I think it's about . . .

"Forgiveness isn't something you give to someone who hurts you. Forgiveness is something you give to yourself."

Supergirl 

Season2, Episode 10

"We Can Be Heroes"

written by Caitlin Parrish & Katie Rose Rogers

The Magic Goes Away

I finished reading The Magic Mountain last night, and even after 843 pages I wanted more. That's how good this book was. Funny how if you tried to tell somebody about it in terms of the plot, there'd be very little to say. A young man goes to visit his cousin in a mountain sanitarium, and he ends up contracting an illness and has to stay there himself. That's really it so far as the main plot is concerned. But, then again, the main plot of Crime and Punishment is that a guy kills an old lady with an ax and then feels bad about it, so I guess anything can be reductio ad absurdum-ed. But The Magic Mountain is just a very different book. It's really about everything. It even anticipates Beckett at times . . . especially Waiting for Godot. I had a bit to back that claim up, but forgot to note it down and now, of course Ich hab ganz vergessen. I guess I'll have to read it again.

Speaking of which, I may do just that. If I can find another translation which is not by Ms. Lowe-Porter, that is . . . as I most certainly don't want any more of her versions of Mann. (She not only used antiquated diction and syntax, making Mann seem stiff and formal and inaccessible, but she also cut bits out of the story     . . . presumably bits that offended her, at least in part, according to one reviewer I happened upon.) But you know it was good if I'm ready to hit eight hundred pages of it all over again, right? Especially since I am in my twilight years now and only have a very limited number of books left to me.

It's also very cool how there were bits of this 93 year old book that just perfectly applied to our current political situation--for instance, this bit--

"When the moral courage to decide and differentiate between fraud and reality begins to melt away, that marks the end of life itself, of formed opinions, of values, of any improving deed, and the corruptive process of moral skepticism begins its awful work."

              --which seems like a perfect thing to say to Trump and his minions as they deny what they've said previously and refuse to acknowledge the facts of certain situations. In fact, here's another bit that fits for the same situation:

"Go ahead and despise distinctions, precision, logic, the coherence of the human word. Go ahead and despise it in favor of some hocus-pocus of insinuation and emotional charlantry--and the Devil will definitely have you . . . . "

And for those who say we should keep an open mind about Trump and see what he does before protesting against him . . . and I have to admit that I am guilty of having said that awhile back, though it didn't take long for me to change my tune . . .

“Tolerance becomes a crime when applied to evil.”

Yep. 

I heard that sales of 1984 were popping, and I just took a look at Amazon and can see that it's listed as a #1 Best Seller. Which is great, and I love Orwell, love this book, am glad that people are reading it. But The Magic Mountain might be just as good if people are turning to 1984 for some understanding of Trump's Neo-Fascism. And it has a lot more laughs, for sure. And the sex is hotter. 

So what are you waiting for? Climb The Mountain!

Going to Church

I've had mixed feelings about Eric Church. On the one hand, I thought that "Cold One" was pretty funny and well done, and "Springsteen" was a nice tribute to The Boss. But then there was absolute shit like "Drink in My Hand" which made me cringe every time it came on the radio. But I heard a song from him today which made me like him all over again. It's a little ditty called "Kill a Word" and my favorite lines are these"

" . . . you can't unhear, you can't unsay

But if it were up to me to change

I'd turn "lies" and "hate" to "love" and "truth" . . . "

That's some pooty good stuff there, ennit? And it's nice to see that the song is doing well . . . looks like it's a top ten hit on the Country charts. It's worth a listen, for sure. And, of course, easy to find on the You Tub.

President Trump: Please Read Action Comics #972

Or if you can't afford the requisite $2.99 & fifteen minutes, then just check this out:

The only thing that's important now is that I be open-minded enough to judge a man based on what he is--rather than on what I fear him to be."

Dan Jurgens
Action Comics #972

Comprende?

Visual dictionary

belligerent [buh-lij-er-uh nt]

Thomas Mann calls out Trump.

"When the moral courage to decide and differentiate between fraud and reality begins to melt away, that marks the end of life itself, of formed opinions, of values, of any improving deed, and the corruptive process of moral skepticism begins its awful work." 

Thomas Mann

THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

The Ghost Poet Speaks

"And far below, the sea is breathing in slow, protracted whispers as it dreams."

