There’s a war on…

I’m really trying to stay away from frivolous blogs these days, but I just saw a movie that blew me away; the new Steven Spielberg “War of the Worlds.” The movie is something of an amalgamation (There- I said it again) of Spielberg’s films. This is ET meets Schindler’s List. The smart little girl from Jurassic Park is in the car with Dennis Weaver from Duel. And they are all definitely going to need a bigger boat.

Tom Cruise, personal life notwithstanding, is fantastic as the father who doesn’t really care- the jerk jock in high school who has gotten the crappy life his karma dictated when he refused to see the world as something more. He’s no action hero, and in the course of the film is driven to do the unspeakable to survive- and that is all, survive.

This film would not work so well five years ago. This is the fourth major incarnation of War of the Worlds. The first, the original novel, was written by H.G. Wells as metaphor for the destruction of the Great War. Orson Welles brought a panic to the Northeast with his radio play version. It fed on the audiences fears if the growing fascist juggernaut in Europe- remember, Orson gave us his version in Halloween of 1938. The invasion of Poland was a year away. In 1953, George Pal gave us a movie version that holds up surprisingly well today. Gene Barry starred in a film that came at the end of Korea with the red threat hanging over the ocean, “duck and cover” being drilled in schools, and McCarthy just getting warmed up.

Now, Spielberg taps directly into angst from the War on Terror. Some few spoilers here, so be careful. The emergence of the first tripod is filmed in such away as to recall the shaky footage we saw filmed at the scene of the World Trade Center destruction. The character of Rachel even states this for us to a degree. As Cruise and his kids are fleeing the mounting destruction, she’s asking “is it the terrorists?”

The movie is pure tension from that moment on. Never has a film kept me more involved in the plight of its characters, or had me feeling their fear more. I squirmed with them, I was as revolted as they when Cruise comes home covered in dust which a few moments before was living breathing humans. And the red vines…? Whoa. It makes me wonder how much of my involvement with this film is a result of my recent trip to Babylon.

There is a shiny happy moment at the end that I don’t think works in the context of the rest of the film, but it was not enough for me to spoil the prior tow hours.

So I applaud Spielberg as a movie maker for this piece, and his keen eye in putting the classic tale in a context that would give his audience the most commiseration. That’s a movie maker’s job, to prey on the viewer’s emotions and make them think about why they feel that way.

Now my question is why my government feels they have to? Why do I have to be yellow scared or orange scared? Hey George- leave the theatrics to Spielberg and actually run the country, OK? Thanks.

One more observation I want to make about this film. If you are familiar with the previous versions, you know how this one ends. If not, don’t read my next paragraph until you’ve seen the film.

Though this movie uses the same method to end the invasion that the other versions do, this is the first time it struck me with what Wells was trying to say with his micro biotic heroes. The renowned futurist seems to be saying the world around us is interconnected. Earth is a web of life. The organism is attacked by an outsider- the human scale antibodies don’t work, so the Earth uses another line of defense. Maybe I’m over-reading it, but I see this message- the connectivity of our homeworld. Damn, if we and the germs are pulling together, maybe we the people should too…

Oh wait, there I am...

Yes, true believers, I have been away from my blogging duties, and for this I can only apologize. Been in quite the funk lately in regard to the news about Babylon, and the current Powers That Be response to these issues. The simple fact is we screwed up, mishandled it from day one, and now there is a civil war. You know, when one of the powers says "the insurgency will last a decade" and another says "the insurgency is on its knees" ALL IN THE SAME WEEK, there is an obvious lack of coordination at work.

But, I'm trying not to let them get me down (after all, they haven't told me to go back...yet) and focus on some lighter things. I have finished the first four scripts to a comic book that I hope to get published- fun stuff. Also very pleased with Batman Begins; now if they can get Superman that correct it'll be fanboy heaven.

Thinking of going to see Italy soon, drink some wine, get some sun. Lovely country that. Polite even as they pickpocket you (but that's reserved for the big cities).

Looking at a possible political position in the future, or at least a job around political people. Could yours truly possibly be a voice of reason in the Casa Blanca? Time will tell...

Movies A la Dan!!!!

Well, I have been remiss in spreading my propaganda, haven’t I? It seems I did this more in Babylon than I do now in Germania- of course, in Babylon less people who deserved my attention were clamoring for my attention.

So rather than go off on another absinthe inspired tirade, I am going to keep this one short and simple. The five best and five worst films of all time as chosen by…

Well, me. No real criteria here but my own personal likes and dislikes. So here we go:

The Five Greatest Films Ever Filmed-

5- The Empire Strikes Back: Everything an action adventure movie should be, and introduces us to the best bad guy theme music ever. This is Lucas writing at his strongest, and having sense enough to let someone else direct. Golden Moment: “No Luke, I am your father!”

