Chapter 54.07: Resolve and Reserve

I'm one of those who makes resolutions -- or rather, I set goals. Sometimes I achieve them (for example, I intended to read at least two books a month on average, and I came close to doubling that goal), sometimes I fail (e.g., finishing the latest re-draft of my novel).

I have resolutions already -- which I don't need to go into here. But I think the resolution that makes the most sense is to be safe. This year has been pretty good for me -- busy but successful. But looking at these final days, I'm seeing ominous signs for the new year. This morning, I was on a first aid call for an attempted suicide. Not a pretty scene. Then I found out that a friend of mine lost her home yesterday in a fire. I don't know whether these will be blessings in the guise of grief, but I have a feeling that 2007 will be a year of tumultuous change. I pray it is a safe one for us all.

Chapter 54: A Night at the Museum

We just got back from a fun night at the movies, and despite it costing about $30 for the tickets and jumbo popcorn/soda, I'd say it was worth the price of admission. While I don't expect A Night at the Museum to win any major awards, it had me chuckling and occasionally even laughing. The 12 year olds in the theater with us were often guffawing, so that may give you an idea of who the target audience is, but the story was fun for adults too.

The basic idea is that Larry Daly (played by Ben Stiller) is a divorced dad in need of a stable life. While he's always had aspirations of greatness, he rarely has been able to achieve anything of much note. He gets a job as the night watchman at the Museum of Natural History and soon learns that at night, history comes alive -- literally. The hi-jinks are somewhat predicatable but that's ok, this isn't trying to be Schindler's List. And Larry's often bailed out by Teddy Roosevelt (played by Robin Williams).

The problem is, the three former night watchmen, who lost their jobs due to downsizing (and perhaps because they're all around 85 years old) are trying to steal a magic tablet that is the reason all the exhibits come to life at night. It keeps the night watchmen young too. Larry becomes a leader as he gathers all the exhibits together to help him catch the somewhat-bad guys (Dick Van Dyke, Bill Cobbs, and the eternally annoying Mickey Rooney). And in saving the tablet, Larry also saves the museum (and his own job).

There are some serious problems with the film's continuity (e.g., how does the museum director, played by Ricky Gervais, notice the Roman centurion in the stockades but doesn't notice that one of the Neanderthals is missing?), but the premise of the story felt fresh and fun. Enjoy.

Chapter 53.8: Who Knew?

I had no idea Ethiopia had armed services powerful enough to rout the Islamist fighters. If today's developmentsin Somalia are to be believed, I can't help but wonder why we were unable to control things in Mogadishu in the early 1990s.

Chapter 53.74: Remembering Jerry

Though I never met former President Gerald Ford, I saw him up close once. While covering the Presidents' Summit in 1997, I was standing by myself -- almost entirely -- on a path in Philadelphia. I think the event took place near Independence Hall. Suddenly, several serious and official looking men walked along the path and said to stand aside. Then President Ford walked past -- looking rather robust for a man in his early 80s. That was it. Looking back, that's the closest I've ever been to a former (or current) president, even though I've seen several of them speak before large gatherings of conference-goers.

Chapter 53.5: A Child's Christmas As a Cat

With all the travel we'll have over the next couple of days, we decided to celebrate Christmas at home this morning. Though the cat usually wakes us up early, he seems to have started to understand Saturday means the humans stay in bed. So he wasn't as concerned as he often is, making sure that I get to my train on time. But he did seem curious about the presents under the tree -- some of which were for him.

I got out of bed around 9 or so and fed him and started some coffee, but his petulant mewing told me he wanted more. So I started to toss mice around. He loves this. It's his time to run and pounce and play. I enjoy it too -- as long as he's not gnawing on my heels. Seeing him zip from room to room, bounce the mice around like a basketball or swat at them like soccer balls makes me long for coaching sports.

