On the Lam

Friday night I looked at my wife and said, "We outta' get out of town." I just felt the need to scram. Thankfully, she was willing so Saturday morning we hopped in the plane and set out for Kentucky. The flight down was about as perfect as they come. We flew at 7,000 feet above a scattered layer of big cotton ball cumulus clouds that were drifting along about 1,000 feet below us.

As we made our way south, some of the clouds started to push their tops up to our altitude and by about the Indiana/Kentucky border we were punching in and out of the bases of some. We arrived in Jamestown at about noon where Grandma and Grandpa were waiting for us.

We didn't do much of anything except relax. That was the only agenda item. How we relaxed was entirely left to our whims. It was great. Saturday night we decided to drive into Somerset for dinner and to get a few groceries. We ate at the infamous Golden Corral buffet--an experience that I imagine could be likened to an ancient Roman food orgy. Only instead of good looking Italians in togas, we dined with a lot of tourists and locals in NASCAR T's and cutoff shorts. I have to admit, for a buffet, the food was really good. I know now why my father and brother speak of it with some reverence and awe. It will destroy your waistline.

Today we got up and had coffee and rolls on the screened-in porch while we listened to the woods come to life. That hour alone was worth the entire trip. In fact it was what prompted me to fly down in the first place. All my best memories in that house revolve around coffee on the porch in the morning.

I also spent some of the afternoon in K-Mart buying some fishing gear that I can keep down there. Next time I go down I'll be set. Just need to see if I can corner my cousin Crowley so he can show me where the monsters are. He's a championship bass and striper fisherman. Spending just an hour with him on the lake would be like getting and hour's worth of free investment counseling from Warren Buffet.

After dinner with Mom, Dad and the grandparents we took off and headed home. The flight back was punctuated with a really cool 10 minutes or so above a thin layer of clouds that were illuminated by the full moon. It looked (and felt) like something straight out of a dream. Or the opening credits of Highway to Heaven. I'm still not sure. We touched down in Champaign about 9.

All in all a successful escape. Here's to more.

Goodbye Oleg

Yesterday a voice was silenced. But not by the people that sought to silence it before it could expose them. I learned this morning that Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn passed away in his Moscow home yesterday at the age of 89. He died a free man who had taken the worst that the Soviet regime could throw at him and lived to watch it die. He is one of my greatest heroes. And while I knew this day was coming, it’s hit me harder than I thought it would.

Like any favorite author, he was as much a friend as a literary figure to me. I became acquainted with Solzhenitsyn during a very lonely period in my life. I bought a copy of the Cancer Ward after reading excerpts that had been used in another book. The main character, Oleg Kostoglotov, is a former prisoner of the Gulag who, after serving a "tenner" (Soviet slang for a 10 yr. sentence), had been sent into "perpetual exile" from his friends and family to the Kazakh Republic. The novel opens with Oleg sitting in the waiting room of a cancer ward in the Uzbek Republic after having been diagnosed with stomach cancer.

I realize that to some that might not sound like the right novel for a lonely person to be reading, but I think I identified to a small degree with Oleg's isolation. I too was thousands of miles from family in a place where few people knew me. When not at work I was almost always alone. Yet, what drew me most to Oleg was the fact he didn't let any of the adversity that life handed him define who he was or dictate his happiness. He was the perfect picture of a truly free man. A man who had been stripped of everything by the State and, as a result, had nothing further to fear from it. The material world had become immaterial and he was free to dwell on the things that truly mattered.

After finishing the Cancer Ward I wanted to know more about Solzhenitsyn. In doing so I learned that the character Oleg was, for all intents and purposes, Solzhenitsyn. Solzhenitsyn had served a tenner for some disparging remarks he had made about Stalin in a letter to friend during WWII. After completing his sentence he had been sent into perpetual exile. While in exile he contracted stomach cancer. As with all fictionalizations some characters, times and places had been altered, but for the most part the Cancer Ward was a chronicle of his experiences.