4- The Blues Brothers: a perfect mix of music, comedy, religion, and surrealism makes for Belushi and Aykroyd’s best movie, and a damn near perfect film. Golden Moment: “The BAND!”

3- Blade Runner: Stunning visuals that stand up to this very day in an SF film noir classic made 40 years after any other film noir movie. The excellent Ridley Scott creates a world both familiar and futuristic. Personally, I prefer his darker not so happy ending to the theatrical version, but I kinda miss Harrison Ford’s droning narration. Golden Moment: Rutger Hauer lets go of the dove.

2- The Usual Suspects: Wow, it’s the movie that gets better every time you see it because it shows you all the clues to the trick (which I refuse to spoil here) ending are right in front of you. Golden Moment: “That’s when he showed these men of will what will really was…”

1- Fight Club: It’s gross, socially irredeemable, and is the most subversive argument for nuclear families ever made. A great adaptation of the book that puts a movie ending on that wouldn’t work in a book and abandons the book ending that wouldn’t work in a movie. Golden Moment: “In Judeo-Christian society our image of God is based on our Fathers. What if you don't have one? We are a generation of men raised by women…”


And now, lets see how bad they can get:

5- Blade: Awful performances, confused villains, and a complete rejection of 500 years of vampire lore make this just an awful film. It made me angry that I wasted my time to watch it. In fact, all of these five did that in increasing degrees the further we get down the list. Crappiest Moment: Deacon Frost wants to kill every human on earth; what are you going to eat, dumb ass?

4- Hollow Man: There’s not a single likeable character in this to commiserate with- I don’t care what happens to the bad guy, the good guys, or the people in the middle. The director’s love for senseless shock scenes and the sudden bestowal of super strength on the villain about ¾ of the way through earn this special mention. Crappiest Moment: Having just left the villain for dead in the hallway, the heroes run by. His body is gone, AND NO ONE NOTICES!

3- Terminator 3: I love it when someone writes a sequel to a movie they didn’t understand. T2 was all about the fact that Judgment Day was not destined, and we can make our own destinies. Not now, now it’s going to happen regardless and our heroes just postponed it long enough to piss me off. Crappiest Moment: Sara Conner was so confident in her natural born leader son at the end of T2 that she filled her grave with weapons for him to use when he is proven wrong. No wonder Linda Hamilton wouldn’t come back- but why, Arnie? WHY!!??

2- Alien Resurrection: I loved the first three (yes even Alien 3, I dug it) and I love Joss Whedon, but what the director did to his really interesting script is unforgivable. The movie bounces between slasher movie and schlock horror, never being enough of either to be worth the effort. A total waste of a decent idea. Crappiest Moment: In the throes of having a chestburster, well rip through his chest, a character exacts revenge on another character by running across the room and holding his victim’s head in front of his sternum. What?

And the worst film ever made:

1- Batman and Robin: Arnold strikes again in a film that took everything that was wrong with the barely passable Batman Forever and focuses on those parts. A complete failure from the very beginning it has entire sections of dialog replicated from the third film, and takes The Batman’s most brilliant and formidable foe, Bane, and turns him into a monosyllabic bit player. Crappiest Moment: Everything between the opening credits and the end credits. If I have to pick one though it has to be the Bat Credit Card. Adam West wouldn’t put up with that crap…


Well, nothing Earth shattering, but it’s what’s on my mind. Or at least what’s left of my mind (insert maniacal laughter here…).

Civilization and stuff...

Well. Been forever since I got on here, eh? Well, I am surviving, if still occasionally dealing with both Post Traumatic symptoms and the death of my Dad. They say you have good days and bad, and mine are now mostly good, so I can’t complain too much. Distance has not changed my feelings on the misadventure that is Babylon, but as much as I tried to affect the situation there, I would imagine there is even less I can do here.

So, in lighter news, I just made my first visit to Paris. All I can say is wow. The city is beautiful in ways no other place in the world is. Saw all the important things, but most interesting was actually two hours outside of Paris in Rheims. There I saw the Cathedral and the tomb of Joan of Arc.

