February 2006 Archives

So far, I've been good about keeping track of the books I've read this year. Here is the list of those I've completed in February:

• The Ring of the Nibelung by Richard Wagner/Andrew Porter
• C.S. Lewis: A Biography by A.N. Wilson
• Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained by John Milton
• Shopgirl by Steve Martin
• The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin
• The Pilgrim's Regress by C.S. Lewis
• Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
• The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell

It took an eternity a while, but I finally finished reading Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained by John Milton. It was a humbling experience. I never felt more ignorant about mythology, geography and the English language in my life. The last book to make me feel that inadequate was Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise.

In the edition I read, the translator, Christopher Ricks, included an abundance of footnotes at the bottom of every page to assist readers with Milton's references and use of words. They were initially helpful, but eventually annoying.

Through the first few books, I tried to read them as I would any footnote. Each time I saw an italicized superscripted number, I would jump out of the flow of the poem, read the corresponding footnote, frantically search for where I left off and jump back in. I soon grew tired of this and went with an alternate strategy, which mainly involved reading the entire page of poetry before reading all of the footnotes. I don't know if this decreased my understanding of the writing, but it definitely increased my enjoyment of it.

I still find it a tad bizarre that a three-hundred-year-old book, written in English, would require translation into English. It makes me wonder how future translations of current books will look three hundred years from now. I worry that scholars of the future will translate such serials as Sweet Valley High and Star Trek because historians in 2406, searching through the ruins of the great library of Amazon.com (somewhere in ancient Seattle), will mistakenly label them as classics and attribute them to the most prominent American novelists of our time, Pamela Anderson and William Shatner, who, due to erroneous conclusions, will also receive credit for writing a multitude of plays including Macbeth, Death of a Salesman and Rent.

Although it sometimes felt more like required reading than reading for leisure, I'm glad I experienced Milton. And should I forget, I have Philip Pullman to thank. If he had not credited Paradise Lost as a major source of inspiration for his trilogy, I would have foolishly avoided Milton completely.

By the way, the book's cover art was a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (of whom I a fan) called The Fall of the Rebel Angels. I only mention this so that it's recorded somewhere that I can easily find because there will be a day when I'll want to recall it and will inevitably draw a blank.

The same week that I finished Milton, I also began and finished two novellas by Steve Martin - Shopgirl and The Pleasure of My Company. The transition from Milton to Martin was tremendous, but I figured I deserved some lighter fare and some laughter after Milton's less-than-hilarious epic. Of Martin's two books, I liked Pleasure better. It had a stronger plot, a more likable character, better pacing and more humor than Shopgirl.

Cinequest 16 begins in three days. The nearly two-week long film festival runs from March 1 to March 12. I only grabbed a copy of the program guide last Thursday as I passed Camera 12 and only went through the movie listings yesterday. I know the guide is available online, but there's something about sitting in a busy cafe, reading descriptions printed on paper and physically circling potential picks that I like. For a few moments, I can pretend to be cultured.

Of course, for me the fun is in the planning. It begins with the pen and program guide and ends with a spreadsheet to help me avoid scheduling conflicts between movies and pesky "obligations" like work, meals and sleep. One additional obligation this year is volunteering for the festival. I just heard from the coordinator and I'll be helping out at the box office for a few hours over the next two weeks.

As I went through this year's offerings, I noticed I had become much more finicky. In 2003 and 2004, I easily found ten movies I wanted to see. I didn't end up liking all ten of them, but I at least gave them a chance. Last year, only five movies made the cut for potential viewing. This year, I again only found five I was willing to pay nine dollars to see and that number dropped to four thanks to a timing conflict.

A more positive spin might replace finicky with discerning, but the fact remains that my tolerance level has lessened, which makes me less receptive to potentially good films. I'm not happy about feeling like I've become somewhat closed-minded because that isn't who I want to be. The only thing I can think of to remedy the situation is to go through the guide again and ask myself why I don't want to see certain movies. Perhaps a theme will present itself. If I can see what chains are holding me back, I can break out of them.

Anyway, here are the four films I hope to see:

1. Clear Cut: The Story of Philomath, Oregon
2. An Enemy of the People
3. Frozen Land
4. Loop

Rich tagged me with this meme, so here I go...