After that I devoured anything by him that I could get my hands on. I read "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" and then "The First Circle". I discovered rare collections of short stories and speeches. Strangely, I didn't get around to his most famous work, "The Gulag Archipelago", until about eight years ago. I've yet to finish it. With the exception of C.S. Lewis, I would say no other author has shaped my current worldview more than Solzhenitsyn.

Tonight, my sadness at his passing is tempered by the knowledge that nothing in Aleksander Isaevich’s life happened by chance, even his death. He was sent to prison as a young man so he could use the powerful voice he was given to speak first hand about an evil that millions silently endured. He was exiled to the West in the 70’s so that he could warn us about our complacency in the face of such evil. And today, in one of the tragically few articles I was able to find about his life, I saw God’s hand even in the timing of his death:

In a bookstore in central Moscow, a selection of his most famous books was put on display beneath a large black-and-white portrait of the author.

Television channels and radio stations ran constant solemn reports on his life but some younger Russians confessed they knew little about his work.

"He is very famous. I'm just starting his works," said Viktoria Danilova, a 17-year-old in central Moscow. "Unfortunately I haven't read very much yet."

I can think of no better time for the young men and women of Russia to pick up Solzhenitsyn than now as Putin and his puppets seek a return to the Soviet glory days.

If you are interested in Solzhenitsyn, I suggest starting with “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich”. It's a quick read. If you like that, follow up with “The Cancer Ward” and then “The First Circle.” These novels are, in my opinion, his best works but they might be a bit long for someone who just wants to get a taste. Another good place to start is "The Solzhenitsyn Reader" that was just published a year or two ago. This is a collection of political essays, novel excerpts and even some poetry. And if you can find it, check out “Warning to the West” - a collection of speeches he made shortly after his exile to the United States.

D.C. Wings

Since before she met me, Laurie has been an avid participant and promoter of the Center for Civic Education's "We the People" program. It's a great program that works with educators across the country to try and foster a greater sense of civic responsibility in elementary and secondary students. Recently she has deepened her involvement with this program by becoming the WTP representative for all the school's in Illinois's 15th Congressional District (basically Champaign Unit 4). While this is by and large a volunteer job, she does get one very nice perk--an all expenses paid trip to Washington D.C once a year for the annual WTP conference of district representatives. Since they allow spouses to come along (all I had to pay for was my own airfare and any meals I had on my own)I decided to tag along.

While Laurie was in her various sessions I explored the city. There are many things I saw which I could write about, but I'll mention just one. While taking in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum on the Mall, I spotted a brochure about the Steven F. Udvar-Hazay Center--a sister museum that is located about an hour's bus ride away in Chantilly, VA. I had heard some of my pilot friends talk about this museum and how it surpassed the facility on the Mall in both the size and quality of the collection of aircraft on display. I had to see it.

The next morning, after about an hour on D.C.'s Metro trains and buses, I was standing at the entrance of one of the largest aviation museums I have ever seen. Located just to the south of Dulles International, the sprawling facility consists of massive hangars that house, among other things, a Concord, the Enola Gay, a prototype 707, rare Luftwaffe secret weapons from WWII and the space shuttle Enterprise.

As I entered the largest of hangars I stopped awestruck in my tracks. I was standing on one of the many balconies in the facility. Just to my right, hanging almost within arms reach, was an F4U Corsair. To it's left, also seemingly within reach, was a P-40 Warhawk. On the floor directly in front of me was an SR-71 and beyond it in the adjacent hangar the space shuttle.

As I told Laurie later, I experienced a tingle up my spine that I hadn't felt since I first set foot in Six Flags when I was 10. I had our camera with us and took a bunch of pictures. I'll let them do the rest of the talking for this post. All, I'll say in closing is if you love aviation, this is a place you simply have to see before you die. Do whatever it takes, but get there. Even if you're not a pilot or fellow wingnut, but simply a student of history, it's well worth the trip.

Now, to the pics.

Is Anyone There?

In my last post (November of '07) I put away my O Uncle Lar pen until I could find something interesting to write about. At least something that interested me which stood a better than average chance of interesting anyone who happened to read. I think I've found said inspiration with the impending arrival of my son.

