I have recently (as of 4 a.m. today) come to the realization that the most valuable part of writing term papers during the college experience (indeed, of the college experience itself) is developing the talent of the art of accomplishing supporting a thesis and making your point while being vaguely specific.

Apparently this is no longer the "Daily Five," yet I still hesitate to call it the "Intermittent Multiple of Five." That just doesn't have quite the same ring, does it? (Incidentally, I looked it up, and, wouldn't you know, there actually is no official medical term with the suffix "-phobia" for fear of commitment. Seriously, I checked. Rather odd, I thought; as there is a 'phobia' for everything in the known universe, most likely not excluding the universe itself, I was highly surprised to find there is no 'commitment phobia.' However, as I was searching the internet, I did stumble across a checklist of 'symptoms' to determine whether you have a fear of commitment. So, curiosity trumping sensibility every time, I glanced down the checklist and, well......crap.) Anyway, having at least enough common sense to realize that attempting to ameliorate the lack of quality by quantity, I'll not post the combined total for the days I've missed, as I'm sure most have lost interest by this point in the sad proceedings, I'll not deepen the humiliation by assuming the pretension that anyone has missed the fact that I've failed to post the past few days. So, here goes, today's prime number:

1. The Prestige- A period piece about the machinations of the magic industry in turn of the century London, this is one of those films that never really seems to get old, at least for me. The nuances of the details are constantly reasserting themselves in varying ways every time you watch it. You catch something different, in the way a line is delivered, in the chronology of events, etc. that, after realizing the end (and personally going, "How the HECK did I not think of that?!!), you begin to see. The costuming is impressive, how the subdued colors play into the tone of the film and draw attention to the characters faces and expressions, imposing a sombre tone on the film without the conscious being aware of it, a lot like the plot itself. Love it. (Love Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, which doesn't hurt things too much, either.)

2. Molly Maguires- Just recently watched this one again after a prolonged viewing absence. I had forgotten how much I really like it. Starring Sean Connery and Richard Harris, it is the story of a group of Irish miners in the mid-late nineteenth century who band together to form a clandestine organization which resorted to anarchic retaliatory methods to loosen the murderously iron grip of mining industrialists on those whom they employed. The film presents various questions as to which motives are noble and which are ignoble, or is it less the motives that the means used to reach the realization of those motives; or is it merely which side of the issue you happen to be aligned with, is there any completely right or completely wrong in any action which involves human emotion and decision? Very interesting.

3. The Natural-Robert Redford. Hmmmmmm. Robert Redford in 30's costume. Hmmmmmm. Robert Redford playing a 1930's baseball player. Is there any more to be asked of life. I think not. Actually, as a young man, Redford had gotten a baseball scholarship but unfortunately lost it because of drunkenness charges. This is just a great 1930's movie. One of the greatest lines of all time being, "I want people to say: 'There goes Roy Hobbes. The best that ever was and the best that ever will be.'" Essentially, this is what the movie is partly about. He says this as a young man, and the lessons about this attitude that he learns through what life can sometimes deal out. The soundtrack is one of my most favorite ever, unfortunately unavailable on cd. Plus, it has Richard Farnsworth, who played Matthew on Anne of Green Gables.

4. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas- To spare everyone, just read the book review on the sidebar. Great rendition of the book, true to the form and content, casting was good, the boy casted to play Bruno was insanely talented, the details were good, not a happy movie, but one well worth watching; not as overblown as some other Holocaust films, which makes it more powerful, as it is more personal. (Please ignore that horrendous run-on.)

5. It's A Wonderful Life- Just because everyone needs to see this movie at least once.

"To whom it may concern: I am most regretful for the failure yesterday in the performance of my blogging obligations. I was unfortunately detained by the necessity of pulling from somewhere hitherto unknown, a History of British Lit. essay on Wordsworth and Tennyson. Should my apologies be accepted, it is promised that such a lack of professionalism will not be tolerated in future posts."
(Probably because I'll never mention anything like sticking to even a tentative timeline ever again.....hey, you have to play to your strengths, eh?) In all honesty, though, I admit was remiss in not taking the ten minutes I spent blankly staring at my screen while trying to formulate a thesis on Wordsworth and his concept of redemption as represented in his poetry to post the day's five. Yet, I must admit, if I had to write on Wordsworth, I was mortally glad it was on his "Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood." It is one of my favorites; and this being national poetry month, it seemed all the more fitting. Even if you don't particularly like poetry, there is something to be appreciated, I believe; just the sheer beauty of the emotions invoked has to count for something.

