"Close watch on this heart of mine..."

Just saw Walk the Line with Elise. I'm not going to say "Johnny Cash is God," but I'll admit that I'm tempted. Actually, he was perfectly horrendous in his early career (as were most in Rock & Roll history). Still I've got a soft spot for him in spite of (or perhaps because of) his appalling behaviour. But whatever he was like, the movie was quite good. I was in love the whole time. Everyone must see this movie, at the movie theatre, if possible.

I'm going to be listening to a lot of Johnny Cash in the coming days.

Somehow related to Christmas

I discovered this article on the Village Voice website. The article, "Searching for Bush's Jesus", is a curious and thought-provoking one. Tell me what you think. Check out the website sometime. The Village Voice is a rag from Greenwich Village, NY. Check it out for the liberal in you. Or, conversely, for the conservative in you find something to react against. I love discussion. One way or the other.

To y'all.

Merry Christmas to y'all! And to y'all a happy new year!

And, now, for a more serious message:

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

Inspired.

I found that "kitsch" article at this website called Ship of Fools. After perusing it, I thought it belonged on my list of "Places to Go" right below "Lark News." Check out the "Fruitcake" section, as well as the "Gadgets for God."

Kitschmas.

I read this article in the "Controversy" section of the Sunday Chicago Sun-Times. I was surprised to see such a ruthlessly Orthodox-sounding write-up about Christmas in a widely-read newspaper. Incidentally, it is by an Anglican minister who teaches philosophy at Oxford. Click the title here, "The Unbearable Kitschness of Christmas", to read it en toto. You'll be glad you did. Here's a snippet of it to wet your palate:

For the second century Gnostic, Valentinius, Jesus "ate and drank but did not defecate"....The Jesus of Valentinius is thus the kitsch Jesus. And it's this same kitsch Jesus of sentimental benevolence that features in countless Christmas cards and community carol services. The baby in the manger now presides over a celebration of feel-good bonhomie that makes the true meaning of Christmas almost impossible to articulate. Boozed-up partygoers and proud grandparents demand the unreality of "O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie".

TV.

Check out my tasty little quote down at the very bottom of this page. I'll change it every now and again. Please comment, criticize, etc. I'll write more about it (Linford who?) later.

And now: we are without him.

I back-posted a little vignette I wrote back in August. I don't know if anyone read it, but I'm now posting it current so you can all read about him.

His name was Clem Hamilton. He was 83. Not really the "old and decrepit" type, but definitely at the end of his years (that much is obvious now). His wife is probably still in a nursing home for her debilitating Alzheimer's disease. Will she know the man whose funeral she is attending tonight? I will see. I hope to go tonight.

I only knew him through casual, yet sincere and serious, conversations while working at Starbucks. He was a regular. Took the bus (he lived in town, his wife near, but not near enough to walk in his aged state). Got coffee. Usually got a donut or oatmeal raising cookie. Somehow he got hooked on our green frappuccino, that Green Tea one that came out this past summer. Maybe that killed him. Maybe the coffee. Probably not, though.

He told me, upon several occassions and my wife upon one, that he had a whole list a books he wanted to read before he died. My wife had the privilege of viewing it and remarked that the ones he had already read were so dark and depressing (but then, most good literature is). His most favorite book, I do believe, was Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse. He claimed it was "the most perfect book ever written".

I guess he died in his sleep. I was quite shocked to hear that he had died. I was angry, upset, to say the least. I didn't cry, but I was, and still am, deeply sad. I saw him sporadically, but was always glad when I did. Unfortunately, being on the clock, I was not at liberty to engage in long conversations. If I knew he was going to die, I guess I would have acted differently. But do we ever have a premonition of someone's death (except in the case of terminal illness, naturally)? I am glad to have had a particular interaction with him, which I wrote about later that day. The vignette is in the post below.