I'll do my level best to keep things from getting too maudlin or cloying. Kind of like my flying blog, I really just want to be able to keep track of what's going on with these months leading up to the birth for my own edification. And if Blogger is still around when my son is old enough to read, for his edification too.

Tonight I went to the first of several pre-natal classes which will prepare us for the process of childbirth and the first few weeks following it. Those crucial weeks when I will be acclimating myself to an entirely new world. Of course so will Laurie and our kid so I'll be in good company. I anticipate more than a few moments where we'll all just be staring at each other with, "What the . . .?" looks on our faces. I fully expect my child to give me that one the first time I try to change his diaper. Or maybe he'll just giggle as he pees on my shirt. Who knows. But according to our First-Time-Daddy-Class instructor I can pretty much count on the latter. I guess the cool air on his undercarriage during a diaper change will make the little guy go. The instructor said they actually make "blast" cups specifically for those moments. I figured one of those small Dixie cups we keep by the sink would work just as well.

I think the most valuable thing I learned tonight was how important the first few minutes outside the womb are for the imprinting process. According to our instructor, animal babies only imprint with the mother. Only human babies can form an imprint for the mother and father. Shortly after birth they say I should let junior lay on my bare chest so he can taste, smell and touch me in addition to seeing and hearing me. This will form an indelible bond between he and I. She said he'll already recognize my voice as they can hear pretty well from the friendly confines of mom. Which means I guess I'll have to start watching my language already.

Perhaps the most comforting thing about the class was getting to meet a lot of guys who were in the same boat as I. I thought for sure I'd be among the older guys, but I 'd say about half the class or more were within 5 years of me. I think there was maybe one or two guys that were older than I.

We wrapped the class up with a video that included a natural birth. Not sure I needed to see that, but it didn't really bother me. I will cop to getting a little misty, though, when they laid the newborn on dad's chest. It was just a lingering shot of the kid laying there working his little mouth and hands and glancing up now and then to try and get a look at dad's face. Trying to get a grip on his new surroundings. I'm really looking forward to that part.

I promise not all posts from now on will be about the kid, but I'm sure it will be a major theme for a while. Like I said, I'm really writing all this down for me, but wanted to share these thoughts with family and friends that are interested. So if you read this far, thanks. I can't wait for us to meet my son.

Until Further Notice

I'm taking a hiatus from this blog (as if you hadn't figured that out already). I need to re-evaluate what I use this space for. I suppose sticking with random stuff that's going on with me is fine, but maybe it's just because I don't find much of what's going on with me that interesting to anyone else that I'm wanting to rethink this.

Who knows, maybe this entry will shake something loose and I'll get back into it. In any case, I'm going to continue to update the flying blog, N218DF.blogspot.com. I've posted 3 or 4 flights since opening it. So, if you find flying stories interesting, check it out.

Have a Little Faith in People

I just watched Manhattan again on TCM. What a great film. The things that always get me about it are the cinematography and music. In so many films NY is the backdrop for a plot. In this one it is actually the star and the story is the backdrop. In fact the story is really nothing remarkable in that it's about angst, vanity and lust. Naturally, it's a cut above similar stories because Woody wrote it.

I mean I love the scene where Woody's character Isaac is at a party arguing with a bunch of psuedo-intellectuals that physical violence surpasses "biting satire" when it comes to dealing with Nazis. After all, "...physical force is always better with Nazis. Cos it's hard to satirize a guy with shiny boots." Or when his best friend accuses him of thinking he's God. "I gotta' model myself after someone."

But no matter what's being said on screen your eye is usually drawn away from the actors and on to the City. And if you've been to the City and fell in love with it, it makes you a little homesick.

And if I was a brilliant filmmaker, this is exactly how I would've put it . . .

New Blog

No, I'm not getting rid of this one. I'm starting another one. I know, I know. I hardly update this one. How could I possibly keep up with two? Well, the 2nd will be driven, not by personal whims, but whether I've flown or not.