Let me let you in on a little secret; since I was a little boy and first heard the story, I have been madly in love with Jeanne D’Arc. I suppose I can dismiss hormones, as there are no photographs, and let’s face facts—she must have been a dirty medieval French girl with horrid teeth and hygiene (though, looking like Leelee Sobieski would not be bad). Also, since this particular obsession has lasted decades, I have to assume it is the real thing. First, like me she hears the Divine (though, her voices were obviously much clearer than the Holy Charades I have to play with the Almighty). Then, she was a soldier, so we share a professional interest. Thirdly, she was basically sticking it to the man. As a 16 year old girl she maneuvered herself into being a Kingmaker, runs mental and spiritual circles around the Inquisitors at her trial, and sponsors enough adoration that the Church not only recants the heresy charges (which does little to recant the flames mind you), but make her a Saint. Then of course there’s all the mystical possibilities; the Maid of Larraine legend was not a Christian prophecy, but one of the older religions.

Now, as much as I hated the book The DaVinci Code (crappy mystery), the information is interesting. Nothing I hadn’t read elsewhere in a better-presented form. But, if Rabbi Jesus’ progeny settled in France as the Merovingian Kings… hmm, is it possibly that Clovis or another of those early freaky French diddled with someone who would later be the great great grand mother of dear Joan? Jeanne D’Arc, granddaughter of Christ? The possibilities are endless if you consider the spiritual side of things, and if you don’t, that had to be a hell of a woman to get on a horse in front of an Army in the 1400s.

Is it possible she was just a figurehead used to rally the rabble around the legend of the Maid? Sure. Is it possible she was just schizophrenic rather than Divinely touched? Yeah. Is it possible she was just a scared crazy little girl used by power hungry and ruthless men? Very. But I dare you to read the trial transcripts and go see her in Rheims. I think she’ll change your mind.

Just remember though—I saw her first, and I’m taking her to the dance.

Eulogy, delivered for my Dad...

As many of you are already aware, I have spent a great deal of my life looking at God. Be it from a foxhole or a classroom, the simple fact is I see Him. In my head is the image of God, as plain as any photograph, and I would like to take a few moments to describe how I see Him.

First of all, God is strong. God has a strength that permeates all of creation. It is God's strength that carries the Hebrews through their bondage in Egypt and Babylon. It is God's strength that allows a small population of people to remain a recognizable separate culture that is basically responsible for writing down the rules that became Western Civilization. It is God’s strength that enabled a first century carpenter to walk up a hill outside Jerusalem bearing all of our mistakes. God is strong.

Sometimes, God is angry. God releases His anger on the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai, and again and again we see that divine anger swell like the raging sea. If you look closely at these instances however, that anger comes not as a result of vengeance or spite, but rather as a result of sadness; that we as His children were capable of so much more, but chose to lie rather than take responsibility. Chose the easy way out instead of doing what was morally correct. God's anger is the result of us not living up to our potential, when all God really seeks is the opportunity to be proud of us.

And God, as much as certain groups organized in His name would like to deny, has an enormous sense of humor. I'd like to point out the instance in Mark chapter 7 where Jesus says that it is not what goes into a man's body that makes him unclean, but rather what comes out. Sure, there is a deep theological meaning there, but to the audience in those days the surface phrase is simply a potty joke. Again and again Jesus uses plays on words and jokes to illustrate His message, and some of them by the standards of the day are simply raunchy and scandalous. God is funny.

Why? Because God is love. Behind every inscrutable situation in the Bible or history, behind every commandment that we don't quite understand, behind all of it is the love of a Father for His children. He shares His strength with us because He loves us. He is angry with us because He loves us. He jokes with us because he loves us. That is how I see God.

The author Chuck Palahniuk says in one of his books that in our modern culture and society, we as men base our image of God on our fathers.

He is absolutely right. My Dad was strong, my Dad could be angry, my Dad was funny, and my Dad loves me as much as I love him. I thank God for my Dad, and I will miss him terribly.

Well Damn...

Hello ladies and gentlemen...

The good news is I have left Babylon behind me, and I can now hope the Lord of All will be kind and keep me from ever having to go back to that hellhole. My nation and Firm have done many questionable things there, and I am tired of being complicit in those things.

However, the reason I have evacuated early is that my Dad has died. I miss him terribly already. I am sad, angered, relieved, and just wish I could talk to him one more time.

I have a lot more to say to him, but nothing more to really say here.

Oy, where are the updates...

Well, can’t say I’ve been rather diligent in my blogging, but I beg forgiveness, for as the eve of Babylonian elections draws ever nearer, the number of guests in my inquisitors chamber grows in direct proportion. I am not going to talk about Babylon or walks on the dark side or bad things this time though—lo I have become rather depressing dear reader, and surely you are ready to find a happier site (mycutepuppy.com or something). So this entry if going to be fun. I’m going to talk about comic books.