Four shows I enjoy:

1. Lost
2. Scrubs
3. American Idol
4. Grey's Anatomy

Four jobs I've held:

1. Library Assistant
2. Engineering Intern
3. Engineering Trainee
4. Engineer

Four places I've vacationed:

1. Hong Kong
2. Vancouver
3. Vienna
4. Mau'i

Four cool toys:

1. Canon Powershot S40
2. Palm V
3. Yepp Digital Audio Player
4. AFLAC Rubber Stress Duck

Four Web sites I visit daily:

1. CNN
2. New York Times
3. San Jose Mercury News
4. Major League Baseball

Four places I'd rather be:

1. Yosemite
2. At a quiet cafe
3. Someplace overlooking the ocean
4. Appleland, I mean Disneyland!

Four bloggers I'm tagging:

Okay, I'm copping out and saying if you want to give it a go, go for it.

This is just an experiment to see what happens when I post a photo entry from Flickr. I took this from the top of Dewey Point, along the southern ridge of Yosemite Valley, in January.

The purpose of this post is to inform you that the publishing engine that produces the journal you're reading has been upgraded from Movable Type 3.14 to Movable Type 3.2. As usual, the company failed to include an author upgrade with this latest installment.

Today, by the way, is the first Friday I have off due to a new alternate work schedule I started last week. The way it works is relatively simple. I work an extra hour Monday through Thursday and get every other Friday off. Some of the tasks I accomplished or will accomplish today:

• Upgraded Movable Type
• set up a Flickr account
• vacuumed the house
• wash one load of laundry
• assemble an arbor (and photograph the assembly efforts)
• read a book outside while the sun is still shining

Have a great Friday (and weekend), everbody!

"If this had happened to anybody else in America, it would have been like a sparrow belch in a typhoon."
- Alan Simpson's colorful response to Chris Wallace on this weekend's Fox News Sunday regarding Dick Cheney's shooting accident.

Two decades ago, I would wake up early every Saturday morning to eagerly watch cartoons. When I say cartoons, I don't mean the political type drawn by freelance artists, solicited by an independent newspaper and used by religious extremists to fuel violence and promote a long-sought holy war. I mean The Flintstones, The Super Friends Hour and The Littles. If I saw them, I was ecstatic. If I missed them, I was heartbroken.

Two years ago (or so), I would rise relatively early on Saturday mornings to watch cartoons like Kim Possible and shows like Trading Spaces: Boys vs. Girls. In doing so, I was able to recapture some of the excitement of my younger days. Yet, I never felt the same attachment to the new generation of morning shows that I did to the ones of my youth. If I happened to miss them, I was disappointed, but never distraught. I didn't know if it was a sign that I had grown up and my tastes had changed or a sign that television was simply producing lower quality shows for children (and guys refusing to let go of their childhoods).

Since the beginning of the year, I've been hooked on weekend programming as addictive as those Saturday morning cartoons. I've found a more "sophisticated" source of entertainment, a more "mature" reason for waking up early. I'm talking about the political talk shows on Sunday mornings. Most people are probably thinking, "Politicians and pundits are exciting, how?" To which I reply, "Have you seen the verbal aerial tricks some of those politicians throw down as they deftly avoid answering questions? Have you witnessed the venomous hyperbole those partisan commentators spit at one another? The whole thing is ridiculous, yet fascinating."

For a "balanced" diet, I watch three shows. For what I perceive to be a right-leaning perspective, I watch Fox News Sunday with Chris Wallace. They stack their roundtable with two conservatives, Brit Hume and Bill Krystal; a moderate, Mara Liasson; and a liberal, Juan Williams. For what I believe is a left-slanting take, I watch This Week with George Stephanopoulos. His roundtable consists of a rotating liberal (meaning a different one each week, not one that actually spins around), the conservative George Will (a favorite of mine for his baseball perspectives) and Cokie Roberts.

My favorite and the one I like to think is the least biased is Meet the Press with Tim Russert, who had me from the first moment he used a dry-erase board in 2000. He, more than any other host, does his research and makes good use of it: citing quotes from articles and speeches, asking his guests tough questions (regardless of political party), bulldogging them for answers and calling them on less-than-honest statements. I also like that the show is available for online viewing. True, This Week offers a podcast and one can gain quite a bit from just listening to it, but half the fun of television is its visual aspect.