I've decided to start journaling all my flights so I created Eight Delta Fox. It is primarily for my own benefit. I want to be able to learn from past flights, relive the really amazing ones and, if you're interested, maybe give a friend or two a glimpse into that part of my world.

I'll warn you ahead of time, though. I'm not really writing with the non-pilot audience in mind. Some of the terminology I use may seem a tad esoteric. That said, I'll be more than happy to explain anything you might be curious about. The FAA can talk to my lawyer.

RIP Sammy -- Long Live Lemmy

Of late, the 5pm Car Tunes segment on our local rock station, Xtra 99.1 has become one of the high points of my day. They almost always play some kick butt rock and roll like classic Ozzy, Boston and even Pantera. Yesterday the DJ announced he'd be coming back from a commercial break with some Sammy Hagar. I'd had a tough day and the prospect of hearing One Way to Rock or I Can't Drive 55 was enough to keep me hanging on through the commercials.

Instead they played some "new" Sammy Hagar song. The opening was so awful I was sure the DJ had screwed up and was playing Winger or something. But when the vocals kicked in, it was obvious this was Sammy. Or at least his shell. With some crappy rock ballad riff going on in the background Sammy crooned about opening your heart and letting your guide whisper in your ear. This was not Sammy Hagar. This was Celine Hagar. This was Jack Nicholson after the lobotomy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It was like being promised a shot of Jack Daniels and being served a Zima instead. I wanted to cry.

So today as I drove home I tuned in to Xtra again. Once again my confidence in their rock prowess was shaken when they actually did lead off Car Tunes with Winger. As I glumly watched the road contemplating the death of rock I blanked the song out. How could this have happened? My favorite station and one of my favorite rockers had been neutered. What was next? Hillary winning the election?

Just when I thought all hope was lost I was snapped out of my melancholy by the staccato bass riff of The Ace of Spades. My hand instinctively grabbed the volume control and spun it to the right. My sorrow was instantly turned to rapture. My faith in the DJs at 99.1 instantly restored. Lemmy descended like a vengeful angel of the airwaves wielding the mighty sword of RAWK!

It was the same feeling of exhilaration I felt in that final battle scene in Saving Private Ryan where the mortally wounded Tom Hanks is vainly firing his pistol at the approaching German Panzer. All around him his comrades are being cut to ribbons. Matt Damon is curled in a ball in the corner, wailing like a little girl. Then, just when you think it's curtains for everyone, the tank explodes and a P-51 comes blasting through the smoke and destruction. Lemmy was my P-51.

Long Live Lemmy!

Project Reinstatement: Pt. 1

A few of you may know that at one point in my life I was a flight instructor. I have since allowed my instructor ratings to expire. It was a stupid thing to do, really, considering how simple it is to stay current. But, I got caught up in the life of a "real job" and let them lapse. I've decided now is the time to remedy that situation, but in order to do so I will have to be "reinstated".

Reinstatement is the term that the FAA uses for re-certifying instructors who have let their ratings expire. Basically, it requires that I take a check ride and undergo an oral exam. It's not as simple as it sounds. Besides having to refamilarize myself with teaching flight maneuvers from the right seat of a small plane, I will need to brush up on my knowledge of the FARs (Federal Aviation Regulations)governing flight instruction. Needless to say they have changed some since I made the last instructor entry in my logbook over 10 years ago. Getting reacquainted with the current set of rules will take some time.

Some of you may be wondering, "Why? And in particular, why now?" There are a number of reasons, but the main one would simply be taking care of a gift I've been given. I have the great fortune to work with some of the most talented graphic designers in any industry, let alone the one I'm employed in. One of the things that always impresses me about them is how they continually nurture their gift. It doesn't matter what job they have, they are passionate about design. The thought of letting that talent go to waste would probably be tantamount to sin in their eyes. And they'd probably be right. Ever read Christ's parable of the talents? I believe I've been given an affinity for flying airplanes, as well as instructing others how to. Only I've committed the sin of neglect. That would be the "why".