I love comic books. I mean really. Career, sure it’s OK. Family guy? Sure I am, and I like to think I’m OK with that too. But I love comics. Is it the seamless blend of visual art and narrative storytelling? Is it the iconic heroes embodying concepts like Truth, Justice, and doing the right damn thing? Maybe it’s the epic stories that span years of real time and generations in the comic book world. The fact is these modern myths thrill me, and I am hooked. There is of course the question that plagues all American comic book fans: DC or Marvel?

I love both. I will give my description of why I love each, and then we’ll talk about which one I prefer. Marvel Comics offers a variety of colorful characters who have miraculous powers, but are people like you and me. When Spidey laments over Gwen Stacy, we feel it. When he’s worried about classes, we understand it. We can commiserate with these characters because as Stan Lee says, when he wrote these characters he put his own thoughts and personality traits into them. Hulk is Stan’s anger. The Everlovin’ Thing is Stan’s sense of being an outsider. They are ordinary people in extraordinary situations and we love them for it.

DC? These are gods. Superman is all that is good and beyond temptation. Batman is the concept of justice in persona. Flash is the essence of speed itself. These are not people you commiserate with, these are people you aspire to. I don’t identify with Batman, but I want to be him. These are characters of a new Olympus.

So which do I prefer? DC. I like the bold presentation of iconic characters with no excuses. Sure I enjoy Wolverine, and love the well-written tales of his struggle with the animal within (sound familiar?), but as I said before, I want to be Batman. I want to be Superman.

OK, there are other comic companies too. Sam Keith’s The Maxx for Image was terrific, and Devil’s Due has some great franchise (GI Joe) and originals (Love Bunny and Mr. Hell). No issues with the good independents, but I think they will always be just that—the independents. I will always love Marvel; Hulk, Spidey, and anything Ultimate. But then there is DC. I can see my grandkids reading Superman like my grandpa did. Maybe 2000 years from now, High Schoolers will have to sit through American Mythology instead of Greek mythology. No more “Explain how Zeus gave birth to Minerva as the Goddess of wisdom…” but rather “How did Jason Todd succeed Dick Grayson, and what happened to him post Crisis?”

Wish I could be there. I’d get an A.

North by Northwest

Our Moral Compass. We all have one, for better or worse. Gives us our directions of Right Action. Mine usually shows up as that little voice in the back of the head that tells you when things aren’t quite right. Is it the voice of guilt? Sometimes, but like those cliché angel and demon that pop up on your shoulders, every little good voice in the back of your head has a little bad counterpart that thinks it would be a good idea to take the last cookie, throw a party while Mom and Dad are away, or institute a plan of ethnic cleansing across southern Europe.

I will admit that I have been under a fair amount of stress lately. Though admittedly the “things that blow up really good and throw fast moving sharp pieces of metal” quotient has diminished, the inverse of that is more of the ones that would send those things our way are waiting for my inquisitional skills. They’re off the streets and I spend much of my time sitting in a small room with people who would just as soon see me bleed, asking if they can tell me where their bad guy friends are. As a result of my stress, I have found my mind wondering to places I freely admit I am not comfortable with it going. Nothing to do with torture and such, I’m just not the guy to do that, and I really don’t entertain thoughts of it. Times though, I just want to kill folks.

Easy now, I’m not sharpening my knives and making victim lists, but as abhorrent as I find killing I just sometimes run into people that in a cold dispassionate way I think would make the world a better place by leaving it. Then, the guilt sets in for thinking that way. I don’t really want to kill people says saintly figure on right shoulder, and let them taste their own blood says horned figure on left shoulder. Yes I belong to an organization that kills people and breaks things, but in my career I have yet to confront the first one of those. I’m hoping I don’t have to, I really hope I don’t have to.

So, dealing with the death dealing, I go looking for solace elsewhere. And what goes with violence? See, my life mate is well chosen. Pretty much perfect for me. And she is my solace: in heart, in soul, and certainly in body. There is nothing that cleanses my demons better than kind words, acceptance, and physical contact. It can be as simple as a hand on mine, or hours of sweat-drenched, breath-taking… well I’m sure you get the idea.

But what do I do when she’s not here? I can’t tell you how happy I am the darling of my life is not in Babylon. Yet I yearn for her touch and her love. Without her here, the yearning doesn’t stop. The need for that acceptance and touch is just as strong, perhaps stronger because there is no release. And there comes the guilt again, the warning signs that keep us all members of society or families. But as with the other issue the thought is there. The little red guy with the horns telling me what to do and how to hide it. The guy with the halo though, sets him straight. But…

What if my moral compass pointed South? What if I could slaughter my way across Babylon and fuck whoever was left? What if for a single day I cast aside every compunction, every ethic, every little shred of moral decency that keeps me on the majority of people-I-like’s good sides? If I actually held down that Babylonian and used my ballpoint pen to do major cerebral adjustment through an eye socket? If the glance young girl-soldier gave me was pursued to the creative use of an empty tank? What happens then, when I become one of the bad guys? Do you come back from that, can you?