Thomas Mann

The Magic Mountain 

Speaking of Mozart: Complete Operas . . . aka Mozart 22 . . .

In the first opera in this box set, Apollo et Hyacinthus, I couldn't help but notice that the woman who played the part of Melia (1) had a wonderful voice and (2) was very attractive. So I checked her name--Christiane Karg--and then looked at her web page, her Facebook page, and the list of available cds on Amazon. Then I went back and looked at them all again. Yep, QUITE an attractive woman. And then I moved on to the next opera in the set, Die Schuldigkeit des Ersten Gebots, and was delighted to see that Ms. Karg's name appeared in those credits (which preceded the performance) as well. I was more than ready to see her in action again, needless to say.

And she was, again, very impressive, but this was quite a different Christiane Karg, most certainly. The lovely lass from Apollo et Hyacinthus 

had been replaced by a character named Worldliness (in best John Bunyan fashion), and she now looked like this:

Wow. Ms. Karg was great in this role, too--very funny, great faces and gestures, beautiful voice . . . and I thoroughly enjoyed this opera . . . but I also had to go back and watch Apollo et Hyacinthus as soon as it was over just to get the full flavor of her back into my mind.

By the way, whilst fact checking for this bit, I happened to see that Amazon lists a two dvd set of Apollo et Hyacinthus / Die Schuldigkeit des Ersten Gebots for $39.75. And it's probably worth it, as they are both very fine pieces of work. But here's the thing: they are the same performances that are included in Mozart 22, and you can easily find that box set for $80. And then you get 20 more operas for twice the price. I love the Amazons, but you have to keep your eye on 'em.

Just sayin', sir.

They wouldn't turn around and break it.

In between acts of the opera they were playing on NPR today, the host was interviewing a singer who said something along the lines of, "It's dangerous to be passionate. You risk losing everything." Which is not the most profound of thoughts, of course, but it had a black hole's gravitational pull on me. 

You?

The Concert I Heard (2017)

***** = Transcendent.
****   = Really good. 
***     = Worth  it, but not one penny more. 
**       = A waste of time, but one or two good moments. 
*         = Not good.  Possibly damaged my brain. 
 -0       = Ug fa meh loo poo pa.

1.  Apollo et Hyacinthus by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.**** This was the first dvd in the Mozart: The Complete Operas box set. That's where the other 21 Mozart operas that follow are from, too. 22 operas for $80. What a deal!

And it was just stunning to think that WAM wrote this when he was 11 years old. Because it wasn't cool because it was his first opera, it was cool AND he wrote it when he was 11 years old. I was also quite smitten with Christiane Karg, who not only has the voice of an angel, but is also quite a beauty.

2. Die Schuldigkeit des Ersten Gebots by Mozart.**** The beauteous Christiane Karg make an appearance in this opera, too . . . this time as a fat, red faced devil. This was one of the few funny operas I've ever seen. I liked it so much that I took it over to a friend's house and watched it with her. (She liked it, too.)

3. La Traviata (2005)***** A lovely staging . . . surrealistic at times. And Anna Netrebko's voice was mesmerizing. The rest of her was pretty mesmerizing, too, come to think of it. One of the best opera performances I've seen.

4. The Mikado at The Brown Theatre, February 12, 2017. **** Accompanied by fellow opera lovers Jacqueline and Joseph. The troupe did a very good job, even though they inserted a few topical references, which I'm not a big fan of. Hmm, it took me over a month to get to my first in-person concert this year. Getting old. In addition to loving this opera (which made Jacqueline laugh out loud several times), it was very exciting to have Joe turn to me and ask if we could get season tickets to the next opera year. And to think that I had to talk him into his first opera (Macbeth) by telling him that Macbeth used a sword and was a murderer. Hey, whatever works.

5. The Misty Mountain String Band at the Middletown Branch of the Louisville Free Public Library, March 7th.**** Man, the library just keeps on giving, doesn't it? These guys were so good, so much fun. I was going to buy all three of their cds from them, but there were so many people lined up (and I could see that they were running low on supplies, as I had a good long peek into their merchandise carrying case) that I decided I would get them on my own recognizance and leave a complete set for someone else, who might not be as persistent as I am. But these guys are really good. They have an album on Bandcamp (Brownsboro) that you can (and should) listen to for free.

