Movin' On Up

Oh yeah. That's right. You're looking at the blog of a dude with a faculty/staff parking decal. And he paid less than $50 for it. Boo-yah!
That means I can park anywhere the professors park. I'm definitely with the "in" group now. Just like Navin Johnson said in The Jerk, "Be somebody!" Yep, things are going to start happening to me now!

It's the End of the World As We Know It ...

"And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood; And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth [...]" - Revelation 6:12-13

Scary, isn't it? Sure it is! And that's one of the milder parts of the Book of Revelation! There are many more graphic and disturbing passages that make the one quoted above seem like the warning label on a pack of cigarettes (cf. Rev. 8-9, if you don't believe me).

And the recent developments (or should I say regressions) in the Middle East are also scary, and their terror is increased exponentially by the rhetoric and journalistic methods used by the modern media to "report" them. A CNN poll in July of this year indicated that 61% of Americans were afraid that the violence in the Middle East would expand into WWIII, and it's no wonder! Thanks to that windbag punk Gingrich, half of the news media is peppering their broadcasts with headlines like "On the Verge of World War III?" and "War on Terror Actually a World War." There are scads of websites that claim to have all of the details about the 3rd World War, right down to the key military leaders' names and the proposed outcome of the conflict. You can even read what everyone's favorite 16th-century conman, Nostradamus, has to say about it in a new book available online!


So in the midst of an age of more histrionics than history, how is one to know if the end truly is upon us? I mean, with all the eschatological propaganda being flung at us from both the religious extremists on the far right and the liberal anti-Bushnicks on the far left, to whom are we to turn for answers?

"And as he sat upon the mount of Olives, the disciples came unto him privately, saying, Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world? And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many. And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.

Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away. But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only."

- Matthew 24: 3-6, 35-36

Selah, Jesus, selah and Amen.

A Treasure Island With Chest Hair

"I wish I could give a balanced review by pointing out the flaws in this book. But I didn't find any. Powers writes in a clean, elegant style that illuminates without slowing down the tale. The story promises marvels and horrors, and delivers them all. You'll love the characters, you'll stay awake all night reading it, and when you finally do sleep, you'll find this story playing through your dreams." — Orson Scott Card

I just finished this indescribably wonderful book not ten minutes ago, and I can still taste the salt spray on my lips and hear the echoes of pistol shots ringing in my ears. I felt like I was reading a grown-up version of Peter Pan that was somehow also intensely realistic and historically accurate. If you care one tiny bit for sea-faring adventures or pirate stories, then this story will quite literally blow you out of the water (pun intended). If you also happen to like tales that involve magic (and who in this Harry Potter generation doesn't?), then I think you'll find this book's excitingly terrifying treatment of that age-old vodun (or voodoo) sorcery far more riveting and intelligently handled than the whiny and increasingly repetitive "adventures" of an awkward young British wizard.

But the book doesn't stop there, no sir. Powers' expert research continually incorporates the real-life pirate history of the Caribbean and its most famous personalities (especially the infamous but charismatic pirate Captain Blackbeard) into the plot in ways that will make your flesh break out in goosebumps!

So grab yourself a bottle of Captain Morgan's rum, drag a patio chair out by the pool, and get ready to hoist anchor and cast off for the greatest adventure of your life! Arrrrhhh!

Happy 197th Birthday, Milord Alfred!

He was extremely short-sighted, and his eyepiece of choice was most often a monocle. He was terrified of mental illness due to his father George's excessive drinking and resultant epileptic fits. He was a direct descendant of King Edward III. Towards the end of his life, he allowed himself to be recorded by Thomas Edison as he railed against his own verse.

These are just a few snippets from the life of one of England's greatest poets, Alfred, Lord Tennyson. In addition to the well-known but perhaps overly patriotic poems published during his tenure as Poet Laureate of the British Empire, Tennyson wrote some of the most profoundly spiritual (though not overtly Christian) poetry of the Victorian era, despite that historical period's propensity for pooh-poohing such verse as "sentimental" and "fanciful." In Memoriam, Tennyson's elegy to his best friend Arthur Hallam, changed my life and my view of death. If you have not read this beautiful work, you may access it unabridged and free of charge here.

After his appointment by Queen Victoria herself (she was a big fan) in 1850, Tennyson served as Laureate for 42 years. Her Majesty later insisted upon making him a Baron of the Realm, despite Alfred's having declined the offer several times, and this barony made him the first writer to become a British Peer.

And apparently, his sense of fashion was a major influence on John Lennon during the Let It Be photo sessions of '69.