I really need to go home. I am tired of being this way, tired of contemplating how much I would be satisfied doing the wrong thing. The Negative surrounds me, and I feel it pulling my compass needle away from north, away from the Right, away from Her. Without her, I am another one of the masses that make the world worse instead of better.

I don’t know what takes one charismatic leader and allows him to become Jesus, and makes another Adolf Hitler. What makes a brilliant leader Gandhi, or another Napoleon? The things around us? Jesus got Mary Magdelene, Adolf got mustard gas. God gave me Her. I have Her. Except right now I don’t. I have mortars and rockets. I have…

…to hold on. Just a little while longer, I hope. Before everything goes South.

Babylon

So I would like to tell you all about a magical place that doesn’t quite seem real; one that I like to call Babylon. Babylon used to be a great Empire, and spent some time as a monarchy, and a colony of those effete, tea-drinking flag planters (who in their own right, spent a good amount of time ruling the world). Then Babylon spent quite a bit of time as the mud under the boot of a vile dictator that we the North Mexicans (or Southern Canadians if you prefer) took from power when we landed our big half-assed Imperial Forces in his place as the Rightful Authority.

Babylon is full of Babylonians. The Babylonians cannot be summed up on the whole, any more than any other people can be labeled and tagged with 100% correctness or efficiency. There are of course certain social mores and customs, societal norms that are shared by the majority of the people.

In the last few months, I have had opportunity to chat with large numbers of Babylonians; some have been quite friendly, some have been quite the opposite, but all have had some certain traits that I can speak of. My job, you see, is that of Inquisitor for the Empire, and in our little fiction we are writing here, we will keep in mind that unlike some other Inquisitorial Places, my chamber is free of stacked nude Babylonians, and no chubby faced little miscreants are playing Vanna White with the genitals of bound and blindfolded men. I will not tell you that every Babylonian enjoys their little sessions with me, and sometimes there are those who go to bed with a little sneer and a wish for my discomfort or worse. However, a good Inquisitor can effectively bring out the fears or terrors necessary for certain sessions of Inquisition (and let me please add that such sessions are the vast minority) with a gentle whisper or a furious bellow, and not once do the Inquisitor’s hands and the Babylonian meet.

But it is not of Inquisition that I wish to speak today, but rather as I said of the Babylonians. I have always considered myself to be of open-mind about others. I do not like to consign people to stereotypes or groups. There are however many traits that the leaders of the North Mexican Empire have not taken into consideration in our occupation of Babylon. We, and I do certainly include myself, are generally individualists. There is a concept here normal to Babylon that we do not get, and it is so damn integral to the Babylonian psyche—tribalism. The tribes here are so important. Some tribes have as few as a couple of hundred, and some number up to seven million. They are led by the Sheikh, usually a title bestowed by birth, or sometimes they get the office simply by being the eldest. He makes decisions for the lives of his people. He arranges marriages, treaties, and declares war. Tribal war. Millions will agree to kill because someone’s tribal cousin was wronged.

Which leads us to the next Babylonian norm- Vengeance. The stuff of a thousand hackneyed television plots, the entire reason they made Klingons on Star Trek, revenge. Let’s imagine a convoy of Imperial Humvees riding down a moonlit Babylonian highway. A genuine bad guy with the bad guy weapon of choice (the Kalashnikov AK-47 and its many variants) tries to rid the world of the 19 year-old soldier of the Empire sitting in the turret of the lead truck. Lucky for the 19 year-old, he scavenged from the right trash heap, and has enough armor to stop the lead coming from the Kalashnikov at 600 rounds per minute. Also lucky for him, the South Canadian Empire has given him a .50 caliber machine gun. He returns lead, and his bullets are about three times the mass, and about ten times the destructive power. These go through our genuine bad guy, the wall behind him, the house behind that, and the young Babylonian asleep in that house. This means his brother in the bed next to him has legal and moral right to kill an Imperial soldier. That’s right, the moral right. It is expected to strike back at the tribe that did this thing, and the Forces of the Empire are currently the most powerful tribe. So, next moonlit night it all begins again, but rather than an honest Bad Guy, it is the victim’s brother or cousin with the Kalashnikov. Right now in Babylon, these people are extracting vengeance on the Imperial Forces, on their neighbors, on the members of the former dictators brutal regime, on tribal debts accrued a century ago—the entire nation is a festering pool of vengeance. No one is willing to be the one to put the gun down first. And no soldier, man or woman, is safe.