"What though the radiance which was once so bright/ Be now for ever taken from my sight,/ Though nothing can bring back the hour/ Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;/ We will grieve not, rather find/ Strength in what remains behind;/ In the primal sympathy/ Which having been must ever be;/ In the soothing thoughts that spring/ Out of human suffering;/ In the faith that looks through death,/ In years that bring the philosophic mind./ Thanks to the human heart by which we live,/ Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,/ To me the meanest flower that blows can give/ Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

See what I mean? (Maybe? Hopefully? Or, maybe I just made a sentimental fool of myself......but it was worth it......possibly......Anyway, the list...)
Since I neglected yesterday, I'll post ten today, just to keep things moving, no pun intended....("moving?" "moving pictures?" Get it? I know, I know, how lame, but it's late.........)

1. The Legend of Bagger Vance-You either love it or hate it, there is no middle ground for this one, it seems. Me and mine love it. Adore it. Quote it. Y'all watch and let me know what you think. If you love it, tell me. If you hate it........HOW?

2. Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte-a black and white "thriller" starring Betty Davis and Olivia de Havilland (better known as Melanie in Gone With the Wind). Bruce Dern also makes a very quick appearance at the beginning. Let me just say that apparently Melanie was keeping a few things from Ashley (who was her husband, for those who haven't seen GWTW, which I shudder to think a possibility.....) Nice, sweet Melanie, who according to Scarlett could only say "yes, and no, and raise a passle of mealy mouthed brats just like her!" wasn't so diffident as she seemed.

3. The Secret Garden-directed by Francis Ford Coppola (of "The Godfather" directorial fame), this is a beautiful rendition of the wonderful novel. The original score by Zbigniew Preisner is still one of my favorite soundtracks, and the child actors are remarkably good. Mary's imperious little tantrums are very convincing. The production design and costuming are likewise impressive.

4. Pride and Prejudice-I adore Joe Wright's use of light, he uses it to tell the story in such an artistic, expressive way, that each frame could be a still beautiful enough to be framed and hung on a wall. Plus, I mean, seriously-Mr. Darcy? Hmmmm, yeeesssss, no explanation needed, I believe.

5. Dead Poet's Society- Why? I dunno. Really. I don't. This movie is so depressing, with really nothing to lighten it sufficiently, but I still have to watch it every once in a while, just because.

6. Bourne Ultimatum- Best in the trilogy. (I've had a crush on Matt Damon now for years, and felt thoroughly vindicated when the rest of the world finally caught on and voted him "Sexiest Man Alive" a few years ago. Yeesh, you try to tell people and they just won't listen.) The rooftop chase and the fight in the apartment are honestly action scenes I could watch over and over, because they are so entertaining. And I really don't like action movies, as a rule, so this is a huge admission to make.

7. Steel Magnolias- Shirley Maclaine as Ouiser. Lines such as, (discussing a fellow townswoman being hit by a fly ball at the opening game) "Well was she hurt?" "I doubt it. It hit her in the head." Sarcasm and biting wit all delivered in a Southern accent. Is there anymore to be asked?

8. Sabrina-Hepburn and Bogart, it's impossible to go wrong.

9. Gone With the Wind-because I am from the South, and to speak ill of this is treason. Plus there is Clark Gable, the likes of which this world will unfortunately never see again. Incidentally, the first scene to be filmed was the burning of Atlanta, because they needed to clear off the Hollywood backlot to build their own sets, so everyone figured they'd kill two birds at one blow. The tower you see crumbling in the background, as Rhett is trying to coax forward the terrified horse, is actually the scaled down Empire State building prop used in the filming of the original King Kong.

