BoldUlysses.com

I love the library. Love, love, love it. I want my kids to know their local library inside and out (and possibly the county library too–any number of branches will do). Every time I visit I’m impressed with the fact that it’s like a home: Every wall has some kind of item or decoration on it; time and care have obviously gone into the place, like the schoolroom of a good elementary school teacher. Granted, much of it is chintzy and slightly tacky, but show me a home in America that doesn’t have at least one element of mismatched décor or some out-of-place looking heirloom on the mantlepiece. It makes the place seem lived-in, gives it a warmth, a patina that just draws me in. There aren’t many public projects I’d willing pay taxes to fund, but a well-kept public library is one of them.

I think a lot of my deep-seated attraction for the place stems from my many Saturday visits to the Durham County Public Library as a pre-teen. My mom was involved in the adult education program and was teaching a local man to read; their sessions were every Saturday morning. I tagged along and in the process, became very familiar with that place—the young adult non-fiction, the adult non-fiction, the reference area, the microfiche desk, the periodicals… I just loved being there, and I want my kids to feel a measure of that in relation to their local library.

Watched and greatly enjoyed Serenity last night. I’d watch the series but Tom from my Tuesday morning men’s group saw a few episodes and cautioned me there are some unsavory moments in it, things I’d rather avoid. The movie, ironically (since TV shows are usually tamer than their film adaptations), was pretty clean.

I won’t go into a plot exposition, but only point out that it’s a kind of a sci-fi/western hybrid with excellent characterizations and fresh, witty dialogue. The way the characters are portrayed is especially good—they’re given smart exchanges that allow them to feel like more than just two-dimensional cardboard cutouts. Not only that, their interpersonal chemistry is palpable and rounds them out further; it makes you care about them and gives an emotional backbone to the action scenes.

I couldn’t help noticing a marked contrast between the film and the steamroller sci-fi franchise of the past 15 years or so: The Star Wars prequel trilogy. The comparison is especially apt given that Serenity and Revenge of the Sith came out roughly at the same time. Everything the Star Wars movies did wrong, Serenity does right. I could go on for ages, but I’ll just point out a few of the contrasting elements:

• Instead of just cramming as much sci-fi garbage as they could on the screen, Serenity focuses on story, dialogue and character development, connecting you to the sense of urgency the characters feel and giving a strong emotional center to the action scenes in spite of the fact that there isn’t nearly as much crap going on as there is in the Lucas films.
• The dialogue and acting in Serenity is exponentially better than in Star Wars. This is no difficult achievement given how utterly, mind-bogglingly terrible those elements were in the prequel trilogy. And not only do they stand out in comparison to the Star Wars prequels, the dialogue and acting actually shine in comparison to good films of any genre—there’s a crispness to the words and the inflection with which they’re delivered that keeps you engaged and interested on many levels.

In addition to the Star Wars smackdown, there are some other noteworthy aspects to Serenity:

Though he’s not the first to present a less-than-polished vision of the future (in contrast to the Star Trek universe, where “war, poverty and disease have disappeared”), I admire how forthcoming Joss Whedon is about the worldview reflected in his film:

“…nothing will change in the future: technology will advance, but we will still have the same political, moral, and ethical problems as today.”

I know it’s implied in many other sci-fi works (take the rough-and-tumble neo-noir dystopian vision of Blade Runner, for example); I guess I just admire Whedon for being so explicit about the take on human nature that informed his screenwriting and directing.

One more thing about the film: I also couldn’t help noticing the parallels to Cowboy Bebop:

• The rag-tag group of mercenaries with nothing binding them together except their own fickle loyalties
• The disgrunted yet charismatic “leader” driven by a certain philosophy/outlook on life
• And even the synthesis of a future universe with iconic 19th- and 20th-century elements.

All in all, Serenity is a great film. It’s in my sci fi top-five for sure. Two thumbs up.

Yet again, in the interest of posting more frequently (and not having anything particularly compelling to discuss today), here are some of my driving habits/quirks:

• In order to maximize current to the starter motor and minimize initial load on the engine, all accessories, including A/C, are always turned off when I start the car. My only concession on this point is that I do put my foot on the brake pedal, even though I know electricity going to the brake lights is unavailable to turn the starter. Only after the car has “cleared its throat,” so to speak, by running for half a minute or so, do I turn on accessories like the A/C, stereo, headlights or defrost.
• I only turn on the A/C if I either:
  1. Have other people in the car, or
  2. It’s absolutely, unbearably hot outside.
  The A/C imposes an extra load on the engine, disconnects and isolates me somewhat from the immediate, tangible outside environment that affects my driving and it introduces extra heat to the engine bay through the condenser, further reducing efficiency. Not worth it except in the most extreme cases.
• I hate long keychains flopping around while I drive. My keychains always detach so that only the car key and (possibly) the keyfob are dangling from the ignition.
• Everything must be buttoned down or tucked away in the car. Nothing loose. I want to put the car on like an article of clothing, and I want it to feel like an extension of my body–it just makes me feel more alert and in control, and thus a better driver.
• I always try to heel-and-toe and rev match when downshifting on a manual transmission car. This is (arguably) a bit harder on the clutch, but much easier on the transmission, and given the choice I’d much rather replace a clutch rather than a tranny. Besides, heel-and-toeing makes for a very smooth drive if done properly, and performing it well is very satisfying. I will say, though, that the mushy brake pedal on the E34 doesn’t make it as easy as it was in the E24. I think the brakes could use a good bleed.
• Despite my long limbs, I actually like to drive close to the steering wheel and pedals. The effort required to hold up my arms increases with the length of the “lever arm” when they’re extended, so it’s easier to drive up close. Not only that, but my first car (Twinkie) was very small and had very limited adjustability from the driver’s seat, so I drove for years in the “bent arms, legs splayed about the steering wheel” position. Guess I got used to it.
• My only major concession to James May-ish-ness, all vents must be aligned and in the center of their respective ranges of travel.
• Finally, I always use the handbrake when parked. It’s there for a reason!

Luke and Pen are both under the weather today. Luke in particular seems to be feeling it (though he’s always in denial about his illnesses)–he’s running at about 60%-75%, I’d say. We went through our normal evening routine (take out trash, take out Maple, check mail, climb on the rocks) and he was well-nigh mute the whole way, totally focused on making through his evening routine at any cost.

Just like everywhere else we’ve lived, he and I go on walks, and inevitably half a dozen or so of the landmarks we encounter become “stations” we use to describe our route, and that we focus on. Setting off on a walk, we’ve had many exchanges of this nature:

Luke: “Daddy, are we going to go by the Regular Wheat and the Rocks today?”
Me: “Yes, and we’ll see the No-Mailboxes, the Fancy Wheat and the Gazebo too.”

“The Rocks” has become one destination we visit more regularly than the others. During the construction of the apartment complex, some earthmoving machines deposited a pile of sizable rocks and boulders at the end of one of the parking lots, and Luke’s favorite activity any given walk is to climb all over them. We actually call them “the Himalayas” and we’ve named a few in particular–there’s K2, Nanga Parbat and of course, Mount Everest. Our visits to the Rocks always culminate with his ascent of Mount Everest and subsequent jump down while holding my hand. Lately, we’ve actually named the “faces” of Mount Everest; today, for instance, he scaled the “north face” before jumping down. We have a good time.

The joy of parenting reared its ugly head again this evening… Dinner was done, yesterday was payday and it was time for the weekly shopping trip. Diane hadn’t been feeling well all day so Luke and I made the trek to Wal-Mart, (extensive) list in hand.

It’s not like we hadn’t done it before–Luke is actually really good in stores, very patient, chatty, friendly and all the rest. We’d even made at least one, possibly two, lengthy trips to Wal-Mart before with the intent of making good progress in acquiring the week’s necessities. So it’s not like it was uncharted territory.

