Book Group- Start Reading!

Well, I got my copy of Crime and Punishment today. I'm looking forward to getting started tonight, but am a bit apprehensive about how it's going to be. I hear it's pretty heavy going. We'll soon see, I guess!

So, I should outline a reading plan. I looked through the book and divided it into 12 weeks. I didn't want to have to read too much per week, but also didn't want to be stuck on one book forever. Does 12 weeks sound do-able??


Week One: Chapters 1-3 of Part One (That is about 40 pages in my copy).

Then, on Monday, July 7th, I will write a post to start a bit of a discussion. Every Monday after that, I will do the same.

Happy (yeah right) reading!

Markets

We went to Rozelle markets today. I love sifting through junk to find treasure, be it at markets, garage sales or second hand book shops. But, I have to admit, sometimes the ratio of junk to treasure is pretty ridiculous. From time to time one man's trash might be another man's treasure, but mostly, one man's trash is every other man's trash as well.

I heard a woman talking about some item of clothing as 'a rare piece', fingering the fabric as though it were expensive silk. Lady, dragging your Nanna's old shirt from the rag bag, removing the shoulder pads, and ripping off the K- Mart label does not make it a 'rare piece'. And if it is rare, it's probably for good reason.

Still, I quickly forget about the annoying people and mouldy cd's and want to go back there soon enough.

Littlies

A drawing I did for E's playgroup at church.

2018

Apart from eating three course meals in tablet form and flying around with your solar powered jet pack, what would you like to be doing ten years from now?

I would like to be living in a small town, maybe somewhere down the South Coast. We would have another three kids, and (not so) little e would be 11 years old. We would have an old house with a fireplace and floor boards, and a bit of property. Enough for a massive vege patch, a tree house, a chicken coup, a goat, and backyard cricket.

The house would have a granny flat, that I had converted into a studio. Here, I would work from home, doing freelance drawing work. I would also have all my painting stuff set up in here, and a room for a little music studio. Life would be slow, quiet, but satisfying.

What would your ideal 2018 look like?

Thursday Peanuts

Dusty Esky Online

Drew has found a place where you can read Crime and Punishment online for free. Check it out if you can't get your hands on the book. Don't forget, reading starts this weekend!

Tempted to be Bitter

Over the past twenty-four hours I have felt really weighed down with feelings of bitterness. It is sort of irrelevant what has sparked this, but to put it broadly, it has been aimed towards other people; feeling angered or hurt by them.

In the back of my Bible is a helpful reference list, and there were several passages listed under "What to read when you are tempted to be bitter". I read through them on the bus, and prayed about it, and now feel a whole lot better about things. God's word is amazingly powerful in that way. One passage that moved me was this-

When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before You.
Yet I am always with You; You hold me by Your right hand.
You guide me with Your counsel, and afterward You will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

--Psalm 73:21-26

It is sobering to see yourself for what you have been- a brute beast. I got to thinking about a strange irony that happens when you stray from God, to follow your own senses and knee-jerk reactions.

It feels like freedom to not feel constricted by love, to not have to love people if you don't want to. To hold on to a grudge if you want to. It feels like freedom, because you are in control, and are not 'following orders'. But the irony, is that this kind of freedom is the most constricted, the most weighed-down and enslaved that you can be. When I am living this way, I feel unable to stop. I am overwhelmed totally by these emotions, and the effects are all negative.

The flip side is obedience to God, which to our sinful natures initially feels like constriction and boundaries, not freedom. But strangely, this is when we are completely and purely free. What greater peace have you ever felt then when you have chosen to forgive, and let an offence go?

Right now, I am trying to live under obedience, and yet I feel far more free and at peace than when I was taking control of things yesterday.

Boot Polish and Ice Cream

I looked at the back of a tin of boot polish this morning and discovered that it was made by Sara Lee. This is a little disconcerting-- sort of like finding out that Drain-o is made by Coca-Cola. Although, come to think of it, that might not be particularly surprising.

Echo and the Bunnymen

I was listening to Echo and the Bunnymen on my way to work this morning. Great stuff. Sort of like a cooler, tougher, darker and better version of mid 80's U2.

I used to wish I looked like Ian McCulloch, the singer, with that cool birds' nest hair. If you haven't heard them, check out The Killing Moon from their classic Ocean Rain album from '84. A good example of their overall awesomeness.

Lesser Known Facts About Dostoevsky

With the book group commencing this weekend, with Crime and Punishment, I thought I would share some lesser known (but still very reliable) facts* about our man, Fyodor Dostoevsky.

#1: Crime and Punishment was originally intended to be two separate books; the first, Crime, and the second, Punishment. They were sort of intended like a double album, in the vain of Use Your Illusion 1 and Use Your Illusion 2 by Guns n' Roses. The publisher however, saw things differently, and insisted on a single volume.

Fyodor was disheartened, and not feeling able to choose between his two babies, tore the back cover off Crime, and the front cover off Punishment, and sticky-taped the two together. This is why the book is difficult to read, and why people are often inclined to give up half way through. It is simply because Crime was always a better yarn than Punishment.

#2: Fyodor had a slight speech impediment that meant that his TH's sounded like F's. So for example, if he was to say "Thanks for reading my book", it would come out as "Fanks for reading my book".

Anyhow, the name he was given at birth was actually Theodore, but he found this very difficult to pronounce. For the sake of making things easier for himself, when he became a published author, he altered his name by Depol, to Fyodor. Strange but true.

#3: This third one is more rumour than fact, although the evidence as you will soon see, is pretty overwhelming. In a time where it was very difficult for female authors to get their work published, often, a female writer would write under a male pseudonym-- a well known case of this being George Eliot; real name Mary Ann Evans. So anyhow, as rumour has it, Theodore was really Theresa. The fake beard and disguise was pretty convincing, as you can see here:


But if you look closely at this, the one surviving photograph of him/her without the beard, well, you make your own mind up, valued reader:


*as made known to me in a dream

Zombie

It's going to be a bit of a rough one today. Little e woke at about 2:30 this morning, and apart from a brief half hour stint between 6 and 6:30, I have been awake since then. Not sure what is wrong with her. Just lots of tears and yelling. We are pretty over the sleepless night thing.

