It came out OK with the garage door. Sort of. I guess.

The repair guy showed up on time on Saturday a.m., and he knew what he was doing. Instead of employing arcane, specialized tools to get the door open, as I expected, he used a lever and brute force. Then he informed me that nothing was actually broken. The bolt on a pulley had worked loose, and everything had flown apart. He put it all together, added a locking nut, oiled the rollers, and tightened the bolts. It now hangs much higher when it’s opened (meaning I can put the antenna on Mrs. Hermanson up a little higher, enabling me to hear AM 1280 The Patriot for maybe five minutes longer when I’m driving out of town), and everything runs more smoothly. It cost me on the low side of what I feared it might cost.

He also warned me that it’s an old door, and when (not if) something does break someday, they may not be able to find replacement parts.

I feel like that most days, myself.

So I was able to head out to Montevideo (no, I’m not kidding you. There really is a town called Montevideo in Minnesota. It’s over on the west side. We pronounce the name wrong, though) shortly after lunch. My recently purchased car compass proved its value when I missed an exit and realized, at length, that I was on the wrong road. I knew, however, that I was going in the right direction, so it was no big deal.

If you don’t live in the American Midwest, you may not be aware that our roads are mostly laid out on a grid—north/south roads intersecting with east/west ones. So all I had to do was turn north (it involved a detour, but everything does in Minnesota this time of year) to get back to my original course.

It was a small town journey, traveling what William Not-So-Hot Moon calls “blue highways,” under a cloudy sky that spit on me occasionally. I was in a mood to drive the speed limit, since I’d seen a highway patrolman ticketing a driver early in the journey. This led, as is so often the case, to a number of cars piling up behind me. I solved that problem by turning into a lot in one of the towns, waiting for the parade to pass me, and then pulling in again at their rear.

I arrived just in time for the wedding, said hello to some of the relations, and got seated with them. I made it through the ceremony without making a spectacle of myself, which I like to think was a pretty good achievement.

It was, I think, the biggest wedding I’d ever seen. There were eight (8) bridesmaids and eight (8) groomsmen. Two (2) flower girls, and two (2) ring bearers. I was half expecting Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell to conduct the ceremony.

Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell appeared in musicals during the Depression, which provides an elegant transition to a description of my mood that day. Weddings are like a perfect depression cocktail for me—you’ve got your happy couple enjoying the long-awaited day that I’ve been awaiting a heck of a lot longer and have given up on now. You’ve got your attractive young women, who were unreachable for me even when I was young, and haven’t come any closer with the years. You’ve got your crowd of people with whom I am expected to interact pleasantly, when I just want to run away.

I do my best. I honestly do. If people knew the things I want to say, and the faces I want to pull, they’d know that my sullen, mumbled conversation and my stone-faced, eye-contact-avoiding aspect are actually the results of considerable effort, and a genuine act of brotherly kindness.

Not that that buys me anything.

But the relatives know there’s something wrong with me, so they put up with it. My uncle and aunt (grandparents of the groom) talked to me for a while in their nearby house, and sent me off loaded down with caramel rolls and Special K Bars, when I opted to skip the reception dinner.

What was really embarrassing was that the aunt from California, whom I came to see, wasn’t there, and hadn’t even planned to be there. I’d entirely misunderstood the information I’d been given.

Still, any social event attended by me which doesn’t end with the deployment of SWAT teams and hostage negotiators can’t be called a complete disaster.

Uff da, as we Norwegians say. I got home from work tonight, parked my car in the garage, lowered the garage door, and—snap!—the thing suddenly gave way and dropped like my spirits will, once I see the bill I’m going to get tomorrow. Can’t get the door open again, needless to say, and there is no side door. So I called a 24-hour garage door service place, and they’ll send a guy out tomorrow morning.

Hopefully my car will be free in time for me to drive up to Montevideo (we have a town called Montevideo in Minnesota, believe it or not) for the wedding I’m supposed to attend tomorrow.

Of course if they can’t get it out in time, that will give me an excuse not to attend. Which, all in all, I’d prefer. Hate weddings. But my aunt from California will be there, and her health is failing, and it may be the last chance I get to see her, so I promised I’d be there.

If I have a car I can get to.

That’s all the original material I’ve got tonight. I borrowed the following meme from Grim’s Hall:

1. Name a movie you’ve seen more than 10 times.

The Outlaw Josie Wales, as I mentioned a few days ago. Probably The Three Musketeers (the Richard Lester version). I don’t think I’ve seen any of the Lord of the Rings trilogy ten times yet, but it must be getting close.



2. Name a movie you’ve seen multiple times in the theater.

Same answer.

3. Name an actor who would make you more inclined to see a movie.

Sam Elliot. Can’t think of anyone else. Robert Duvall, maybe. There was a time when Clint Eastwood would have been at the top of the list, but that time is long past.