Luke’s in a funny place as far as his development is concerned. As soon as I say that, though, I have to swiftly amend my statement to disclaim that Luke is a unique boy in many (most?) aspects of his development: far ahead in some areas, significantly behind in others. He’s never had a problem acclimating himself to new groups of people; case in point: When we were visiting churches, I’d just drop him off in Sunday School each different church and he didn’t show any uneasiness in just sauntering into the classroom and making himself at home. These days he’s friendly to a fault. He offers a cheery “Hello!” to anyone within earshot (and often yells it when they’re some distance away), usually followed up with some chipper comment about his age or our activities, i.e. “I’m six years old!” or “We’re taking the trash out!” It’s cute and I encourage his friendliness, within the boundaries of social norms and conventions, but just knowing him as we do, it’s a fragment of an overall picture of a boy who’s not overly concerned by how others perceive him.

In the grand scheme of things, this is good; however, a knowledge of how one comes across is often very helpful in many ways, a few of which are empathizing with others (an area in which he lags) and grasping the principles behind social conventions without having to have each one explained in exhaustive detail–and even then it’s a toss-up as to whether he gets it.

What does this have to do with our trip to Wal-Mart today, you ask? About halfway through our trip, fortunately in a near-deserted aisle, Luke pinched his finger very mildly between two portions of the cart’s structure. His response was a blood-curdling yell, subsequent yells, thrashing about, hitting everything in sight and general pandemonium. I contained the situation as best I could and once again explained that getting hurt wasn’t a no-no, but not being self-controlled was. I held him as he wound down, deposited him back in the cart and we continued shopping. Needless to say, though, I was rattled for at least 20 minutes, possibly more, as we wrapped up our trip.

I know every kid has to learn that yelling at the top of his lungs in a crowded space will inevitably bother those around him. Maybe Luke is on track compared to other kids in his apprehension of that reality. I guess it just seems like at 6 years old he should have gotten it by now. Tantrums are more characteristic of the younger set, kids Penelope’s age and the like. Prayers appreciated for wisdom in knowing how to teach Luke to temper his emotional outbursts, communicate through them and bring them under control.

In other situations, say, when we know we’ll have to turn a request of his down and there could be some back-talk, it’s easier for us as parents to anticipate the outburst and “prep” him, i.e. “Luke, Daddy’s going to tell you something and you need to choose what kind of attitude you’re going to have when Daddy tells you. If you show Daddy you have a bad attitude, there will be consequences. Now, what kind of attitude are you going to have?” He’ll answer “A good one,” and then we’ll continue with the conversation. He generally does very well when prepped, but how do you prep a kid to control his response when he gets hurt? There’s no way to step in between the event and the outburst, so the best you can do is stay engaged and try to prep him in a situation where he might possibly hurt himself, like before a meal where the food being served is hot and he might burn his mouth. An explanation of the possible incident and the consequences of certain responses is about all we have in that scenario.

So it’s tricky. Again, prayers appreciated. Kids are a magnificent challenge, all the time.

Finally sold the E24 a few weeks ago. I’d been on the fence about selling it for a while, and gone back and forth more than enough times to make Diane uncomfortable about the stability of my intentions with respect to the car, but finally, firmly decided to sell it.

Why? For the reasons enumerated here, along with a few extras:

• Diane’s always hated the car’s color (white), and even I would concede it didn’t flatter the car’s lines,
• Something with four doors is vastly easier to get the kids into (the 6er had two),
• The E24 would have been very difficult to teach Diane how to drive, being a particularly finicky manual,
• I was absolutely paranoid all winter every time I had to drive the car through the salty slush–the BMW rustproofing of that era was notoriously bad, and
• It required too much cash to be brought up to a level where I felt like it looked acceptable visually. It was the kind of car that was so good-looking that you were doubly motivated to spend money to get it “all the way there,” so to speak. Less attractive cars can “stop” in a less demanding visual state.

I was all set to trade it for an Audi 200, but the would-be seller lost interest. After a few weeks of poking around, the net result of the car wrangling is detailed here. It’s a perfect car for us–stickshift and RWD to satisfy my “needs” as an enthusiast, much better rustproofing, four doors, less tempting to “improve” mechanically and cosmetically, and Diane loves the color and the shape. It worked out really well, and I’m grateful to my parents for setting us up with the opportunity to get it.

However, my enthusiasm for the car is tempered by the fact that it’s not quite as classic, not quite as “interesting” as the E24. I think this is a good thing–my time spent thinking about the older car was approaching excessive levels in those last few months. I’ve been a car buff for years and years; I know how my emotions respond to these things, and I should have known better–I should have known how wrapped up I would get in the car and staved things off from the beginning by getting a different car or, heaven forbid, keeping the one we had at the time. I made a bad decision, and I own that. Doesn’t lessen my gratitude for how well things turned out. I certainly didn’t deserve for them to.

A side effect of all this, combined with my “rediscovery” of my journal and rereading past entries, is that my emotional desire to pursue a specific interest has been blown wide open again. During the past nine months (the span of ownership of the E24), my emotional focus was “dialed in” to the car and my attention to other spheres of interest faded proportionally. But now I’m all over the map again as far as my feelings as concerned. The funny thing is, I don’t feel unstable or unpredictable. The insecurity I used to feel when I thought about how strongly I felt about so many interests that often seemed to pull me in mutually-exclusive directions is gone. I just feel liberated. I feel like my life has been greatly simplified, and if you know me at all you know that I love the scope of my life in any given moment to be simple–even though it rarely is.

Where to go from here? The Lord knows. We’ve got a plan to purchase a house early next year, send the kids to school and invest in our church and community. What happens in the periphery only time will tell.

It’s hard to believe I’ve seen OtR in concert. For a band whose songs have intersected with my life at so many key moments over the past decade or so, to have seen them, living, breathing, singing, playing not 20 feet away was positively transcendent. We’d been trying to see them for some time now, and circumstances finally aligned so that we were able to go to a show close to Valentine’s Day. The set was all too short, and they only did one encore, but brief as it was it exceeded my (admittedly lofty) expectations. They sang a mixture of old and new stuff, with 3 or 4 brand-new songs mixed in, songs I can’t wait to hear on their upcoming album. Bands who play unreleased stuff at shows have the potential to shoot themselves in the foot if casual listeners tune out songs they’re unfamiliar with, but in this case I can’t imagine anyone in the room, even those who hadn’t heard a single OtR song but were dragged to the show by their dates, would have minded if the band decided to play a whole set full of new songs. Perfect. Karin’s voice was the definition of flawless and Linford lost himself in baroque stories between songs. I want to see them again.

Charlie sent me a trailer for this movie over lunch today. He’s a Beatles fan, like me, and thought I’d find it interesting. I do, and the film looks promising (Kristin Scott Thomas in particular is always good), but it touches on a perennial annoyance of mine about the Beatles, and specifically John Lennon fandom. I appreciate the fact that he was incredibly talented musically–he was witty and deft and crafted some of the best music ever–but the bottom line is that personally, he was a jerk. Just utterly devoid of character, and not just during the Ono years. His attitude toward the women in his life was appalling and he was callous, vindictive and nihilistic in his personal philosophy, regardless of how people try to spin “Imagine.” I guess it just bothers me that he seems to be the one the most press and artistic attention is lavished upon, since he’s the most “interesting” personality in the band, not to mention the fact he died early and acquired, as all celebrities in that situation do, something of a mythic status, a la James Dean, Heath Ledger, River Phoenix, Elliott Smith, Michael Hutchence, Keith Moon, John Bonham, etc. As far as Lennon is concerned, is it possible to give his music its due without glorifying the man behind it? Probably not, and that’s depressing.

I’ve got to start posting more often. On a whim, I reread some entries from a few years ago, and the emotion from those times in my life wasn’t the only thing that returned around the framework of the words–I remembered how invigorating it was to write, to sit at the keyboard, close my eyes and just let the words come out; to craft and arrange them, to mold and shape paragraphs and clauses so they would project the exact forms and structures I intended in my own mind… I haven’t disappeared from the online world entirely, but I didn’t realize how my recent “exile” in forums and on Twitter felt stunted in comparison with the élan of writing longer posts. Rereading the entries was the bucket of icy water that reminded me of how much I was missing by not investing in my blog.

