Nothing is EVER simple.
I suspect that hatred is impossible if you really embrace the complexity.
I am nearly certain that personal peace is impossible if you do so.
"Mage", volume 3, number 1, has been in the house since yesterday. Dementia gets to read it first. She showed me a back cover ad for Mage swag, including tee shirts. We need a few; my original Mage tee shirt is over 30 years old. Dementia had some difficulty with the tee shirt vendor's web site, and I decided to try my hand. Think an indirect approach might be best, I asked, "Who's the publisher?"
Dementia replied, "Image."
"IMAGE?!?" I said incredulously; Dementia held up the book, showed me the logo. "Damn, Matt," I said, "You done good."
(Those who have followed the saga of Matt Wagner's Mage for the last three decades will understand. The rest of you should find out.)
Finally caught up on recorded TV, and watching the third season of "The Musketeers" for the first time on disc. Life is good. I LOVE this show...
I've been thinking lately that it might be fun to join the Flat Earth Society. There is something really liberating about the idea of getting into arguments, knowing from the start that you are utterly and completely wrong, and never having to worry about the truth, just about winning.
It turns out that it was perfectly safe to watch the eclipse with the naked eye here in Waukegan... (Celestial events follow a schedule. Weather, not so much.)
In my experience, it only takes a few iterations of being coerced to do something I love to turn that thing into something I USED to love.
A moral quandary: I just finished reading a very short small press book that was so amazingly bad that it inspired a REALLY amusing review. I normally have no compunctions about abusing commercially successful creators, but this is VERY small press, and the author is a friend (or at least an acquaintance) of friends of mine. and the review is BRUTAL. Do I post it, or keep it to myself?
(Update: The review is out there, but unless you know the exact terms to search for, you won't find it.)
Yesterday, I posted a single paragraph of a book review that I have decided to otherwise leave buried in my archives. It caused a few people (who are not familiar with my problematic relationship to my muse) to make, "You should write more," noises. I am not going to respond to that in detail; the story is both boring and painful. I am, however, going to trot out a piece of my fiction. This is a favorite; it is probably the sweetest story I have ever written. I have just re-read it, and five years after the fact, it makes ME cry. It is, for my work, unusually non-violent, and has the distinction of having been read by a father to his children as a bedtime story (in New Zealand, no less!)
(See "The Oakbridge Oak", elsewhere.)
Currently wearing a brand new, old stock "Mage" tee shirt from 1997. I still have, and have recently worn, a once identical shirt that I bought back in the day.
Best laid plans department:
Yesterday, I was supposed to get out of the house early, be in Libertyville when the comic shop opened at 11:00, then head out to Rockford, row the perimeter of Pierce Lake, then get to Lake Geneva Games in time for RPG night at 6:00.
In reality, I didn't get out of the house until 1:00, didn't get to Pirece Lake until 4:15, and decided I just didn't have the energy to unlimber the canoe. I didn't actually bail on Lake Geneva until I got to the fork in the road at Harvard, which was the go/no go point. I continue to hate making adult decisions...
My brain is not what it once was; most obviously, my memory doesn't cling to things as easily as it once did, and while everything seems to still be in there, sometimes the retrieval times are measured in hours or even days. This is not worrisome; incremental cognitive decline is just another inevitable part of aging (and yet ANOTHER reason to scream in horror when I look in the mirror every morning). On the other hand, my mother was an Alzheimer's victim, and if I follow her trajectory, I only have 15 or 16 years of personality left.
On the other hand... I slept in this morning. I have been feeling ill, and needed some extra sleep. I wasn't comfortable, and wasn't sleeping soundly. I decided that it was time to face the day when I realized I had been working on a probability problem, including reconstructing half-remembered theorems, on the backs of my eyelids. It was time to get up, find some scratch paper, and check my work.
How does the song go? "As good once as I ever was..."
There are a lot of Zen parables that end with minor variations on the phrase, "And then he became enlightened." Being a trickster at heart, I see these as, "And then he realized that it was all a scam, there was not really any such thing as Enlightenment, and all that was really necessary was to put in enough time seeking that people believed you when you claimed to be enlightened, and then you could begin to reap the benefits of being perceived as a bodhisattva." But even then, it's not EXACTLY fraud, because the Way that can be told is not the true Way, and the journey is the worthier part...
Life in my household:
Hyena (Addressing Dementia in her Mistress of the TV Screen mode): Could you find SOMETHING to play? I am literally sitting here watching batteries charge, and I need some kind of intellectual stimulation...
FINALLY watching the uncut version of "The Dark Kingdom: The Dragon King." It a 2004 version of "The Nibelungenlied." It was made by a German producition company, filmed in English, and shot in South Africa. Confused yet? It originally ran 177 minutes, but was cut to 134 for the US audience; most of what was cut was a subplot about the displacement of Odinism by Christianity. I finally managed to find a full version, and the time to watch it...
And today on Vocabulary Quest, our hero found himself learning to differentiate among "elipsoid" (very general), "oblate spheroid" (flying saucer), and "prolate spheroid" (blunted football).
Got the boat in the water for the first (and maybe last) time in August today; drove out to Pierce Lake, north of Rockford. In addition to the circuit shown, I rowed out almost across the center of the lake to offer a tow to a couple of becalmed and clueless sailors; they got in without my help.
Insert Water Rat quotation here...
(The becalmed sailors had a Butterfly, a fiberglass cat rigged scow.)
So... It turns out that what it takes to turn two weeks of intermittently sort-of sick into, "Get back into bed, Stupid," is a couple of hours of strenuous exercise. Maybe now all of the harbinger joint pain will retreat back to manageable levels.
In the book "Time Enough for Love", Robert A. Heinlein's characters discuss the idea of the Blind Man's Rainbow as an example of something that is generally regarded as wonderful that some people miss completely. I think we all have a few of them; one of mine is food.
It is a very rare day when at least one of my friends on Facebook doesn't lovingly describe a recent meal, or a forthcoming meal, and its preparation. I am empathetic enough to understand that this matters to them, that they take joy out of it, and I am happy for them, but as far as my visceral reaction goes, they might as well be comparison shopping for aquarium gravel.
On the other hand, if you put ketchup on a hotdog in my presence, I will still stop speaking to you, but that isn't really food, it's religion.