The world at 3am is not a very nice place. The cold is at it's coldest. The darkness is at it's darkest. Bad TV is at it's baddest.

Recruiting

The Bus Stop

For some annoying reason, people always want to talk to me at bus stops. Every where I go, someone wants to tell me there life story. I have tried everything to avoid this. Dark sunglasses. Reading. Headphones. Spitting. But nothing works.

Is it that I don't look threatening? People don't go up and talk to threatening people. I thought I looked at least a little bit tough-- especially when I had my goatee the other week. I guess I will have to try harder. Maybe I could get a tattoo of a bar code on my neck. No sane person starts a friendly chat with someone who has a bar code on their neck, surely. Or perhaps I could stop bathing and paint some boils on my skin. That should give me a bit of a buffer zone.

This morning it happened again. Let me set the scene. I am at the bus stop, half asleep. It is 6:30am and the sun isn't even up. It is freezing. There is one other woman, probably in her mid- thirties, at the bus stop. We haven't made any eye contact.

I reach into my bag to get my scarf (yeah, that one), and as I am putting it on, the lady says, "You won't be cold now!". I smile and say "No". End of conversation. Fast forward one minute later, and I know her name, that she is divorced, has a daughter, that her ex is a good father but a bad husband, that she goes to tafe, works as a chef, and is of Indian- Fijian descent. So much information, and I have done nothing to encourage it. Now, don't get me wrong, she was a nice lady. But still. Do I need to know this stuff? It's 6:30. The moon is still out. I am not ready for a meet and greet until at least high noon.

Then came the part that I hate the most. The bus came, and suddenly all these rules of etiquette come in to play. Do I say goodbye (or cheerio, as the case may be) before the bus stops, and end it there? She hasn't stopped talking long enough for me to do that. I have to be polite and let her on first, so I can't just leg it up to the back seat where I usually sit.

She gets on first, and sits down. Do I have to sit next to her? She's made room for me to do so. Or can I just smile and keep walking up to my usual seat? On the spot, I decide on a compromise, and sit on the seat opposite her. Not rude, and (unfortunately) still in talking distance.

She talks a little more, and when conversation dries up there's a little awkwardness. Can I get my book out and read yet? I give it five minutes to not seem rude, before taking it out. Very carefully and subtly I edge my way away from the aisle side of the seat and towards the window, and ever so slowly raise my book. At last, a safe buffer.

Now I need to get me one of those Groucho Marx disguises for tomorrow morning.

My Speech- Part 3

Hopefully this will be the last installment of this for a while! I am feeling sort of drained from talking about, but just want to get it over with.

I wanted to say something about my view of life as a Christian in regards to all of this, because I am afraid that I have sounded sorry for myself, and preoccupied with the challenges in my life, and not with the blessings. While I would be lying to say I never feel sorry for myself over this, I certainly don't do so on an ongoing basis.

God has blessed me with so much. I am eternally grateful that He chose me, and that He called me, and that He made a way to save me and bring me to Him. If nothing else was to be given to me, I should still be infinitely joyful and thankful for this alone. But He has given me so much more. An amazing wife and wonderful daughter,family, friends, health, wealth etc etc etc.

But as well as these broader things, He has given me gifts and outlets to express myself in other ways beside speech. He gave me a creative heart and mind, a desire to draw and paint, a voice to sing. There have been many ways that I have been able to be 'heard' throughout my life, despite difficulties speaking. The most recent is this blog.

It has meant a lot to me to have this blog, probably a lot more than people realise. For so long I had felt unknown to people, that they didn't know what was going on with me, what made me tick. And I really, really wanted them to. I am so grateful for this opportunity to say what I have to say; to have a joke, to talk about the good things in life, the bad things, about my faith, about my interests.

Another thing, is that even in my stuttering, God has brought me good things. He does not give us trials to sabotage us, to weaken us, to knock away at our strength. He gives us struggles to mature us, to grow us strong, to make us deeper, better, more like Him.

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith- of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire- may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. (1 Peter 1:6-7)

Would my life have been easier had I not had a stutter? Probably. Would I be the same person? Probably not. I have grown a lot through this, and have learnt a lot. Am I thankful for my stutter? Well, no not really, but I am thankful for what my stutter has made me, for how I have grown, for what I have learnt. In all things give thanks.

And so, to close this subject for the time being, I'll finish with a little description of the hope of heaven as described in Isaiah 32--

..and the stammering tongue will be fluent and clear.

Amen!

My Speech- Part 2

It has been my goal for a couple of years to do something about my speech. I have had various attempts at speech therapy through the years; the first when I was about nine, the second in high school, and then in a couple of support groups after that.

There I learnt a technique called Smooth Speech, which was a way of changing the way you speak in order to avoid stuttering. You slow right down to a drawl, break a sentence down to small phrases, and blend the words into each other. Hard consonants become slow,soft sounds (so a hard 'p' becomes more of a breathy 'ph' sound). When a stutterer really works at this, and puts in the hard yards, he gradually can use the technique while speaking a lot faster, to the point where any speech problem is barely detectable. Years of work can bring really great results.

But to start out with, using the technique you sound very strange. You sound like you are drunk or something. In reality, you probably sound miles better than when you are stuttering, and could get out many more words in the same amount of time. But it is really a big thing to get over, to decide to just change how you talk. It is like suddenly deciding to walk in a way completely different to how you have walked all your life. To you particularly, it sounds horrible and embarrassing.

So when I was doing this during high school, sure, I would use it at home, and was making a lot of progress. But there was no way I was going to bring it out at school in front of my friends. Because of that, I never really gave it the chance to take hold. I still can call up the technique, and I use it falteringly with my wife. But, I do it pretty haphazardly, and not properly.