And yet, every time I sit down to write, the immediacy of the day’s events crowds around and chokes off any hope of breaking through to something that would represent what I really want to write. As soon as I say that, though, I remember my two-month stint of furious blogging a year and a half ago, and how it took me several posts to reach the point where I felt more unencumbered–I think the same pattern applies here. So I’ll just have to stick it out.

…none of which is to say there’s something inherently less or unworthy about writing about the day’s events–those things have their place. Each function of a blog is satisfying in its own way.

For now, though, just a snapshot: I’m sitting in the darkened room of our new apartment typing away. Diane’s asleep on the bed behind me; she’s exhausted after a long day and series of nights battling insomnia. The fan makes the nightly racket on the shelf next to her. Work has been busier than usual, the dust continues to settle around our church situation and the kids grow and grow. Luke got a bike for his 6th birthday recently and we’ve been on a few bike rides. He’s getting the hang of it, slowly. Realizing he could control his own speed, to a degree, by pedaling backward was a revelation to him. He’s a cautious boy and hasn’t trundled along at any speed faster than a slow walk. He’ll loosen up in time; I’m not concerned. Penelope is more lovely every day, but needs to be potty trained, badly. Diane and I are tired of diapers and their attendant rashes and messes. It’s time.

More to come. I need this.

I’m excited about dinner tonight: We’re going to the West End Cafe, the location of our first one-on-one date. We’d gone to Moe’s and then Tanglewood the week prior, but that was the three of us: Diane, Luke and myself. The West End date was just Diane and me, all the way back in the spring of ’06. It doesn’t seem that long ago when you just compare the two numbers (2006 vs. 2010) in your head, but 10, 20, 30 years down the road, Lord willing, it’ll seem like ages. I want that perspective, even if it means the end of our time together here on earth will be drawing shorter.

A friend of hers ran across some old pictures of her yesterday, and sent them to her. She shared them with me. Even now I have trouble describing the emotions that run through me when I look at them–something I could do for ages, incidentally. I told her last night that I wished I had known her then, but that at same time, we were dramatically different people, and probably wouldn’t have tolerated, let alone liked each other then (though I’m certain I’d have been captivated by her smile). I would have been a deathly bore to her, stodgy and unappealing, and she would have been the unattainable beauty to me, flighty, popular and gregarious but utterly inaccessible. I remember girls with a measure of those qualities back in my college (and after) days, but no one with the convergence of features she has. It’s a fair bet I would have been pretty far gone.

I look at the pictures and I want to know her. The greatest drive in my life, other than those directed toward the Lord, is to love her and to know her, a drive that extends backward into the past and forward into the future. My own memories are so significant to me that it hurts to know there are places in her past that are unilluminated–and I know full well that some will always remain that way.

The present is the tip of the iceberg. I see us as we move through time, standing on the tip of an unspeakably massive pyramid of experiences. I want to step back, back, back until I can see it all at once, even if my eyes can only focus on particular details, and even if I’m overwhelmed, bowled over, floored by the vista of her that spreads out before me like the sky full of stars on a dark night. I want the impression of the whole–that knowledge. I’ve always wanted that.

On the subject of pictures, from March 23, 2006:

We traded pictures today. I made her a small folder on my webspace where I consolidated (the few) pictures of me where I felt I was reasonably photogenic. I signed on AIM later and she sent me some of her. The overwhelming thought in my mind as one after another came through onto my screen was, “YES.” Yes that I wanted this, that I wanted her. Yes that it is a face, such a face, that I could look at for a long, long time. And yes that I cannot believe how fortunate I am to be accepted by such beauty. It makes the experience more tenuous (since I feel like I have less than ever to recommend myself to her) and more wonderful at the same time. I won’t share all of them with you, but it was interesting to almost experience a different moment, a new facet of her personality through the quality of each image.

I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Christmas has come and gone. I’m back to work tomorrow. It’s a quiet Sunday evening. Diane and I have resumed our Netflix subscription and are working our way through episodes of Cowboy Bebop—I’ve seen it; she hasn’t, but she’s enjoying it. Generally I’m a subtitle snob (foreign-language films must be viewed subtitled, not dubbed), but I tried the series dubbed and it’s not bad. Thinking about just watching it that way for the rest of the run. We’ll see.

I received a whole bunch of guitar-related stuff for Christmas: a “Beatles Fake Book,” a book of acoustic rock numbers, a songbook binder Diane made for me, a capo, some picks and a guitar cleaning kit. So I’m set there for a while. Making some progress, but not enough to keep it from being frequently frustrating. I bought a chord book with photographs of fingering, so I’m trying out some better ways to form “A” and “G” chords, and I think that’s part of what’s contributing to my lack of progress. I’m hopeful they’ll give me a good foundation going forward, though. No shortcuts.

Luke and Penelope like pretty much everything they got. Luke particularly loves the magnetic building set his Grandma got him (he likes to make pyramids and then step on them while we watch), a little motorized bug his Nana got him, Guess Who? and Frog and Toad’s Adventure Game (both board games), his McDuff books and of course his Little Einstein figurines. He really likes playing his Little Einstein piano, too. He turns a knob and it makes a funny noise and he looks at us to see if we’re smiling along with him. Penelope loves to sit on her Little Einstein car and press the buttons She got some stuffed animals, too, which she loves. They also got a bunch of stuff they need, clothes and whatnot, which they could care less about.

Last night my parents, Diane’s parents, my brother, his wife and daughter and our little family ate out at Arigato. It’s the third year in a row we’ve had a post-Christmas outing there, and it’s always fun. David and Rachel’s four-month-old daughter Catherine was along for the ride and a lot of fun. She’s beautiful and been a great sport over the course of the holidays and its hustle and bustle. I carried her around a good bit a week ago during a visit to my parents’ house, and it was the first time I felt like an uncle. Pretty special.

Yes folks, this man has won a Nobel Prize. Which is further proof (as if any was needed) that the award is absolutely useless as an indicator of actual merit:

Bear in mind also the lessons of history: social insurance programs tend to start out highly imperfect and incomplete, but get better and more comprehensive as the years go by. […] [Social Security] was improved over time, and it’s now the bedrock of retirement stability for the vast majority of Americans.

That’s the biggest load of garbage I’ve read in a long time. I’d like to put him in a room with Thomas Sowell for 15 minutes and see what happens. My hunch is that he’d reemerge a whimpering, sobbing shell of the man he used to be.

I don’t even know where to start. There are so many liberal euphemisms and redefinitions that it’s almost like all of those have to be cleared out before one can start dismantling the meat of the matter. Just to take the part I quoted, though—if this man had any grasp of actual history, he’d realize that every “social insurance program” has either failed spectacularly in the long run or has morphed and grown (Krugman: “[gotten] better and more comprehensive”) into either a welfare system that destroys personal initiative or some form of totalitarian state that realized that if a little control over people’s lives was nice, a lot was even better. I wonder if Soviet Russia would have defined any of their efforts as “social insurance programs.” It sounds like something we’d hear from the lips of Kim Jong-Il (whose country is neither democratic, nor of the people, nor a republic).

And if Social Security is “the bedrock of retirement stability for the vast majority of Americans,” we’re in serious trouble. Any individual (not just any economist) who has worked their way into at least the lower middle class has a pretty good notion that to rely on Social Security to provide for them in retirement would be the biggest mistake of their financial lives. The system’s going to go bankrupt in a matter of years, and even if it weren’t, the eventual payouts would generate the kind of standard of living that would make the Projects seem like luxury condos.

Unbelievable that this kind of tripe is allowed to be taken seriously in this country. The Gray Lady fell out of my good graces long ago, and this just reconfirms the status quo.