Though he's a housecat, Riley loves the great outdoors -- the backyard is as far as we let him roam, and always on a leash. But during the winter (even as mild as this one has begun), he doesn't have the same number of visual stimuli as the spring or summer. Fewer birds, the squirrels are preoccupied, and the grass isn't as tasty as new spring shoots. Once the wife was up and I'd scrambled the eggs, it was time to open the presents -- including those for the cat. I got him a DVD of Swan Lake -- rather swans on a pond. There's birdsong and trilling insects in the background. It will entertain him while my wife works or if we're out for a couple hours -- as will the new mice we gave him and the stuffed cat that mews like it needs to be fed.

So Merry Cat Christmas, Riley. I hope you enjoyed it. Now if you could only learn how to clean your box by yourself.

Chapter 53.33: Earworms

This morning I woke up with an odd earworm digging through my brain. You know what an earworm is: that song that keeps playing in your mind. You can't shake it easily, and like the old fable about ridding the city of mice, anything you use to change songs immediately becomes a new problem.

This morning, I awoke with a song by Tom Lehrer -- the 1960s musical satirist and math professor -- called "The Folk Song Army." Only, it wasn't the entire song; I could only remember lines. It was bad enough to have a song in my head, but worse still to not remember it properly. So I tried to push it out with Christmas tunes. Bad idea! I soon was whistling "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and "It's Beginning to Look Like Christmas." It wouldn't stop.

Of course, now that I've brought this topic back up, I have songs running through my head. This is not what I intended.

Chapter 53.3: Bah Humbug!

No, that's too strong, 'cause it is my favorite holiday.

It is beginning to feel a smidgen like Christmas. Perhaps it's the chill in the air or the news that Santa got waylaid somewhere over Denver and had to stop his time bending trip preparations with a layover in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Or maybe it's because I saw a small flake flash before my wandering eyes this morning as I got out of the PATH train station. Maybe it wasn't snow. Maybe it was a piece of windblown crud.

Or maybe it's because I'm about to get my Christmas wish: a couple hours off from work -- well, a few days, actually. But with the travel to see my loved ones and rip open a few presents and toss back a few beers, it'll feel almost like work. Almost. I'll have Tuesday.

No, what I'm looking forward to doing is mapping out a week of winter vacation to do whatever I want to do. At home. Cooking breakfast for my wife after making her late to her office (which is just a room away). Jogging more than 20 miles in a week -- in sunlight. And working on the novel. If I can finish the revisions in a week, it could be the second best vacation of my life -- after the one where I proposed to my wife, of course. At least I'd have an idea of how much work is needed. Then I could use my train commute to sketch out the next book or evaluate literary agents. That's work too, but it's future-focused work.

I'm reading Book Doctor on the train this week, by Esther Cohen. Funny. Some wonderful scenes and playful characters. Not as good as Ward Just's An Unfinished Season, which I finished earlier this week, but it moves along at a comfortable pace. I find myself wishing I knew someone like Arlette Rosen, the lead character in Book Doctor, who devises clever exercises to help writers see their characters and the focus of their books more clearly. I know what I'm writing; making it compelling seems to be my battle.

So I need another vacation. That's what I'm asking Santa for Christmas. Oh yeah, and an iPod.

Chapter 53.22: Winter Night

At some point soon -- either today or tomorrow, I've heard disputing reports -- winter begins. I believe it's today at 7:22 a.m. Regardless, the winter solstice is the shortest day (or the longest night depending on your perspective) of the year. Since I was curious, I poked around and found this site, which I find interesting. It talks about the solstice but also goes into some detail about Newgrange in Ireland. It's an incredible place to see, though I prefer a spring day when the weather's warmer.

Enjoy your winter, friends and readers. May the days grow longer.

Chapter 53: Looking to 2007

Throughout the year, I've had many friends and acquaintances ask how I'm progressing on my novel. With few exceptions, the answer has been, "I've barely touched it lately." That remains true right now. I've had self-appointed deadlines that have passed by barely noticed. And the latest is fast approaching and will likely be met with similar results. Life has just gotten too darn busy.

Although there's no one with an ax over my neck to inspire me to get back to the book, I pledge to get what I hope will be my final pre-agenting draft complete before the end of March. I'll take a week off from work to get it into gear if I have to; it'll probably take that kind of decision.