It has been a long time since I really tried to do something about it. It is mostly a case of it feeling like such a giant mountain to climb, that I just push it aside and put off beginning. There is no actual cure for stuttering, so to try and conquer it is a continual sort of working at it for the rest of your life.

This brings me to why I am writing about this. I feel like it is time (actually many, many years past the time)to do something, and to commit to doing it for the long term. I am so sick and tired of making my life so much harder than it needs to be. I am sick of not getting the chance to say to people all that I want to say. I am sick of the daily embarrassing, demoralising situations I find myself in. I want to order a coffee without pointing to the menu. I want to answer the phone without trembling and my heartbeat racing. I want give a speech if my daughter gets married.

There are reasons why I have not brought this up before on my blog. Actually, it was an unconscious decision, but when I analyse it, the reasons are pretty clear. I don't want to be known as The Stutterer who also does this, this and this. I want to be Ben who is this, this, this, this and this...and also happens to have a stutter. I hate the idea of my whole identity being wrapped up in my speech, being defined by my faults.

When I did a search earlier in the year for blogs by stutterers, I was struck by the way they spoke about their stutter. They spoke about it a lot, discussed openly their trials, their triumphs. It was in their list of interests on their profile page, often the thing listed first. It was listed in the title description even. Part of me hated this, part of me envied it. No, I don't want it to define my life. But at the same time, these people are not hiding from their problem. They are not ignoring it. They are not in denial about the fact that to some extent their speech DOES define the parameters of their life in a big way.

So I want to take this on. I will list stuttering in my profile page. I would really like to have contact with other stutterers, and this would be the ideal place to do that. The other big reason for talking about it here is to give myself a kick-start. In the near future I intend to seek out a suitable program or therapy, and I like the idea of chronicling this on my blog. Then it's out there, I am not ashamed or embarrassed, and I am accountable to follow through with it.

Well, better leave it there. Sadly I do have more to say! So I will have to write a bit more still. Feel free to skip over these posts!

My Speech- Part 1

This is probably the most difficult post I have written so far, and the one I have thought about for the longest time. That is because it is about something very personal, that I am very hesitant to talk about, even with those I'm closest too. But I have decided to give it a go. I'll probably have to break it up in to bite sized chunks in order to cover everything I want to say.

Probably the first thing that you will notice about me when you meet me, is my speech. I have a pretty severe stutter, and speaking is generally a slow and difficult task. It is not a little stutter that you only notice here and there, but rather long blocks of silence where I am trying to force out a word, that is just locked in my throat somewhere.

It is often assumed that this is because I am nervous, or shy, or that I don't know what I want to say. This is not the case. I am actually a fairly out-going and confident person. The words are complete and ready in my head, but are stopped in my throat. The physical explanation is that when most people speak, air and 'voice' vibrate and pass through the vocal chords, but with a stutterer, this mechanism doesn't work properly,and the vocal chords all tense up and contract, blocking the passage and not allowing any voice or air to pass through. I push and push, and eventually it slips out somehow.

While it is a physical problem, there are emotional factors that then come in to play, either to make my speech better or worse. For example, I feel very relaxed and safe speaking to my wife, so with her I speak a lot better than, say, to someone who obviously looks uncomfortable with me, or who I know will jump in to finish my words. And if I am somewhere quiet, and not in a hurry, I will speak a lot better than in a crowded place where I have to talk over noise. I also very rarely use the telephone, as I find it particularly hard if the person can't see when I am or am not trying to speak.

I started to stutter when I was a small child, maybe about age 3. Since then it has gotten better and worse a hundred times, but never goes away. You find lots of different coping mechanisms, such as using hand gestures instead of speaking, or saying "I don't know" to questions that I do know the answer to. Another big one is choosing alternate words that feel easier at any given moment. For example I find it very hard to say the word "bye". So I will go "b........see ya". But soon that doesn't work and I move on to "ciao". But that wears off and I have to look for something else. I am currently on the annoying, Grandpa-ish "Cheerio". I don't like the word, but it's one word that currently "works", so I use it.

Some words, though are inescapable, and those are my most dreaded. My name. My wife's' name. My daughters' name. My suburb. My profession. These are also the words that make you look really stupid if you can't say them. Probably a million times I have been trying to say my name and someone has said "Have you forgotten?".

A stutterer also picks up physical traits and habits, that are extremely difficult to shake. When I stutter my mouth and lips tighten and purse up very tightly, into a sort of grotesque expression, and I feel my eyes glaze over a little. I really can't do much to stop it. Also, from some point many years ago, I got hurt I suppose from seeing listeners look at me with surprise, or with a laugh-- and so now I find it basically impossible to make eye contact while I am stuttering. Nothing to do with shyness or being timid.

As soon as the word is out, I can look the person in the eye and feel completely comfortable. It just becomes habit. Other habits are retracing your steps. If a word is hard, you go back a few words to try and get a 'run-up'. This basically just results in a lot of repetition. Frustrating for the listener, but yeah, very hard to shake.

There are curious sorts of exceptions to a stutter though. One pretty common one is being able to sing completely fluently. Actually, I have been the singer in a few bands. One of those was a hip hop group, and I used to rap. As you know, rapping is basically rhyming, fast talking, which really should have been my worst nightmare. For some strange reason it worked fine. It may have something to do with rhythm, and the words all rolling on into each other.

Well I think I will leave that there, as a description of what the problem is. Next post I'll try and explain why I am telling you all this, and what I am hoping to achieve.

Winter's Day, Enfield

Winter's Day, Enfield (2008)
Oil on Canvas

Well, I got some painting in this arvo. This took a couple of hours to do. Stupidly I didn't dress very warmly, and spent most of that time shivering. Smoked a cigar to keep me warm. I am pleased with how it turned out, and feel good to have achieved something.