4. Name an actor who would make you less likely to see a movie.

Sean Penn. George Clooney. Angelina Jolie. Dabney Coleman. (And if you think there’s a political subtext to most of those choices, you’re perceptive.)

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.

The Outlaw Josie Wales. Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

6. Name a movie musical, to which you know all the lyrics to all of the songs.

Camelot, because I was in it once (played Mordred, if you insist on knowing).

7. Name a movie with which you’ve been known to sing along.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

8. Name a movie you would recommend everyone see.

Local Hero (though I can’t guarantee everyone will like it).

9. Name a movie you own.

You mean the DVD? Not a lot. Josie Wales. Once Upon a Time in the West. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The Lord of the Rings, extended edition. The Vikings with K. Douglas and T. Curtis…

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.

Can’t think of one.



11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?

Several. I’m old enough. The first movie I ever saw was in a drive-in—Around the World in 80 Days with David Niven. My family saw it on a visit to my uncle and his family in Poughkeepsie, New York.

12. Ever made out in a movie?

What is this “making out” of which you speak?

13. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to it.

Amazing Grace.

14. Ever walked out of a movie?

Not that I recall.



15. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.

I must have teared up at some point in The Return of the King. Not sure, though.

16. Popcorn?

With butter.

17. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)?

Almost never anymore.

18. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?

I think it was Stranger Than Fiction, which is pathetic (my movie attendance, not the movie).

19. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?

Action, I guess. I like a good fantasy, but there are so few.

20. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?

The Ten Commandments. My parents warned us not to tell our grandmother, who didn’t approve of movies.

21. What movie do you wish you had never seen?

Beowulf and Grendel.

22. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?

Magnolia, maybe.

23. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?

I guess it was the original Alien.

24. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?

The movie I remember laughing at most was The Return of the Pink Panther.

Movies fascinate me. I’m interested in what’s playing, what’s being made, who’s making them, who’s in them, and what they’re about.

I just can’t be bothered to go out and see them anymore.

Michael Medved says 3:10 to Yuma is a great traditional western, though. Maybe I’ll see that. Depends on how much the garage door people soak me for.

Wait. IMDB doesn’t list Sam Elliot as a cast member.

Isn’t there a law against that?

This is cool. I’m reading JXIIH’s novel, The Dark River, the sequel to The Traveler, and just finished a part describing free runners in London. “Ever hear of the Vast Machine?” one of the London characters asks. “It’s the computer systen that watches us with scanner programs and surveillance cameras. The Free Runners refuse to be part of the Vast Machine. We run above it all.”

Now I see an article on an actual free runner climbing walls and jumping between buildings. “Free running,” reports Brendan O’Neill, “or ‘le parkour,’ its original French name, is all about overcoming obstacles.” Sadly, these men and women give themselves to overcoming constructed obstacles when real, harder obstacles abound, but I don’t really blame them. I do the same thing in a quieter way.

First of all, a Philistine update. I think we can all agree that it’s a sad commentary on our times that so little attention gets paid to the Philistines anymore.

This item from Mirabilis reinforces, I think, my contention that the Samson story in the Book of Judges was not intended to provide a role model for us all (see my previous post about him here, which generated some controversy in Comments). Archaeologists have learned, according to this article, that the Philistines were regular consumers of pork and dog meat.

We already know that Samson broke his Nazirite vows by touching the carcass of a lion. It now appears probable that during all those Philistine banquets he intended, he ate pork and dog meat.

Like a knife in his mother’s heart, I’ll bet.

My view of Samson is that he’s an example of a guy who was given great gifts by God, but wasted them on his own passions and pleasures. A cautionary tale, a typological picture of Israel, but not a story for emulation.

Speaking of misusing your gifts, I found a very weird story from Poland by way of the New Zealand Herald. Ever wonder whether the people who come up with those grisly scenarios in the crime thrillers might not be a little twisted themselves, a little corrupted in their souls?

Apparently, at least one of them was. (Hat tip: World Views.)

So think twice before you attend your next book signing.

I know for a fact that every time a pagan deity materializes or the space-time continuum is violated in my neighborhood, the police put me under surveillance.

So I had a choice this weekend.

I could stay home by myself, which is always my inclination. On top of that, it was my team’s turn to do set-up at church (we meet in a gymnasium) and I’ve finked out on the team twice this summer already.

Or I could go up to my brother Baal’s, where brother Moloch and his family were going. This would be a gesture to my family, which I’ve been (frankly) neglecting.

I decided the obligation to help with set-up took priority, so I stayed home.

This is how it worked out:

My pocket calendar said the set-up team would meet at 10:00 p.m. on Saturday. That’s late, but it’s not unprecedented. Sometimes they have events in the gymnasium, and we’re only able to get in when it’s clear. I was certain the message on my answering machine had said “10:00 p.m.”

