"Life only demands from you the strength you possess. Only one feat is possible — not to have run away." — Dag Hammarskjöld

Thanksgiving went well last week. It was held at cheshgrl's pad, with myself, her mother, her boyfriend, and a few mutual friends in attendance. It was a fairly straight-forward evening; she had prepared the entire meal for us practically single-handedly, and she did an excellent job of it all. It was traditional fare (turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, the whole nine yards), but that certainly did not detract from its deliciousness, and much OM NOM NOM was had by all. Afterwards, myself and two other of the menfolk cleaned things up and put everything away, after which we played a round of Pictionary. Following this rousing event, during which the team that yours truly was on lost because a team member who shall remain nameless draws trash cans in such a way that they look like cupcakes, we went our separate ways (presumably to lurch back home and fall into a carb-coma-induced slumber).

So, like I said, a fun time. Nothing too different from Thanksgivings past, but that's alright. Christmas should be pretty neat, this made all the more so by the fact that I will be flying back home to Cincinnati on December 17.

Not too much else to report in life at the moment. In terms of upcoming LJ-content, one should expect some posts not related to the quotidian aspects of my life, but rather something more verbose in which I talk about some topic that has been of interest lately.

That's about it for now.

"All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber." - Kurt Vonnegut

Well, last night was, in a word, anticlimactic.

I'd thought that it would be busier during the lunch shifts, since, you know, it would be the shift that would be serving all the people that had come to the mall super-early to take advantage of all the deals. I was correct in that regard. That said, I hadn't planned on it being unusually slow afterwards. Even for a typical Friday night, it was fairly dead. This, coupled with the fact that a fairly large number of the people who did come in were from that dreaded "cheap bastards" genus, and, well, this is one waiter who didn't get back in black yesterday.

Not that I was in the red to begin with, mind you, but, given that this was one of those rare times when I was actually hoping it would be crazy busy, it was a disappointment when the rush never materialized.

In conclusion, I would like to note for the record that crows are smart.

Heading off to J Ro.'s shortly.

It's Black Friday. It's Friday night. And it's raining. Oh, isn't that just such a fun combination. Ah well. 'Tis all about the money, yes?

For everyone else working on this Black Friday (and especially to those who work in service/retail-related professions), I saulte you.

Vorwärts!

Gobble gobble.

So. A little meme-type thingy. Shockingly enough, this one is something of my own design*, rather than something that has been bootjacked from someone else's journal.

Today is Thanksgiving. Aside from the food and familial** cameraderie, one of the other traditions of this day is that we all stop for a moment to consider those things which we are thankful for. Generally, though, the things we consider are those things which are pretty obvious (such as the aforementioned family, but also one's health, position in life, etc.) What about those smaller things, those things we might not notice on a day-to-day basis but that make our lives much easier simply because they are present?

The meme is this: Name one small, ephemeral thing (Kleenex, paprika, aluminum, etc.) that you are thankful for on this day. You can explain it, if you like, but it is not required.

I'll say that, today, I am thankful for pillows.

How about the rest of ye?

* Well, I'm sure that something like this has been thought up before, but I've never seen it done, and so I'm going to go ahead and claim it as something original.

** Regardless if that family is one's biological family, or the family that one has built for oneself.

Graaaaaah. Next time, the quote will be on time, and not a day late. 'Tis the Mad Pierrot ~*Guarantee*~

Anyway:

"The fundamental grey, which differentiates the masters, expresses them, is the soul of all colour." - Odilon Redon

Christ on a cracker. I make my big "returning to LiveJournal" post, and then I don't put anything up again for a week (outside of commenting on friends' entries). Clearly, my LJ-fu has atrophied.

On Thursday, my ultimo hombre cheshgrl and myself went into downtown Boston to see a production of Avenue Q. 'Twas excellent, I tell you all. Yeah, it's basically an adult version of Sesame Street, and while it's not exactly the deepest or most thought-provoking piece of theater in existence, it makes up for it by being highly entertaining and clever. Catchy, as well, what with as many of its songs that have entered into the popular social consciousness ("It Sucks to Be Me," "The Internet is for Porn," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," etc.), although it struck me as being a little odd that most of the memorable songs took place in the first act. Ah well, like I said, very good.