And speaking of women, don’t we North Mexicans do a great job of trying to equalize gender roles in society? In our businesses and homes, we generally accept women to be humans, probably even equals. There are officers in our Imperial Forces that are women! The Babylonians don’t understand that, and inversely we don’t understand the status of women in this culture. I have spoken to Babylonians who personally killed their daughters for engaging in pre-marital sex. Brothers who have beaten their sisters for talking to a man on the street. Husbands here who have taken two or three wives, and actively cultivated hatred between his two families that he can control. Women are stoned, women are beheaded, women are shot. Rape is a common occurrence. Indeed, I had to share oxygen with a man who had been married for about a week, and by all reports to a very attractive young woman. Then, a whole week into his marriage he and a friend went out to find a prostitute and rape her. Then, he was likely going to kill her, but he got caught and came to me.

Life in Babylon is cheap. Very cheap. Dime a freaking dozen. People are killed for money. People are killed for vengeance. People are killed for gasoline. One of the oil richest nations on Earth, and people are shooting each other for long gas lines. Our new Babylonian Guard we’ve created and some gas station security guards that we hired got in a gunfight with automatic weapons over whether or not the Babylonian Guard had to pay for the gas. And these are the people we want to set up to run this show and make it better than Ousted Brutal Dictator. The Babylonians don’t hate death. They embrace it and define themselves by it. That’s the thing isn’t it?

The right to rule is the right to bestow death. Be it by declaring war, carrying out executions, or deciding who gets the flu vaccine, the Powers That Be have to decide who lives and who dies. There is only one type of person that can be allowed to wield that power— someone who hates death. Only someone who hates death, who hates the gun can have the bullets. And we, the South Canadian Empire, have given the death-loving Babylonians the bullets, and now can’t figure out why it isn’t working. Can’t figure out why things are still blowing up, and mortars are still falling, and rockets are still flying. We expected them to be us, to love freedom and not to want to kill or die senselessly.

Oh God help us, we were wrong.

A Poem

I based this poem on the Islamic 99 names of God. I haven't named it yet.


Compassionate, Pure, Merciful Protector;
Almighty, Faithful, Compelling Sovereign;
Peaceful Lord.

Forgiving Creator; Inventor, Designer.
Almighty Provider; Omniscient Donor.
Revealing Recipient.

Gracious, Equitable Judge; All-hearing, All-seeing Exalter;
Raiser, Humbler; Expander, Subduer.

Sagacious, Gentle, Mighty Forgiver;
Greatest Exalted Nourisher; Thankful Preserver;
Noble.

Majestic, Generous, Omnipresent Watcher;
Judicious Answerer;
Affectionate Resurrector;
Glorious Witness.

Powerful Truth, Trustee;
Commendable Friend, Life-giving Enumerator;
Praiseworthy Creator, Restorer.

Life-giver, Death giver; Ever-living, Self-sustaining;
Perfect; Unique, Illustrious Finder;
Capable; Able.

First Expediter, Last Deferrer;
Apparent Master, The Veiled Most-High;
Relenting and Pious.

Indulgent Avenger, Generous Ruler of the Kingdom;
Just Pardoner, Rich, Gathering Bestower;
Supporter.

Afflicter, Benefactor, Wonderful Guiding Light;
Patient Inheritor, Incomparable Eternal Consciousness.

December!

For the love of Yahweh, it is already December. That's actually good, making it all the sooner I will be leaving Babylon and returning to a more civilized place where the preferred method of civil disobedience is public drunken nudity rather than beheading. I may consider engaging in some drunken public nudity myself. My firm doesn't look kindly on that, but they try to make us all wear the same earth-tones outfits as well, and they do nothing for my hips.

On the lighter side, I got some new comic books in the mail today, and they are good. I also recently re-reread the first three volumes of the collected "Powers" series by Bendis and Oeming. I never fail to be blown away by their ability to tell some pretty devastatingly emotional tales with artwork that is stylistically reminiscent of the "DC Adventures" comics. I don't think anyone can deny the impact of Olympia's wife's reaction to his public death and the revelations that he had taken comfort from hundreds of groupies. I think they go five or six pages with no dialogue, and it is great.