10. Emperor's New Groove- Sarcasm. Loads of it. If Maghen is reading this, Josh can explain, am I right?

To dispel any idle curiosity concerning the photo, I'll admit it has nothing to do with the post; I just needed something bright and colorful to act as a catalyst for the dissipation of the lingering winter blues, in anticipation of the spring days shortly to come. (Notice I didn't say 'summer.' I have a very ambivalent attitude towards summer, leaning more towards the 'hate' side of ambivalence. I know there are some who will gasp in utter horror at the sacrilege of such a statement; but to them I say- try one summer encased within a skin that refuses to tan.....and thighs that refuse to diminish......and swimsuits that refuse to fit.......and friends who adore the beach and plan weekend trips while you vainly dig for yet another insipid excuse as to why you 'would love to go, but just can't make it....next time.....maybe.....or when Antarctica finally thaws out, maybe we can plan a beach trip there, I'll be ready by then.....with all of this global warming it shouldn't be too much longer.....' Makes me want to slap Coco Chanel for making my life hell for about two and a half months......Anyway......)
No, the reason for this post is actually.....Well, there is no reason. "The reason that isn't" being this: I have noticed that everyone (who is 'everyone'? It's.....well.....I don't know......It's the same 'everyone' that is in "They all say...." or "Everybody knows....." That 'everyone'.....now, no more grammatical questions, I have a very important non-reason for this post......) has a list of 'must-see' movies. Now, some specify that these movies are 'must-see-before-you-die.' For the individual responsible for this statement I have but one question: As opposed to what? Post-mortem viewing? That'd be a tough crowd to sell. To be quite honest, I'm not too sure about many of these lists. I know it is a struggle to come up with 100 great movies, but it is a struggle, not an impossible feat. I mean, honestly, are we scraping the bottom of the barrel so soon that we must include 'Titanic'? Really? I know it was a mega-blockbuster hit, but then again, someone had to think it was a good idea to stick a screwdriver in a light socket the first time, didn't they? (Apparently the same 'they' that belongs with the 'everyone'....) It's the millions of others who succeeded him in the genius line that made it a stupid idea. If you ask me, the same goes for movies like 'Titanic'- or the gut-wrenchingly terrible, mind-numblingly horrendous, convulsion-inducing adaptation of Shakespeare my generation had the gall to entitle "Romeo+Juliet." I've tried to disown them all for this cinematic faux-pas, but apparently that only works with blood relations. I decided, therefore, that the only logical solution was and is to construct my own "Greatest" list. All 100. I undertook this task thinking it would be a struggle to make '100.' However, I have learned something about myself while assuming this task. I either a) watch too many movies, or b) remember too many movies at the expense of forgetting other things I should be remembering instead....like where I put my car keys....or checking my voicemail every day....or whether or not I've brushed my teeth that morning.....(okay, not that last one, but you get the idea.....) So, for the next month or so, I'll post five titles a day. There is no specific order, they are not by preference or alphabetical, chronological or by director; they are simply in the order they crossed my brain. (Yes, I've got one of those....I just can't remember where it is most of the time....) So, first up is:

1. Ben-Hur- a must-see simply because Charlton Heston is one of the best-looking men ever to grace this planet, but you feel as if you're condemning yourself straight to the depths of hell if you think such while watching him portray Moses. There's got to be some rule against that somewhere. The cinematography is impressive for its day, the story is absorbing, and the final and ultimate reason for the movie is very moving. Plus, I mean, how many chariot races have you seen?

2. The Long Hot Summer- Paul Newman...Paul Newman in his 20's.....Paul Newman in his 20's in color.....Paul Newman, in his 20's, in color, with a set of eyes that could launch any sane woman into a catatonic stare.....'nough said.

3. Citizen Kane-I know, I know, but in my defense, I am not giving in to popular opinion. I didn't like this movie, per se; it is long.....and frankly somewhat boring....and honestly, bordering on disturbing for some reason. BUT, the makeup is astounding. The aging process Orson Wells undergoes is absolutely mind-blowing. The cinematography is interesting, and you have to hand it to him-it was both the making and the destruction of Wells' career. Anyone who has the backbone to take on William Randolph Hearst derserves some respect, however begrudging. So, it is one of those movies you have to sit through at least once, 'just 'cause.''

4. Casablanca-I'm sorry, but if I have to explain, we just can't be friends.......

5. 1968, Franco Zefferelli's Romeo and Juliet-because everyone should see what Shakespeare can and should be on celluloid.

Okay, okay, I know this isn't an Irish history post (raise your hand if you're relieved), but I just have to post some of the pictures from our most recent trip to S.C. I've been a bit stressed out with various photography projects lately, as someone else's happiness depends on the photos turning out well, and so I had forgotten just how fun it is! But, I spent a bit of time wandering around 'the homestead' while I was on vacation and rediscovered why I got into photography in the first place. So, here are a few examples of life in the deep woods (minus the banjos, of course.....and the freaky, silent guys with long unkempt beards.....and weird kids that make you think of "Children of the Corn" or "Rosemary's Baby".....or, you know, any of the other things that bring to mind any movie starring Burt Reynolds and Jon Voigt...)