6. Eugene Onegin (2017)**** My second Anna Netrebko opera. Mmm-hmm.

7. Dr. Atomic (2008)***** Very cool modern opera with lots of things to think about in addition to pretty girls and beautiful voices. I wonder why John Adams couldn't come up with a single aria, though. I mean . . . sheesh. 

8. Sean Rowe at Zanzabar, May 11, 2017.***** Actually only six songs from Sean plus an opening act set by some skinny girl with a big voice who wrote sad and boring songs. Sean was great. Amaszing, too. But it was Joe's first concert, and he wasn't into it. At least I got to see Sean and buy a vinyl of his latest album. 

9.  Rhinegold, whatever that first one is called

10. Fidelio (video)

11. Peter Frampton (video)

11. Yes (video)

12. The Misty Mountain String Band on the steps of the Kentucky Center for the Arts, June 27, 2017. *** Definitely worth doing, and I really like these guys, but the energy seemed off today/night. Maybe the venue . . . which included such interruptions as mufferless motorcycles, cops on horseback, and a very loud generator. There were moments of Exceptionally Good, but there were also moments of hmmmmm. Looking forward to seeing them back at the Middletown Branch Liberty in the near future, though.

13. Julius Caesar, Shakespeare in the Park, July 19, 2017. A good show, a really good show. The actor who played Brutus reminded me of Dave Chapelle. A lot. And the actor who played Cassius sounded dead up like Pete Seeger. Oh, and the girl who played Lucious? Aimee Mann all over. But all the main folks did a great job. Unfortunately there was a mom with two kids behind us, and one of the kids talked non-stop through the first part of the play. It didn't ruin it, but it sure was distracting. After intermission she and the talking kid hadn't come back, and just as I was settling into enjoying that they returned and immediately the kid started talking. I couldn't help myself, I said, "Oh, for God's sake!" And at first she looked like she was going to throw down, which I didn't want to happen, but then she started shushing her kid, and it actually went much, much better. I figure that if I have two autistic kids who can sit politely through plays, operas, concerts, etc. that parents with "normal" kids ought to be able to at least fucking try, y'know? ANYway, other than that the play was quite enjoyable. Like at least ***. Oh, wait a minute, it was free. Let's go whole hog and **** it. It was also very much a Trump play. " . . .  he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep . . . . " for instance. His susceptibility to flattery. The stupidity of his followers. More.

14. The Band Perry on television. After watching it, I wasn't all that crazy about the band anymore.

15. Meanwhile, in Randolph, Vermont:

A splendid time, for sure. In fact, I actually found myself thinking, "You know, I could do this again next year instead of going to the Baltimore Fiddle Fair." But I'll probably do both.

16. Boz Scaggs at The Paramount Theater, September 7, 2017.

Boz might be 73, but he can still warble those tunes. The high points were "Lowdown" and "Lido Shuffle" (of course), but "Loan Me a Dime" also kicked some serious ass, and his rendition of "C'est La Vie" was a nice tribute to Mr. Chuck Berry. 

17. First Kentucky Opera of the Season: Strauss's Ariadne auf Naxos. What a superb piece of work this was. I had no idea that this kind of meta-opera existed one hundred years ago. Leave it to the man who brought us the 2001: A Space Odyssey song (actually "Sunrise," from Also Sprach Zarathustra). Aside from that, this opera was also noteworthy for the part of Zerbinetta, played by the most lovely Elizabeth Sutphen . . . in hot pants for the first part. I shit thee not.

I love opera. Joe and Jacqueline enjoyed it, too. I suspect that Joe's enjoyment was more in line with mine, though.

18. Anastasia

19. Norma at St. Matthews Theater, a Met production 10/12/17. 

I'd never heard of this opera before, and when I first saw the listing I imagined that it would be something modern and American. I mean   . . . Norma?  Turns out that Vincenzo Bellini's opera debuted  at La Scala on 26 December 1831. So surprise, it was quite an old opera, actually . . . and distinctly not American. And? Just a thing of beauty. Sondra Radvanovsky and Joyce DiDonato in the lead roles were superb, and they sang with the voices of angels. And the staging was incredible. They used an elevator stage that allowed the first scene--of a forest--to be pulled up into the air to reveal a second stage--the Druid priestess's underground home. Most impressive. And the cast was so huge. I would really like to see this again asap. The only negative had to do with the theater. Blade Runner 2049 was running next door in the XD theater, and there was a constant undertone of rumbling from that movie which really was more than a little distracting. 

