The Dark Knight

Believe the hype ... this movie was great.

I generally can't stand comic films; they're usually too cartoonish for my taste.  The Dark Knight was realistic, thoughtful, and sometimes quite creepy.

It's  an innovation on the classic tradition of "quest" narratives.  Your typical quest tale involves a noble goal (save the Princess, destroy the Ring), a difficult but worth-it journey to achieve that goal, success and acknowledgment of success (eg. crowning of heroes,)  followed by happy scenes of everything better.

Batman's mission is to save a world (okay, a city) that is irreparably broken.  Things  can never go back to the way they were before.  Batman's  goal is simply to operate without losing his way. In the beginning of the movie, Bruce Wayne believes redemption for Gotham is possible. The white knight, Harvey Dent, will bring the salvation that Batman, as a faceless vigilante, can never deliver. His hopes are dashed.  There is no happy ending.

Thus Batman receives his unusual vocation, as "the hero that Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now... "

Veddy interesting ...
   

A Grief Observed

C.S. Lewis wrote a book under the above title. It concerned the death of his beloved wife, Joy.  I've been observing my own grief recently, to try and glean some general ideas about the topic in general.  If I have to go through this extraordinarily nasty experience, I might as well make some use out of it.

A couple observations: 

1. I wanted people to appreciate and acknowledge the gravity of my grief.  When people dismiss your suffering, or try to minimize it, it's an isolating, aggravating experience.

On the other hand ...

2. People who sympathized too much with me, talked to me about how horrible my situation was, how angry it made them -- actually  escalated my pain.  After such coddling, I felt understood and consoled ... for all of 5 minutes.  Then panic and fresh horror set in.

How difficult it is to act charitably towards people in grief, shock, depression, etc. It's a delicate balancing act, especially since the "mix" appropriate for each individual is just that: individual. 

I think realizing this will help me to forgive the people who I feel dealt with my situation poorly and ended up treating me a little badly.  The fact of the matter is: this stuff is hard to handle. And I did not make it easier for anyone.  

President Jackson Is Deeply Offended

 

This morning, I was hard at work nannying. I showed the little boy a 20 dollar bill. "See," I said, "that's the White House on the back, where the President lives. And on the front, that's Andrew Jackson. He was a President."

Awed silence filled the room.

At last, the profound reply:
"He looks like  an old lady."

Boys Are Weird

A Fed Ex truck stopped in front of our house, and backed up the driveway.  The delivery man proceeded to remove a large, roped, wooden box. "What is that?" my father asked him.

It turned out to be a motorcycle. Yes, a motorcycle. Purchased on an eBay auction by ... drum roll please ... my brother (20).  "Andy!" my father yelled, "they're trying to deliver a motorcycle!"
"Um .. yeah," was his reply.

If this was Communist Russia, my father would have denounced him to the Soviets.

So, now there is a big, shiny road hog sitting outside the garage. My brother continues to lack a motorcycle licence, motorcycle insurance, and yes, the knowledge and skill set required to ride a motorcycle.

Later that same afternoon, my other brother, Arthur (17) went into the backyard with a shovel. He dug for quite awhile. "Is something dead? Are you burying it?"  No. He was making a fire pit, over which to roast marshmallows with the members of his rock band.

I related this story to a dear friend of mine. "How funny," she said. "That's exactly what Peter did in our yard, right before he went crazy  and was sent to live with our grandparents."

So, now I'm on the look-out for any other early-onset signs of juvenile delinquency which may presently bubble to the surface.

Oy vey. I've never raised any kids, but I think girls are easier than boys. 

Thank you, Jesus

1. For my sickness. A particularly humiliating disease. Treatable, much better than even 20 years ago.  Curable, with surgery less disfiguring than 20 years ago.

2. For my sadness.  I have lost my health, a job, a home, a family ... a lot to grieve in this, my 23rd year.  We are not truly human unless we suffer; I think the more we suffer, the more human we are allowed to become.

4. In religious life, I tasted Heaven. I would go to sleep at night, crying tears of joy.  Now I have tasted a little portion of Hell.  I could not lift my eyes to God.  Holy things, once so comforting and attractive to me, caused me agony.  I've heard other people talk about this.  Now I have experienced something of this poverty. 

5. For hope.  And anything good that happens to me would not have happened, if I had not first suffered in this particular way.

Thanks Be to God

Zelie Martin (and her husband) are to be beatified.

I'm ashamed to admit I'm somewhat smug, because Zelie was one of three choices I put down for my religious name.  This was deemed avant-garde by some, because at the time she was only a Servant of God.

Next we should pray to have Leonie Martin  raised to the dignity of the altar.

The Cat is Fat

"You've Earned The Prestige"

My parents are older, but certainly not teetering on the brink of death. Nevertheless, they recently received a brochure from a funeral home in the mail. It informs that although "throughout the ages, above-ground entombment has been reserved for only the wealthy," now " Cold Spring Granite has removed the barriers, making mausoleums a burial option for everyone."

I was a little taken aback at the general tone of show-off, watch-me-take-it-with-me:

"A lifetime of success deserves a permanent testimonial. A personalized, custom designed Private Estate Mausoleum, constructed to your exact specifications, attests to your worthy achievements."

In the midst of my research, I discovered that the illustrious New York Times once published a piece on the growing popularity of this kind of thing. The intrepid reporter records the same general theme of blowing-your-own-horn:

" The mausoleum says, 'I'm really significant in this world,' [...] and this is one way to communicate that to the community," says future tomb resident Nancy Lohman.

What a glaring demonstration of how Christianity turns things upside down. Or rather, right-side up.

"Lay this body anywhere, let not the care for it trouble you at all. This only I ask, that you will remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you be." ~ St. Monica

FYI, Pope John Paul II was buried in a simple cypress coffin.