By the pond, the local watering hole......

We came across an old abandoned building, and the colors fit perfectly...

Forget going to Cancun for Spring Break, give me South Carolina!

SO, it has taken me a little longer than I at first anticipated to gather the necessary information for the first Irish history post. The reasons for this being infinite; for instance, although I officially have but a handful of weeks left, professors insist I continue to do the work. This seems a bit puerile and petulant, in my opinion. Really, am I being so unreasonable? I didn't think so either. Anyway, I began my research with a biography but soon realized that I would have to do some general background reading before I could fully understand the motives, actions, and ideals of the subjects of the biographies I had gathered. (To add to the previous list of facts I've learned so far about Irish history is this: D. It can be confusing enough to give you a brain aneurysm trying to follow it.) So, I proceeded to empty the shelves at the library of anything that might prove remotely useful. (I have to admit, when I checked out a two-foot stack of books on Ireland, and everyone queried if I was writing a paper on Ireland, I felt rather foolish and didn't want to admit that it was all for a blog post. So, I just shrugged and mumbled something incoherent and noncommittal....) I got home, threw the Library of Congress sized load on the desk, picked up the first one and began to read......And realized I had set myself up for failure. (As Thelma said, "You know Louise, I seem to have a knack for this.")

Irish history, especially the political end, reminds me of that cartoon I saw once as a kid, with Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, and Bugs Bunny. Each of the prey is trying to convince Elmer Fudd it isn't their season; there is this one snippet (the only part I can remember) in which they get into a heated argument which culminates in "Duck season!" "Wabbit season!" "Duck season!" "Wabbit season!" That, my friends, is essentially my impression of Irish history. I am going to have to condense considerably in my post, and even with those measures I will have to divide much of the information into multiple posts.

The troubles between Ireland and England reach far back into the depths of time. In 1171, King Henry II of England invaded Ireland; upon subduing the peoples there, he proceeded to divide the land among himself and the Welsh lords who supported and aided him in his conquest. In 295 the Norse arrived, and began to assert their influence over the island. In 432 St. Patrick arrived and converted the pagan Celts and Gaels to Catholicism. By 1300, the English were beginning to resent the Norse presence, as the ties between the Irish and the Normans were being reinforced by intermarriage. (Incidentally, by the Statutes of Kilkenny, passed in 1366, the English outlawed this in an attempt to curb these reinforcements, but the marriages continued.) The English gave the Irish their own parliament, but it was a parliament constructed of those whose allegiance lay with England. The next truly great upset came with the introduction of the Protestant Reformation to England and Henry VIII's severing of papal ties. (This severance didn't cause the Reformation in England, I have to add, but I won't go into those details, to spare you all....) Although England was forced, in some instances, to accept the Reformation, Ireland refused to relinquish Catholicism. After the death of Henry VIII, his Catholic daughter, Mary I (by his first wife, Katherine of Aragon), ascended the throne and restored Catholicism to England. However, her rule was short, and her protestant half-sister, Elizabeth (daughter of Anne Boleyn) became England's monarch. The country reverted back to protestantism, with efforts to impose protestant ideals on Ireland. Needless to say, this didn't take well at all. A rebellion which lasted from 1529-1533 was brutally put down by the queen's forces and 200,000 acres of Irish land were taken from the upper classes and given to loyal English subjects.

Over a number of years and through a long series of events in England, the English crown eventually landed in the hands of William of Orange and his English wife, Mary, who were Protestant. This is commonly called the Glorious Revolution and occurred in 1688. During this event, the Irish sided with William and Mary. Their reward was the restoration of some Catholic lands and a promise of religious toleration. The Irish made a fatal mistake by putting their faith in these empty promises; instead of lightening the Irish yoke of suffering, the ascension of William and Mary resulted in a set of laws termed the Penal Laws, passed in the 1690's. Under this set of humiliating laws, Catholics could not vote, hold office, serve in the military or civil service, practice law, teach, marry a Protestant, or even own a horse worth more than five pounds. These restrictions resulted in a terrible economic crisis for the already beleaguered Irish. In desperation, many of the Scotch-Irish made the harrowing journey to America. (Interestingly, I learned that the son of one of these emigrants being none other than our seventh president, Andrew Jackson. I never realized he was a first generation American.) The English solution to Ireland's desire for more autonomy was called "Home Rule." This in itself became a bone of contention, and by 1914, with the commencement of the First World War, the issue of Home Rule was temporarily put on hold. All of this led up to the volatile (although it seems as if all Irish history has just been one massive metaphorical mine field to be traversed) years 1916-1921; which for the sake of general sanity, will be addressed in the next post. For those who are still there, thanks for hanging in there with me! More to follow......