The "why now" has a little to do with nearing 40 and taking stock in my life. The bigger reason is that for the last several years I've had this gnawing conviction that I was wasting this talent, but I've done nothing about it. The catalyst for finally responding to it came as a result of recently having two CFIs (Certified Flight Instructors), both of whom I admire, tell me in separate instances that I should consider being an instructor. I had said nothing to either about what was going on in my mind about this, and they had both apparently forgotten that I had been one. I know I'd told them both before. In any case, it felt like I was getting a little nudge that the time was right to do this.

So, last week I called one of the aforementioned CFIs and told him I was serious about making this happen. He told me to go pick up a current copy of the CFI PTS (Practical Test Standards) handbook. I've just returned from the Flightstar pilot shop with that and a copy of the CFI oral exam guide. Step one is complete. Now the real work begins.

If I can maintain momentum, I should be reinstated in a month or so. Any of you who read this can feel free to check up now and again and ask me how it's going. I could use a little accountability to keep me on track.

Ride

One of the things I wanted to do while Laurie and I were out here was give her a taste of California from the back of a Harley. You can ride along a stretch of road in a car, and no matter how beautiful the view out the window, it will always be more memorable on the back of a motorcycle. The main reason being all your senses are engaged. Not only do you see the avocado orchard gracing the mountainside, you feel the coolness of the shadows in the valley you're riding through below it and smell the scent of the cedars along the roadside. Talk about an imprint.

We rented a Road King for the day from Gary Bang Harley Davidson in Atascadero. After filling out all the necessary "understand-you're-screwed-if-you-wreck-it" paperwork they gave us a couple of helmets and the keys and waved goodbye. Since there was no limit on mileage we rode all day on just about every road I could remember riding in my, eh, younger days. Every road I could remember (and cover in a day) came out to exactly 239.9 miles worth. The temperature ranged from 58 on the coast to a blistering 90+ inland. Sometimes it felt like we were riding behind a giant hair dryer.

The picture with this post was taken on Santa Rosa Creek Road near the crest of the coastal range above Cambria, CA. The road winds its way down the slope in a series of hairpin switchbacks. The road itself is half as wide as my driveway in parts. But the relative danger and crummy road condition is well worth the effort as this picture will attest.

When we got back to the room, we freshened up a little and hit the San Luis Obispo farmers market. It's every Thursday and is three solid blocks of fresh produce, mouthwatering barbecue and an odd assortment of other vendors (i.e. snow cones, Libertarians and vegan societies). No trip down memory lane would be complete without it.

Tomorrow morning I take the motorcycle back and we spend our last day on the central coast. I'll probably spend most of it in downtown San Luis reading, loafing and, maybe, indulging in a cigar. Saturday we head back down to L.A. and come home Monday. It'll be tough to leave this lifestyle behind, but we're ready. See you Tuesday.

Central Coast High

We've arrived. Aside from battling rush hour on a Friday in L.A., the trip out here was a piece of cake. For those who don't know, Laurie and I are spending a week on the central coast of California. I wanted Laurie to see the California I remember, because it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the sprawl of southern California which, unfortunately, is the only California she's ever seen.

On the way up to our accommodations in Los Osos, we stopped for a bite at Pea Soup Anderson's in Buellton. All the split pea soup we could eat, plus a bottomless bread basket, for $9. Incidentally, Buellton, and the area around it, served as the backdrop for the movie Sideways. In fact, The Coach House where Miles (Paul Giamati) and Jack (Thomas Hayden Church) shared many a meal is right up the road from Anderson's.

And what would a trip to California with my girl be without a little text message ribbing from the guys back home. Somewhere around Santa Barbara McKee texts me that they're at a demolition derby. I reply that that's great, I'm looking at the Pacific. And without going into a whole lot of detail it devolved into text taunting. Only, I was driving, so I had to dictate all my retorts to Laurie who keyed them in and sent them. It was all very surreal.