Confessions of a Bibb Leo File

Dear God, people. Please help me, for I have gone terribly astray. Before I continue with my apologia biblia, let me tell you a tale of wonder and romance; a story that begins with a fleeting glimpse from a passing car and develops into perhaps the greatest discovery since Cortez found all those Aztecs and stole all their money.

Here in Eyrieville, there is a magical place on the downtown square. I first saw this mythic and bewitching spot as I drove mindlessly toward my new home some two or three days after moving all of my earthly possessions in the hottest truck in the Western world, and I was preoccupied by the customary aches and pains that result from repeatedly lifting things that are far too heavy for you for many days and nights. Perhaps this is why I did not fully realize the miracle I had just been permitted to sully with my cursory glance; or perhaps it was the oppressive heat that prevented my immediate and complete worship of the magnificent edifice that stood before me. Whatever the reason, I drove past in an ignorant stupor, and the workaday world kept on spinning in its usual way for some time.

A few days later, my wife and I decided to check out some of the junk/antique shops lining Eyrieville's remarkably lively courthouse square. While strolling back toward the car, I again noticed the strange purple building with the unusual words "Opera House 1901" on its tall facade.

"Hmm," I said, "I think that's supposed to be a used book store."

"Well, you certainly don't need any more books," my wife quickly remarked.

"I know, I know; but maybe I could just duck in and have a look around. These downtown places are never more than one or two rooms with a few musty paperbacks and old library books; it won't take long."

"Oh, alright," she said reluctantly, "but I'm staying in the truck. Leave me the keys."

I carelessly tossed my wife the keys and strolled brashly up to the unassuming doors of the establishment, barely noticing the sign above the door brandishing the name that I would come to love so dearly only minutes later. Upon entering the quiet gloom and blinking the harsh, sunny glare out of my eyes, I stood for a moment in slack-jawed wonder. The room was brimming with books. 10-foot tall shelves towered above me, crammed full to overflowing with many more books than I had expected.

My initial awe subsided somewhat when I noticed that the room also contained DVDs, VHS tapes, CDs and cassettes.

"Oh," I thought foolishly, "this must be it. I'll just glance around and see if I can find the poetry section."

I glanced around and found no poetry, drama, or even general fiction of any kind! What sort of store was this?! All I could find was tons of mystery and an inordinate amount of theology and philosophy. It was then that I saw the small doorway at the end of the row, revealing a room on a lower level that looked to have a few more books in it. When I passed through the doorway and down a ramp into the other room, I was astonished to see that it was even bigger and more jam-packed with books than the last one! Staring agog at the piles and piles of books on art, photography, architecture, science fiction, drama, interior decorating and gardening, I hastily assumed that I had found the rest of the store.

But gentle readers, there were two more doorways leading out of this chamber, and what was more, a staircase led up to another entire floor of books, almost as large as the main level! My breath caught in my throat as my eyes dilated like those of a hungry shark, and my palms began to sweat profusely. I felt like some intrepid British Egyptologist, crawling throuugh chamber after chamber of the massive tomb he's just uncovered at Giza.

I soon discovered that both classic and contemporary fiction was all upstairs along with poetry and literary criticism, but I couldn't find anything on mythology or folklore (a subject that has become my main concern of late), so I went back to the main room to ask for assistance.

"Sure, we have a mythology section," the woman behind the counter said with a chuckle, "but it's kinda hard to find."

"Oh, did I miss it in the adjacent room? I thought I had looked at most of the rows, but there are just so many," I replied with obvious admiration.

"No, no, no," she shook her head, "mythology's in the basement."

"Th...the...the basement?" I stammered.

"Yeah, just go down the stairs behind the counter there, and then go through the first room on your right. Follow that through into the very back corner room, and you'll see the signs for mythology/folklore. You can follow them the rest of the way."

"Uh...um...thanks," I said over my shoulder as I swaggered unsteadily toward the hidden stairway she had indicated. I wept silent tears of joy as I stepped down from the bottom step. The entire space of the room above was duplicated down on this level, and shelves upon shelves of books stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see.

By the time I had found my way back to the truck outside, my wife had called both of her sisters and was on the phone with her mother. I looked down and was surprised to see that I had bought four books. They were in great condition and hadn't cost a fortune.

But now, readers, now I've been to that wonderful store every day this week, and I never leave without buying something. My bookshelves, which had just begun to take on some semblance of order, are once again burgeoning with excess volumes. They're everywhere. There are stacks on the floor...stacks on the nightstand...stacks in the closet; I don't even remember which book I was reading last!

And I've got nothing to do until August 23rd! I know I will keep going back to that beautiful place if someone doesn't stop me! Please, please, someone check me into a clinic or something before it's too late!