Of course, now I'm trying to imagine what it would be like if today's top television shows were aired during the days of radio shows. It's hard to see CSI and Desperate Housewives having the same appeal. Most comedy shows, the few still in existence, would probably do okay. I think Lost would work in terms of weekly cliffhangers and accompanying musical score, but I can't see how flashbacks, the show's signature storytelling technique, would work. The show losing the least in translation would probably be American Idol. Contestants would sound appalling whether we could see them or not. Not to be mean, but the only thing that could help them sound better is the mute button.

The town where I live is celebrating its centennial this year. In addition to the usual calendar of annual events, the community is throwing in a few special ones to honor the 100-year milestone. Community leaders are also funding two special projects to commemorate the occasion.

The first is a street improvement project for the road that runs along the eastern edge of the historic downtown district and provides access to the train depot. Potholes and cracks currently plague the pavement and the street lacks sidewalks. More importantly, it has no curb and gutter, which leads to pools of standing water during the rainy season.

The proposed project will transform the deteriorated street into a pedestrian-friendly corridor. Besides median islands and narrower driving lanes, there will be tree-lined sidewalks, street lighting and furniture, bike lanes and special pavement at the intersections. They will also eliminate one of my pet peeves: overhead utility lines and poles.

At the train depot, as part of the project, they plan to erect a bronze statue of the town's namesake, along with his wife and daughter, waiting for the train. It's creatively called "Waiting for the Train". I recently saw a model of the statue. Not only did I find it visually pleasing, but I was also quite taken with the idea that Hiram (the namesake's given name) may have waited at the very same train station that I wait at a century later.

- Begin Irrelevant Art Criticism Interlude -

Art Critic: As with every statue representing an actual person, one must question its historical accuracy. Is what we're shown what really happened? Is the statue more about the idea of the person than the actual person? How much "truth" was sacrificed for aesthetics? Does it matter?

Author: How often Hiram and his family waited for the train or if they even used the railroad at all is of little historical significance. One can see that the statue is more about the community's sense of identity than about a real moment a time. In this case, the concept and aesthetics matter more than the "truth".

- End Irrelevant Art Criticism Interlude -

The project won't be completed until early 2007, which makes me wonder why they didn't start construction sooner. In any case, I can't wait to see the results and enjoy the new downtown area.

The second project is a history trail. According to the neighborhood newsletter, the trail will include a centennial bell, a time capsule, plaques, markers and "other objects of historical interest". I don't know what they mean by that last term, but considering this town's past, I'm guessing it's a euphemism for "old farm equipment". The history trail will be located on the grounds of Hiram's former home, which means it won't quite compare with, say, Boston's Freedom Trail, but I'm still stoked.

The two projects promise to make a positive and enduring impact on the community. Topped with the array of centennial festivities, it should be a fun year in the town where I live.

It doesn't take much to be a good street crosser in a metropolitan area. One only needs to follow three simple rules:

1. Look both ways.
2. Cross at the crosswalk.
3. Cross when the signal is green.

I think most urban pedestrians believe they are savvy street crossers, but based on my observations, they aren't. They jaywalk or cross when the signal is red. At some intersections, people charge right out against the light and only look for oncoming cars as an afterthought. What's more, when in crowds, ordinarily good street crossers become bad ones. After one person ignores the signal, herd mentality kicks in and everybody follows since nobody wants to be left standing at the corner as the lone, law-abiding idiot.

I sometimes wonder why people are so awful at crossing the street. I know what follows is mean, unfair and self-righteous, but it's written as someone who has been the lone, law-abiding idiot far too often. I believe it's all due to one of three deficiencies:

1. Visual deficiency: They simply can't discern color or shape. They can neither tell the difference between red and green nor tell the difference between a walking person and a giant hand. (Probability: Low, but possible.)
2. Mental deficiency: They are incapable of understanding the concept or meaning of certain colors and shapes. Either they weren't taught what the symbols mean or they aren't smart enough to comprehend and retain what they learned. (Probability: Highly unlikely.)
3. Moral deficiency: They know what the symbols mean and know what they should do, but they just don't care. They're late or in a hurry and are too important to wait for something as insignificant as a crossing signal. They're also almost certain they won't get caught, punished or flattened into road kill. (Probability: I think we have a winner!)