For those interested in what our digs look like, go to www.baywoodinn.com and take the tour. Our room is the Appalachin. It's got a kind of Jed-Clampett-meets-80's California-chic thing going for it. Also, I'm sure Laurie will be posting pics eventually. She snapped quite a few on the drive up.

More later. Right now I'm going to take a stroll along the bay before bed. Just taking it easy for all you sinners out there.

Four to Go

In four days Laurie and I will be heading out to California for 10 days. I want to show her around the old stomping grounds. We'll be staying at a bed and breakfast in Los Osos which is situated on the central coast, near San Luis Obispo, about 120 miles north of Santa Barbara.

The goal is to just relax and see the sights, but already I'm starting to feel the pressure of doing things while we're out there. Accepting the fact we're not going to have time to will be essential to enjoying this trip. One of the things I'm most definitely going to do is rent a motorcycle and cruise up Highway 1. Dad and I used to ride 1 all the time when the family was out there. I'm glad I got to do that as a young(er) man, but I just wish Laurie could've experienced it with me. Of course if she had, at six years my junior, she would've only been 14 or so. I guess now would be better.

But before we can begin this walk down memory lane, I have four days to work ahead on projects coming due in my absence. Can't say I look forward to it. But if I can get it done, it will make the subsequent respite that much sweeter.

Finally, congratulations to Katie and Mike on the birth of their daughter. I know they will make stellar parents. Haley is one blessed little girl. You can probably find pictures of her here.

Sod On

About 20 minutes ago two flatbed semis loaded with sod showed up on Dropseed. They are busily offloading it with forklifts right now. I hope the neighbors aren't too peeved as one of the trucks has pretty much blocked the street. One driver said the "installers" will be here in about 45 minutes.

Laurie's blog will have pictures of the whole operation later today.

LD in the House

We’ve actually been in the new digs since June 26. Laurie, who has this month off, has been going gangbusters getting everything unpacked and transforming this place from a storage unit into a home. I can’t thank her enough. It’s actually been kind of cool to come home from work and see another room take shape.

Today I came home to find a new desk in the office. I had to trash my old one because its particle board anatomy couldn’t survive my clumsy attempts to disassemble it when we were moving out of the condo. For the last couple of weeks I’ve been using the dining room table. Not an ideal situation for either Laurie or I. I’d been planning to go out desk shopping but lo and behold I came home today and this sleek, aluminum framed, glass-paneled number was sitting in my corner of the office. Thanks babe.

There’s probably more I could touch on, but I’m short on time. Company will be here any minute. Now that we’re back online, though, and I have a sweet new office, I’m guessing I’ll be more inclined to sit down and write. So, for all you readers (or maybe just you)—more later.

Hey Trent, Bite Me.

“Talk radio is running America. We have to deal with that problem.”
Trent Lott

What is talk radio? Free speech. Yeah it may be dominated by one side commercially and another publicly, but it's still one channel for the free exchange of info and ideas. If it's a problem for you Trent, here's how you can deal with it. Stop pushing stupid legislation and we'll stop talking about it.

Now We're Really Homeless

A while back I mentioned we'd sold the condo. Well, we closed on it Wednesday, but are still about two weeks or so out from moving in to the new place. Thus, we are now tenants at Casa Ma and Pa Stephens. They are rarely if ever home so we've had the run of the place for the last week. They also have cable, which Laurie and I did not have the entire time we lived in the condo, so I've been drinking deeply at the well of TCM and the Military Channel. Laurie's been feasting on HGTV which, in my book, qualifies as harmful television. When I watch the Military Channel I know I'll never be able to afford an F-18. HGTV, on the other hand, makes everything they do look entirely too possible. Do they make a V-chip for potentially costly TV programs? You know, nothing that blocks it entirely, but only when the cost for the work being shown gets above a certain dollar amount.