20. Les Miserables at Kentucky Center for the Arts April 15th with Jacqueline, Joe, and Pat. **** Most excellent job. 




2016

Another Pink Floyd Night in Emerald City

Emerald City Season 1, Episode 5: "Everybody Lies." Teleplay by Naomi Hisako Iizuka--not Shaun Cassidy--and it seems to be her first produced work for the IMDb crowd. If so, I think she hit it out of the park, as once again Emerald City delivers the goods. 

My favorite bit this time around was having Pink Floyd's "Breathe (In the Air)" playing at the end of the episode. (If you don't know why, take a look at Wikipedia's "Dark Side of the Rainbow" entry, then settle down in front of the tv & stereo with the movie, the album, a tab of acid and a hella bag of popcorn and let the good times roll and turn you around. ) 

But there was plenty of other stuff to like. Oliver Jackson -Cohen, who plays Lucas (who may = The Scarecrow from the original, though there seem to be conflicting signals on that) is really good doing the dark brooding hero (?) thing. He also reminds me of another high profile actor, but I haven't been able to put my finger on who it is. Maybe a young Mel Gibson. (If you figure it out, let me know and I'll sleep more soundly tonight.) Vincent D'Onofrio--who played Wilson Fisk / The Kingpin on Netflix's Daredevil, but is unrecognizable as such here--does a good job as The Wizard. And (you knew it would come to this, right?) there are at least two super hot girls: Adria Arjona, who plays Dorothy Gale, and Ana Ularu, who plays The Wicked Witch of the West. And the dog who plays Toto really holds the line. 

Halfway through its ten episode run, I'm saying Yes to this excess. But it looks like I'm in the minority on that, as I've just some stuff online that said (1) EM's ratings continued to slip, (2) there were oh 2.7 million viewers for episode 5, (3) it is about to become NBC's lowest rated drama, and (4) it probably won't make it to a second season. Further proof that my approval is the kiss of Death. So catch it while you can, brahs and tahs. 

Dante 2017

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

Which in the very thought renews the fear.

Public Service Announcement: Kamandi Challenge Special #1

Just in case you care and haven't heard . . . 

Last week's Kamandi Challenge Special #1 was originally announced as a reprint of Kamandi #32 (from 1975). I was not thrilled at the prospect of paying $7.99 for a reprint of a comic book I already owned (and which cost a mere 50 Cent(s) back in the day), but this would be the first Kamandi comic book published since the 2008 Countdown Special: Kamandi 80-Page Giant (which was a reprint of three issues from the 70s), which was the first Kamandi comic book published since the 6th issue of Kamandi: At Earth's End in 1993, which was the first Kamandi comic book published since the first-series-ending issue #59 in 1978. So kind of a big deal.

And Kamandi has always held a special place in my comic book nerd heart. It was the first comic book I bought issue #1 of . . . and the first series I collected from beginning to end, which was no mean feat in those newsstand distribution days, let me tell you. I had to go to three different drug stores and a food store to get all of those issues. It was also the first comic book I had a letter published in (issue #31 if you're trying to collect my Complete Works). And I can't even tell you how many comic books I bought because there was some kind of Kamandi connection--no matter how tenuous. I even bought both volumes of the Kamandi Archives and both volumes of the Kamandi Omnibus--pretty pricey items, and both reprints of material I already had--AND the first Kamandi Artist Edition from IDW (SERIOUSly pricey item). And I bought a Kamandi doll.

Err . . . Action figure, that is.

So yeah, I was ready to lay the money down for Kamandi Challenge Special #1. 

It came out last week, but Joe and I didn't have time to make it to The Great Escape, so I didn't pick it up until today. Fortunately I'd had it pulled for my holds box, since there were no copies left on the stands. And when I got home and opened it up I saw some black and white pages, and I thought that that was very odd. A misprint? I looked again.

Waitaminute, I'd seen those pages before. And that's when it hit me. HOLY SHIT!!! DC had published the Kamandi issues from Cancelled Comics Cavalcade 1 and 2! 

