March 9: "Eyes," Pretty Honest, One Truth

Billy Collins opens his . . . 

Eyes

by:  Billy Collins

O little twin spheres

echoing

the shape of the earth

and a perfect match

for the blue

curvature of the sky,

no wonder

the dark, descending birds

always begin with you.

Kind of a bleak little image there--dark, descending birds always beginning with the eyes.  Right out of a Grimm fairy tale.  Or an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  

There's an old saying that eyes are the windows to the soul.  The mouth can lie.  So can the face.  Even the body can lie.  But eyes simply can't lie, unless you happen to be a sociopath with an orange complexion and really bad hair.  

However, I believe that most people are pretty honest.  That doesn't mean that all truths are valid.  That means that every individual owns a piece of the puzzle, and if all of those pieces could be put together, the full truth would be revealed.

Here are the truths of today, as seen through my eyes:

1) Winter returned today, with snow and wind and ice.  

2) My puppy likes to bark.  All.  Day.  Long.  At other dogs.  Passing cars.  The mail carrier.

3) I love my wife.

4) I love my kids.

5) I love my sisters, who live only a block away from me.

6) I love my friends who came over tonight to play board games.

7) I love watching movies late at night.

8) I intensely dislike Daylight Saving Time in the spring.

9) Poetry can save your life.

10) Nobody should act out of anger or resentment.

11) Those that love you the most can hurt you the most.

12) Cheese should be its own food group.

13) The Oscars are more entertaining than the Super Bowl.

14) Naps are one of the greatest pleasure in life.

15) Everyone should watch a sunrise at least once a week.

16) Everyone should watch a sunset at least once a week.

17) The movie Wonka is pretty amazing.

Some disciples reading this post might not agree with a few (or all) of my truths.  That's okay.  Peace on Earth doesn't mean that everyone agrees on what the truth is.  It means that, despite all of our different truths, we can still love each other and help each other in times of need.

Saint Marty hopes we can all agree on that one truth.

And also that Donald Trump is batshit crazy.

February 28: Oscar Night, Snow Storm, Classic Saint Marty

It is the night of the Oscars.  Traditionally, it snows in the Upper Peninsula on Oscar day.  I'm not talking about a dusting.  On my way home one Oscar night, I got stuck in a snowbank at the bottom of a hill.  Tonight, the snow is falling.  Winter weather advisories are in effect until tomorrow night.  Inches of white stuff predicted.

But, it is Oscar night.  The snacks are bought.  The ballots are filled out.  The Red Carpet pre-show is on the television.  The countdown has begun.  I will probably be up until past midnight.  I will be up around 5 a.m. tomorrow morning to shovel out my driveway after the city plows come down my street.  I will be VERY tired tomorrow night.

But, tonight is all gold.  Pulling for The Revenant and Sylvester Stallone.  I wouldn't cry if Kate Winslet wins tonight, either.

Four years ago, it was all about the Michigan presidential primary on this day...

February 28, 2012:  Selfishness in Our Name, Primary, Voting

"There are some upon this earth of yours," returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived.  Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us."

The Spirit speaking here is the Ghost of Christmas Present. He is dressing down Scrooge for his comment about the Ghost depriving poor people of a meal every seventh day. I'm assuming Scrooge is referring to the Sunday closure of businesses or charities or almshouses that provide food and warmth to the less fortunate in Victorian London. I'm sure there's some historical reference I'm missing here, but the intent of Scrooge's observation is clear. The Ghost's response is one of the two times when he gets pissed in the novel. (The other time comes at the end when he reveals the specters of Ignorance and Want from under his robe.)

Today is primary day in the state of Michigan. Republicans and Democrats and Tea Party members and Green Party members all head to the polls to decide who should be running for President of the United States.  Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum have been all over the state, from Detroit to Marquette.  In addition, their political ads have been eating up the airwaves, as well.  I, for one, am going to be glad when this day is over and the candidates move on to the next battleground.

I have never made a secret of the fact that I'm generally not fond of Republican politicians.  One of my biggest beefs with Republicans is the fact that they seem to view themselves as the only political party for good, Christian people.  Republicans call themselves Christians, but they spend most of their political energies taking away programs that benefit the poor and under-privileged:  universal health care, welfare, Medicare, Medicaid, unemployment, Head Start programs.  If it doesn't help out people in the higher tax-brackets, Republicans aren't interested in it.