I say all of this knowing that I'm a mediocre street crosser at best. When I'm in a rush to catch the train, I'll conveniently overlook the rules, but for the most part, I try to stick to them, figuring I'm not losing much time standing there, admiring the scenery or observing the passing people and cars.

Every now and then I see the Worst Street Crosser in San Jose. She won't actually cross the street unless she's walking against the light, causing cars to slow down or screech to a halt. She does it so often that I'm almost certain she does it purposely. I don't know the real motivation for her behavior, but my overactive imagination likes to believe she detests the societal pressures to conform. It's her way of sticking it to the Man (or, in this case, the traffic engineer).

He shivers as he comes around the side of the house. The morning is cold. The grass of the soccer field across the street, which doubles as a detention basin during the rainy season, is a frosty white. He takes care to avoid the diseased rose bush and places his socked and sandaled feet on the stepping-stones that provide a clear path between the dying groundcover and thriving weeds the neighborhood landscapers "maintain".

He stops in front of the telephone box framed in the wall. With his numb fingers, he successfully removes the two sheet metal screws holding the metal cover in place and stuffs them in his pocket. He then pries the cover loose using his Stanley multi-bit screwdriver and sets it on the ground.

He stares at the assortment of colored wires running rampant inside the box. They tangle and twist, but all terminate at the mysterious gray box within the telephone box. He doesn't know what purpose they serve except for the black one. It powers the gray box.

Forgetting the mess of wires, he focuses on the task he set out to do. He opens the inner box and gawps at the collection of controls in front of him. In the upper left corner is a liquid crystal display. Next to it are four pink buttons. Below these is a large programming dial with two-dozen labeled options. At the very bottom of the box is a slide switch.

He sets the screwdriver on top of the telephone box, rubs his frozen hands together and steadies himself to program the box. Feeling up to the task, he exhales and accidentally steams up his glasses, temporarily obscuring his vision. A frustrated expression crosses his face as he impatiently waits for his glasses to clear.

He then begins the furious sequence of dial turning, button pressing and display reading. Set day, hour, minute. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday: Off. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday: On. He forgets the cold and the numbness as he concentrates. Zone 1 and 2: 0. Zone 3: 5. Start time: 10:00 AM. He then runs through the sequence again for good measure. It's set correctly, he thinks. He gives a sigh of relief, turns the dial to Auto, closes the gray box and replaces the metal cover.

He returns the way he came, comforted in the knowledge that the backyard drip system will come on automatically and water the plants during this dry period of winter. Later, as he writes, he checks weather.com and learns that showers are forecasted for the weekend. He kicks himself and braces himself for a repeat of the nerve-wracking experience tomorrow morning.

When I sat down to watch the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics from Torino on Friday, I wasn't planning to watch every second of it. Yet I did. It's not something I'm necessarily proud of, but it's a fact I can't deny. I'm a sucker for the Olympic Games. Be they summer or winter, I'm one to be easily caught up in them. Not only do I find the athletic excellence and competition captivating, but I also find the spirit of the Olympic movement appealing. Pessimists and protestors might deride it as the "Olympic Illusion", but I would like to believe that the ideals of peace promoted by the event and organization are a reality, if only for two weeks every two years.

From what little I've seen from camera flyovers, the city of Torino (Turin?) and its surrounding areas are beautiful. Admittedly, I'm easily taken by cityscapes, nightscapes and landscapes, which may partly explain my fascination with SimCity (besides the aspects of urban design and planning that I just know everybody finds so intriguing). According to the Today Show's sixty-second geography lesson, the city is located in the northwest region of Italy and has approximately 11 miles of porticos. It was also the home of Fiat and was once Italy's capital.