This weekend we're up at Laurie's folks for the baptism of our infant niece, Isabella (aka Ella). I only bring this up because everytime I stay here I have strange dreams. I don't know if it's the bed we sleep on or what, but they're always interesting. Last night, I dreamt that I was tapped for a role in an upcoming feature film because on my experience in community theater. I was invited to a first day rehearsal breakfast where I was to meet my costars. When I walk into the restaraunt I am introduced to Danny Devito and Clint Eastwood. I remember thinking to myself in the dream, "What kind of movie is this going to be? A comedy or another boxing drama?" I was also very concerned about who I approached first for fear of offending the other. I remember coming to the conclusion that the safe bet was to approach Eastwood first. For some reason in the dream I had a memory of sharing cigars and drinks with Devito and I reminded him of this. Then they handed out scripts and that's all I remember. I didn't even get to see what the movie was going to be about.

By the way, since we are homeless, about the only times I'll be able to check my home e-mail or post is when we have access to someone else's internet service. Mom and dad have glacially slow dial up and The Fist is preventing me from getting to my e-mail account at work. So, if you happen to reply to a post or try to reach me via e-mail and I don't respond right away, you'll know why.

The Machinist

A while back Train Guy lent me a copy of The Machinist starring Christian Bale. I finally got around to watching it last night. I'd had this title in my hands many times at Family Video but would always end up renting something else. I think it was providential that it took this long, because the movie probably wouldn't have had the effect on me that it did if I hadn't read Crime and Punishment first.

Many reviews I've read about The Machinist make comparisons to Hitchcock, and rightly so. It's clear to me, though, that the writer and director had Dostoevsky in mind if only for the many intentional shots of the protagonist's reading material--Dostoevsky's "The Idiot". I own the book, but have yet to read it and am anxious to see what relevance it had to the plot. There are many elements of Crime and Punishment as well, namely the protagonist's isolation and mental anguish which Bale portrays brilliantly.

Without divulging too much, Bale plays Trevor Reznik; a Machinist who hasn't slept in a year. Discovering why is pretty much the point of the movie. I've never considered Bale a method actor but he disfigured his body horribly for this role. He is quite literally nothing but skin and bones. His appearance is so emaciated that at times I had to wonder if any of it was CGI. It just seemed impossible that he was actually that skinny and able to function. I think he's a good enough actor (probably the greatest of his generation) that he could have portrayed Reznik's spiritual condition without going to those lengths, but once the movie is over it makes total sense why he did.

I suppose I'm being pretty vague about the plot, but you really need to go into this one without too many preconceived notions. Do yourself a HUGE favor and check it out.

Vanity, Vanity . . .

I've been reticent to blog lately mainly because I've succombed to a slight case of melancholy that renders every endeavor not tied to survival somewhat pointless. That's probably putting it a little more darkly than my actual mental/emotional state, but it's close.

I won't go into detail as to why. That kind of discourse I save for God and my wife. Besides the world needs another pissing and moaning blog post like it needs another Amadinejad. Yes, I see the irony of pissing and moaning about pissing and moaning.

Speaking of irony, I have gotten a snicker or two listening to all the people damning Jerry Falwell to hell for damning people to hell. "Yeah, but Larry he was preaching hatred." Maybe so. I never listened to him much. Wasn't a fan. But hate is hate whether its fueled by errant religious doctrine or secular indignation and I hear just as much hate from Jerry's detractors as he is alleged to have spewed.

Adding to the irony is the fact that Fred Phelps, whom Falwell was often lumped in with, has also damned him to hell. For a real laugh check out Phelps' statement on godhatesamerica.com. Personally, I think Phelps is a fake who doesn't believe a word of what he's saying for a second. He's more like a religious Morton Downey Jr. or quite possibly an unbeliever simply out to tarnish the image of all believers. But I digress.

Hey, on a sunnier note, the house is going great. Laurie's got the scoop. Check it out here.

On the Home Stretch

For a quick update on the house project visit Laurie's blog. As you will see, we're probably just a month and half from being move-in ready. We've actually hit it off with our next door neighbors already. We've (or I've) passed that critical "You want a beer?" phase. They're a great couple with two adorable kids that look to be a lot of fun to live next to.

More later. Hopefully not a month later, but later.

We're Homeless

Just sold the condo 20 minutes ago for $500 under asking. It's a good day.

That is all.