This past weekend, another friend of mine from college, calibusthegreat, finally moved up to Boston. It's been good to see him again, even if he is currently living on cheshgrl's couch until he can find an apartment.

Not too much else new and exciting to report. I would, however, like to note for the record that, if tonight has been any indication, not only do fewer people go out to eat on the day before Thanksgiving than you might realize, but all those that do go out are apparently of the genus known as the "cheap bastards." Usually, on a Wednesday night, I could expect to take home at least $50. Tonight, it was closer to $34.

Ah, well. Turkey consumption is clearly the best remedy for such foolishness.

Getting traditional once again. Let's start things off with a bang:

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding." - Anaïs Nin

Addendum! The Current Music selection can be found over yonder. Ya'll ought to give it a listen.

Liftoff!

Heyla, everybody. Guess who has a home internet connection once again?

I'm not exactly sure what to put here for some sort of big "returning" type of post, given that it's been a bit over nine months since I last really involved myself with LiveJournal. Truth be told, I'd given some thought to just shutting this one down and maybe re-starting with another one. But, at the end of the day, this one's been "with" me through a fair amount, and it just didn't seem right to simply delete it all. That said, I have updated the format, profile, and icons. Because change is good, yes?

Lists are fun. Here is one now:

* There is a song, by a jazz group called the Steve Lehman Octet, that is entitled "As Things Change, I Remain the Same." It is a phrase that applies to a fair chunk of what has transpired during my e-abscence. I am still employed as a waiter, I still reside at the same address, and many of my days have been much the same as those that have gone before.

* Not everything has been static. For starters, I have been outside of the state on three occasions (once in March, once in April, and once in September). For the March and September outings, the destination was Easton, Pennsylvania, where we went with the intent of exploring the Crayola Factory. However, our primary objective for those outings was to go to Don Pablo's for dinner, because they serve kickass Tex-Mex food there, and the closest one to Massachusetts is the one in Easton. Yes, our main reason for driving through three states (including the Ass State of New Jersey), for a period of two hours each way, was to get dinner. I do not have a single regret about any of it.

The third trip was down to Florida for a week. Me and two friends drove down there, both to explore our old college campus, and also to partake of Disney World. It was very fun all-around, even though we got stuck in traffic for four solid hours.

* Since about March or so, I have been the proud owner of a used PlayStation 2. This has provided me with my first solid stretch of gaming time since college, and it has been glorious. It may not sound important to some of you, but I consider computer/video games to be one of the better aspects of my life, and being able to reconnect with that for the first time in about two years has been good. As for specific games, it's been a tad scattershot (the Splinter Cell series, the first Ratchet & Clank becuz I stil lieks me sum furriez, Red Dead Revolver, the Mega Man X collection, and, most importantly, Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater and the Ace Combat series of games).

* Bugs have a tendency to crop up at odd moments in my life. Back in either July or August I had a brief problem with ants, which has since died out. Lately its been ladybugs in my bedroom. These I don't mind quite so much, though it's still a little strange to hear them bumping into the lights of the ceiling fan.

* Was sick last week for a period of two days. Woke up on Sunday and promptly vomited, which meant an impromptu day off from work. I had the next day off as well, both due to illness and because it was my birthday. Instead of spending it doing something more fun, I spent it either asleep or wishing I could commit seppuku in order to rid myself of my rebellious stomach guzzling Gatorade and munching on saltines whilst trying to read one of the myriad unread books in my collection.

My whiny petulance aside, I am grateful it wasn't something worse. Especially since one of my co-workers was diagnosed with H1N1. In light of that, I suppose I'd rather take the fast-moving stomach bug.

* Finally, the most important news for last. I now have a roommate. His name is Oscar. He is gray and fuzzy, walks around on four legs, and purrs like a jackhammer when he is given the proper amount of love and attention.

I didn't name him Oscar; it was the name he already had at the shelter. Still, it really does suit him well, and he now responds to it quite willingly. My digital camera is currently AWOL, but, once it has been tracked down, pictures of him will soon follow.


And . . . 'tis about it, for now. I've been trying to catch up with events in my friends' journals, but if there is something specific that has happened that you would like me to know about, or if you have some specific question for me, feel free to let me know about it in the comments.

Good night, and good luck.

And now, a long post in which I write about media things. Books and movies, to be precise, and in that order, too.