[In what later became known as The DC Implosion, at the end of the 70s DC hit the wall and cancelled a slew of titles, including Kamandi. Many of the comics already had issues that had been completed (minus coloring, I think), and for some reason they made 35 photocopied copies of the "finished" books and called in Cancelled Comics Cavalcade #1 and #2 . . . apparently to establish copyright for DC . . . and distributed them internally. It's not too hard to find the contents of those two issues online, so I did. And printed out my own copies, since it really wasn't feasible to buy a real copied copy. Hmmm, that would be scanned.]

So Kamandi Challenge Special #1 went from duty to delight. You might still be able to find a copy out there. If nothing else, this issue should be worth quite a few bucks in the near near. If you can't find it and just want to have it for yourself (as opposed to investment value), it looks like Comixology has it up . . . though the description doesn't say that the contents include Kamandi #60 and #61. I think that's an oversight, though, as the page count indicates that it does have that stuff, but I've emailed the Comixology folks to check on it. More news as it happens on that front.

Oh, oh, oh, it's Magic, you know.

"Go ahead and despise distinctions, precision, logic, the coherence of the human word. Go ahead and despise it in favor of some hocus-pocus of insinuation and emotional charlantry--and the Devil will definitely have you . . . . "

Thomas Mann

The Magic Mountain

Again, Humpty Trumpty

I wrote this poem awhile ago:

Humpty Trumpty said he'd build a wall

And make the Mexicans pay for it all

But President Nieto said, "En un ojo de cerdo,"

And implied that Trumpty was corto & lerdo.

Humpty Trumpty said, "Muslims stay out!"

And perhaps yellow crescents and stars'd leave no doubt

As to who could be trusted and who was suspicious--

And who could eat up and who'd do the dishes.

"I'm the greatest of all!" our good Trumpty said,

While Muhammad Ali groaned and rolled in his bed.

"His head might be huge," Ali's spirit declared,

"But it's just a shit omelet that's cooking in there."

So beware, ye non-white, non-born USA folk,

Your days might be numbered, and that is no joke.

I don't know who will put who in his place

But Trumpty already has egg on his face.

And one of my friends told me I should send it to The New Yorker. And I thought that was ridiculous, but I also though what the hell. So I sent it. Here's how that went:

So . . . that's that. But hey, I got a letter from Paul Muldoon. Kind of.

The end of the world as we know it.

I just succumbed to some msn click bait entitled "The super rich are preparing for the end of the world." (Whatever happened to capitalized words in titles, anyway?) It was about what you'd expect, but there was one quote which caught my eye:

"I think people who are particularly attuned to the levers by which society actually works understand that we are skating on really thin cultural ice right now." - Antonio García Martínez  (Who has written a book with the title Chaos Monkeys: Obscene Fortune and Random Failure in Silicon Valley. Yep, it's already on my LFPL request list. Ebook version, of course. More news on that as it happens.)

And I've thought about that end of the world shit myself on occasion. I'll even confess to having given a bit of thought to purchasing a gun. Because I think Antonio (may I call you Antonio?) is right. We are skating on the thin ice of modern life. And we shouldn't be surprised if a crack in the ice appears under our feet . . . and we fall through thin ice.

But you know . . . my chances of survival are mighty slim. I can't forage, fight, or face the world without electricity. So I think I'm just going to hope for the best and stay gunless. 

Though I still wouldn't mind living in an abandoned missile silo if there happened to me one available.

Humpty Trumpty

Are you stressed Yet, Jen?

Lies about size of inauguration crowd size & illegal voters, gag orders on the EPA, insulting the Intelligence community, ties to the Russian government's hacking the presidential election, re-starting work on the DAP, hiring freeze on most of the federal government, reporters arrested for covering protests . . . and Trump hasn't even been in office for a week yet. 

Beware the savage jaw of 1984.

Magic Mountains or My Eyes Are Up Here

"[O]ne Suday evening in the salon after supper, the consul made a discovery, thanks to a black, very low-cut sequined gown: Frau Redisch had very feminine, soft, white, close-set breasts and a cleavage visible from a considerable distance. And this discovery had stirred the mature, refined man to the depths of his soul, thrilling him as if this were a totally new, unexpected, unheard-of phenomenon."

