, and I know -- I KNOW -- the grocery cobs are unnatural. They are engineered (engine-eared?) to be fat and large. My cobs are lean and small. But the kernels are, as the French say, pretty fucking awesome, yo. My last stalks should give us corn in mid-October.

The garden is peaking, and we've eaten tomatoes, cucumbers, and corn within two days. Pieces have gone into the Spaghetti Bucket. We also have new jalapenos that we eye warily. We hear them snicker at us, eager to rake our eyes with their evil residue. We'll show you, peppers of peril. We'll show you.

Sketchtember has begin on the Book of Face. Your Sis is doing better and hopefully will be out of the sick bed tonight.

I have your t-shirt suggestions on my office wall, and I'm running through notions.

Travis called me last night to say he heard the news about Disney buying Marvel and wondered what the geek universe thought of it. Some factions are greatly afeared, but if Disney can stomach the primetime offerings of ABC (which it owns), they should have no problem with the comics Marvel publishes. Marvel recently started making their own movies and worked out deals with studios to distribute; Disney has a distribution system with very little original content, and they are desperate to lure teenage boys. This makes a lot of sense for both companies.

Picture of the Day
By Jove!

Bossh Office: District 9

Once again, the two different versions of The Empire Strikes Back bounty hunter dissect a movie. This week: District 9.

Chipper Bossh: Finally, sci-fi in the traditional sense: metaphors for the human condition and analogies for political actions wrapped in alternate-universe technology. I don't ask for much really. So many sci-fi movies are really action films with lasers. This has more to say.



Surly Bossh: I was happier when it said less and got on with the blood and bullets. It sucked at the beginning. I saw some people leave the theatre, probably because they got bored.




Chipper Bossh: The early documentary style was fine for explaining the premise: A spaceship parks above Johannesburg in 1982, and the aliens are ghettoed. They can't assimilate in human society and exist on the fringe with no options. They are angry. They are desperate. But that's not where the movie goes really. And I like that. It picks a novel route through a cliche forest.


Surly Bossh: Coulda gotten to the good stuff earlier is all I'm sayin'. When it gets bloody, it gets REALLY bloody.





Chipper Bossh: Yeah, I think it goes too far with that.






Surly Bossh: It's like we're not even the same lizard.






Chipper Bossh: I was happy with the human drama, the agency stooge who gets in over his head and has no one to turn to. I enjoyed seeing the Nigerian criminal influence in the shantytown. I could have watched a miniseries just on the ramifications of aliens shoehorned into human society.



Surly Bossh: That Nigerian crime boss was kinda cool. The movie should have been about him.





Chipper Bossh: My point exactly. The film could have been told from any number of perspectives. That's a sign of good storytelling, I think.





Surly Bossh: So you're not gonna admit this is essentially the African Alien Nation?





Chipper Bossh: You know, I'd like to see a series of stories about how different societies handle a sudden alien influx. How would North Korea handle it? London or Russia or India? This idea has wings. We could have an anthology of this.




Surly Bossh: As long as we get another half hour of special effects and violence, I'm all for it. For all your talk about traditional scifi, this sucker's a running gunfight in the last half hour. Thank God.





Chipper Bossh: So we both like it?






Surly Bossh: Suppose so. Surly out.







I spent a week getting ready to completely change out the laundry room light. It went out the same day the water heater died, and I've let its mystery fester in my brain for a year now. I checked online tutorials on wiring and walked through the hardware stores to check their stock for whatever contingency pops up. Saturday morning, I was prepared to work four hours to finish this. I was going to run new wires to the fixture and the two light switches if it came to it. I was girded. I pulled the car out of the garage so I could reach the attic door, closed off the room, and psyched myself up.

Then I checked the fixture's wire caps, and noticed one was loose. I tightened it, reconnecting the wires from the fixture to the switches. And it worked. The light came on and the switches are fine and house has not burned down. It took five minutes. I now had half the day free.

When Your Sis was through meeting a teacher buddy over coffee, we went to the movies and Krispy Kreme. She's fighting the new school bug. Probably not swine flu. Maybe Pigs In Space flu. She used the Netti Pot you gave me, and it's helped her sleep better. She is, however, in the sick bed, and I wake up thinking she's back in Maine.

A student lent her a copy of Twilight, and she promised to give it a try. I'll debrief her when she's through. Some of the other teachers swear by it. My dental hygienists talked about it the entire time I was in the dentist chair Friday.

We went to this year's first football game on Friday. Fall is sneaking up on us.