That’s enough of an introduction, don’t you think?

( Books. )

( Films. )

And . . . that’s about it.

Hey there.

Happy new year to all. Granted, this comes about six weeks late, but, hey.

I'll be doing a more detailed post a bit later on that will go into just how I am doing right now. For the moment, though, I should like to observe tradition on this here journal and do something that always constitutes my first post of the year.

YOU CAN ASK ME SIX QUESTIONS::
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v
No matter how random, revealing, rude, naughty or pointless
-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=
I promise to answer them 100% truthfully
-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=

The omega post of the year.

On a tangential note: Now is usually the time that one would endeavor to make New Year's resolutions. My only resolution is thus: No Resolutions. I have not been able to make any of them last before. I know to an absolute certainty that this will not change this year.

For the last such post I made last year, I wrote:

"Normally, I might express hope for the new year that is about to be, but the truth is, the problems of this year will still be around and flashing their teeth come next year, so the hope is a slice muted. To say the least."

The same is true now, unfortunately. I'm not in the best of places right now. Not the worst, neither, not by a long chalk. But things could certainly be better; I could certainly have made things better. Still, 'tis not like it's the end of the world or anything.

And so, to conclude in the traditional fashion:



Riding to Valhalla on six thunderous jets . . . the flight of the phoenix?

To my family, and to all who are my friends out there, regardless if they are on LiveJournal or not, I hope your New Year is bright and dynamic. And I mean that most sincerely.

An update.

It's nothing against any of you all out there in the great electronic aether, I just have not been in much of a journaling mode lately. I'm still not, really; this is more at the prodding of a certain tamago_23, who likes to check in on me should I not say anything for a while.

I'm okay, I guess. Busy. The holiday season might have been a bit less stressful than usual due to the economy, but it's been pretty busy still. It's the same old routine (said routine outlined in the paragraph beginning "The past several months . . ."). Not there hasn't been exceptions to this. The biggest being that, from Dec. 22 to Dec. 27, I returned to Cincinnati to spend Christmas with my mother. This has been the highlight of my time since I last posted. I did not do much of note then, except relax for a while, which was greatly appreciated. Particularly after getting jacked about by the airports/airlines/the weather, both in trying to get to Cincinnati and in trying to get back to Boston.

Aside from that, there has been precious little to report. Just work. Usually work leaves me so tired, all I want to do when I get back home is read and listen to my music until I fall asleep. On my day off, I usually clean or attempt to do a bit of the ol' job hunting. Nothing much, though.

There's not much else I want to write about just now, save for my traditional end-of-the-year post. There's other things I could discuss here, but, frankly, most of them fall into the emo/depressive category, and I'm just not up to treading down that path right now.

To end on a somewhat brighter note, I think that I should like to be the V-Dub guy for Halloween next year.

Veterans’ Day hath come again.

I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to this particular time of the year. Nowadays, commercialism aside, it’s a time to remember the sacrifices made by American servicemen, both those currently serving and those that no longer do, either due to retirement or, more mortally, death. Prior to this, though, it was celebrated as Armistice Day. You know, the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1918 anno domini, a time that saw the end of World War I. The First World War. The Great War. The War to End All Wars. Some historians would say that this was the first act of the Second Fifty Years’ War, a conflict that began in 1914 and ended in 1945. Never mind the twenty years of peace in the middle, it wasn’t all that peaceable anyway.

As I have grown older, I have decided to celebrate this day more as it was traditionally celebrated, instead of as a panacea to all veterans. Mainly, it is because this conflict, for all its wide-ranging ramifications, is relatively unknown in this country. Primarily because this country did little of the actual fighting, only forming the basis of the "cavalry to the rescue," coming to aid the weary British and French forces in those last bitter months from the winter of 1917 to the autumn of 1918. Mostly, it is remembered in this country as the war that preceded World War II, where we truly rose to prominence. Beyond this, however, we know practically nothing.

Nothing. Nothing of a time that saw the world as all knew it back then to be breaking down. We are familiar with Normandy, Anzio, Market Garden and the Bulge, Tarawa, Iwo Jima, Saipan, Okinawa, even of Stalingrad and Kursk. But there are precious few who know of the Marne, the Somme, Ypres, Verdun, and the Passchendaele. Even those battles in which the American Expeditionary Force played a major role, like Chateau-Thierry and Belleau Wood, aren’t really known. Many Americans are familiar with Midway, but mention Coronel and the Falklands, or even Jutland, and there is no recognition.