It’s about time, given that the plane’s rollout was over two years ago (7.8.07). Embarrassing, but a magnificent airplane nevertheless.

13 minutes of Thursday morning perfection: The Delphininum Days Mix of BT’s “Blue Skies.” Tori Amos on vocals. Excellent.

Finally finishing up Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy. It’s one of the best science-fiction books I’ve ever read—up there with Lewis and Herbert and Dick (I have yet to read Bradbury). The dialogue and characterizations are especially sharp and a real pleasure to read. I could make a long list of sci-fi franchises which have borrowed ideas and concepts from Asimov’s seminal work; indeed, the more I read the more I realize how the later sci-fi authors’ and directors’ main achievement was synthesizing ideas from works already published, not envisioning something new. I lose some respect for people like Gene Roddenberry and George Lucas when I learn how much they lifted from earlier work.

Without going into exhaustive detail about the general plot arc, one recent detail in the book has pleased me particularly. The names of Asimov’s characters in the book are never conventional given names like you would hear in real life. Salvor Hardin, Hober Mallow, and Ebling Mis are just a few (George Lucas mimicked this characteristic in the Star Wars universe). Recently Asimov introduced a new character: an intelligent, headstrong 14-year-old granddaughter of one of the book’s earlier heroes. Her name is Arcadia “Arkady” Darell. I can’t quite put my finger on the cause, but I love that first name: Arcadia. I told Diane about it and she loved it too. I think if we ever had another daughter “Arcadia” (or “Cady” for short, I suppose) would be on the short list for her name.

Overall, the Thanksgiving break was lovely. We visited my parents in Chapel Hill this year and enjoyed a relatively small dinner, with only Gran, my aunts Jeri and Cheryl in attendance in addition to our family and my parents. Turkey was great, as were the other dishes and especially the bean dip, something Diane prepared at my behest this year even though it’s not typically Thanksgiving-ish.

After we returned Saturday night, we went to see the drive-through Christmas light display at nearby Tanglewood Park. The lights themselves were extensive and gorgeous, as they have been the past two years we’ve been. However, Luke was in full-on brat mode and Penelope has the attention span of a mosquito (and was up past her bedtime besides), so from a parental perspective, the outing was, um, difficult. Pen is two and we can’t expect a whole lot from her given her age and the circumstances, but Luke’s a different story.

We recently checked out a book on manners from the library. It’s a little old for him, but it has cute illustrations of good and bad manners in various situations and I thought it would be good to get him acclimated with politeness and rudeness in everyday life. It didn’t turn out quite as well as I’d hoped, though—Luke is much more interested in acting out all the ways to be rude, rather than their counterparts. In other words, it gave him a truckload of new ways to test his parents and push the envelope. Kids really are naked, living proof of the desperate condition of the human heart without the Lord. Not only that, the current situation with Luke is a perfect illustration, in a microcosm, of our sin nature’s response to “the Law” as described by Paul in Romans. The more rules we’re given, the more our nature will chafe against them. As Paul says, “Is the law sinful? By no means!” The rules aren’t corrupt or flawed—the condition of our hearts and minds is.

I feel a weird sense of similarity between my emotions about our family’s financial state and my impression of the current political landscape.

The car purchase referenced a few posts down fell through—not because of any reluctance on the part of the seller; rather, what little sense I had in the whole affair prevailed upon me to get a local 6er enthusiast to do a pre-purchase inspection before committing to buy the car and flying out to Texas (yes, that Texas) to pick it up and drive it home. The car was a wreck. The paint job looked good in pictures but in person was terrible, the engine bay was a mess, the seats were okay but the rest of the interior was slipshod, the rims were trashed and the rear valence was missing from the bumper conversion. Needless to say, I passed. However, we’d already been approved for the loan and the money was just sitting in our account—something that can be a recipe for disaster if not checked.

My natural propensity toward researching and investigating potential car purchases has run wild for the past couple of days, but now I’m finally coming around. The loan money will be repaid and car projects relegated to a future time. It felt profoundly irresponsible of me to be consider burdening our family with more debt, considering:

1. Our first priority, financially, is a house purchase. We need to save all the money we can, and work on our credit. Extra debt may not derail those efforts, but it’ll make them more challenging.
2. I can’t afford to get distracted any farther from my family by a car. By the grace of God, with the E24 purchase a good balance has been struck between car hobby time and family time, and the process of another car purchase would threaten to upset that balance, if not do it outright.
3. It’s Christmas and birthday season. Car purchases always involve incidentals here and there, money we’ll need to help out in an already tight season.
4. And maybe the biggest reason: There’s an unrestored 1972 Datsun 240Z sitting in my parents’ garage. It’s mine; my dad bought it new in 1972 and gave me the keys when I graduated from college. I can’t sell it; it’s been in the family for almost 40 years. It needs restoration, and I can’t devote all my attention to some new car and let the Z languish. Just can’t happen. That project takes precedence. So while my daily driver can be fun and interesting, I have to look at the big picture.

The connection with my impression of the political scene is tenuous, I’ll admit. Congress and the administration, among many, many other faults and wrong ideas, have completely lost sight of the big picture with the health care nonsense. They’re making very foolish decisions with our money in a time when the financial position of the country is incredibly precarious. Our family financial situation isn’t bad, but it’s never the wrong time to make wise money choices, and at the moment, taking risks isn’t one of them.

I can’t think of anything to post at length about that doesn’t bore me to tears, so we’ll just another session of notes:

1. Guitar playing is coming along pretty well. Like I told my brother David yesterday, I know 8-9 chords and can switch haltingly between them. It makes for some herky-jerky songs, but I’m getting there… The main thing now is that it’s actually fun. I’ve gotten to the point, six months in, where I can eke out something resembling a song, and that’s a big confidence booster. It makes me want to practice and play more, and I have, almost every day.
2. Diane’s anniversary present to me was Mario Kart Wii, and let me just say I’ve been greatly enjoying it. The gameplay is just brilliant, the tracks and characters are fun, and aside from a few niggles (no dedicated one-on-one battle mode, for instance), I can’t find a fault with it. Part of the reason why I enjoy that game in particular and the Wii in general is just the utter creativity of it—the ingenuity of the movements and interaction with the games leaves me satisfied creatively in addition to the quality of the games themselves. I think it was a good purchase.
3. This year we decided it’s my parents’ turn for a Thanksgiving visit. We’ll be packing up Wednesday night and leaving bright and early (read: 10 a.m.) Thursday morning. I’m really looking forward to it—I love my mom and dad, and of course the change of scenery for a few days is nice.
4. I’ve got to resume running. It’s been a good month and a half since I hit the pavement, and while the scale may not show it, I feel it—psychologically and physically. I miss the physical high, as well as the time to just clear my head and the knowledge that my need for exercise is fulfilled. Tomorrow evening I’ll get out there.

Things are moving forward with a potential new car. It’s a couple of states over, but there’s a local enthusiast who’s promised to scope it out for me tomorrow, so that should give me a pretty solid idea of what I’d be getting into. It’s not like I’ve never bought a car sight unseen—I’ve actually done it twice before, once with the first RX-7 (a.k.a. The Great Pennsylvania Adventure Part I) and the second time with the Supra (the purchase of which was followed by a great drive from Atlanta back down to St. Augustine). We’ll see what happens. I’m excited but tempering my expectations about it all. One thing at a time and if it doesn’t happen, I won’t lose sleep over it.

The advantages of it over my current car are several. The most significant is that it’s an automatic—bummer for me (at least until I have the time and space to swap in a 5-speed, an easy enough task), but Diane will be able to drive the car from the get-go, so either it or the van will be able to be fully functional as our primary car should something happen to the other. Beyond that, it looks exactly like my eventual goal for my current car, and I do mean exactly. Right color, right bumpers, right rims, right spoiler, right everything (except lowering—again, easy to accomplish). Not to mention the fact that the interior is in much better shape than mine: The dash is only cracked in one or two places and the seats and headliner are in excellent shape. So no cash outlay there either. From what I can tell, assuming I maintain the exterior and interior in as good condition as they appear to be, the only potential issues would be mechanical ones, which I am much less intimidated by than cosmetic ones. So in the long run, it has the potential to save us a lot of money. It’s really the working out of what most car enthusiasts of any stripe will tell you: The best way to modify your car is to buy one that’s already been modified. We never (read: NEVER) get all our invested money back when we sell these cars.