Book Group- Getting Underway

Well I'm excited that some people are interested in the book group idea. That's awesome. Thanks for the suggestions, guys. The shortlist looks like this-

Crime and Punishment- Dostoevsky
The Brothers Karamasov- Dostoevsky
Gulliver's Travels- Jonathan Swift
Frankenstein- Mary Shelley
Wuthering Heights- Emily Bronte
Life Together- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Practicing His Presence- Brother Lawrence
Poems of Wilfred Owen
The Wind In The Willows- Kenneth Graham
Alice In Wonderland- Lewis Carroll
Boots In The Bedroom- Alison Kelly (thanks Simone)

I thought that it might be difficult to come to a consensus for the first book to read, so I thought I would make a decision to get the ball rolling. The winner is....(drum roll).. Crime and Punishment, by our good friend Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Now, don't think I can't hear your collective groans. I know it is going to be tough going, but think about the satisfaction we will have, to be able to say "I have read Crime and Punishment!" I know it's a thick book, but that's mostly because of the long Russian names. If you replaced those names with "Joe" or "Mike" or something, the book would only be about forty pages long (I checked).

So how it will work, is that I will wait a week, to give everyone (including me) time to get a hold of the book, and then the first reading week will start from next weekend. (When I get the book I will see how long the chapters are and set 'the homework'). I'll then write a post after a week to discuss it.

Sound okay?

Accepting Atonement

The fact that I am trying to be right with God is a sign that I am rebelling against the Atonement. 'Lord, I will purify my heart if You will answer my prayer; I will walk rightly if You will help me'. I cannot make myself right with God, I cannot make my life perfect; I can only be right with God if I can accept the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ as an absolute gift. Am I humble enough to accept it? I have to resign every kind of claim and cease from every effort, and leave myself entirely alone in His hands.. Jesus is not beginning to save us, He has saved us, the thing is done, and it is an insult to ask Him to do it.

--Oswald Chambers

Manfrog In The Workforce

When a Manfrog is not enjoying the serenity of his pond, basking on his lillypad catching insects with his long sticky tongue, how does he fill his time? This important question was answered for me this morning, when I had my Friday encounter with Mf himself.

You know what he does? Cooks our meals. Yes, Manfrog is a chef. This morning he had on those funny chef pants, the baggy black and white checkerboard clown ones.

This new glimpse into the life of my beloved Mf brought me great joy. It made me proud, to know that even in these troubled, intolerant times we are willing to put aside prejudice and let a frog follow his cullinary dreams. You go, Mf!

The Baby shower

I have some painting scheduled in for tomorrow, which makes me happy. E is going to a baby shower in the arvo, which leaves me alone and left to my own devices.

The baby shower in general has been a helpful institution in regards to me getting in some painting. How does the baby shower differ from say, a girls night out I hear you ask? Well, thank you for the insightful question, valued reader.

Babies are expected to attend baby showers, as examples of 'ones we've prepared earlier', and so Little e will be going with E. Now don't get me wrong, I love having time alone with Little e, but there's no way I could paint with her tearing about. Oil paint, turpentine and babies do not mix (unless you stir really well). Hence, I am grateful for the baby shower institution.

I did have thoughts of using this pocket of free time to see a movie (I am fond of seeing movies by myself, especially scary ones), and checked to see if there might be anything vaguely scary and awesome playing. Turns out the only horror film playing is this , which is too scary even for me.

Painting it is.

Thursday Peanuts

Bruegel

The Hunters In The Snow (1565)

I like the artist Pieter Bruegel the Elder. He painted in the Netherlands during the 1500's. I like his composition, and the amount of information that he put into his paintings, while still leaving 'breathing room'.

When I was growing up we had a big Bruegal print on the wall, of a painting called Children's Games. It used to fascinate me, and I would just sit and stare at it; always discovering new things hidden away in some corner of the picture.

Book Group

At the bus stop this morning I was thinking that I like the idea of a book group. I like the idea of reading something at the same time as other people, and then talking about it. I was then thinking that I don't like the idea of sitting in a circle with a bunch of people, in some dingy room, trying to think of something intelligent to say.

So I thought, well, what about an online book group. You could somehow decide on a book (ie, I would decide), and set a starting date for people to have tracked down the book by, and then (as I am a slow reader), you could talk about it online say, weekly, a chapter at a time. Sort of like homework for the week. I used to hate homework, but I kind of like the idea of it now.

Thinking myself very cutting edge, I just Googled "online book group" to double check that I had in fact just invented this awesome new thing. What came up was "showing 1-10 Results of about 29, 400 000 for online book group"

Right. Not so cutting edge after all. Turns out someone or something called an Oprah had the idea nailed some time ago. This so called Oprah also had the idea for an "Angel Network", which was my next big idea. Curse you, Opraaaaahhhh!

I still think it's a good idea, and would like to start one on my blog. It would focus on old classics that I wouldn't get around to reading otherwise. Anybody feeling me?

Scarf

Who's opinion should sway you more- that of your own sex, or that of the opposite sex?

I went out to buy a coffee, and put my scarf on (the same one in my profile picture thing), as it's kind of cold. I passed a female work colleague, who said "I like your scarf, it's cool". Feeling chipper about myself I got into the lift, and went down to the ground floor. I then passed a male colleague who smirked and said sarcastically, "Nice scarf, Ben", snickered and kept walking.

So the two comments cancelled each other out. Who am I to go with? On one hand, it's a blokes' male peers that he seeks approval from, but on the other hand, let's face it, it's the ladies that he wants to impress. I usually give in to the approval team, but kind of resent it.

What's an easily-swayed fellow to do.

Augenblick

The colour-patches of vision part, shift, and reform as I move through space in time. The present is the object of vision, and what I see before me at any given second is a full field of colour patches scattered just so. The configuration will never be repeated. Living is moving; time is a live creek bearing changing lights. As I move, or as the world moves around me, the fullness of what I see shatters. This second of shattering is an augenblick, a particular configuration, a slant of light shot in the open eye.