Thomas Mann
The Magic Mountain

This cracks me up for several reasons. Erste, the formality of the language is just a perfect way to express a crude thought. A considerable distance indeed! Zweite, the idea that underneath all the superficial decoration, we men are just mobile boners. And dritte, it's just so true. Totally ridiculous, but true nonetheless. 

The efficacy of prayer.

I seem to have become a praying man. It's not that I had an epiphanal conversion or that I have deep faith or strong religious convictions . . . though I have to admit that I often wish that I did. It's more that I needed to talk to a self that is greater than my self. So I started talking to Jesus. Before I go to sleep at night. When I wake up in the middle of the night (which is almost every night.) When I wake up again in the morning (if I've managed to go back to sleep after the middle of the night wake-up--about 50 / 50 on that one). 

Praying with Jacqueline and Joe paved the way, I suppose. (Though those long ago years from kindergarten through the sixth grade at Emmanuel Christian Day School probably had something to do with it.) With Jacqueline, we say separate God blesses and then The Hail Mary and The Lord's Prayer together. We sing the "For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever a-men" part. With Joe, I just watch as he says a quiet-bordering-on-silent prayer. Both pray with candles--though Jacqueline needs six while Joe only has one. 

But that ended up not being enough. And I kept thinking about this little story in a book one of my friends had given me, about a kid who would duck into his church on his way home from school and say, "Hi, Jesus, it's Timmy." And not much else. Just checking in. I loved that story. So I started praying (or "praying") that way at night. "Hi, Jesus. It's Thomas." And I would think about what was on my mind. And I'd identify things that I was grateful for. It didn't really feel like praying, and I didn't really think of it as a serious thing. Maybe just a way of talking to someone before I go to sleep since I've given up on girlfriends.

But it became important and natural for me to do. In fact, I don't really even think about it anymore, I just slip right into it.

I've read some things about how when a group of people prayed for a person who was sick--even when that person didn't know that s/he was being prayed for--that the person sometimes got better. And I've read about the religious shrines that people go to, and how people who were crippled leave their wheelchairs behind, etcetera. And I can't help but think that it's not totally bullshit, you know? Probably mostly bullshit, but 100% bullshit? That seems like bullshit to me.

And the older I get, the more I am sure that I don't know so much about life, the universe, and everything, and the more inclined I am to say, "Maybe."

And with Jacqueline and Joe, when they ask me about people or even animals who have died, and they ask me if they are in heaven, I don't even hesitate before I tell them that they are, and that when I die I'll be in heaven, and that I'll be watching over them and will greet them when they die and go to heaven. I guess that's kind of like telling them that Santa Claus is real to some folks . . . maybe even to myself, I'm not sure . . . but I don't care about that. To me, it's a way to give my kids some comfort and an ability to deal with one of the great horrors of life.

And it does that for me, too. There are times when I think about dying, and it just scares the living shit out of me. I feel desperate, like I'm clawing my way up the living room wall, or falling off of a very high ladder, or drowning in viscous fluid. And if I allow myself to think, "But this isn't the end of my existence," I start to feel like I can breathe again.

It's kind of a slight variation on Pascal's Wager. But more of a win-win situation. If I believe that there is an eternal life for me and I die and there is an eternal life, then that's lovely. And if I believe that there is an eternal life for me and I die and there isn't an eternal life, then I don't know it because my consciousness has been obliterated.

Of course there's always the HELL box on the flow chart . . . but that is one thing that I have no problem in dispensing with, despite years of Christian conditioning and Dante and Milton. It's just so fucking stupid, you know? There'd be no point to it at all. (Now Purgatory I could go for. A chance to work off your shittiness.) But a God who would create eternal punishment for people who didn't measure up to His standards in life . . . especially taking into account what we now know about human behavior and genetics and societal conditioning and etcetera . . . well, that would be like punishing sharks for eating chum, wouldn't it? And if there is a God, I don't believe that S/He could be stupid or cruel (by definition), ergo no Hell.

So I pray. It might not help, but I don't see how it can possibly hurt.

Cool Quotes I Never Got Around to Writing About

"Why do people marry versions of their controlling mothers? Or absent fathers? To have a shot at righting old wrongs. Fixing things as an adult that hurt you as a child. Maybe it doesn’t make sense at a surface level, but the subconscious marches to its own beat."