My theatre liaison called me again to get me to join the fall play. I again begged off, citing my workload and the upcoming mom care. He said they really need me and are willing to push back the opening weekend to make it convenient for me. A tiny voice in my brain is telling me to do it. I, however, had a nightmare last night about working in two simultaneous productions, and it shut that voice right up. He also asked me about casting either of two actresses from the play I directed. I gave him my notes with the disclaimer that they may have behaved differently for me because it was my first time. I can and did confidently recommend one of them, and this play now has three people I'd enjoy working with and that internal play-eager voice is starting to get on my nerves.

Moving Picture of the Day
This was the original film expanded into District 9 here. It's about five minutes long. Same director and writer and at least one actor.

Running. Noses.

Apparently the body I have at 6:30 a.m. is not the same body I have at 6:30 p.m. When I ran last night for two miles, I found myself back to pre-summer running ability. A mid-18-minute run on the same route that I have recently run under 17 minutes. I have to build this evening body into shape. But I know it can be done, and that assertion will see me through.

Your Sis has the obligatory cold delivered by students who have traveled. She's fighting it with tea and ice cream and sleep. We hope to make the first home football game tonight. The gynecologist said there was an abnormal smear, and they want to run tests. She's not concerned. I am a tad freaked as I am generally stupid about lady parts. But I won't let on. I'll follow her lead on this.

I've built up some preliminary work for the FaceBook art project called Sketchtember. One new drawing each day. I get up before work and start the sketch, let it sit all day, and polish it at night. I'll practice piano if Your Sister is working late.

Picture of the Day
Aquatic high five.

Sometimes I'm Genius

We were watching Episode 3 last night on the Spike Channel, which has become the Star Wars network in the last year. They show MMA, Star Wars, and bad movies. I was thinking about how the films would be different if they were made in order and what angles the first trilogy might take now. And it hit me. Return of the Jedi becomes a hundred times better if Vader changes tactics and tries to turn Leia.

Think about it. Luke lost his aunt and uncle and his hand. In exchange, he got off Tattooine, became a Jedi and a top figure in the Rebellion, and got the adventure he always craved. Leia, however, between Episode Four and Episode Six, lost her whole planet, her adopted family, her standing as an ambassador and princess, and her scoundrel boyfriend. She barely managed to escape kinky slavery to a bag of goo and learned Vader is her father. She's dizzy from trauma. She's weakened.

Vader has already bested Luke in Bespin and no longer sees him as a threat. While he gives Luke one last chance via the Force telepathy at Bespin, he instead senses Leia as a Skywalker. Her innate Force connection was just sparked by Luke calling to her for a rescue. She's now an active Force user with nothing but raw potential. Vader is astonished and delighted.

Now Return can put her back on the Death Star alongside Vader as in the first film. Luke and Lando try to lead the starship assault, but the Rebellion surrender and stand down when the Death Star is proven to be fully operational. Han and Chewie are captured on Endor's Moon. Leia, on the Death Star, is under the sway of Vader until she has a breakthrough moment (maybe in Vader's badass techno cocoon chamber) and uses the Force to escape. Now she gets to save the boys and avenge Alderran. This lets her rescue Han twice in the same film (scoundrels together) and use her nascent Force power alongside Luke's Jedi training to take down the Emperor and Vader. They kill Palpatine, not Vader. This is key.

Vader is now confronted by his two children who convince him the battle is over. The confrontation leads to Vader realizing the mess he made by joining the Emperor and turning back to the good side of the Force. He's still messed up from fighting his kids. He still dies. But he dies having purged himself of the evil influence and bonds with BOTH his children, not just Luke.

Meanwhile Han and Chewie and Lando switch objectives. Lando goes to Endor while Han/Chewie execute another textbook, hair-brained, so-crazy-it-works assault on the Death Star as the remaining Alliance ships decimate the Destroyer Fleet. Then we get the chub-chub song as Luke and Leia burn Vader's suit and see their father alongside Ben (her old friend, remember) and Yoda. End credits.

Now, admit it: You'd pay to see that, right?

Picture of the Day
"Hello, Mister Lucas? How'd you like to make another billion?"

Potpourri for One Hundred

Mom's surgery is scheduled for Sept. 8. That seems too blase for me, and I wonder if she again shrugged it off. She knows she needs this and has needed it for years now. It's out-patient procedure. I'm sure it could be done earlier.

Your Sister is a tad bushed after the start of school. She has smaller classes than she expected and is delighted by them. She already has essays to grade and lesson plans to craft. This was an early morning for her.