Unbelievably gorgeous. Was there ever a car made with more appealing proportions? One day, mine will be there…

a thousand houses long
well that’s where I belong
and you belong with me

Today is Diane’s and my third wedding anniversary.

She is incomparable; she is lovely; she is dazzling. And there is no shadow of turning from her. I love you always. Happy anniversary, Abeille.

Listened to an excellent Mark Driscoll sermon yesterday at work. The subject was a character study of John the Baptist (or Baptizer). Driscoll chose to focus on a few aspects of the man and his life, among them the fact that he’s described as being “Spirit-filled” and being born of “Spirit-filled” parents, and what that means, and also the usually-glossed-over verse at the end of Luke 1, giving a glimpse into how John grew up.

The man was described in at least two places in the Bible (one of them by Jesus Himself) as the greatest man who ever lived, and Driscoll used this as a jumping-off point to discuss the biblical paradigm of manhood. He went on one of his rants against the prevailing, cultural view of manhood, something he does better than almost anyone else, and indicted society for promoting a wrongheaded view of modern manhood that emphasizes consumerism and keeps guys (not men) in a state of perpetual adolescence. Not that we’re “victims of the culture,” by any means—our responsibility is the fulcrum on which everything turns. He actually railed against the concept of adolescence itself, which is a modern invention—older, wiser societies had two categories for males: boy and man. Not only that, they had a definite markers of transition between the two, and when a boy became a man, there were definite expectations placed upon him by society at large: Move out of your parents’ house, prepare for your vocation, get a career-track job, meet a girl, take the initiative to court her, marry her, protect and provide for her and have children, create a new family unit and work to establish a multi-generational legacy. That’s the biblical model, and one seriously in decline all around us.

Driscoll drew from John’s example to underscore that real men are creators, cultivators, protectors, and not consumers, cowards and complainers. Real men step up and meet their responsibilities head-on and don’t actively try to put them off or avoid them as long as possible, something actually glorified in many corners of the mediasphere.

Needless to say, the sermon was excellent, and inspires me to step it up—by the power of the Holy Spirit—in those areas I’ve been failing, a primary one being providing my family a house—actively working toward that. I’ve been coasting, saying that when such-and-such happens we’ll consider it, but the urgency is mounting and there are many things I can do even now to prepare and learn.

Bartering services is a tricky thing, I’m finding out. I do Web and graphic design and tutoring on the side to supplement my day job’s income, and recently connected (through my car community) with a pair of guys who run a car restoration outfit and car care products retailer. I e-mailed them asking if they needed help with their websites, since the ones they had up looked pretty bare-bones. I do “cold e-mailing” from time to time and don’t usually get a response, so I was pleased when they wrote back, interested in working out a deal.

They’re relatively cashless, and my car needs a little work here and there, so we’re in the process of working out a deal whereby I provide them Web design services and they tackle a few projects my car’s been needing… But good gravy, it’s hard to come to an agreement.

First of all there needs to be agreement on the value of the services provided. When dealing in cash the process just ends there, since everybody wants money; that’s the advantage of it. But to barter services we both have to be in agreement about the nature of the services provided as compensation, too… And there’s the rub. There’s one thing I want for my car, quite badly: the bumper conversion mentioned a few posts down. And they’re unwilling to tackle it, for a number of reasons. So I’m disappointed about that, and conflicted as well, since I really do want to design their websites—it would give me a chance to “make a name for myself,” as it were, in the car community I frequent, among other things. But I don’t want to sell myself short. I’ve done Web design for quite a while now and know how these things can balloon and spiral out of control.

So we’ll see what happens. The ball’s in their court at the moment. I sent them at e-mail last night relenting from my dogged pursuit of the bumper swap, or at least of having them do it. I hope we can work something out.

Sitting here at work, adding an outer glow to the center graphic of the ARC display to simulate LED lighting, listening to Richard Marx’s “Angelia” on my headphones. I’m on an ’80s pop kick this morning. First Peter Cetera, then Phil Collins, now this.

Saxophone solo!

Been watching Star Wars movies lately. Diane and I finished a Lord of the Rings marathon not too long ago and recently realized that although we’d done the extended-edition-LotR thing twice now since we’ve been married, we’d never done Star Wars. I rented Episodes IV and V from the local movie place and watched them piecemeal on successive nights.

The lightsaber duels are always a highlight for me. I love the choreography, but it’s always bothered me that it’s not in the least bit realistic as far as what would actually occur if the weapons, combatants, motives and intentions were real. I’m no expert on swordplay, but I just have a feeling watching the movies that backflips over the opponent, exposing one’s chest with one’s weapon off to one side and even twirls—turning one’s back on the opponent—probably aren’t the best moves. Clearly others agree. Also, for your reading pleasure, lightsaber combat has been categorized into various “forms” in an attempt to explain the differences in energy level and general athleticism between the earlier and later films. It’s an interesting exercise, but it’s difficult for this untrained eye to discern much difference between lightsaber styles on screen, at least between humans—Yoda’s style, for instance, is obviously going to differ.

I still want one.

Doctor Zero hits another home run. Notable excerpts:

Many of the GOP’s boneheaded mistakes come from exactly the same source as the Democrats’ boneheaded mistakes: the tendency to believe the media action line about themselves. This produces arrogance in the Democrats, while the Republicans are like awkward, lovestruck teenagers – terrified the slightest bit of confident self-expression will blow their chances with the cute moderate in the pink sweater seated beside them in homeroom class. They suffer beneath the same irony that crushes every awkward teenager, since confident self-expression is exactly what is needed to connect with the object of their affections… assuming they’re not obsessing over someone they never had a chance with anyway.

and

A moderate Republican is someone who lives in a state of perpetual surprise as he ponders the monthly bills for nanny-state government. What’s the point of electing people who are guaranteed to spend the rest of their political careers complaining about how they’ve been played for fools?

He ends with:

A successful Republican Party doesn’t have to be ideologically rigid, but it should insist on candidates who possess an intellectual foundation of conservative theory, and the ability to explain it at least as well as the thousands of people posting comments on conservative blogs.

Absolutely true. Diane and I discuss this regularly: We’re baffled by the resistance of some conservatives to educating themselves about not only the political but also the philsophical foundations of their worldview. It’s an implicit denial that there can be rational and intellectual consistency, integrity in one’s worldview. Kant’s epistemological divisions have made such profound inroads in our thinking. That’s a subject for another time, though—for now, it’d be enough if more elected conservatives could articulate their principles with lucidity, and stand by them.

I’m hopeful about the gubernatorial and NY-23 elections today. With respect to the Virginia race, McDonnell looks pretty good, and I told Ross and Diane that although it’s weird, if he’s elected, it will feel good to have a solid conservative if not in our own state, at least in the one next door. It’s the next best thing, in a manner of speaking.

The NJ race is more complicated. It’s tighter to begin with, and the GOP candidate isn’t as staunchly conservative as his counterpart in VA. Not only that, but his running mate is pro-choice, which indicates a willingness on the part of the candidate to waver on that all-important issue. And of course, ACORN has loosed their thugs on the populace, engaging in increasingly brazen voter fraud. Somehow this organization it still running wild while under federal investigation on a number of counts? Insanity. I’m hoping the election goes well, but as Patten writes:

Republicans haven’t forgotten the prolonged Minnesota recount battle that ended with Democrat Al Franken being awarded the victory over GOP incumbent Sen. Norm Coleman. The bitter lesson drawn by many Republicans: Once officials in a heavily Democratic state declare a race close enough for a recount, all bets are off.