Here is a list of some moments and observations from the opening ceremonies I would like to recall many years from now:

• The inline skaters dressed in red tights with flames shooting from their backs representing the spark of life or passion, which is only appropriate since the theme of the Torino games is "Passion Lives Here".
• A hundred or so performers in blue, red, green, peach and black capes clustered to form a giant ski jumper (when viewed from above). They then staged a routine that simulated the ski jumper making his run and landing successfully. It was awesome.
• The transformation of the stage from fire to snow and the appearance of the seven giant horns to represent the seven Alpine countries (Italy, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France, Slovenia and Liechtenstein)
• The stadium filled with 70,000 spectators all dressed in white.
• The Parade of Nations set to dance music from the 70s and 80s, the type of music often heard at karaoke bars and generic wedding receptions.
• The huge number of one-athlete countries (Kenya, Madagascar and Venezuela come quickly to mind).
• More and more athletes brought digital cameras and camcorders in with them during the parade to capture the moment from their unique perspectives, which was cool. Only one athlete was caught on television talking on a cell phone while she marched in, which wasn't so cool. She was an American.
• Yoko Ono's call for peace, which primarily consisted of lyrics from her late husband's song, "Imagine", and mixing in the word peace with a random assortment of nouns and verbs. Peter Gabriel then performed the quoted song.
• Luciano Pavarotti singing "Nessun Dorma" magnificently, bringing the roaring crowd of spectators and athletes to their feet.

I believe Torino pulled off a good opening celebration, but if I were to rank it amongst all of the other opening ceremonies I can remember, dating back to Los Angeles and Sarajevo in 1984, it would fall somewhere in the middle.

Counting yesterday, there have been four days of competition, which means plenty to write about, if I can find the time and energy. I'll be missing most of the action tonight and tomorrow night because of classes I'm taking (which I'll also elaborate on in another post), but I'm tempted to tape the encore airings (shown in the middle of the night) and catch up on it this weekend.

Yesterday, I was a prisoner of my allergies. No matter how many doses of antihistamines I took, my nose kept running and I must have set a record for Most Sneezes by an Individual Working in a Cubicle for Nine Hours.

It was very difficult to get any work done that didn't require sniffling. The only way I could successfully read anything was by holding documents above my head. To work on the computer, I had to lower my chair so I could look up at the monitor.

Miserable days like yesterday remind me to be more appreciative of those allergy-free days. So far, I seem to be doing okay today, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my head tilted back for good measure.

Moving along. I had two dreams this week that I wanted to share. I don't usually talk about my dreams because...

1. I rarely have dreams.
2. If I have dreams, I rarely remember them.
3. If I remember them, they usually make no sense whatsoever.

The first dream is brief and bizarre. I dreamt I needed to call somebody, so I pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open. Instead of seeing the usual swimming fish and time display, the screen was flashing white and red with the word Overload, all in caps, flashing red and white. For some reason, I didn't try turning off the phone and turning it back on. I just closed it and decided to drive to the person I intended to call. I don't know who I was trying to reach, but they were apparently reachable by automobile. I grabbed my keys and got into the car. I suddenly realized that I wasn't at home or work, but in the middle of a vast, empty parking lot. I tried to start the car, but nothing happened. I looked at the dashboard to see what was wrong, but all of the instrument gauges and lights were gone. In their place was a digital screen that was flashing the same colors and message as my phone. And that's when I woke up.

The Obvious Meaning: I secretly want a new phone and car, but my conscious-self has been denying those desires.

The Less Than Obvious Meaning: I'm feeling overwhelmed, but can't bring myself to admit it to anybody.

The second dream is also brief and bizarre, but much more fun. I dreamt that I was in a hospital. Specifically, I was in County General, the hospital in the show ER. I wasn't there physically, but I could see what was going on. I don't remember much except for the last exchange, right before I woke up. It was between Mark Greene (Anthony Edwards) and Abby Lockhart (Maura Tierney).

Lockhart: I was thinking of specializing in pediatrics.
Greene: Pediatrics? Everybody specializes in that. Try pirates.
Lockhart: Pirates? We treat pirates?
Greene: We do, but not many. They're a neglected, but growing population with unique medical needs.

The Obvious Meaning: This is a prediction. What else could it mean for a dead character to give advice to a pregnant character? As every ER fan knows, the show is set in Chicago. And as every baseball fan knows, Chicago is home to the White Sox. Clearly, my dream is a sign from the Flying Spaghetti Monster that Chicago will play the Pittsburgh Pirates in this year's World Series.

The Less Than Obvious Meaning: Because His Noodly Appendage works in mysterious ways, the obvious meaning is the only meaning.