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

"I’m a simple man without a lot of complicated twists and turns. Look down my throat and you can see out my ass."

"The long years had ground away all the hardness and fierceness in their personalities, until all that was left was a gentleness like that of water."

" . . . . a person’s ability to discern the truth is directly proportional to his knowledge."

The Three-Body Problem (Remembrance of Earth's Past) 

by Cixin Liu

"i want the youtube gets fix"

Typed into the Google search box by Joe when our internet went down

A Cure for Mountain or The Magic Wellness

I am starting to get all geeked up for this A Cure for Wellness thing. Which is probably not a good thing in that (1) anticipation often seems to raise the expectation bar and raised expectations often lead to disappointment, and (2) it's still about three weeks away from opening night, and that's a long time to maintain an erection. But on the other hand, my desire to see the movie has also spurred me on to get back to reading The Magic Mountain, which I really have been enjoying, so that's a good thing.

Anyway . . . .

In addition to a very exciting trailer, the movie promo people have released 3 two and a half minute "meditation" videos to help us achieve wellness--one for water, one for air, one for earth. I don't know what happened to fire. In the last of these videos, the mediation guide tells us to " . . . embrace the meaninglessness of your wasted existence . . . . " I've got to admit that that makes me a little bit happy. I know that that's kind of sick, but maybe it's just a misery loves company thing.

Jim Kalb (the First)

On your right.

In the middle.

I guess it's always startling to look at pictures of your parents when they were kids--so to speak. My dad was in his late teens in these pictures. Traveling the world with the U.S. Navy. Drinking it up. He looks like he was having fun. I hope so.

He died of lung cancer in 1984, about a month short of his 60th birthday. He never got to retire to the small farm he'd bought in Washington Country. He only got to see one of his grandkids . . . and there are now six. I often think about how he'd love all of them, but I am pretty sure that my sassy little autistic daughter would really be his cup of tea. Both of them are shoot from the hip and ask questions later people, which can be a delightful thing--especially if you're not the target.

I started to keep a journal when I hit my 59th birthday in August, 2016, intending it to be a little book about my 59th year just to put things into perspective for myself, and maybe gain a little insight into my dad's last year on the planet. But I've had a hard time keeping up with it. For one thing, retired life as a full-time writer (at least theoretically) has not been bliss-filled, and I'm finding myself stalling out, wondering if it's a thing worth doing anymore. I've been waiting for over two years to hear back from McSweeney's on a story I submitted to them, and have had 13 other pieces rejected. And let's just say that the two pieces I've put up on Amazon Kindle (a short story and a novel) are not selling like hotcakes at present. And the last book review I had published was in the winter of 2014. (And I think that was my last review, too, as I'm not feeling the need to do that kind of thing anywhere other than right here these days.) 

Which kind of brings me back to my dad. Maybe it's about not being able to reach your dream, even though you see it clearly. Or maybe it's about running out of steam, just not having it in you to keep pushing so hard.

I remember going up to the farm with dad one weekend. I hate to say it, but I didn't do that very often. My sister Mary was much more dependable--and more skilled--than I ever was. But on one of the times I went up with him he wanted to dig holes to put in a fence. And I was so confident of my strength that after he showed me how to do it, I went at it like a madman, pounding the post hole digger into the earth for all I was worth. And dad said, "Take it easy and just go steady. Anybody can make the fur fly for a minute." And of course I thought, What does he know? Until a minute or two had passed, at which point I had to stop because I was exhausted.

Yep.

When my first child was born, I named him James after my father. Whose name wasn't James. He was born Clarence Franklin Kalb, Jr. But that was way too much for the mouth of country folks, so he was always known as Jimmy. In fact, when he got a gold pen from UPS for something, it was inscribed Jim Cobb. And my mom always called him Jimmy. He was about as far from a Clarence as anybody I've ever met or heard of.

On another visit to the farm, dad wanted to cut down thorn trees. One of us would pull the branch out so that the other could cut it, and then we'd trade off. When I was cutting one of them dad slipped and let go, and a large thorn buried itself in my wrist. It didn't hurt all that much, so we just went on working. When I got home I tried to pull out the "splinter" with a needle, and when that didn't work I tried using a seam ripper. To no avail. My oldest sister, who was a nurse, told me I needed to get it surgically removed, and apparently she had enough pull to sneak me in for a minor operation. When they pulled the thorn out of me it was a couple of inches long . . . almost long enough to have pierced my wrist all the way through. I still have a little scar from it.