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Jesus: God and Man

I really enjoyed bible study last night. Pete posed the question of why is it important for Jesus to have been both completely God, and completely human. It was great to really think hard about this. Here are some of the points we came up with--

Jesus had to be completely God--
-to be a sufficient sacrifice to take the place of the entire human race
-to be able to come back from the dead
-otherwise a third party apart from God would be being unjustly punished
-for God to be fully revealed to us
-otherwise we would be bringing glory and honour to humanity, not God
-to bring us into relationship with the Trinity.

Jesus had to be completely man--
-to experience man's struggles, and yet still triumph
-to be able to die
-to be cut off from God at the crucifixion
-to be a mediator for man to God
-to be a model of obedience

Reader

A few years ago I became sad when I realised that I wasn't a reader. I had barely read a novel in years. It made me sad to hear people talking about all these classic books, knowing that I had never read them. So feeling like I was missing out, I decided to become a reader, probably around 2003 or 2004.

I made a list of authors and books that I wanted to read, and have been working my way through. I am a pretty slow, easily distracted reader, but have gotten through a few. So, I thought I would list the books that I have read and particularly liked since then. By the way, where there are multiple books by an author is where I have particularly loved a book and read more.

Charles Dickens- Great Expectations

Mark Twain- The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

William Faulkner- Go Down, Moses, As I Lay Dying, A Soldiers Pay, The Sound and the Fury, The Unvanquished, Absalom, Absalom

F. Scott Fitzgerald- The Great Gatsby

Annie Proulx- The Shipping News, Postcards

Harper Lee- To Kill A Mockingbird

John Steinbeck- The Moon Is Down, Of Mice and Men, Cannery Row

Daniel Defoe- Robinson Crusoe

Richard Adams- Watership Down

Henry James- The Turn Of the Screw

Ernest Hemmingway- The Old Man and the Sea, For Whom The Bell Tolls

Micheal Ondaatje- In The Skin Of a Lion

Cormac McCarthy- No Country For Old Men

J.D. Salinger- Catcher In the Rhye, Raise High The Roofbeams Carpenters, For Esme- With Love and Squalor

Annie Dillard- An American Childhood, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek (1/2 way through..)

Has anybody got any other recommendations?

Weet Bix. Depend On It.

So here we were thinking Little e was such a great eater. Au contraire, valued reader, au contraire. Tonight we had a jolly old time trying to get her to eat some pasta and veg. A lot of tears, lost tempers and flying food later (and that was just me), we resorted to trusty old Weet Bix. There are not many things in this crazy old world that you can depend on, but Weet Bix will always see you through.

Northanger Abbey

Last night we watched Northanger Abbey, in my third (and probably final) attempt to try and gain an appreciation for Jane Austen. After this I will review something American with lots of guns and swearing, because I fear my feminine side is getting way too much of an airing on this blog.

I had high hopes for this one, as it was advertised as Jane Austen's foray into Gothic literature. Well, whacko. Don't foray too far, will you, Jane.

You know what was Gothic about this one? The main character is reading a Gothic book. Don't worry about ghosts, or vampires or anything, just have the character read a book . That'll scare them senseless. Reading. I'm getting chills just saying the word.

The decided lack of anything remotely creepy or good was summed up when our dashing male lead says "no, he's not a vampire.. but he did suck the life out of her". Puh-leeze. And that other guy isn't an actual werewolf, but he did once see a wolf at the zoo.

So, no. Sorry, but no points on the 'Gothic' score.

And what a dud ending once again. I was amazed at how quickly and neatly it all got wrapped up in about two minutes, after what seemed like an eternity of carriage rides, and dances and letter writing. Why not get rid of all that rubbish, and give us a decent ending: The father was not just like a vampire, but is actually one of the undead. The son Henry was in on a plot to lure Catherine to the Abbey to be a fresh blood source for the undead father, the evil son, and the ghost-mother that haunts the abbey.

We see a close up of Catherine screaming as she realises that her Gothic daydreams are nothing compared to this waking nightmare. Cut to exterior of the abbey, as we hear Catherine scream. Night falls. A wolf howls in the distance. Fade to black. Roll credits. If only people listened to me, their movies would be totally awesome.

What I have realised after watching these few, is that the plots are very formulaic. There's a bloke and a lady. They like each other but there's a couple of crossed wires. A baddie tries to warn her away from him. They walk near a river and have a 'special moment'. They marry. Roll credits. I'm sorry, but I'm not seeing a giant distinction between this and Mills and Boone.

Don't ark up. I can sense you arking up. You're only reacting that way because I have touched a raw nerve. You say you love the character study, and relevant poignancy to real life. But seriously, is it not just that you love watching picnics and girls writing letters? Is it not just that you love the boofy dresses and dopey language? Is it not just a regression to childhood and playing with dolls? Is it not the equivalent of guys liking Rambo because we liked playing shoot-em-up when we were kids? Oh yes, how far the lofty have fallen.

So let's agree to disagree, whilst agreeing that I am right. Jane Austen minus the fluff and fancy language, equals Mills and Boone.

Mysterious Forces of Mondayitis

You know that thing when you get two magnets and you can't put them together because they repel each other? That was happening this morning while trying to go to work. I just couldn't bring myself to get there. Forces beyond my control kept bouncing me in the opposite direction.

I basically did everything I possibly could to postpone getting there. I won't tell of all my exploits, for I am too ashamed, but let's just say they included loitering around JB HI-FI, loitering in McDonald's, and reading for a long time in the public toilets.

You know you've got yourself some serious mondayitis when you sit in a public toilet cubicle for longer than necessary, in order to avoid getting to work.

Done Me Back

I did my back in the other day. We were minding my little nephew for the day, and I was changing his nappy on our bed. He had on one of those pull-up things, rather than a nappy-- something as yet beyond my expertise.

As I was to find out later, these rip down the sides, for ease of removal. But instead I tried to take them off like regular pants, with my nephew standing up on our bed. Now, if you close your eyes and imagine, it is not very easy to do this whilst keeping the 'contents' of said pull-up present and accounted for.