There are so few to remember those tremendous times. World War II danced, but it was World War I that called the tune. Yet there are so few who remember it. Who take notice of the soldier shivering in the mud and ice and lice of the trench, or of the zeppelin crewman creeping across the sky and praying to stay hidden, or the sailor on his thin metal ship keeping watch for a torpedo’s bubbling track, or the indiginies fighting for their white masters in the jungles of Africa, or the dead strung up on the wire and bloating in No Man’s Land with mama rats raising whole nests of ratlings in their gas-exploded intestines. All of it a tombstone to man’s notions of the superiority of the fighting spirit and the aspiration towards gentle warfare, a tombstone inscribed with Marshal Pétain’s two words: "Fire Kills."

Please pardon the melodrama inherent in this next statement, but in some ways, I have come to view myself as being a scion of memory. As one whose life must, in some way, be devoted to remembering as much as I can and keeping those memories from being completely devoured by the dark tower of history. Remembering the lessons of World War II is necessary, but it is something that many others are capable of doing. My focus is on this great war, this war that is in many ways much more forgotten than the Korean War for which is usually termed "the Forgotten War." And remembering more than just our country’s involvement, from Pershing’s expedition into Mexico to the fields of Flanders, but also that of the others. Britain and France and Germany, of course, but others too: Russia, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Italy, Turkey, Japan, the ANZAC’s, and the rest.

For these reasons, I choose to celebrate today as Armistice Day, and not as Veterans’ Day.

While I will also be doing something to mark this day in real life, I will be repeating something that I have done before in this journal to mark this day in an electronic format. What follows behind the cut below is a medley of pictures from the World War I Photo Archive.

These pictures speak fully for themselves, and extraneous comments will be kept to a minimum. That being said, there must be a warning: The last five pictures are pretty graphic, and should be considered not work-safe.

( August 1, 1914 – November 11, 1918 )

Regardless of how you noticed it, may you all have had a gracious Veterans’ Day, and a thoughtful Armistice Day, ninety years on.

Birthday went down on November 9th.

A pretty low-key day overall, the highlights being a delicious lunch at Legal Seafoods’ and an equally nice dinner at a place called Viola’s Restaurant and Wine Bar. The latter was made better by the presence of cheshgrl and her sister, as well as a very large glass of merlot and an equally large glass of chocolate mousse. Afterwards we went back home for cake and conversation. I got to sleep in the next morning.

Sorry to be short on details, but, like I said, it was low-key. Not bad overall, though.

Gift stuff:
One Obi-Wan Kenobi bobblehead.
One copy of James D. Hornfischer’s The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, an account of the epic Battle off Samar.
One $15 gift card to Barnes & Noble, which shall be going towards the purchase of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, so as to be read before November 26.
One used DVD player, courtesy of my mother.
One $20 bill, also from my mother, which was used to pay for the Legal outing.
Two very nice cards.
One DVD of The Blues Brothers and a copy of the complete collected fiction of H. P. Lovecraft, both of which I purchased for myself.

In other news, movies. What with the fall films now coming out, there are a number that I would like to see at some point. While this is not shaping up to be as auspicious a year as 2007 was, hopefully there will still be something worthwhile.

I would definitely like to see:
Quantum of Solace (Nov. 14)
The Road (Nov. 26)
Milk (Nov. 26)
Defiance (Dec. 12)
Valkyrie (Dec. 26)

I would maybe like to see (perhaps on DVD):
Synecdoche, New York (Released on Oct. 24)
Australia (Nov. 26)
Frost/Nixon (Dec. 5)
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Dec. 26)

In conclusion, Nov. 26 appears to be one hot release date.

Barack Obama: United States President No. 44.

Excellent. Most, most excellent.

And Ohio went blue. Ohio went blue. DEAR SWEET GOD JESUS OHIO WENT BLUE AND WE FINALLY SAW THE FUCKING LIGHT AND GOT BEHIND A DECENT MAN AND PUT HIM IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

I may be a Massachusettian now, but this is probably the proudest I have ever been for my home state.