On a lark, we put a regular DVD in the Blu-Ray player to see if it would make a difference. It does. A lot. Again, we were stunned by this new contraption. It might be the connection cable. The regular DVD player has the standard multi-wire hookup whereas the Blu-Ray uses a special HD cable. Either way, we may never go back to the old DVD player. We watched more West Wing before I tucked her into bed. We're now back to the routine of different bedtimes. I stay up in the workshop either working online or drawing.

The newspaper carried the announcement of the latest theatre auditions. This is a play I had to talked to my liaison about as he's directing it. He tried to cobble together his "dream cast" last year, much too early for anyone to commit with any credibility. He also sent out emails to ensure a decent turnout. I like the guy, and he's been very good to me. But I'm done. There are other things I need to do. Like learning the piano.

My illness is lingering a bit, but it's fading. I probably won't trust myself to run until early next week.

Picture of the Day
Ghost trollops continue to sext me their tawdry images.

Ugh.

I forgot that I can get an upset stomach after giving blood. Combine this with doing much yardwork Sunday, eating an infernal stir fry that night, eating two slices of Nutter Butter cheesecake Monday, and then running that night, well, it's no surprise I got sick before I could finish 3 miles.

Simply getting sick while running is no fun. It's no picnic when you pull over to be sick and fall into a patch of thorns. And then be sick amid said thorns. And have to climb out to stagger back home. So, no, I was not in the best of moods when I entered the house and said hi to Your Sister. Laundry quickly ensued.

I still have Sunday's chili pepper residue under my fingernails. It flares up now and then. I can see why this stuff can quash a riot. Also, why chefs use gloves when they work with the stuff. Lesson learned.

My Mom is finally scheduling gall-bladder surgery after years of discomfort. She called me Sunday to confirm I would babysit her after the procedure and to ask if we should do it within the next few weeks. I practically yelled at her to do it immediately. I think she got the hint. She knew this was inevitable, and I suppose she feels stupid for not doing it when Dad was healthy. I might spend the last half of this week in my old house, sleeping on the very small beds.

Picture of the Day
The healthcare-reform rhetoric is getting ugly.

A New Blog Presentation

Big thunderstorms shut down our satellite TV for only the third time ever. We gave up on broadcasts and continued watching the West Wing DVDs. Within four episodes, the show breaks away from the breezy style and gets down to business. Some of the crest-swelling rhetoric is ham-fisted now, but the cadence of the the dialogue is rock solid. I miss Toby Ziegler. That character needs to be moved to another show as Richard Belzer's Detective Munch drifted from Homicide to X-Files to Law and Order: SVU. Toby doesn't get cute office flirts or abstract ruminations. He's is a laser for political reality and Constitutional dogma. He's driven and bitter and committed to proper government. I'm moved to write a fan letter.

I gave blood on Saturday at a local church. I didn't make an appointment and took along the John Adams book to wait for my extractions. I'm a pro at this now; I could take someone else's blood if I had to. Your Sis planned for us to see Inglorious Basterds after she managed her schoolwork, and I whittled the day away with chores.

+ + +

Now we present our new movie-review feature hosted by the original and latest toy versions of Bossh, the Empire Strikes Back lizard bounty hunter. We call it Bossh Office.

Today's film: Inglorious Basterds

Surly Bossh: What. The. Hell? No one told me this thing was subtitled! Like I can read anyway. I don't even speak whatever it is people speak in Star Wars. Interlac? Skywalkese? I'm a lizard, people. I speak lizard. And a scoash of Esperanto. I don't speak German or French, and I don't want to hear three hours of people speaking German or French. No one mentioned this in the ads. This was Das Boot all over again. I'm so in a snit.

Chipper Bossh: Chill, dude. It's an authentic immersion into the languages of WWII. I was fascinated by watching people act beyond the limitations of language. After an hour, I was practically speaking French myself. I haven't been able to do that since high school.



Surly Bossh: Yeah, and after that 90 minutes, you had another 90 to go. This fucker's interminable. You want to learn French? Try this: The film is el longo. No one told me this either. By the time Brad Pitt showed up in Germany, my bladder wanted to run screaming like a mousedroid.

Chipper Bossh: And how about Pitt? Good to see him doing comedy again. He's always funny. He can play dumb like no one else.

Surly Bossh: How about he's in the movie for about ten minutes? The whole film is people sitting around tables and having half-hour conversations. Then the director remembers, "oh, yeah, I've got funny Americans around here somewhere," and we get them for about three seconds.

Chipper Bossh: It's not about them.






Surly Bossh: The f'ing film is NAMED for them! It's not Inglorious Nazi People! It's not Surreptitious French Businesswomen! I paid for Basterds!