It's March!!! Irish month!!!! I have to say, I do love many other holidays, because of family, food, etc., but I love St. Patrick's Day because it is a purely historical holiday.......devoted to drinking for many, but.......oh, well; I love it simply because it is a holiday which has not been entirely wrenched from its Irish roots and thrown into an American context (unlike, say.....I don't know, Halloween....). Carrying the family name of the Irish immigrants on my mother's side, I've always had a fascination (okay, obsession, really) with all things Irish. The first soundtrack I ever owned was James Horner's "An American Tail," my favorite snippet being the short number the Irish mouse sings as all the little European "immigrants" are on the boat, making their way to New York. (Yep, I was a dork, even as a kid. I suppose it was inevitable that I would become a History major 15 years or so down the road....) Anyway, the point of that embarrassing little jaunt down memory lane being-History? Check! Irish history? CHECK!!!
So, in honor of the green holiday, I decided I would do a little reading up on some decisive points and influential people in Irish history. I haven't finished all of the books yet, so there isn't a 'history' post at the moment (I know, I heard everyone breathe a collective sigh of relief, I mean, disappointment......) However, I have already learned a few interesting facts. Namely three, which are that:
A. Don't make the Irish mad, they will do something about it.
B. Nothing makes the Irish more irate that being told what to do.
C. Apparently, the British have always loved nothing more than telling other people what to do.

So, I'll finish reading up, and share the knowledge. I know everyone is just so excited they don't know what to do.

Now, I know it is the depths of cliche to write a post about/on Valentine's Day, but I couldn't resist; through the years, I've learned there are two groups of people-those who wait, with barely concealed delight, in anticipation of the arrival of this pink-inundated holiday to roll around every year, and those who rail against the injustices of the romantic universe and wear all black in rebellion against the popular (read, according to them-"unoriginal") support of the annual wearing of the heart on the sleeve. I, hopefully, fall into neither category; I simply try to ignore its existence, and have found this tactic to be highly effective.

I do, however, have some thoughts to share on the matter. Nothing much has happened lately, so I've been struggling to detect any small event which would lend itself well to the relation of an entertaining anecdote. Finally, glancing through my planner, and noticing that Valentine's Day was, this year, preceded by a Friday the 13th (a fact I find highly amusing and befitting), I have hopefully hit upon something.

I began wondering why Friday the 13th is considered unlucky, certainly there had to be some historical basis for it. Which led me to think.........why and how has Valentine's day become the highly commercialized, sickeningly false-sentimental celebration of something which more often than not makes us act like total morons, something we give the euphemisms 'love' and 'romance'? I have learned that we have, more often than not, degenerated from the historical origins of a holiday, and taken it so completely out of context that our predecessors wouldn't recognize it if they suddenly found themselves thrust in the midst of our commercially-driven celebrations.

(First-Friday 13th-In some ancient cultures, Friday, or their sixth day of the week, whatever appellation they chose to give it, was a lucky day. However, it gained a bit of a bad connotation when Christ was crucified on a Friday, a sentiment which was only heightened later in history, when Friday became execution day in England; likewise, one reason 13 is considered an unlucky number in our culture, a strong derivation from English culture, is that the executioner was paid 13 pence for each execution he performed.)

Now, my reasons for why Valentine's Day is such an overly-advertised holiday, which we have turned into something it was never intended to be, which is why we should just ignore it......all with historical fact to vindicate my opinion. Prepare yourselves:

1. The reason we call it 'Valentine's Day' hearkens back to the early days of Christianity. The most predominant legend has it that Valentine was a priest in Rome, who, in defiance of a decree given forth by Emperor Claudius II, continued to perform marriages in secret. (If anyone wants to know why marriages were banned, I'll explain, but, as it has no bearing on this argument, I'll omit that detail for now...) Valentine was arrested and beheaded, but only after penning a note to his jailer's daughter, which he signed "from your Valentine." He was later canonized for his noble sacrifice for the illusion of everlasting love. So, someone is beheaded by a twisted, cruel, deranged regime.........how romantic! (Incidentally, as I said, this is only the predominant story circulating. In actuality, there are multiple St. Valentine's listed, hailing from different regions, as being executed on 14 February. So, again, I argue-there is no solid foundation for this eye-twitch inducing holiday.)