Finished a horribly disappointing book- Jonathan Carrol's "White Apples." He excelled at creating truly weird moments, but just couldn't bring it all together in the end. His God-concept is pretty good though, as much as the story goes nowhere. Maybe I just didn't get it, but I really was left with the feeling there was nothing to get.

Watched a really fascinating movie recently; "Return to Oz." now, this is a movie that was lambasted when it came out, I'm sure because it is far more true to the source material than magnesia classic ever thought of being. Sure, who doesn't love Judy singing "Over the Rainbow?" This is a different type of trip though. Notably, it is Fairuza Balk's first film, as a more age appropriate Dorothy. The film also involves serial decapitation, electro-shock therapy, inanimate objects brought to life, people turning to sand, and the only villains in movie history as creepy as Flying monkeys, the Wheelers. It's really a well made film though, with Jim Henson's shop working overtime on the animatronics, Will Vinton's claymation, and some great imagery that didn't rely on computer effects to make a movie. Don't expect musical goodness, but it is well worth checking out. I don't think you can play "Dark Side of the Moon" along with it though...

I'll tell you what else I have to talk about- William Shatner's "Has Been" album. Now, one could probably argue this is a Ben Folds album with Shatner narrating, but the damn thing is bloody brilliant. I defy anyone to find a better study on classism than "Common People" or anything more chilling than Shatner confronting his deceased wife in "What Have You Done?"

Arrogance. We The People of the United States are full of it. In a lot of ways, we kinda earn that right. For all our troubles and blemishes, the vast majority of our country lives in safety and health, and does not go to bed hungry. Our poorest are better off than most of the planet (if you have ten bucks in your pocket, you have more money than some 75% of the worlds population). We are so good in so many ways, but we let that go to our heads. We enjoy freedom and our Republic, and we believe everyone else must want what we have right? A lot do- but not everyone. Not everyone knows what it means. Not everyone knows that with freedom comes responsibility. You have to be involved for freedom to work, you have to be accountable for freedom to work. We cannot expect people to have never had the right to think for themselves to do it right overnight. We have to teach them (or not push ourselves in them in the first place, and let them earn freedom like we did...).

I don't know what all these subjects in this post have to do with one another, but they are all in my head. Maybe it is the approaching Babylonian winter, or the spring that will (hopefully) take me home, but my mind's a scramble right now. It is a swirl of the inane and the severe, the important, and the really-way-not-important.

A beautiful woman sent me pictures of herself today. That made me happier than my comics.

Holiday in Babylon

Recently, there was a traditional American holiday celebrated by my fellow inmates; Thanksgiving. You may ask what people of my persuasion do to celebrate such a day in Babylon, and for that matter, what exactly there is to be thankful for. I may answer...

I received a box of Christmas decorations from my Ultra-Conservative Aunt (UCA from here on out). UCA means well, and did send some fun decorations so we decided we were going to take the common area, and for Thanksgiving put up the Christmas decorations. Now, we are a diverse bunch here holding down the fort in Babylon: we've got Christians, Muslims, a former Druid, some I don't knows, a Mystic Humanist, and me, the ChristoJewiTaoBuddIslamic who'll celebrate pretty much anything. Realize also, that we hadn't taken down the Halloween decorations that the Lady Jennifer had sent our way- and we decided not too. The Christmas decorations went right over them. Colored lights now run along a row of paper bats, our hanging ghost is wearing reindeer antlers, and our over-the-door pumpkins are now holding the mistletoe (appropriately enough I kissed our former Druid under said religion's contribution to Christmas- he's a nice man though and did not try to slip me the tongue, quite a gentleman).

Once the decorating and frolicking was done, we made our way to what our Father's called a "mess hall," but my firm now haughtily refers to it as a "Dining Facility." We grabbed food, and I must say the spread was none too bad. Had all the traditionals, and the guy in charge with all the silver on his hat went around shaking hands. We brought our food back to the common area we had decorated. Candles were lit, we said a prayer, and enjoyed each other's company for a while before going back to work.

So what were we thankful for? Being alive was a good start. Having all of us there and not mourning a friend was good. Hopefully we'll be going home soon. Hopefully our Nation will exercise some more common sense (as opposed to exorcising it) and not create another fiasco like this one. That would be something to be thankful for.

Am I bitter? A bit, but I do my duty. "All enemies foreign and domestic" and all- which am I fighting in Babylon?

Randomly listed things I really like.

Mexican food.

TV shows with Vampires, robots, or spies trapped in strange villages they can't get out of.

Action figures with more than 10 points of articulation.

William Shatner's "Has Been" album.

Lying under the covers on a cold morning and blowing off work.

Where her shoulder meets her neck.

Monsoon season in Arizona.