So I showed up at 10:00 p.m. sharp. As I drove in and noticed that no other cars were there, the thought crossed my mind for the very first time that I’d gotten the meridian wrong. It had been 10:00 antemeridian, not postmeridian.

I waited ten minutes, then went home depressed, knowing I’d let the team down once again.

I was able to help tear down on Sunday morning, and as it turned out the floor mats had already been rolled out for them at set-up, so their Saturday morning job had been lighter than usual. But I still felt humiliated.

So I spent Sunday thinking dark thoughts, meditating on my many personal failings, studying my forehead in the mirror for the mark of Cain.

It seems to me this weekend is a sort of metaphor for life as an Avoidant. I remember a feature Edward Gorey did once for the National Lampoon years ago, called something like, “A Child’s Rainy Day Activity Book.”

Among the items in the “Book” were a number of cut-out figures, printed on the front and back of a single page. The instructions said, as I remember them, “You will note that several of these figures are printed front-to-back with figures on the previous page, so that if you cut out one, you will destroy the one on the other side. There are several ways to deal with this problem, all of them unsatisfactory.”

That seems to me a good motto for my life. “There are several ways to deal with my problems, all of them unsatisfactory.”

If I keep to myself and avoid my fellow man, I escape many unpleasant experiences, but at the same time make my whole life generally unpleasant and lonely, and I get depressed.

If I try to break out of my shell, I either have good experiences (which don’t happen that often, and I generally discount them if they do) or I have bad experiences, which validate my low self-esteem. This also leads to depression.

The choice seems to be between easily won depression and strenuously won depression.

What to choose, what to choose?

In any case my renter came home safe and sound this afternoon, so I don’t have to worry about losing my meal ticket just now.

I’ll have to put my mind to figuring out a reason to be depressed about that.

Debbie Rocker writes, “Want to be physically fit and mentally agile, svelte and sharp, athletic and articulate? Then exercise – simply exercise.” Yeah, yeah . . .

Mars Hill Audio points out an article by Camille Paglia in which she says the arts can be saved if they return to religion. Liberals, she says, need to let go of their harsh secularism and Marxist outlook while conservatives “need to expand their parched and narrow view of culture. Every vibrant civilization welcomes and nurtures the arts.”

Oh man, I’m useless tonight. I’m kind of worried, because I didn’t see my renter at all yesterday, and today there’s a message on the answering machine, asking why he didn’t show up for work.

You might pray that he’s OK. His name is John.

Talking of early television, that’s a subject I can discuss with some authority, being one of the first kids to grow up with the thing. And I’m not going to tell you how it blighted my mind. Television and my grandmother were about the only good things in my life when I was a kid. TV was the only friend I had that didn’t beat me up. Television got me interested in history and in Shakespeare.

For those of you old enough to appreciate it, or just curious, here’s a YouTube clip of the opening of the old Howdy Doody Show, one of the delights of my early life. Buffalo Bob Smith (the guy, unaccountably, in a pith helmet in this clip) was one of the great pitch men of the medium. He pushed Hostess Cakes and Wonder Bread and Tootsy Rolls, and a whole mess of other products, to gullible kids like me, and our parents hated it, but on the other hand the show kept us quiet for a while.

All those great kids shows died when the government “for the sake of the children” passed legislation forbidding characters on children’s programs from endorsing products. Almost immediately there were no more national or local children’s shows, and the programming space was filled with loud, violent, badly animated cartoons.

Thanks a lot.

Buffalo Bob’s real name was Schmidt, by the way, and most of his life he was a Lutheran, though he seems to have ended up a Presbyterian, for some unaccountable reason.

Note to anyone from WWTC Radio in the Twin Cities who happens to be reading this: The background jingle on that carpet commercial you’re running just now is a vile earworm, and probably toxic and dangerous to the general public. If it runs much longer I may have to take unilateral action. And nobody wants that, do they?

Delanceyplace has an excerpt on television today. College professors in the 1950s didn’t buy TVs, thinking they were a waste of time. James L. Baughman writes:

Columbia University historian Allan Nevins was surprised to learn that his colleague Richard Morris had purchased a television in 1951, ‘one of the first I have seen in the home of a real intellectual,’ Nevins wrote. ‘Most reading and reflective people abominate them.’ The ‘television snobbism’ at Princeton University was so great, history professor Eric Goldman remarked seven years later, that a distinguished colleague had to sneak into Goldman’s house to watch TV.

In an Aspen, Colorado, performance of “Scenes From Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar,” Brutus stabbed himself.

Brutus: “Stoop, Romans, stoop, and let us bathe our hands in Cæsar’s blood up to the elbows . . . Oh my. I seem to have stabbed myself.”