Chipper Bossh: And we got them. But we have to see why the Nazis are so bad and how they interact with conquered France. A tone must be set. Besides, that SS officer actor did a great job. He was charming and competent and clever.




Surly Bossh: He rocked the casbah is what he did.






Chipper Bossh: But we never forgot he was evil, and we awaited his hopeful bad end. Tarantino is great at presenting complex characters who show us why they are good or bad. Or a mix of both. The whole film is about complexity. These people have to be smart to survive this war. Everyone does. The film shows us smart people matching wits in polite conversation and on the front lines. It's about violence of the will and the hand.

Surly Bossh: And that violence was awesome! Lots of blood and gore. Kick ass.






Chipper Bossh: I could have done without it, but I suppose this is what we get from Tarantino.





Surly Bossh: Dude, we're cold-blooded. We're supposed to like violence.






Chipper Bossh: Oh, I didn't demand a refund or anything. Tarantino doesn't flinch from either free-flowing conversation or the evil that men do. Some are saying this is his best film, but I think it's too early to tell. Still, it's a satisfying film that made me squirm and laugh in the same minute, and that's good filmmaking. There were some touches that were unmistakably Tarantino's, and I enjoyed them all.

Surly Bossh: I enjoyed maybe ten percent of this film because those scenes were what I thought the whole film would be. Instead, we get heaps of tense yap-yap and David Bowie on the soundtrack. Bowie? In a WW II movie? Gimme a break. Surly Bossh out.

+ + +

I knew Sunday would be a big day for yardwork, and I skipped running this weekend. I'm also going back to the fall running schedule for the evenings. I can't run with all this impending school traffic. In the mornings now, I'll go back do daily drawing.

The garden was hammered by the rain, and we lost some plants. I weeded it Sunday. How much rain did we have? I'm growing kelp. I mixed coffee grounds, compost, and soil to brace the surviving plants. Later that day I mowed and weeded the yard, and I rewarded myself with the rare Pepsi.

I plucked a bell pepper and some jalapenos for the stir fry, adding carrots from a neighbor's garden. Now I stripped all the seeds out of the jalapenos. I know I did. Still, I was ablaze when we ate the meal. Sweating. Sniffing. Crying. My voice cracked. This was inhuman. But tasty.

Your Sis has today to go before she gets students, and she's mostly ready. This weekend allowed her to batten down the necessaries.

Responding to Responses

Constant Reader writes:

and speaking of t-shirts. you've seen my ob/gyn "we deliver" faux ups t-shirt. i'd love to commission a certain graphic artist who's blog i follow to brainstorm something new and hilarious... just putting that out there.

I have not seen said shirt, but I'd love to. I'd also love to make a shirt design. Let me brainstorm, and I'll post sketches for you.

congratulations on 4 years. and faster runs. just bought a new pair of running shoes myself after my first powderpuff practice of medical school. no suprise here...they're making me a linebacker. but i did sack a QB today.

Your Baby Daddy has taught you well, Padawan. We watched a little preseason football last night, and Your Sis is itching for the real deal to start.

We hosted Kathy and Travis for dinner in yet another summer-extending evening. She made a curry dish using a Malaysian/ZuluNatal mix and a homemade cucumber yogurt sauce. She knows her stuff, that one. Tania, their exchange student, is headed to Universite Paris X-Naterre and is probably on her way to becoming an ambassador. She wants to study Spanish and Russian. Somewhere is a yokel teen boy with no clue what his one-time summer fling is doing now.

What's the news on your car?

Picture of the Day
Everyone wants to stay on vacation.

Party-versary

Four years ago, as I write this, You, Lauren, and Your Sister were getting dolled up for the formal wedding ceremony. I was herding the set-up crew. About 12 hours later, we were watching The Village alone as no one took our party invitation seriously, and we opened wedding gifts til 2 in the morning. You've done a lot in four years. We've done some too.

I ran my 2-mile course in 16:56, a new record. I hustled down the first hill and chugged up the same hill to end quickly. I cut more than 30 seconds off my time from yesterday and more than 20 off my previous best. I've noticed these last two days that I'm warm for hours afterward. My metabolism is burning something, and this morning it's last night's smores.

Another teacher party saw us sipping homebrew beer (not ours), eating zucchini muffins (not ours), and making and gobbling smores (not ours). We all decided to copy this once a month on a Friday to be determined by vote. We volunteered to host the first wingding. Already, also, the buzz has begun on new administrator foibles and how the teachers should handle them. Nothing that directly affects Your Sister as yet.

She already warned me she'd work this weekend, and I have plans to fill my time. I intend to do a little of a lot.

Picture of the Day
The Innards Metro.