That was the last visit to the farm I can remember making, so maybe it wasn't all my fault that I was such a bad son.

That doesn't make me feel any better about not being supportive of dad, though, for sure.

Which reminds me of when I went to see a spiritualist because I wanted to see if I could talk to my sister Kate (the aforementioned nurse) after she had killed herself. Not that I really believe such things are possible. I just didn't want to leave unturned stones. And after I'd "talked" to Kate--and was not at all convinced that that is what had happened--the spiritualist asked me if there was anyone else I wanted to talk to. So I said I would like to talk to my dad. And she said that she saw him sitting beside a river, smoking a cigar and fishing. And that there was a dog beside him. My dad did like dogs (we were never without one when I was growing up) and I'd known him to fish, but I don't think I ever saw him smoke a cigar. Though he did smoke cigarettes when he was young, and was still occasionally smoking a pipe when I was old enough to remember buying him Father's Day presents (invariably a new pipe or a pouch of  Half and Half tobacco). So maybe he'd have a cigar in heaven. The spiritualist asked me what I wanted to say to him, and I said, "I'd like to tell him I'm sorry that I didn't spend more time with him." And the spiritualist said that he replied, "Payback is a bitch!" Which certainly sounded like something my dad would say. And surely every parent has that Harry Chapin Cat's in the Cradle moment at some point. So maybe.

My dad liked to say, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if it weren't for your asshole, your belly would bust."

And once when I asked him about some family troubles that we were having between my new wife (number one) and my younger sister, his advice was, "The more you stir shit up, the more it stinks." 

Come to think of it, he'd have really liked my second ex-wife, too. (As did I, I don't want to fail to mention.) Also, a weird coincidence. Her first and middle names were Clare Francesca. Clarence Franklin. Pretty close, right? And one of the therapists I went to (after Clare left and I lost my sanity) told me that the voice I was hearing from Clare was my father's. Which was bullshit, but was still kind of interesting. Or at least is now. At the time, it wasn't all that interesting. Actually nothing was very interesting at that time.

Except my kids. My kids have been the primary focus of my life ever since the first one (Jimmy) was born. When people find that my youngest children are both autistic, they often comment that I am an angel or some such thing of like ilk, which is well-intentioned, I'm sure, but absolutely ridiculous bullshit. The truth is that I would not be able to live without my kids, and that our days are primarily full of joy and laughter. I love all three of them dearly. Jimmy has moved away and has a life of his own, so I don't get to interact with him as much as I'd like to these days (Little Boy Blue and The Man in the Moon), but Jacqueline and Joe are with me at least four nights a week, and we read together and say prayers together and watch television shows and movies together and go to the YMCA together and etcetera etcetera etcetera, and those are the best minutes of my life. 

And I know that my dad loved me, so I hate to say this, but it's true: I can't remember him ever saying, "I love you" before he got sick. And I can't remember him ever hugging me. And there are no pictures of him hugging me. Or holding me when I was a baby. Those were different times, of course, and that's no doubt a part of it. It makes me miss him even more, though. It makes me wish that we had had more together.

For one of his birthdays I gave him two Kurt Vonnegut books: Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons and The Sirens of Titan. I don't remember why I gave him those books, other than that I loved Vonnegut dearly and thought that my dad would think he was funny. But my dad wasn't really a reader. My mother told me later that he'd said to her, "Tom must think I'm pretty smart" because I'd given him those books, though. And he did think they were funny. I remember how he'd read a sentence from The Sirens of Titan that particularly cracked him up: "The stake was nineteen feet, six and five thirty-seconds inches high, not counting the twelve feet, two and one-eighth inches of it embedded in the iron." For some reason that extreme specificity was really funny to him.

When he got sick, I gave him one of my novels to read. I can't remember if he'd asked to read it or if I asked him to do it. When he finished he said that it was pretty good, but that he'd have "said some things differently." I didn't have enough sense (or maturity or wisdom) to take that as anything but an insult, unfortunately, so I left it there and didn't show him anything else I'd written. 

Man, I miss my dad.