And once that version is done and I start looking into getting an agent to sell my book, then I'll start on the next novel. Again, it'll be difficult to stay to my schedule, but I'd like to think that having a new project to work on will be the creative kick in the butt that I need. There's still a lot of research I need to do on that one to make sure some of the settings are believable, but I can start to write the character development, which is really the heart of any story. All in all, it should be a busy 2007, especially if I do what I am setting out to do.

Chapter 52.8: Skeeter Control

There's a story from the Raleigh News & Observer about an effort to keep mosquitoes from infecting people with diseases like malaria, dengue fever, and other horrible maladies that humans have suffered and died from for millennia. But I can't help wondering if we know whether or not such transfer of contagions somehow help humans evolve also. I don't mean that in the "natural selection" sense that the people who died were fated to die, but more in the "part of God's plan" idea that perhaps humans also receive a benefit from battling the evil in their bloodstream. I don't pretend to have answers, and I've only skimmed the story, but it caught my attention.

Chapter 52.5: Evil Dead, the Musical

My wife and I had an unexpectedly pleasant Off-Broadway theater experience recently -- Evil Dead, the Musical.

Better than the films (which isn't saying much), the play is actually a mixture of all three Evil Dead movies (well, primarily the first two with references to the third that perhaps only the cognoscenti would get).

Vulgar and campy to be sure, and a little sticky. The songs actually stick with you too, but how can anyone forget lyrics like "What the fuck was that!" in the song "What the F@%$"

Not a musical for children (or perhaps the perfect demograhic is an 11 year old boy) because the language and the occasional dry-humping, etc. is clearly R-rated. In the first act, the sister of the hero is the first person to become possessed by the evilness that has been unleashed by reading chants from the Necronomicon (Book of the Dead). She eventually causes all the rest of the characters to be possessed at one time or another.

There's an enjoyable dance of the dead scene called "Do the Necronomicon" with passing references not only to the Time Warp from Rocky Horror but also Fonzie from Happy Days.

Before the second act, the first three rows of seats (where we were sitting) get baggies with clear plastic ponchos. The fake blood really flows in the climatic killing spree toward the end. It's so bad that you can't help but laugh.

I probably wouldn't pay more than the special $26 ticket for the show, but I recommend getting the splatter zone to enjoy the whole experience.

Chapter 52.4: The Need for Failure

This is a topic that I'll expand upon, but I believe that the emergence of reality television over the past several years is one of the chief reasons that television writing has suffered. Sure there are well written successful new shows, some of which I enjoy immensely such as Medium, Jericho, Heroes, and even Eureka on SciFi. But I wonder if actors are being allowed to fail on middling shows, from which they'll emerge in the future as better actors.

I blame reality television for this because there are only so many slots for new primetime shows, and with Americans gravitating to game shows like Deal or No Deal and glorified audition tapes like American Idol, we're losing out on the season or two of something else where tomorrow's next superstar cut her teeth.

The irony is that Survivor, the granddaddy of 21st century reality television, arose from the ashes of a Screen Actors Guild strike. And the television set hasn't been the same since.

I suspect many TV viewers would disagree with me. Reality television is incredibly popular, and it's even easier for production companies to sell more advertising with product placements (though using a brand of worms for the gross-out shows was a missed selling opportunity, if you ask me). So, in the mode of giving the customers what they want, perhaps it's a case of no harm no foul. But then I watch a show like SciFi Investigates (which sucks) and see reality show alum Rob Mariano and I realize that it's just another example of a no-talent wannabe taking a job away from someone who's paid his or her dues. He's the most qualified "skeptic" they could find? What a crock!

Reality television is taking jobs away from actors and writers.

Good television shows are still being written, but the average shows are being shelved. That's what's missing. We're getting middling reality shows of people we'd not talk to at a bar if they bought us a drink instead of allowing people with talent and dreams to get somewhere with their lives.

Chapter 52.1: Illuminating

The story about the Russian spy who ingested a radioactive isotope is fascinating -- in a John LeCarre novel kind of way. Among my thoughts is whether the reason he was given this material was not only to kill him but also to see where he went after he ingested it. A radioactive marker. I also read that his body will be kept in an airtight container and not allowed to be cremated for 22 years. Some murderers have no heart.