PJ O'Roarke talking about politics.

Movies about baseball (though I hate baseball- ironic, isn't it?).

People who can admit they're wrong.

Not having to admit I was wrong.

When she comes in from the snow outside and you can smell the cold on her skin.

Books and movies I have to take in a couple of times to "get."

Princess Leia in the steel bikini.

God letting you know They're there.

Chihuahuas.

Big, gay musicals.

Godzilla movies.

Babylonians who don't want me to blow up.

Comic books.

Chuck Palhaniuk books.

The Oedipus Cycle.

Being alone- but not too alone.

Dogs.

Old locomotive engines.

Cats.

Anahiem chilis.

Adjectives.

Self-indulgent blogs.

What's in a name? Plenty...

Whew, been pretty serious here lately, and I think I need to lighten up. Though it would seem our ticket is marked destination: Armageddon, that doesn't mean you have to spend all your time worked up about it. Got to relax, got to think about the good things. I think if we all did that a little more often, not only would The End seem less imminent, it might actually be pushed off some.

But again, I am not here to talk about the imminentization of the eschaton! I am here to talk about a name. It's a lovely name, and in my opinion the single sexiest name in the English language:

Jennifer.

Let me say up front that I have a certain bias- I've been rather fond of a few Jennifers in my lifetime; most importantly, my sole chosen life-mate and partner for the rest of my time converting oxygen into carbon dioxide (and might I hope for beyond?) is named Jennifer. Just consider, however, this name and its variants. "Jennifer" itself has three syllables that manage to roll off the tongue in so many ways. Called across a field, its three vowels will carry it through the strongest wind. In a whisper, minor fluctuations in the hardness of the "J" can render it an impassioned plea, or a tender verbal caress. And in the Little Death, it can be a pleasure/pain expression worthy of the Song of Solomon or Ravel's Bolero.

As "Jenny," it can evoke a personality to challenge Nabokov's Lolita in mixed signals, or can be the perfectly innocent name of the girl next door who is not at all "that type." Jenny, Jenny, who can I run to?

As "Jenna" it can bring thoughts of an icon of our current culture's sexuality, and give "just Jennifer" the mystique of someone far more dangerous to your good social sense.

As "Jen" there is the friend, the buddy, the person you laugh with. Jen is affable and straightforward and practical- but there's still that Jennifer (or maybe that Jenna) there, waiting for her turn.

Jennifer. Say it with me now folks; "Jennifer." Close your eyes, hold it in your head and let it come out the mouth: Jennifer. It gets no lovelier than that. If you're lucky enough to know a Jennifer, find a way to tell her you know you're lucky. Maybe Jen will give you a smile; maybe Jenny will giggle a bit; maybe she'll introduce you to Jenna...

Would you look at that...

Well, we went and did it. GW is back in for four more. The only good news here is we don't have to listen to John Kerry for a while. It will be interesting to see if this means we are looking at another four years of half-assed imperialism, if we're going to back off and play nice while cleaning up the mess of the first four years, or if we'll throw off the sheep's clothing and have four years of real imperialism. The American Empire isn't so bad an idea necessarily, but there's a few things we need. One, we'll need a much bigger Army- hell, we need a bigger Army just to maintain our current level of meddling. Two, we need to actually wipe out a few cities in the next country-that-will-become-an-American-province. The reason I still have Babylonian mortars and rockets falling on my head while I'm trying to sleep is because we didn't secure this country with an iron fist. If we're going to stick our nose (or tank barrel) in another country's rhubarb, we need to actually take over that country! Otherwise you're again looking at more post-victory deaths than war time ones.

Am I supporting the idea of America shoving our brand of pseudo-democracy up the world's collective rectum at every opportunity? No. But I wish the Powers That Be would understand that is what they are doing, and act accordingly. There are no friendly Empires- that way lies a fallen Republic.


So that brings up another issue. Here we've got this Government thing, and this time we actually had decent voter turn out. Guess what lads and lasses: it doesn't end there. Civic responsibility starts in the voting booth. From there are the petitions, e-mails, phone calls, and general bothersome contacts to make sure your elected representative knows what his or her boss (that's you, tiger) wants them to do. You see, a Republic like ours is a lot like a puppy. If you don't teach it what you want it to do it goes wild and ends up peeing on your rug. Of course, this puddle looks a lot like higher taxes and more Federal meddling into how you want to live your life. I beseech thee- once a year drop a letter to your congressional folks. Even if you like what they're doing, let them know you are paying attention. Remember, Tommy Jefferson wants us to have a government by us, for us, and of us. Let's keep it that way.