One last comment: Let us pray for his soul. His name was Clem Hamilton. May the Lord have mercy upon him. You are worthy, O God, now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Clement's Resolve

‘John Bayley?’
‘Elegy for Iris’ says the old man.
‘A novel or non-fiction?’
‘It’s a memoir about a woman who died of Alzheimer’s.’
The young man stops his questioning for a few seconds to recall the fact that the old man’s wife is in a nursing home for the same disease.
‘I just hope that if it ever happens to me I’ll have the good sense to blow my brains out,’ continues the old man during the short pause. The young man gives a cute and awkward smirk and the two walk towards the front of the coffee shop.
‘I’m serious,’ comes the old man’s straight conversation closer.
The two break off, the old man complimenting a young lady on having a Macintosh laptop. The young man leaves the shop, gets on his bike and rides home.
‘I didn’t smirk because I thought he was joking, and it wasn’t so much because it was an awkward statement,’ says the young man in his head, ‘It was more because I agree with him and appreciate his honesty.’
The young man knows the old man to be the plain honest type. His favorite novels include Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Andersen and To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. He wants to publish a novel he himself has written called Trotville, Ohio. The young man has the first two chapters in his possession and is reminded to finish the second chapter and return them next time he sees the old man come into the coffee shop. He knows that the old man gets up quite early every morning to get coffee in his travel mug and catch the bus to the nursing home to see his ailing wife, whom he has loved over fifty years. He used to write sports journalism in Dayton, Ohio. He has been a Mac lover since Apple II, one of the first personal computers made by Macintosh back in the early eighties. He wants to blow his brains out if he gets Alzheimer’s. This is the short list of facts the young man has compiled about the old man.

The young man, on the other hand, knows no facts about himself.

Frigid.

This morning driving to work the bank's digital time and temperature display said it was 4 degrees. Some kids at school said that it was 9 below. Our Norther Neighbors, 4 degrees is like 16 below.

I can't believe it. But with sun and no wind, somehow it is bearable.

The weather is as cold and bleak as my emotions these days.

-=o0o=-

I finished Lies (And the Lying Liars Who Tell Them): A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right by Al Franken. Totally compelling and entertaining -- and, at times, irreverant -- to the very end. It is interesting to note, as I mentioned in my last post, that it was a local Catholic high school that led me to read the book. I saw it on the shelf in the history class I was substituting that day. From the moment I started reading it, I was drawn in. I read at every chance I got. When I left that day and had to leave it behind, I was determined to get it at the library. That was last Thursday, less than a week ago. So I read the book fast. But then, books that are so-called "page-turners" are not necessarily the greatest writing out there, just written in such a fashion as to draw you in. Another book that falls in this category is Harry Potter. I've been reading the second book in fits and spurts over the past couple days. I read the first over a year ago and declared that I would not read another one.

I have not idea what I am saying by all of this and I've probably lost most of you. Oh well. I'll write about Clem now.

Adieu.

A li'l footnote.

Today while substituting a U.S. History class at the local Catholic College Preparatory High School, I came across Al Franken's Lies, and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them, which, by the way, I first saw in the airport bookstore a few years ago (which was during a time when I wasn't allowed to even have the appearance of having liberal leanings).

Anyway, I picked it up and read it. I was so obsessed with it that I even checked it out from the library as they were closing tonight. Perhaps my favorite part, so far for I've read perhaps only a fourth of it, is a graphic novel-esque story called "The Gospel of Supply Side Jesus." It is quite savvy and witty and fairly frightening. I'm sure our Northern Neighbors would especially appreciate it.

Check it out.

A rock genius in the making.

Cheryl asked (in a comment on the post "Cheap Entertainment") if Jude is as musical as ever. That is a resounding Yes! But what's funnier and cooler is that he'll pretend to not only put on a concert, but even have a recording set-up to record it all (and he seems more concerned with how it will be recorded than with the actual composition of the song). His mikes and guitars are the rolls of wrapping paper Elise brought home from Ikea. The recording equipment is the many spools of thread necessary for Elise's serger.

He's a funny kid. He was walking through Ikea with Elise and naming the artist of the particular song playing over the speakers. "That's Coldplay... U2... Moby." Now you know what music he likes. I don't know if he'll ever get any kind of classical music education, but he'll certainly know the ropes when it comes to rock'n'roll.

A little noise.

Yeah, good old Sufjan (pronounced "Soof-yahn" by the way) is basically rocking the world of folk and indie rock in one fell swoop. He's even captured the heart of my original source of good music, Andy W. (Elise's brother-in-law). Andy is a hard-sell for artists like Sufjan, but when he titles his latest album after your home state, what can you do?

I was at Hope as a freshman while Sufjan was a senior. He was in a band called Marzuki which I saw a couple times and really liked. Who knew that he'd be the biggest thing since Simon & Garfunkel? (Okay, that is perhaps a bit of an exaggeration.)