2. Cupid, the most recognizable symbol of this garish holiday, an adorable, rosy-cheeked cherub who desires nothing more than to help hapless individuals humiliate themselves, all in the name of love. Hmmmm, about that......According to Greek mythology, Cupid was involved in a rather unfortunate romantic entanglement which didn't end well for anyone. The story is replete with jealousy and cruel machinations (I know that word sounds like one you shouldn't use in polite society, but it's okay, seriously, look it up.) There was a young mortal woman, Psyche, who was possessed of a beauty which rivaled even Venus's. (Why is it never, 'she was so intelligent that even the gods were jealous'? I mean, really, it's okay to be dumb as long as you're decorative?) Venus became so jealous she sent her son, Cupid, to cause Psyche to fall in love with the most loathsome creature imaginable. But, surprise, surprise, Cupid falls in love with Psyche....(Raise your hand if you already want to join the rest of us who are in the corner, gagging.........) So, blah, blah, leave out some details, over time, Psyche is sent to live on a mountain by herself. But, as everyone is willing to make amends and rectify hurts for attractive people, the West Wind feels sorry for Psyche and moves her to a lovely country where she becomes romantically involved with Cupid, although she never actually sees his face. (Sounds a bit like online dating, doesn't it? Boy, those Greeks really were progressive thinkers with their 'democracy' and all.....) But, alas, true love, even blind true love (I'm sorry, I repeat myself), never proceeds unhindered. Psyche's sisters come for a visit, become jealous and convince her she needs to know what her (now) husband looks like. Okay, okay, this is sometimes described as pernicious, but personally I think the sisters were only being rational, which is sometimes unfortunately misconstrued as being pernicious when it interferes with 'love.' She takes their advice, but he awakens, and, hurt at her 'distrust,' flees the palace. Where does he flee to? Back to Mama......yep, that's the kind of man we all need, ladies. Venus becomes even more angry at Psyche, now that her baby boy's heart has been broken, so she decides to take her revenge. (Talk about epitome of mother-in-law-from-hades.) Blah, blah, time passes, Psyche's miserable without her man, someone else comes to help her out of distress, because she can't take care of herself (but hey, her hair looked GREAT), and she goes to find Cupid. Venus then gives Psyche a box and tells her she must go to the 'underworld,' fill the box with beauty and bring it back to her. So, beauty can be bought in a box, apparently, if you're willing to go through Hell for it. On the return trip, Psyche becomes curious and wants some of the beauty for herself. (Sounds like backstage at the Miss America pageant.) She opens the box and falls into a death-like stupor. Cupid, regretting running back to Mama, comes to find her, and wakes her from her deathlike stupor. They get married and live happily ever after. The end.

Does anyone else find this disturbing rather than romantic? Maybe I just find romance disturbing in general. It's a total, voluntary abandonment of reason and logic......

3. For many years, Valentine's Day was not remembered for it's romantic potential, but a brutal massacre, spawned by the rivalries of two warring gangs during the Prohibition era. On February 14, 1929, Al Capone had seven members of the rivaling gang of Bugs Moran mowed down in cold blood. The murders were so heinous that they even shocked a country that had become nearly immune to such horrors due to their regular occurrence, and the date was, for years afterward, connected in the minds of the general public, with Valentine's Day.

See? Florists, chocolate factories, and Hallmark have all reconstructed the day to suit their shallow purposes. So, if you ask me, we should take Valentine's Day off the calendar, as it has been twisted from its historical origins. My loathing for Valentine's Day is strictly academic..........I think I'll go watch a program on the History Channel about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.......Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

(This is a "re-post" of a previous post which I took down, as it seemed a bit too long, too sarcastic, too confusing, and, as one person told me "too full of words I have to think about/look up..." Which, incidentally, I still haven't decided was a compliment or a complaint...Anyway, here it is again, as there were some questions (okay "a question") asked about its whereabouts....)