I wrote the title of this entry before I realized Hank had posted an entry with an eerily similar title on the very same topic that I'm about to post about.

Last night was our First Tuesday of the Month blogger gathering at Barefoot Coffee Roasters. When I arrived, most of the usual faces (along with a familiar face from NaNoWriMo) were already present and crowded around two smaller tables. Before I could even sit down, they decided to move to the majestic round table referenced in the title, which was fine by me as it shortened my walk to the coffee bar by at least six feet. As the night progressed, a few folks slipped away and a couple latecomers appeared.

As usual, the discussion spanned a wide range of topics, from the quality of construction in the Soviet Union under Stalin to the use of AdSense on one's blog for feeding the piggybank to the invention of hovering webcams programmed to follow one's cat.

And as usual, electronic gadgets (unofficial tally: 4 laptops and 7 cameras) and cups of caffeine cluttered the table. For about three blinks of the eye, I thought I saw a slice of chocolate cake on the table in front of Jon, but I could be mistaken.

Just so you know, Elkit and Ealasaid posted real-time accounts of last night's gathering and Rich followed up today with entry of his own.

This weekend, I:

> finished watching Gettysburg. This was a big feat only because the movie was over four hours long. The film, based on Michael Shaara's novel, The Killer Angels, which I've yet to read, was made in the early nineties and starred Martin Sheen (General Lee), Tom Berenger (General Longstreet), Sam Elliot (General Buford) and Jeff Daniels (Colonel Chamberlain).

Shot on location at Gettysburg National Military Park, it featured thousands of Civil War re-enactors and dozens of artillery pieces. Between relatively bloodless battle scenes, I felt like I was watching a Greek drama with heroes delivering emotional monologues or philosophizing on the battlefield. That element of the movie I can forgive only because the film strove for and achieved authenticity in every other respect, especially when it came to facial hair.

Of the many men waxing poetic, Buford moved me the most. An excerpt of his "speech", as he stood on the outskirts of town the day before the battle and observed the Confederates approaching, is at the end of this entry.

> watched part of Super Bowl XL. I missed the first half, but caught the half-time show and most of the second half. With no real interest in either team, it didn't matter to me if Seattle or Pittsburgh won. Because I'll soon forget, Pittsburgh prevailed 21-10 and the quarterbacks were Hasselbeck (Seahawks) and Roethlisberger (Steelers).

The Rolling Stones were the much-hyped half-time performers. The most impressive thing about their act was the stage, which was in the shape of their logo (the big lips with the big tongue hanging out) and surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans. During their first song, "Start Me Up", the tongue rippled until it finally fell away to reveal more screaming fans underneath.

I've never been much of a Stones fan. I'm sure they are great musicians and performers, but I just don't find them or their songs very likable. Considering that football's biggest event was happening in Detroit, I would have rather listened to the sounds of Motown.

The best commercial I saw was a MasterCard spot featuring Richard Dean Anderson reprising his role as (Angus) MacGyver. The closing scene of him at the grocery store buying tube socks, paper clips and chewing gum and stuffing them in his pockets was classic.

> finished reading C.S. Lewis: A Biography by A.N. Wilson. I read this book because of my renewed interest in the author since the release of the Narnia movie.

The film rekindled the battle between those who wish to deify Lewis and those who wish to demonize him. Instead of listening to either side, I hunted for an unbiased biography. Wilson presents Lewis in a fair light, revealing his strengths and weaknesses, providing the reader with a realistic picture of the man.

Lewis was a brilliant literary critic whose theological writings were most powerful and accessible when rooted in allegory and imagination. At the same time, he was an inferior poet (his first professional aspiration) and philosopher (his second) who could see the talent of others, but was blind to his own.

The most surprising thing I learned about Lewis was his thirty-plus-year relationship with a woman twenty-seven years his senior, who he claimed was his adopted mother, but was most likely his lover. My favorite (and probably the most famous) story is the one concerning Lewis' late night walk through Oxford with J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, which eventually led to the writer's conversion to Christianity.