In a weird, weird way, I'll miss George W. Bush. Yeah, he was just a wee tad bit of a clusterfuck, but still. He was president from 2001 - 2008, and those are years that can be tentatively called my "wonder years." He might've been a lackluster president, but his malfeasance was at least something of a constant during those times, and, as with most constants, it will be somewhat missed.

John McCain's a good man, and I hope he will work well within the new administration. Conversely, I never want to hear Sarah Palin's name ever fucking again. She can go back to Juneau and rot for all I care.

Yes, we can. Yes, we did.

Let's go 2 it.

[Prescript: This was supposed to have been posted yesterday.]

I lied a tiny bit in the last entry. While my usual operandi of the modus for Halloween is to make a picture-heavy post to mark the occasion (such as last year’s Manhunter-themed example), this year will be a word-heavy post. ‘Tis mainly due to continued lack of internet access, and the related fact that I have not had the time to look up the necessary photographs online. I had planned to do another serial murderer-themed post (this one based on real-life killers, such as Albert Fish, Andrei Chikatilo, and the slayer/slayers of the Black Dahlia), because it is an aspect of horror that I have an interest in, and it seems fitting that, with so much celebration of the supernatural taking place, it is only right to include those monsters that are unbearably human.

Unfortunately, that one will just have to wait until the next annum. In the interval, here is a small story-let written by that Great Old One himself, H. P. Lovecraft.

Oh, and by the by, if one is so inclined, the current music selection can be found here, with the rest of the soundtrack located over yonder. ‘Tis best listened to with all the lights off, of course.

Without further ado:

Memory

In the valley of Nis the accursed waning moon shines thinly, tearing a path for its light with feeble horns through the lethal foliage of a great upas-tree. And within the depths of the valley, where the light reaches not, move forms not meant to be beheld. Rank is the herbage on each slope, where evil vines and creeping plants crawl amidst the stones of ruined palaces, twining tightly about broken columns and strange monoliths, and heaving up marble pavements laid by forgotten hands. And in trees that grow gigantic in crumbling courtyards leap little apes, while in and out of deep treasure-vaults writhe poison serpents and scaly things without a name. Vast are the stones which sleep beneath coverlets of dank moss, and mighty were the walls from which they fell. For all time did their builders erect them, and in sooth they yet serve nobly, for beneath them the grey toad makes his habitation.

At the very bottom of the valley lies the river Than, whose waters are slimy and filled with weeds. From hidden springs it rises, and to subterranean grottoes it flows, so that the Daemon of the Valley knows not why its waters are red, nor whither they are bound.

The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon of the Valley, saying, "I am old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them who built these things of Stone." And the Daemon replied, "I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old. These beings were like the waters of the river Than, not to be understood. Their deeds I recall not, for they were but of the moment. Their aspect I recall dimly, it was like to that of the little apes in the trees. Their name I recall clearly, for it rhymed with that of the river. These beings of yesterday were called Man."

So the Genie flew back to the thin horned moon, and the Daemon looked intently at a little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling courtyard.

Happy Halloween

[Postscript: My own Halloween was something of a washout, but I hope all of yours went well.]

Not having home internet has become, to use the modern parlance, a drag. However, there is a strong possibility that this could be changing in the near future. Nothing concrete yet, but the possibility is there. Much more so than it has been these past few months.

Anywhy. Since my last post of significant content, there has not been much else to report. The previously-described routine continues apace. Lately this has been interjected with a feeling of constantly being tired, as well as sometimes feeling a vague sort of sadness for no appreciable reason. What? Me, depressed? Who’d’a thunk it!

Stepping off that particular train of thought, there are a couple of non-sequitur observations that I would like to make public here. Time for the three-asterisk paragraphs:

First of all, my mother visited me on Oct. 1, and departed Oct. 5. In some ways, that one week has become the only “real” sort of time that has happened this past month. It’s the only thing that clearly stands out over the enervating blur of workaday days that came before it and that have come since then. It was good to see her again, and to spend some time with her. Even if it was something as simple as watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! together on my living room couch. During her time here, our major events were a one-day excursion into downtown Boston (whereupon we did some exploring, ate at the Union Oyster House, and where I returned with an early birthday gift consisting of two books and a kickass set of dragon bookends), and her cleaning my entire apartment. This latter aspect left me a twist ambivalent. On the one hand, it struck me as being somewhat insulting that my mother would come all the way up here and then only want to clean my abode, a place that I had already done my damndest to get spick-and-span before her arrival. On the other hand, the place apparently did need that caliber of deep-cleaning, and my earlier offense can be entirely chalked off to wounded pride. At the end of it all, though, it was a slice disheartening to see her leave at the airport. Probably because I knew, even then, that her departure signaled the resumption of the grind. Welcome back, my son. Welcome back to the machine.