Hello and Happy New Year! Now, this greeting may seem completely incongruous juxtaposed against the photo to the left, and may appear to hover in perilously close proximity to the uncomfortable division between sincerity and downright sarcasm, but, fortunately in this case, it has remained securely on the side of sincerity. (I decided to attempt to stem the tide of sarcasm which occasionally escapes without my consent; and, to aid me in, as Harper Lee states in To Kill A Mockingbird, "the fruitless effort to teach me group dynamics..." or, in other words, a step towards "self-improvement," which is my pitiful excuse of a "New Year's resolution," I have made a few changes in the upper echelons of the sarcasm border patrol. Yes, 'a,' I only made one; there's no need to be a glutton when so many others are in much more dire need of self-constructive lists, as they believe in the power of self-improvement. The remainder of the disillusioned, sarcastic population, who have come to fully appreciate, in all its glory, the phrase "exercise in futility" (of which I have recently learned, to my surprise, I have been named president-elect; I didn't even put in a bid. Go figure. Anyway....) have come to the liberating conclusion that A) I'm still going to eat whatever I want B)I'm not going to make it to the gym any more frequently than I did last year-which was a grand total of...let's see...365 days divided by 5 days each week plus 1 Saturday a month....simplify the fractions....which is....hmmm......zero. (And everyone thought I wasn't good at math.) C) Denying me my Constitutional right to sarcasm would be as cruel as trying to give a Persian cat a bad 80's perm. However, I have recently made the heartbreaking decision that I must put forth a Herculean effort to monitor the sarcasm, as Emily is getting to a very interesting cognitive stage in which she hears and repeats everything.......Of course, this is somewhat akin to attempting to harness the powers of Niagara Falls with a kitchen colander. But, for the sake of future generations, I must be willing to make sacrifices. (I'm such a good, self-sacrificing aunt, aren't I?)

Yet, all came to a head today (I'm so proud of myself, I clung to my resolution five whole days! That is at least 4 1/2 days longer than last year! "One small step for man, one great leap for mankind!") at work, when someone turned in The Purpose Driven Life. Suddenly, my senses were restored. The Purpose Driven Life, the book I bought along with Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, neither of which I ever cracked the cover. I'm willing to bet, though, that finishing, nay, opening "self-improvement" tomes you have invested in, which falls in the category of "finishing what you start" or "completing tasks you've set for yourself" are mentioned somewhere in both of them...I just wouldn't know where, since I've never seen the inside of either. I had the beautiful epiphany, standing there, holding this remarkable (or so I'm told) book, that I have not the wherewithal to hold to serious New Year's resolutions which are suddenly going to catapult me into the upper strata of the hierarchy of overachievers who's life-long ambition since the age of three has been to become a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. So, I have to admit that, yes, The Purpose Driven Life, helped clarify and simplify my life. Considerably.




We are told so often that a life lived without risks is a life not fully realized or appreciated, that we need to be assertive and let nothing stand in the way of what we set out to accomplish, that we should live on two hours of sleep a night in order to be able to fit in all that a "well-rounded" person should accomplish in a given day. I work best on a good ten hours of sleep, my personality could arguably be described as 'diffident,' taking life-changing risks is not my forte. I made the mistake of being adventurous with food and trying frog-legs for the first time at a chain Mexican restaurant in Washington, D.C; (just as one would assume from that short description of events, things did not turn out well.) That was both the birth and death of my foray into the world of 'trying new things.' (I know, in retrospect, I probably should have started smaller....but, retrospect maintains the distinct advantage of being completely useless, as there is nothing you can act upon at that point...) Which is why I adore a website a friend and fellow sarcastrian kindly introduced me to-http://www.despair.com/viewall.html-Inexplicably, this is just my form of motivation. It is devoted to acerbic, sarcastic humor; has the advent of the internet provided anything more wonderful, I might ask? (Rhetorically, of course.) Just by way of further illustration, I have provided a few of my personal favorites.

I have discovered, then, that for some of the more unfortunates of the populace, "self-realization" and "self-improvement," both of which have gained hordes of loyal followers since Dr. Phil first aired, are not only impossible for them, but completely irreconcilable. For people like us, our "full potential," the very definition of "self-realization" could not possibly be reached without sarcasm. The very thought is unthinkable. Yet, "self-improvement" would demand that we abandon self-deprecation, irony and misanthropy, the greatest weapons in the sarcastic arsenal. One might just as well take a life-long vow of silence. So, much to my consternation, I have realized that I must choose. Not that it's much of a choice, mind you.

So, thus is written the epitaph of a New Year's resolution. Anyway, I console myself with the thought that, most likely, Emily's chances of having missed the sarcasm gene are slim to none anyway. Maybe I could volunteer my services, with the accompanying new-found knowledge, at a local self-help group....