We shall see.

Replaced the 6er’s water pump and thermostat over the weekend. It was a fairly straightforward job. Other than the fan nut—a 32mm nut securing the radiator fan to the water pump pulley, reverse-threaded—there was nothing unconventional about the setup at all. This differs greatly from other water pump jobs I’ve done: The Audi’s was driven by the timing belt, requiring a re-time after reinstalling the crank pulley (ugh), and the Volvo’s had to be installed dry (no silicone) and leveraged into position against the cylinder head. The 6er’s water pump was blessedly ordinary in comparison. Got everything buttoned up late last night and drove it to work this morning; everything’s nominal. The car doesn’t leak a drop any more and cools very well—too well, almost, since I got a cooler thermostat. But it runs great, which is a nice feeling.

The big news on the upgrade front this weekend is progress finding Euro bumpers. My car came with massive US-spec “diving board” crash bumpers. They protect the car; it’s true, but mar its appearance in ways unacceptable to me, as a designer. Aftermarket replacements are nonexistent, so for those interesting in making their 6er look like it was supposed to, there are three solutions:

1. 1982-1987 E28-chassis “wraparound”-style Euro bumpers
2. 1976-1981 E12-chassis Euro bumpers
3. 1988-1989 “world” bumpers

I wrote this on a 6er-related forum:

Can’t stand ’em. Especially on a white car… The contrast of the white paint and the black moldings just makes them stand out all the more. It’s just a tragedy of function over form. On an E28, E23 or E30 they’re more palatable, but on our 6ers, which we buy (let’s be honest) for their looks more than anything else–not that other factors aren’t important–the bumpers are just a sin.

I completely appreciate the added protection they provide. Totally get that. But at the end of the day, using that argument as the primary one to placate myself into being okay with them is like justifying the purchase of one sports car over another based solely on trunk size. When it comes down to brass tacks, it’s a minor reason—at best.

I have got to get different bumpers on it. Euros transform the way these cars look. They actually improve the already gorgeous lines of the car. World bumpers are neutral, and US-spec bumpers detract from the lines.

Something’s just gotta be done to my 6er in this regard. I want to do it before I do any other appearance-related mods (rims, lowering, spoiler, etc). I know the hassle involved–especially with Euro bumpers–but I’m one motivated individual.

As mentioned above, the big news this weekend on the bumper front was progress: I found a gentleman willing to part with his E12-chassis Euro bumpers and deliver them for $350. We’ll see if anything ultimately comes of that. Here’s hoping…

Halloween was Saturday. Luke was a lion for the second year in a row and Pen wore a lamb costume my mom found. It was a cold, drizzly day—pretty much the worst possible for trick-or-treating. We made a quick trip ’round the apartment complex but only found one house that was participating. We ended up returning home, putting the girl to bed and doing trick-or-treating in the house, which consisted of Diane and myself hiding behind the bathroom and bedroom doors, respectively, and Luke going between the two, knocking and announcing himself. It actually worked out pretty well.

Penelope wasn’t all that thrilled about her costume…until she saw herself in the mirror. That distracted her for a little bit. An orange lollipop helped too. Luke, on the other hand, loves his costume like nothing else. He wore it for several days before the event and was wearing it when I awoke this morning. I think the fact that he’s able to put it on and remove it himself helps—it’s a rush when you’re 5 years old and have that kind of control over your own wardrobe, I guess.

1. Listened to Pauline Croze‘s “Quand Je Suis Ivre” a few minutes ago, and was freshly struck with how poetic the concept of drunkenness is in French, as opposed to English, something obviously tied to the loveliness of the word itself—contrast ivre with drunk. Pronounced correctly, the French word just slides off the tongue in a tumble of decadent grace… And the English word crashes through my teeth in a crumpled heap.

   The word and concept reappear in Rufus Wainwright’s “Complainte de la Butte:”

   et sous ta caresse
   je sens une ivresse
   qui m’anéantit

   Clearly, it’s much more artistic to be drunk in France than in the English-speaking world.

2. The Ares I-X launch occurred a couple of days ago. From all accounts I’ve read it was completely successful. It’s the first launch of the next phase of the US space program, the sequel to the ill-conceived Shuttle. I’m pleased and hopeful the next steps will go well and see us on our way back to the Moon, and beyond.

to let the rivers wash over me

Well, to start posting in here, more like. I’ll move my posts from LJ and Blogger over here eventually, so I can have one uninterrupted journal. For the most part, at least—there have been gaps here and there, most recently in the past six months or so. I was doing so well around the beginning of the year, too. Moving onwardly…

This is my new blog. Diane will be taking up residence on another domain, still being set up. We considered sharing a blog, but thought better of it since she’s upwardly mobile in the conservative blogosphere, and having an overtly political blog cluttered with various car-related posts and space exploration rants/meanderings by the husband wouldn’t fare well, or at least wouldn’t be taken as seriously as it would otherwise. So we’ll adopt the arrangement settled upon.

For those of you wondering about my URL and site name, it’s from an Over the Rhine song lyric:

my love is a fever
my love is a fable
my love is jazz licks
improvised by toddlers
bold Ulysses by nursery rhyme
and firelight

You can view a live performance of the song here. I love OtR like nothing else, really. We have got to see them live.

1. She was enjoying some strawberry yogurt in her high chair earlier, and playing with a Snow White figurine. The yogurt is close to her favorite thing and she’s been doing passably well learning to use her spoon to retrieve it, but it’s still slow going. Today her solution was to use her Snow White as a makeshift utensil by unceremoniously dipping the figurine’s head into the yogurt at the bottom of the cup and then licking it off. Didn’t seem to disturb her at all but Diane and I were in stitches.

2. Lately she’s been adding the suffix “Z’me” to every request she makes. As in, “Wanna doggie z’me.” We’re not quite sure what she means by it or where she got it from, but it’s quite cute.

1. BT’s new song "Rose of Jericho" is slightly disappointing.  It’s like he’s trying to merge the more classical, experimental leaning of This Binary Universe with the more commercial-friendly ventures of the previous albums.  It sounds good on paper, but in reality it just doesn’t work too well, sounding like less than the sum of its parts.  One thing I’ve always appreciated about his music is the creativity within the song itself–the variety of beat structures and vocals dancing around one another.  His more straightforward house stuff is well done, but it’s never been very interesting to me.  Maybe the rest of the album, when it comes out, will be more varied.

2. Luke is coming up, within the next month or two, to his first experiences in a class setting.  At this point we’re planning on homeschooling him, and we’ve enrolled him in this curriculum/program called Classical Conversations.  He has homework to do throughout the week, and once a week he and all his "classmates" meet and go over the material they’ve learned.  We’re more than a little apprehensive about how it’s going to go since Luke has exhibited some noted developmental delays, especially in the social arena.  We’ll see how it goes.  If he just isn’t able to handle it we’ll try something different, but it seems like a great program and we hope it turns out well.

Penelope will turn 2 years old at the end of next month. Here are some things she does nowadays:

• Says "More strawberry yogurt, please" as all one word, something like "mostabedeenogurtpudlee." It’s very cute. Her language is acquiring a little more sophistication; for instance, she can now pronounce the word "skunk" (she has a little stuffed one) correctly, instead of how she used to say it, "suck" (said with complete relish).
• Colors literally everything if she is loose with a crayon. We’ve had to scrub the walls, the floor and the trash can lately, our ottoman has been ruined and more than a few books have been "graffitied."
• Greets me at the front door with "Hi pretty girl," which she now assumes is a standard greeting from most anyone.
• Takes all her clothes off in her crib. Seriously–we have a hard time getting her to keep her clothes on in there, and this is a problem for a still-diapered girl. We’ve come in there on more than one occasion to find her standing up in the crib, stark naked, stuffed animals on the floor, pillow on the opposite side of the bed, and she’ll be reaching for something on the dresser next to her crib with a "determined yet confused" look on her face. We’ve had to resort to dressing her for bed in tights rather than her usual loose PJ pants to keep her from being able to pull them off. We’re hoping this behavior will just "extinguish," as they say.
• Loves to read books. She’ll get into moods where she’ll just bring you an endless succession of books to sit down and read with her. Her favorite is Goodnight Moon (with sound effects) but she’ll sit for almost anything. Books with "doors" in them are also winners.
• Has a real thing for shoes. If she finds a shoe she’ll want to wear it immediately, regardless if it’s too small. Upon being told the shoe is too small, she’ll just repeat "Is too small" while continuing to try to put it on. Oh, and the number of shoes doesn’t matter either. She trudged around for most of the day today wearing just one of her brother’s red Converse hi-tops.