But things were going pretty well, and the pull-up was midway between knee and ankle, when things went awry. A remnant hitherto undisclosed had been biding it's time in the depths. Hiding. Waiting. Anticipating. And then fell, in slow motion, deftly missing the pull-up and landing with a wet plod on the doona.

It was then that I panicked, and with a little yelp, lunged too late, to try and prevent the unpreventable mess, and somehow pulled a muscle in my back. Unable to move, but still propping up my oblivious nephew with one hand, and trying to wipe up the escaped contents, I called to E for reinforcements.

Days later my back still hurts, and I'm walking funny, sort of waddling like I've had a contents mishap of my own.

The Kraken

There's very little not to like about a giant octopus attacking a ship.

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber’d and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

--Lord Alfred Tennyson

Ice Tea

They were handing out free ice tea at the station yesterday. Now, I love ice tea as much, if not more than the next man. But have you not noticed that it basically just tastes like really weak cordial? I don't want to burst your bubble, but I think you'll find that I'm right.

Manfrog

I'm not wanting to be mean (actually, let's face it, I probably am), but there is a man on my morning bus that I suspect is part bullfrog. Everything about him screams bullfrog. He looks like one. Sounds like one. If he sits close you even catch the occasional whiff of one.

He eats his breakfast on the bus, very loudly, with a big open bullfrog mouth, making big smacking noises. Smack! Smack! Smack!! He does not chew, but rather throws up his big bullfrog head and swallows each mouthful whole. After each mouthful, he takes a big guzzle of coffee, letting it spill from the corners of his mouth, and make a steaming trail down his cold, green, translucent skin.

When he is sated, he slumps against the window, to sleep for the rest of the journey. Before long, a snore starts to emanate from the bowels of his bullfrog stomach. Not a dry, snorting snore, but a wet, gurgly one.

I watch intently as his skin rests against the glass window. He does not leave the usual ugly grease smear common to bus windows, but rather he creates precipitation. Water forms, quickly and abundantly, where his skin touches the glass; hinting at the secret truth of his amphibious origins.

He awakens with a croak, pulling his bulk upright, ready to alight. As he hops off the bus, I am left to stare, fascinated at the water he has left on the window. It pools into tiny droplets, and gathering weight, trickles down the glass and onto the seat. Manfrog has marked his territory for the day.

Happiness

Routine numbs me and leaves me hypnotised. Monotony makes my eyes glaze over and I look at the world through frosted glass. My mouth slowly drops open and my breathing becomes loud and rhythmic. My ears are tuned to traffic, white noise and the hum of fluorescent lights.

It is Friday and I step off the bus as the sun struggles to come up behind a wall of cloud. The city is just gearing up for another day of the same. I step off the street and down a staircase in to the underground train station of Town Hall, into artificial light and artificial warmth.

But like an oasis to a desert traveller, the monotony suddenly breaks, and the routine is disturbed. Standing before me are about thirty women, with an average age of fifty, all dressed in matching silky red fabric, glittering with sequins. They are organised in three rows, and sway from side to side; out of time with each other, as they earnestly belt out Can You Feel The Love Tonight in warbling falsettos.

Happiness.

Thursday Peanuts

Pride

Pride is the deification of self, and this today in some of us is not of the Pharisee, but of the publican. To say 'Oh, I'm no saint', is acceptable to human pride, but it is unconscious blasphemy against God. It literally means that you defy God to make you a saint. 'I am much too weak and hopeless, I am outside the reach of the Atonement'. Humility before men may be unconscious blasphemy before God. Why are you not a saint? It is either that you do not want to be a saint, or that you do not believe God can make you one.

--Oswald Chambers

Persuasion: A Case Study

In an effort to respond to you loyal Jane Austen fans, I would like to write a second post to prove that it is not that I didn't 'get' the nuances, but that rather the nuances were not very interesting once gotten. Just humour me, if you will.

Seeing as though Persuasion is fresh in my mind, let's focus on that. Now, once we strip this story of all the things so dear to the genre -- the picnics, the walks by the lake, the piano recitals, the letter-writing sequences, the flouncy dresses, the silly hair-- what remains is this, as far as I can tell:

When she was a teenager, our protagonist Anne was in love with a poor sailor, one Frederick Wentworth. Her relatives thought he was a bit of a dud, because he wasn't rich, and persuaded her to give him the flick. She realises she did the wrong thing and pines away for EIGHT YEARS.

Now, by some convenient coincidence, our Frederick Wentworth just happens to stop by her house. Oh, and look, he's more handsome and perfect than ever. Oh yes, and is also now exceedingly rich. Gee... where is this story going? I just can't figure it out, as I am so blinded by nuance.

Anne basically does nothing except pine some more for the rest of the story, until old mate finally gets around to saying he still likes her. They live happily ever after.

Now come on, people. She acted like a dope in the first place, does nothing to rectify it, and then is rewarded with millionaire Prince Charming without having to do ANYTHING. Do you not want more from your lead character? If her 'interesting character flaw' is that she is easily persuaded, when does she ever deal with this?

You want nuance and character development? Pathos? A journey? Okay, check this out. This is how you could touch the story up a little so that our protagonist has to actually deal with some issues:

When she was a teenager, our protagonist Anne was in love with a poor sailor, one Frederick Wentworth. Her relatives thought he was a bit of a dud, because he wasn't rich, and persuaded her to give him the flick. She realises she did the wrong thing and pines away for EIGHT YEARS.

Sick of being such an easily persuaded pawn, she shuns her family and goes in search of Freddy Wentworth, determined to persuade him to give her another shot. After a long search full of tribulations (for example, a haunted house, or a run-in with a ghost)she finds him. The years have not been kind. The war has left him a pauper, with only the dirty clothes on his back. The war has also left him horribly disfigured, and a cripple.

What does she do? She was so determined to persuade him, and now she must persuade herself(notice, my clever use of the word 'persuade', alluding to the title). Can she love this monstrosity? Is he not still the same man she pledged undying love for?