***

My sincere, if late, thanks to tamago23 for providing me with free copies of Pendulum’s In Silico and other assorted tracks by that oh-so-kinetic band. I’ve been listening to them a good deal lately. Frankly, I must say I’m a tad disappointed with this recent outing. Granted, it would be hard to follow up an album like Hold Your Colour with something equally strong, but that disappointment is still there. This is not to say that this has been a bad album; far from it, in fact. With tracks like “Propane Nightmares” and, especially (for me, anyway), “The Other Side,” outright hatred of this album becomes an untenable proposition. I just wish that the other tracks held up as well. As for the other assorted tracks, they’re pretty good, with “Blood Sugar” meriting special attention.

***

Books. One thing that helps to break up the monotony is reading, and, lately, it’s as though I’ve suddenly rediscovered that I now have the time to actually indulge in this particular activity. It doesn’t have to be subsumed by work, or (before) with studying for some damn exam or other. I’d read a few things since coming up to Boston (the last book of note being Cormac McCarthy’s Child of God), but as of late, mine literary intake has suddenly surged. I recently devoured two James Ellroy novels: The Black Dahlia, the last of his L. A. Quartet books that I had not yet read, and American Tabloid, the first of his Underworld USA trilogy and one of the books that comprises my early birthday gift from my mother. The former was a lot more violent than I anticipated, and had an ending that seemed even more unresolved than a typical Ellroy ending usually is, but was overall an excellent read. This book deserved to be his breakout work. Tabloid shows just how much the master has learned since then, taking the formula of the Quartet books and using it to paint not just a city, but the entire country. It follows three corrupt law enforcement types as they work behind the scenes to enact events that will define their era, enmeshed in a series of monstrous interlocking criminal conspiracies, following their lives and deaths from 1958 up to that most auspicious of dates, November 22, 1963. This book is tied with L. A. Confidential as my favorite of Ellroy’s novels, and it is just ferociously Goddamned good overall.

Beyond this, I have read Goodnight Bush, probably one of the most cutting parodies/satires I have ever read in my life. My current “project” is Dan Simmons’s Hyperion, the first significant science fiction novel I have read in a long time (outside of fantasy and the like). So far, it has been very enjoyable, being a curious blend of futuristic sci-fi with deep religious motifs, set against the backdrop of a universe that is on the verge of destroying itself, and following the progress and stories of a group of pilgrims that may have the key to the universe’s salvation in their hands. That is, if they can contend with the beast that waits for them all: the walking metal abomination known only as the Pain Lord, or, colloquially, the Shrike.

Fun stuff.

***

An aside about a movie. In this case, Oliver Stone’s W. I suppose my question is: Why the fuck was this movie made? Granted, I have not yet seen this film, so this is going to be even more subjective than usual, but . . . why? It seems like the whole film is populated with caricatures, it tells us nothing new, does not approach events and ideas from new or unusual angles, and its central thesis (that our 43rd president was more of a well-intentioned bumblefuck with family issues moreso than some kind of evil mastermind plotting global American hegemony and economic slavery) is something that most people should have had the past seven fucking years to get intimately acquainted with. It doesn’t really need explanation, and especially this kind of shallow, overtly-financially-motivated examination. Moreover, why make this flick now? It’s not like we don’t see our president on television often enough, now we have to see him in the fucking theater too? Granted, I may yet see it on DVD, if only for the Josh Brolin factor, but still. Oliver Stone seems to have entered a period of protracted slumming, if turgid shit like this and the blah World Trade Center is all he can aspire to nowadays.