I’ve been revamping the company’s website.  I don’t mind this a bit, since I was the original site’s designer a little over a year ago and I like web design in general.  The owners had a number of requests and comments about the current site, many of them focusing on the usability of the portfolio pages.  So I’ve been busy redesigning that interface.  It’s a fun challenge in usability, trying to balance the look and feel of the site with a design that’s intuitive and simple to use and also communicates clearly.  It’ll all be online soon enough, assuming too many tasks don’t jump ahead of it on the priority list, or I don’t have another setback like I had this afternoon, when I accidentally overwrote a beautifully-crafted CSS file.  If the free utility I downloaded isn’t able to retrieve it from the browser’s cache it’s going to take me a few hours to recreate it.  Sigh.

The inevitable, relentless buildup of DCFC’s "Transatlanticism" is going through my head.

We’re inching closer to deciding on a church.  I swore we’d never be "church shoppers," but it sure feels like that’s what this is.  I wonder if the people we judge unfairly as such are just going through the same ordeals we are in looking for one?  Granted, much of it is self-inflicted, but on the other hand, a lot of it is borne out of a good desire to be cautious before committing, out of respect for the gravity of that commitment.  Much of the waffling, it will be said, is my fault.  I actually committed too quickly to the first church, without taking the full measure of my family’s considerations into account, and then was led entirely too much by my emotions in the ensuing months, going back and forth in my mind between a couple of options.  Diane and the kids didn’t know what to expect from me, and that wasn’t fair to them.  But the good news now is that I think we’re getting more involved with one church in particular, one with rock-solid theology, methodology and a thriving community with lots of families.  They’re hosting an ice cream social this Sunday evening, and we’re planning to attend.  Hopefully we’ll make some new friends.

My guitar playing is slowly improving.  After a week or so without playing, my calluses dwindled, but I’ve played every day for the past 5-6 days, and they’ve come back.  I’m getting better at switching chords quickly and can hack my way, haltingly, through "Swing Low Sweet Chariot."  I was totally confused at first since the chords didn’t seem to match up with my memory of the melody, but Diane pointed out that the chords don’t always correspond 1:1 with the sung parts.  It didn’t help, of course, that I can’t sing for anything.  Diane, on the other hand, has a luminous voice, and she accompanied my very poor rendition of the song.  I guess you could say it was the first song we’ve "performed" together, which is kind of special.  Nowhere to go but up from here.

In other news, I’ve got the Even in Blackouts acoustic punk cover of Yazoo’s "Only You" (heard on Coverville) going through my head at the moment.  It’s actually quite a good version.

such are promises
all lies and jests
still a man hears what he wants to hear
and disregards the rest

I have a headful of buzzing bees, never pleasant when I should be sleeping.  It’s been a long day, and I’m especially tired after having run this morning.  Some days unfold such that the intervening hours dampen the tiredness, but tonight the effect has stretched its long arm across the length of the day to reach me here.

I feel like I have so much to say but it’s all fragmented.  I rarely figure things out by talking about them–I’ve never been that kind of person, at least not initially.  What tends to work the best is retreating, pondering the situation for a little while until I’ve figured out how I’m feeling and tied those emotions to specific causes, at which point I may "present my findings" to a willing ear and they can then assist in sorting the rest of it out (if they’re so inclined).  The alternative to all that, or at least something which helps a great deal, is simply to find someone who understands how I’m feeling–it saves the trouble of having to explain myself (not that I mind under most circumstances but when there’s something weighing on me the stakes are a bit higher) and I can just focus on the particulars of the situation.

This is all very vague; I know.  Normally at this point I would hide behind some hackneyed poetry or half-prose, but it feels like ages since I’ve done any of either and, well, I dunno…  I think I’m staying in the meta-data tonight.

We drove around as a family and looked at some houses in Lewisville yesterday.  It’s not the first time we’ve done this.  Even before we moved out of the old house, Diane would find a house or two online and we’d drive through its neighborhood on the way home from the store or church or wherever.

We’ve always known the apartment was a temporary situation, a stepping stone to the next place.  When exactly that’ll happen, we’re not sure, but it’s definitely in the cards, Lord willing.  Pen and Luke aren’t going to be able to share a room indefinitely, and the kids definitely need some free range area a little more accessible than the apartment complex playground, as nice as it is.  Luke has been very interested in gardening lately–his Grandad and him planted a garden at their house and he looks forward to checking on the plants every week.  He’s gotten to the point where he’s "planted" apple seeds and popcorn kernels in the flower beds next to the parking lot outside, in hopes of growing an apple tree and a "popcorn plant" (he doesn’t seem to believe our explanation about popcorn being made from plain ol’ corn).  So a yard would certainly do him good.

Diane’s parents are local, and while I was initially a little resistant to the idea of living so close to them, the particular suburb of Winston-Salem they live in is the best, the most small-town-ish and has the most active community.  In terms of living too close, what with easy transportation all over the area, there’s little practical difference between living five minutes or fifteen minutes away.  So if I’m not going to change jobs, which I’m not planning on doing for the foreseeable future (I really like my job and it supports us), why not live in the best area available, regardless of how close it is to her parents?  That’s been my line of reasoning.

So we’ll see what happens.  In terms of taking more chances life-wise, this is very much the path of least resistance; however, Diane and I remind each other to keep a proper perspective on the things we’re given, since we’re just stewards of everything anyway (even our children–and that’s hard to apprehend).  I think if the Lord has a more far-ranging opportunity in our future, we’ll be ready for it, or at least as ready as we can be.  I certainly intend to pray for that attitude to take firm root in our family.

Changed the oil in the van for the first time earlier this evening.  That was a messy job.  My tools are residing at my in-laws’ while we have the apartment so I used my father-in-law’s ramps and performed the task over there while the kids were running around and everyone else was preparing for dinner.  The oil pan bolt was easy to remove, but the oil was still hot from driving, so I let the bolt fall into the pan and couldn’t find my magnetic wand to pull it out easily.  And the oil filter was at the perfect angle to dump several cups of oil on the gravel driveway before I got the pan completely underneath it.  Messy, messy, or as my daughter would say, "Oh no!  Shoowie!"

Still, I got it done, and it feels good to have crossed that off the list.  The rest of our time there was fun as well, with barbeque chicken, baked beans and fixins’ for the meal and el-cheapo fireworks for the after-dinner entertainment.  After our Memorial Day fireworks experience, in which they were more subdued than they normally are (no huge pyrotechnics or screechy loud noises), Luke has really started to enjoy fireworks, where before he was quite afraid of them.  He ran back and forth, delivering them to his Uncle Chris to light, then standing back with Uncle Josh and watching the show.  His favorite thing to do, however, was to run through the smoke–don’t know what that means for his penchants later in life.  And the pack of smokebombs we purchased was naturally a big hit.

 Yep.

Happy Fourth!

That is all.

Unprivatized a couple of entries from last month.  Nothing revelatory; just the usual drivel.  Many times I post a sentence or two in a private entry to remind myself to return later and flesh out the thought, but just as often it doesn’t happen, or at least doesn’t happen in a timely manner.  Ah well.