So. Now that I have convinced you, what do you think? Good story, huh. More nuance than you can poke a stick at. No, no, it's okay, you don't need to thank me.

Bad Karma

It gets my back up when I hear people talk about 'karma', or the supposed philosophy of 'what goes around comes around'. The actress Sharon Stone recently described the devastating earthquake in China as 'bad karma'.

It seems to me that the people who like to think along these lines, happily and readily apply it to others, but are far more hesitant to apply it to themselves.

You often hear someone say "they'll get theirs" or "what goes around comes around" when they have been treated badly. But rarely do you hear the flip side-- I was a jerk to that person this morning. I deserve to be treated badly by somebody else tomorrow.

The problem with karma is that when you apply it practically, and insert people's lives into this equation, the results are proof that it doesn't add up; that the equation doesn't work. David Bentley Hart makes a good argument--

Equally problematic, in some ways, if far more spiritually sane, is the view that all suffering and death should be seen as the precisely apportioned and condign recompense for human sin, balancing all accounts and contributing to a final harmony of all things.

It is a pleasing vision of things, in some ways, though quite horrifying in others; it is also a vision so pointlessly complex as to verge upon banality. If it gives us comfort to believe that the death of an infant from disease and the death of a serial murderer late in life from a heart attack, congenital madness and innate genius, the long fortunate life of one of nature's Romans and the brief miserable life of a born pauper are all determined by a precise calculation of what each and every one of us deserves, then it is a comfort sustained by absurdity.

The Doors Of The Sea p.30-31

The Colours of Dawn

The sunrise this morning was beautiful, it took my breath away as I watched it. So many wonderful colours; blue, violet, flamingo pink, orange, gold, cream... it kept changing and morphing as the sun rose slowly behind the clouds. Maybe sunrise is God's reward for those who have to get up early.

His splendor is like the sunrise.
Rays shine from his hand,
where his power is hidden.

(Habakkuk 3:4)

E Wears The Pants, I Wear The Apron

I enjoyed the public holiday yesterday (Happy Birthday, Your Majesty). We didn't really do very much, but it was a relaxing doing nothing, not a boring doing nothing. In the evening I went to take out the garbage, and realised that it was the first time I had stepped outside all day. We just pottered around the house, doing our own thing. Even though we were not really 'together', it was nice just knowing E was in the other room. Little e was splitting her time between E and I, crawling about getting into everything.

Throwing all regard for traditional gender roles to the wind, E spent the afternoon wielding an electric drill, and I spent the afternoon cooking. I got given an electric drill two Christmas' ago, but have never used it. I really have no idea how to use it, even if I wanted to. It looks so complicated-- a million different bits, but with no instructions. I can see that it would be a handy skill to learn, but to be honest, it's not high on my list of priorities.

It is however, high on E's list, and sick of trying to get me to use the thing, she took matters in to her own hands. Unlike me, she is willing to give new things a crack, and I was very impressed to see her figure out how to use it. Her first job was putting up some curtain hooks in little e's room.

Meanwhile, I stuck to what I was good at, and cooked up a big pot of stew. Basically a bunch of lamb bones, with onions, garlic, ginger potato, kidney beans, tomatoes, curry, garam masala, cumin and paprika, simmered for hours. Topped with fresh coriander and served with rice. Not a bad creation, if I do say so myself. I named it "Bag-o-Bones Stew".

Period Dramas

I have been trying to be more open minded about the value of period dramas, and in particular, Jane Austen. I have been watching the ones that have been on Sunday nights (Emma, Persuasion) with E, trying to put aside my pride and prejudices (ha!) and trying to appreciate them.

Now I realise I am treading dangerous ground here, as criticizing Jane Austen to Christian female readers is akin to criticizing Bono to Christian male readers. Dangerous.

My main issue with Jane Austen is the boredom factor. The picture below pretty much encapsulates everything that I dislike about these movies:

Now, call me stupid, but watching a bunch of people sit around picnicking and drinking tea doesn't really light my fire. There are way too many scenes of people NOT DOING ANYTHING. You have a ten minute scene of some woman sitting at a desk writing a letter. A five minute scene of some girl playing the piano for her relatives. Long scenes of some brooding bloke with very high pants. He doesn't actually say anything, he just stands there and broods.

It seems to me, that if the woman at the desk set aside her letter for a moment and just went downstairs and talked to the brooding bloke, that everyone would be happy, and we could get on with our lives. Ten minutes into Persuasion, all Anne had to do was go to the bloke and say, "Listen, I'm glad you're back. I shouldn't have broken up with you eight years ago, I think you're swell, let's get married". But no. Alas, we get hours of beating around the bush.

Now, the Bronte's are a different kettle of fish. Still kind of slow, but at least some good stuff happens. In Jane Eyre there is a mad woman locked in the attic. This is enough to make any book/movie good. And the best part of Wuthering Heights is that Cathy comes back from the dead as some ghost at the window. This is good stuff, people.

Jane Austen apparently did not realise that if she chucked in, say, a mad woman, or a ghost,or perhaps a haunted house, that her books would be a lot more interesting.

Anyway, next Sunday is Northanger Abbey, which is her 'gothic' novel. So here's hoping that there might be a bit of good stuff in this one, at least a ghost or something.

I better stop before you all burn me at the stake. I know that you're angry, but I think deep down you know I'm right.

Books, Books, Books, Books.

On Saturday I helped some friends from church move house. Boy, who would be a removalist? My arms and legs were spaghetti for two days afterwards.

Before saying you'll help someone move, it's a good idea to pause and take in to account the persons' profession. This guy is a philosopher, and owns enough books to open a medium-sized library. I kept looking at the box labels, hoping for 'soft toys' or 'feather collection', but instead kept getting 'books-study'.

Incidentally, I've always thought this guy looks like the painter Cezanne.

Martha Wainwright

Got the new Martha Wainwright album, 'I know You're Married But I've Got Feelings Too', the other day. Listened to it a couple of times so far. Liking it.