***

My birthday’s coming up. I’m not quite sure what I want to do. My ultimo hombre cheshgrl has suggested a celebration that is extremely politically incorrect, and while I like the idea, I’m not quite sure how many other people would be willing to come to such an event without getting some feathers ruffled. It’s been a long time since I’ve had something like a themed birthday. Usually my parties consist of going to see a movie, then having dinner with some friends or family. Which I am not averse to; the new James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, comes out later in November, and I would be hard-pressed to find a better way to celebrate a birthday than with a screenful of delicious Daniel Craig. But, she seems to want to do something more, and I’d like to try to do something more, as well.

Also, I’m going to be extremely crass and tacky for a moment and say this: If any of you out there are so generously inclined, I do have a link to my Amazon.com wish list up on my LJ profile page. I’m damn well not saying you have to get me something, but, well, it never hurt to suggest it. After all, the worst anyone can do is ignore this and/or say “no.”

***

Regarding future entries: They’re probably going to be pretty sparse once again, until a home internet connection has been reestablished. Until then, expect the odd quotes post, and I’ll also try to do my usual Halloween picture post. Aside from that, it’ll be pretty quiet.

***

In conclusion,

Haven’t done these in months. 'Tis a stark injustice, let me tell you.

First, the one-to-two-liners:

"Despair is like forward children, who, when you take away one of their playthings, throw the rest into the fire for madness. It grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner, and revenges its misfortunes on its own head." – Pierre Charron

"Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence." – Lin Yutang

"Policemen so cherish their status as keepers of the peace and protectors of the public that they have occasionally been known to beat to death those citizens or groups who question that status." – David Mamet

"There is no den in the wide world to hide a rogue. Commit a crime and the earth is made of glass. Commit a crime, and it seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground, such as reveals in the woods the track of every partridge, and fox, and squirrel." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Secondly, some book quotes:

"Mal shook the man’s hand, recognizing his name, his style, his often imitated tenor brogue. Lieutenant Dudley Smith, LAPD Homicide. Tall, beefside broad and red-faced; Dublin born, L.A. raised, Jesuit college trained. Priority case hatchet man for every L.A. chief of police dating back to Strongarm Dick Steckel. Killed seven men in the line of duty, wore custom-made club-figured ties: 7’s, handcuff ratchets and LAPD shields stitched in concentric circles. Rumored to carry an Army .45 loaded with garlic-coated dumdums and a spring-loaded toad stabber." – James Ellroy, The Big Nowhere (p. 15)

"Confessions could be ciphers, nothing past an admission of the crime. But if you twisted your man the right way – loved him and hated him to precisely the right degree – then he would tell you things – small details – that would create a reality to buttress your case and give you that much more intelligence to bend the next suspect with . . . They showed him that men have levels of weakness that are acceptable because other men condone them and levels of weakness that produce a great shame, something to hide from all but a brilliant confessor. They honed his instinct for the jugular of weakness. It got so sharp that sometimes he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror." – James Ellroy, L. A. Confidential (p. 100)

"All I have is the will to remember. Time revoked/fever dreams – I wake up reaching, afraid I’ll forget. Pictures keep the woman young. . . .
I’m old, afraid I’ll forget:
I killed innocent men.
I betrayed sacred oaths.
I reaped profit from horror.
Fever – that time burning. I want to go with the music – spin, fall with it." – James Ellroy, White Jazz (p. 1)

"A light sputtered off in the field and a bluetailed rocket went skittering toward Canis Major. High above their upturned faces it burst, sprays of lit glycerine flaring across the night, trailing down the sky in loosely falling ribbons of hot spectra soon burnt to naught. Another went up, a long whishing sound, fishtailing aloft. In the bloom of its opening you could see like its shadow the image of the rocket gone before, the puff of black smoke and ashen trails arcing out and down like a huge and dark medusa squatting in the sky. In the bloom of light too you could see two men out in the field crouched over their crate of fireworks like assassins or bridgeblowers. And you could see among the faces a young girl with candyapple on her lips and her eyes wife. Her pale hair smelled of soap, womanchild from beyond the years, rapt below the sulphur glow and pitchlight of some medieval fun fair. A lean skylong candle skewered the black pools in her eyes. Her fingers clutched. In the flood of this breaking brimstone galaxy she saw the man with the bears watching her and she edged closer to the girl by her side and brushed her hair with two fingers quickly." – Cormac McCarthy, Child of God (p. 65)

( Super Secret Ultra Acoustical BONUS CONTENT )

Good night, and good luck.