Web design was quite busy for a while, and it occupied the time in my evening, sitting here in bed next to my sleeping wife, usually reserved for journaling.  Business has tapered off lately, so I’m going to try to post more, with the eventual goal being to try to strike some sort of balance where I’m not all bent out of shape if I don’t post every day, but I don’t go too long without recording something someone might consider of value.

Another element conspiring against my hoped-for prolific-ness is my diversity of interests.  One day it’s traveling overseas, another day it’s getting back in flying, the next day it’ll be really focusing on my guitar playing, then it’ll be astronomy and space exploration, after that’s it’s tweaking our website, and so on…  It’s not an ideal state of affairs, and I should point out that all these interests are in effect the "icing on the cake" of investment in my wife and kids and home life here–without a doubt the most important "interest," if you can even call it that.  Everything else comes second or lower.  If there’s time available for a more icing-like interest, great; if not, that’s fine too.  Loose hands.

Lately, however, it’s been cars again.  I introduced Diane to Top Gear last year and to my surprise and delight she totally loves the show.  We had a few seasons on DVD, and this past spring there were many weeks in which we’d watch one a night, just about.  As one might expect, it had the side effect of really rekindling my latent passion for all thing automotive, and if we’re honest with ourselves, one of the eventual results was our purchase of the minivan a couple of months ago.

If you’ve been reading my journal for any length of time you know that I have a real weakness for project cars, especially from the ’80s and early ’90s (most of them are at the bottom of their depreciation curves so it works out well).  After buying the minivan, we had three cars, and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to sell one, bide my time with the cash in hand, waiting for the right car to come along, driving the other car in the meantime, and snapup a good example once it came along, selling the remaining car once that purchase was complete.  I talked it over with Diane and she was mostly okay with the idea, her only real stipulation being that she’d like it to have four doors so that it could be used more easily as a family car, in a pinch.

I went through a labyrinthine series of decisions, settling on one car, then another, deciding to keep one of our existing cars after all, then the other, and back again.  It was exhausting in more ways that one.  Initially I had my heart set on a late-’80s BMW 3-series (E30), stickshift, but for divers reasons that didn’t pan out, then I was very interested in a rarer version of the Volvo we currently own, the 780 (our is a 940 Turbo).  That plan didn’t work either, and the end result of it all is that I’ve decided to keep our Volvo and I sold Diane’s old car, a Saturn station wagon.  So we’re down to two cars again.

I have to say, though, I’m still holding out for that 780, one day when our debt has been driven down a bit and the dust has settled in other ways.  It’s boxy, yes, but the proportions are exactly right for me–the balance of visual masses, especially from the side, is perfect, and it’s comfortable and something special (only 5600 of them were imported to the US).  And mechanically it’s almost identical to our 940 (rear-wheel-drive), so that’s a known quantity.  They’re all automatics, but a manual swap can be done, and it’s not terribly expensive.  Diane was even a fan of it, calling it "academic-looking" and "pretty."  I would be quite happy commuting to work in one of those.

But for now, I’m resolved to be content.

One of my guilty pleasures is Ace of Base.  I’m not even going to try to justify my penchant, defending them on the grounds that they just make smooth, well-crafted, lightweight pop/dance (which they do) or something like that.  For a change of pace, I just like their music, and lately at work I’ve been listening to their album The Bridge.

I definitely think we, as Americans (and possibly you other Anglophones as well) take it for granted that almost all of the popular songs we listen to are in English.  I mean, here’s a Swedish pop band, and to have any hope of success not just on the international scene, but likely also in their own country, they have to write their *cough* lyrically profound *cough* songs and sing them in a language that’s not their native tongue.  How odd would it be if 95% of the songs we heard on the radio were, say, in Swahili?

Anyway, I just thought that was worth recording for posterity.  It sounded more profound in my head when I was listening to the music.  Maybe I’ve discovered an unpleasant side effect?

Recent verbal/grammatical pet peeves:

– Madonna lyric: "Don’t underestimate my point of view."  This is from her song "Cherish," one of her early hits, I believe.  Heard it over the P.A. system in a store recently.  The grammatical construction is tenuous at best.  I mean, does one’s point of view have value that can be something besides either true or false, valid or invalid?  I guess there are points of view that lends themselves better to perceiving the situation at hand as it truly is, but I still don’t think of them as able to be over- or underestimated.  The word just seems to intersect the sentence at a right angle, like a container sticking out of the fridge, keeping you from fully closing the door.

– "It begs the question…"  Okay, this is a big one, and difficult to explain.  There’s a logical fallacy called "begging the question," which means, basically, to assume or anticipate a particular answer in the formulation of a question.  However, in 90% of the instances where I see the phrase used, it has absolutely no connection to the logical fallacy, but seems to be simply used to mean something like, "the question that naturally follows from the preceding statement is…"  It’s a tip-off to me that the writer probably has little, if any, awareness of logical pitfalls, since the fallacy mentioned above is a pretty basic one, and is using the phase in a misguided attempt to sound more intelligent.  Or it could just be that language is changing to accommodate the new meaning (kind of like how "eager" is being replaced by "anxious"), which is, to put it mildly, unfortunate.  Preserve the richness of the language, people!

Still here.  Busy days combined with lack of inspiration conspire against me.  The closest I’ve come lately is when I was picking up a take-out order of hot wings at Ronni’s Restaurant in Clemmons and felt oddly compelled, in a Carson McCullers / Flannery O’Connor way, to record the collage of semi-rural America around me as I sat there and waited for my food.  I pieced together a couple of sentences in my mind but nothing serious came of it.

We’re getting a minivan.  It’s a 2005 Mazda MPV and we got a good deal on it.  I’m finalizing all the paperwork tomorrow so, Lord willing, it should be sitting outside our door tomorrow night.  Diane’s very excited about it, as am I, but not quite as much as her.  We looked for a couple of weeks, and were locked into the Odyssey / Sienna thing for a while.  Once we opened ourselves up to other possibilities, though, the Mazda appeared and ended up being a very appealing alternative.  We’re psyched.

Luke and Pen are excited to be sharing a room.  They keep each other up frequently in the evenings, bantering back and forth in their way and just generally carrying on.  This has the side effect that it keeps their energy levels artificially high (read: it makes them overtired).  In Luke’s case, when this sets in, he gets well-nigh unbearably antsy and has trouble staying in his bed.  He’s been told many times he needs to stay in his bed at nighttime, and that if he needs something he can come out and get us.  Of course, to Luke this means letting himself out of the room, running in ours and gleefully announcing, "Daddy, I need something."  I reply, "What do you need?"  He says, "I don’t know," and I put him back in bed.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

Earlier this evening, while putting him to bed initially, I told him that if he came out he needed to have a reason, that just saying "I need something" wasn’t a reason and that if he couldn’t come up with one, he’d be disciplined for not staying in his bed.  And true to form, within a few minutes of shutting the door, I heard it open again, and Luke came around the corner to find us in the living room.  He drew himself up to his full height and proclaimed, very seriously, very deliberately, "Daddy, I need to go to bed."  I managed somehow not to laugh aloud and said "Yes, you do need to go to bed," before leading him in there again.  If there’s a loophole, he’ll find it…

In other news, I’m teaching myself to play guitar.  I’m four days in and my fingers are still hurting (even as I type).  I wonder when this goes away?  My brother-in-law Josh (who lives just a couple of apartments over) is letting me borrow one of his guitars.  It’s slow going but I’m going to stick with it.  I want to be able to accompany Diane one day as she sings; that’s the goal.

 When it comes to privacy and the internet, these guys and I really see eye to eye.

Great commentary by Al Mohler on the Newsweek article.  I liked this paragraph especially:

Mr. Meacham also suggests that this new situation is perhaps healthy for the church.  To this extent I agree — the church gains a necessary knowledge any time the distinction between the church and the world is made more evident.  Our first concern is and must be the Gospel.  It is good that non-Christians know that they are not Christians and that Christians be reminded of that fact that what sinners need is the Gospel of Christ, not merely the lingering morality of the Christian memory.