Probably the only current female 'singer songwriter' that I listen to. I hope she tours again, she was great last time we saw her.

Kevin Wong Exhibition

Last Thursday night I dropped in to Kinokuniya Books to see my friends' Grandfather's painting exhibition. I was really struck --seeing a man, in his eighties I suppose, still busily painting away as keen as ever.

I find that very inspirational and comforting-- that you can continue to do hobbies you love doing, all the way through your life, if you have the drive and enthusiasm to do so.

Fog Lifted

I haven't had the desire to blog for a few days, which is a bit sad. Sometimes I just don't have anything I feel like saying.

A big reason for this drought is that I have been feeling like a zombie for a few days. Little e has not been sleeping well, day or night, and so sleep for us has been elusive and broken up.

You really take for granted that if you are exhausted, that there is a good night's sleep around the corner. When that doesn't come, you find yourself in a surreal state where you feel lost in a fog during the day, and everything is just too hard.

Last night though, little e slept through, which was awesome. Having a good nights sleep completely changes my outlook; the fog is gone and things look manageable again. Thank God.

Thursday Peanuts

Why I Love Little e #427

Because she smells like cruskits..

..even when she hasn't been eating them.

Cool Hand Luke

I bought Cool Hand Luke cheap the other day. What a great movie. One of my favourites.

I wish I was as cool as Paul Newman.

What film star would you like to be?

Man Is Not The Centre

My friend AY sent me this quote today, from C.S. Lewis' book, The Problem of Pain. It has gotten me thinking, and I am keen to read the whole book. It sounds like a good place to answer some of my questions.

The problem of reconciling human suffering with the existence of a God who loves, is only insoluble so long as we attach a trivial meaning to the word 'love', and look on things as if man were the centre of them. Man is not the centre. God does not exist for the sake of man.

The Second Shot: A Shot Too Far

I love my morning coffee from my cafe of choice, but have become a little dissatisfied with the strength. A lot of milk going on, but not enough flavour. So I have been working up the courage to ask for a double shot (don't ask me why this is something that requires the building up of courage, it just is) and finally gathered the strength this morning.

My request was met with a baffled look from Ann, my trusty coffee-maker. I could see her little heart breaking. Had she failed to deliver? Was I not satisfied? Had I kept silent on this issue for all this time? Was I tempted to wander?

"Did you have a bad nights sleep?, she asked, searching for reassurance.

"Yes", I lied, and rubbed my eyes to make them water. I had slept like a baby.

"Is this change...for good?", she asked, her eyes pleading.

"I don't know", I said, "I'll have to see how this goes".

Gathering her dignity, she steeled her nerves and spoke icily, with a tinge of spite.

"That will be an extra 50 cents."

Needless to say, tomorrow I will be back to a single shot. It just isn't worth it. And besides, the extra hit did not sit so well with my tender little stomach, and made my mouth taste like wet dog for several hours. It's wearing off now, and only tastes like regular dog. With a bit of toothpaste there should only be a faint trace of puppy.

What's The Point of Living?

This is a genuine question-- What is the purpose of our lives? What is the point of us being here?

I am not being a sad-sack; as a Christian I do think we have a point and purpose, but I have been wondering how to put it into words.

I have a friend who sometimes asks me this question, and I don't really know how to respond. I tend to turn to cliched phrases ('to bring glory to God' or 'to bring more people to Christ') rather than to a well thought out answer that I am convicted of.

I found a verse the other day that has helped me start to formulate an answer, and I will explain that in a follow-up post.

But in the meantime, I would really love to hear YOUR thoughts on this-- what you would say, what you have said etc, in response to this question.

RSPCA Commercial II

Here is an article I found about the ad campaign.

RSPCA Commercial

Has anybody seen that awful RSPCA commercial? It came on before The Orphanage, and was way more disturbing than any horror movie. Basically it shows some pretty full-on domestic violence, to the soundtrack of a dog whimpering.

It was very extreme, and I was really quite outraged that there was no warning before it. It just suddenly comes on, sandwiched between 'get your popcorn at the candy bar' and 'Giuseppe's pizza' ads.

Apparently the campaign is called "Smack The Bitch", which is offensive enough. I am not sure what the message is supposed to be, but it makes the viewer far more concerned about domestic violence than about animal welfare. I understand the whole 'shock value' thing, and that it's probably really edgy, but for me, I didn't like this being shoved on to me without warning.

Scary!!

E and I saw The Orphanage on Saturday, which was AWESOME. I loved it. I love horror movies, and have been whinging lately about how I haven't seen one for yonks. So as I was saying, it was freakin' awesome.

I don't scare that easily, but this was truly scary. Boy, was it scary. It's a Spanish film, produced by Guillermo del Toro (Hellboy, Pans' Labyrinth and the upcoming The Hobbit), and is a really well made, classic ghost story. It is not gratuitous horror, but rather implied horror, which is far scarier!

It reminded me a bit of a few other movies I really like-- Rosemary's Baby, The Omen, The Shining, The Amityville Horror. I thought E would hate it (not a horror movie fan), but she liked it too. Here's a review.

Day With E

On Saturday my awesome sister and brother-in-law minded little e so that E and I could have a day out together. It was really nice. We went out for a long, relaxed breakfast at a cafe (my favourite pastime), went to Paddington and browsed for a while (E in the clothes shops, me in the big bookshop) then saw a movie (The Orphanage).

It was nice to spend some time together, just the two of us--it has been ages since we've done that.

Painting At Night

It was a bit ambitious to think I could race home on Friday night and do a painting before it got dark. I must have looked like a bit of a turkey sprinting down the street at dusk, with my easel and gear in my arms, looking about frantically for something to paint.

I chose a subject and without time to set anything up, was holding the canvas in my hand while I painted. All the colours on the palate looked black, so I had no real idea what I was doing. I got in about 15 minutes of painting before it was completely dark, and I wandered home disappointed. I got inside, where I saw my painting for the first time. Eeek. Not a pretty sight.

Expect no photo of this monstrosity.