> finished reading Der Ring des Nibelungen by Richard Wagner (translated by Andrew Porter). One of Lewis' childhood influences was Wagner, specifically his Ring operas, which were inspired by Nordic and Germanic mythology. Normally, I actively avoid anything related to opera, but once I read the basic storyline, my curiosity led me to read the English translation of the German libretto (in book form) and listen to the first two operas (Das Rheingold and Die Walk�re) in the four-opera cycle.

Although I'm still not a fan of operatic singing, I must admit that Wagner has me hooked. I'm blown away by his prodigious array of leitmotifs to represent characters, places and themes. I'm also taken with his effective, if sometimes excessive, use of alliteration (Stabreim), which I learned from one of the essays was a very old German form of rhyming.

While I was intrigued by the story's underlying mythology, I was most struck by some of the similarities between it and Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien didn't come anywhere close to plagiarizing Wagner, but one can tell that he was aware and likely influenced by the German composer. With a quick search, I was able to find a great New Yorker article comparing the two sagas.

"Meade will finally attack, if he can coordinate the army. Straight up the hillside, out in the open... in that gorgeous field of fire. We will charge valiantly and be butchered valiantly. And afterward, men in tall hats and gold watch fobs will thump their chests... and say what a brave charge it was. Devin, I've led a soldier's life... and I've never seen anything as brutally clear as this. It's as if I can actually see the blue troops in one long bloody moment... going up the long slope to the stony top... as if it were already done... and already a memory. An odd, set... stony quality to it. As if tomorrow has already happened and there's nothing you can do about it"
- Sam Elliot as Brigadier General John Buford

Looking back on last week, it's quite clear that Blog Sweeps Week for my "blog" was a bust, not in terms of hits, since I don't bother looking at those, but in terms of content.

I should learn a lesson from Rich, who did a great job. The keys to his success (and my favorite entries) were the lists and the guest blogger contributions (which are the blog equivalent of having big name guest stars on a television show).

As for me, the next time I give this a go, I'm going to actually plan and prepare a week's worth of entries beforehand. Otherwise, trying to pull off sweeps week on the fly leads to a predictably disappointing result.

The title of this entry should be sung to "Wheels on the Bus" (warning: linked page plays music).

I sometimes think that cell phones bring out the worst in people. The button that activates their phone is the same one that deactivates their manners and consideration for those around them. It also skews their sense of reality, bringing somebody miles away to the front of their mind while shoving those within arm's length to the back. A perfect example of this behavior presented itself yesterday as I stood in line at Subway.

The line was long and I had been waiting for a few minutes to order. Usually, I pass the time trying to decide what I want, but yesterday was unusual. I knew exactly what I wanted, even before I entered the queue: a turkey and avocado club on honey oat.

I hadn't really taken much notice of the guy in front of me. He was an Asian guy in his early twenties of below average height and fashion sense. His most distinguishing features were his spiky hair and the cell phone he had been chatting on since I had gotten in line behind him. The person he was talking to must have been extremely important because he made no effort to end the call when it came time to order.

Server: (in a polite tone) And what would you like?
Asian Guy: (to the phone) Blah blah blah, hold on. (to the server) A six-inch ham. (to the phone) Hey, so like, blah blah blah...
Server: On what type of bread?
AG: (to the phone) Blah blah blah... (to the server) Um, Italian. (back to the phone)
(The server grabs a foot-long loaf of Italian from the tray)
AG: (blabbing on the phone, suddenly takes notice) Hey! I said six inches!
Server: I know, but I need to cut this in half to make it six inches.
AG: Whatever. (to the phone) Nothing. So, blah blah blah...
Server: (trying to ignore the phone) And what type of cheese would you like?
AG: Blah blah blah... (to the server) Huh?
Server: Cheese? What type?
AG: Um, cheddar. (to the phone) Anyway, blah blah blah...
Server: (finally fed up) Okay, well, we don't have cheddar and since you're on the phone, I'm going to give you American instead, okay? (holding the cheese over the sandwich)
AG: (oblivious) Blah blah blah...
(The server dumps the cheese on the sandwich, slides it over to the veggie station, shakes her head, gives me a look that says, "Can you believe this guy?" and asks for my order)
Me: (inwardly gloating about already knowing what I want) A turkey and avocado club on honey oat, please!