This post is unfortunately going to be aesthetically bare; I have no pictures to post, or anything fun to write about, but I do have a story that I simply have to share.
There is an older woman who comes in to the library regularly; she is quite a talker, so occasionally the conversations can be rather lengthy (the shortest one I have ever been participatory in was around 20 minutes, if that gives you any idea), and, developing ADD characteristics.....(what was I saying? No, just kidding; anyway.....) as I've gotten older, my attention sometimes wanders. I have learned about her family, her teaching career, her political views, her views on social concerns, in short, everything that could possibly be covered with a near stranger has been covered. Over time, I learned that she has one son who married rather late in life, and he and his wife were not planning to have children. About this time last year, she (the library patron) came in and announced that the son and daughter-in-law were having a baby. She said that, yes, they were excited, even though they had not planned on this. But, she said, they just recently found out that, since the daughter-in-law was past a certain age, and the risk of complications after that age increase drastically, the baby would have certain mental handicaps. After coming home from the doctor's appointment, the wife began to cry. Not that she did not want the child now, but you can understand the shock of a discovery such as that, especially after so many recent shocks. The husband (being a typical man, bless their hearts), asked her why she was crying (I know, I know, but he redeems himself, trust me). She told him that, everyone else always carries on, after the birth of their child, about how perfect the baby is, and our baby won't be perfect. The husband replied, "It will be perfect for us." (I told you he redeemed himself.) Now that, if I may say so, is the kind of man they should all be. (At least, the kind of man he was at that exact moment...) To realize the worth of an as yet unborn child, on whom they had not planned, and who was to come into the world carrying with it an inherent set of difficulties other parents would not experience, and love the child unconditionally, considering this baby the perfect one for them, takes a real man. So, keep your diamonds, roses, poetry, and otherwise useless superfluities, ladies, I'll take a man like that.
I'm sorry, this may be an uninteresting story to tell, but I just had to share it, because I just thought it so lovely, and I couldn't help but think of it, as this was the time of year I heard it. Hope everyone has a good Christmas and a wonderful start to the new year!

So, I was tagged for the photo thing (a long time ago, but among the distractions of things such as exams, visiting family, and work, I haven't had time to focus on priorities, like my blog. Ah, excuses, excuses.....); I didn't like the photo in the fourth folder (I just need to delete that whole folder anyway...), so I chose one I did like. I know it is cheating in the most low manner, but I think we have already established the fact that my character is hopelessly, irretrievably flawed, so we'll move on and do the best we can with what we have to work with....Anyway, photo-I went with my grandfather and other World War II veterans on a trip to D.C. to visit the WWII memorial. I was the "chaperone" for a group of men, of whom the youngest was 80-plus; at first I scoffed at the idea that they needed a chaperone, but after sitting at the back of the bus as they reminisced about their days in the service, I was brought to the conclusion that perhaps the organizers were not as out of touch with reality as I at first assumed. The good news is, our capital still stands. While we were there we visited the other memorials; I had never seen the Vietnam memorial (that I remembered, anyway, which means it very possibly could have happened and trickled straight through the sieve which is euphemistically called my "memory.") It was quite an experience. Although there were crowds of tourists milling about, and a busy road ran by in close proximity, as you rounded the curve which led up to the memorial, all the sounds became muted, and everyone instinctively began to talk in near-whispers. I was walking down the Wall, looking at all the names, of all these lives that were forfeited, and I have to admit, my eyes did water a bit. No matter your political stance or opinion on anything, I think it would be impossible to be presented with a palpable form of lives given for something other than themselves, to view something such as this which was an entirely separate entity from the maelstrom which is politics, something which exists entirely as a reminder of the voluntary immolation of some on the behalf of the whole, and walk away unaffected. If you can, it is as in King Lear, "you are men of stones." (5.3.259-sorry, all my term-paper training demands that I cite it, just for future reference...). Alas, I digress terribly...the photo. I was walking along, and although there were many small wreaths and such, propped at various points along the Wall, this one item just caught my attention, for some reason. I suppose amidst the larger, more elaborate things, the simplicity of this one was just very poignant. I'm not sure if it will be too small to read, in the post, but it says that this man asked the girl he loved to marry him; she agreed, the day after she got his letter, he was killed in Vietnam. I don't know, it just brings everything down to a much more personal, individual, human level. So, I'm sure that is much more of an explanation than anyone ever wanted, but there it is.