Incidentally, the person after me, a woman with big hair, a big laugh and a small vocabulary, consisting primarily of swear words, was also happily blathering on her cell phone as she tried to order. I felt sorry for the server and wished that she had the right to confiscate phones, snap them in half and return them to their owners. It would have been entirely satisfying after watching such blatant displays of disrespect.

As an experiment, I think there should be privacy booths erected in public places where people can conduct their personal conversations without disturbing others. I admit that I would miss the entertainment and the chance to write about those exchanges here, but honestly, I wouldn't miss it all that much.

Last Friday, I finished my third book of the year, Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation. She packs this quick and enjoyable read with information, anecdotes and asides about her obsession with assassinated presidents and their assassins that inspired her "vacation".

Because we're in the middle of Blog Sweeps Week, here is a simple game that you (or your inner-child, age five and up) can play. I'll call it The President-Assassin Matchmaker, primarily because I can't think of a cute or clever name for it. Actually, with the number of times I've used the word assassin, this entry will probably pop up on some federal agency's radar, so it might be better to call this Match the Bunny Rabbit. The answers are at the end of this entry.

A. Abraham Lincoln (1865)
B. James Garfield (1881)
C. William McKinley (1901)
D. John F Kennedy (1963) [not in the book, but added anyway]

1. Leon Czolgosz
2. Charles Guiteau
3. Lee Harvey Oswald
4. John Wilkes Booth

From her writing, one can tell that Vowell is enthusiastic about her subject, unabashedly tossing in facts and details that typical people would discard as extraneous trivia, but fellow enthusiasts and those with any sense of curiosity would happily soak up like a sponge. She has a way of blending her knowledge of history with humor and pop culture references that I find appealing.

To curtail the gushing, I will plug it with a list. Here are the Top 5 fun facts I want to remember from the book:

1. Stephen Sondheim wrote a musical called Assassins. It ran from December 1990 to February 1991. I can only imagine how disturbing it would be to watch actors portraying presidential assassins sing and dance. Would I want to see it? I don't think so, unless I was in one morbid mood.
2. Vowell loves plaques. I must admit to being fond of them, too. I like that they kindly remind us that an important event transpired or a significant building once stood on the very spot where we're standing. Whenever I spot one, I can't help but stop and read it. Plaques are more than markers. They're time traveling devices. I know it's dorky, but maybe one day I'll make a Top 5 list of favorite plaques.
3. The Robert Todd Lincoln (a.k.a. Angel of Death) Link. Lincoln's son stood at his father's deathbed, witnessed Garfield's assassination as his Secretary of War and detrained at the station where McKinley was shot only moments before. If I were a president back then and could connect the dots, I would make sure the man stayed as far away from me as possible.
4. The Story of Theodore Roosevelt's Assassination Attempt. His would-be assassin shot him at close range, but a fortuitously placed steel eyeglass case and folded campaign speech in his chest pocket slowed the bullet. He defiantly declared, "You see, it takes more than one bullet to kill a Bull Moose." He then went on to deliver the speech before rushing to the hospital to remove the bullet.
5. Vowell's religion is American democracy. In the book, she states that she doesn't believe in God, but she believes in our nation's system of government. She doesn't worship at any church, but regularly visits the Lincoln Memorial. Her journey to various historic sites isn't a road trip, but a pilgrimage. And she frankly states that our latest president has shaken her faith.

As a tangent from that last fun fact, I never really equated the belief in the principles of one's country with the belief in the principles of one's religion, but I can see the similarities. I know it's going to sound weird, but I find the parallels fun to think about. It tickles my brain to view our country in terms of devout or non-practicing Americans and our political parties as denominations of the same faith. In times of partisanship (or denominational division), as was evident during last night's State of the Union address, it would be nice if those in the room and those of us at home could refer back to a (yet-to-be-written) book called Mere Democracy. It would be akin to C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity and would "explain and defend the belief that has been common to nearly all Christians Americans at all times."

As a final aside, it's apparently old news, but I only found out last night, from watching The Tonight Show, that Harrison Ford is currently shooting a historical drama about the capture of John Wilkes Booth. It's called Manhunt and is slated for release in 2007. After reading this book, I can't wait to see the movie, but I have a feeling that Vowell can't wait to see it even more than I do.

Answers (if they could be upside-down, they would be): A – 4. B - 2. C - 1. D - 3.