What the Spirit says in the above passage really resonated with me this morning.  Most Republicans, I think, give Christians a bad name.  They lay their decisions at the feet of Jesus, and, as a result, more poor people go without health care.  More poor kids get sub-standard educations.  In the meantime, Republicans go back to their six-bedroom homes and six-figure incomes, feeling like they've done their Christian duty by protecting the wealthy.

Ebenezer Romney and Ebenezer  Santorum

The Ghost of Christmas Present instructs Scrooge to put the blame for society's ills where it belongs.  I believe in that.  Mitt Romney is against the auto industry bail-out, until he meets an auto worker from Detroit on the campaign trail.  Rick Santorum is against President Obama's health care program, until he meets a single mother of five with no health insurance on the campaign trail.  All politicians (Republicans and Democrats, alike) need to take responsibility for their choices and deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness. 

Jesus and the Spirit of Christmas have no part in hungry or sick children, in men or women living on the cold streets.  That's all the Scrooges of the world.

Saint Marty won't be voting for any Scrooge, especially a Republican one.

August 25: Watching the Emmy Awards, Shallow Stars, "Web" Dip

Here I sit, watching the 66th annual Emmy Awards.  I've been bathing in the glow of self-congratulatory back-slapping and vapid humor.  There the shallow stars stand onstage, looking winded and shocked, saying things like, "This is just too much.  I don't believe this.  I didn't think I was going to win this year."  Then they dig into a sleeve or pocket or bodice and remove an acceptance speech.

Every year, I watch these awards shows.  Emmy Awards.  Oscars.  Golden Globes.  Tony Awards.  For me, it's an exercise in mockery and envy.  Beautiful, rich people who have everything possible awarding each other gold statuettes for being better than other beautiful, rich people who have everything possible.  That pretty much sums it up.

I haven't seen anything too surprising.  The same actors are winning this year who won last year.  So, it's like watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory on TBS.  It even has Jim Parsons.

So, my question is:

Will I ever win some self-congratulatory, back-slapping award (Pulitzer, National Book Award, Nobel Prize, Blogger of the Year, Best Father Who Made His Son Cry a Little Tonight Award)?

And the answer from E. B. White is:

The crickets sang in the grasses.  They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song.  "Summer is over and gone," they sang.  "Over and gone, over and gone.  Summer is dying, dying."

Well, that's depressing.

Saint Marty's gonna call this post done.

Really?  Again?

March 2: Oscar At Last

Me and the boys

As you can see by the picture, I have finally obtained the Oscars I won last Sunday night.  I haven't won these trophies for quite a few years, so I'm quite happy.

I will not go into detail about how I got the Oscars.  Let me just say, there was no kicking or screaming.  No extortion.  No bloodshed.  No nudity.  No song and dance number.  No threats.  No defecation on the carpet.  It was a painless mission.

Now that they've been in my possession for close to three hours, I still have a warm, fuzzy glow, and I haven't had any alcohol at all.  If I happen to pee the bed tonight, I'll know I have a serious problem that needs medication.  I actually thought of having a victory drink tonight, but the strongest thing I have in the house is orange juice.

I will be taking these guys to bed tonight.  They may be gold and hard and a little stiff...OK, I'm not going to finish that statement, because there's just no way to end it gracefully.

Saint Marty is overcome.  In the words of Sally Field, "You like me.  You really like me."  In the words of Dustin Hoffman, "Look, he has no genitalia."

Just one more look before we retire

February 27: Trivial Conversation, Oscars, One Week

"How are you?" said one.

"How are you?" returned the other.

"Well!" said the first.  "Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?"

"So I am told," returned the second.  "Cold, isn't it?"

"Seasonable for Christmas time.  You're not a skater, I suppose?"

"No.  No.  Something else to think of.  Good morning!"

Not another word.  That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Scrooge was the first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be...

Of course, the two gentlemen Scrooge observes are, in fact, referring to Scrooge's death in the middle of a quick exchange on the street.  Scrooge doesn't know he is the "Old Scratch" to which they are referring.  He will eventually learn the meaning of their conversation, but not for a few pages.

I think we all go through life sort of like this.  We meet people at Wal-Mart or McDonald's or in a parking lot, and we have these kinds of mundane exchanges all the time.  There's not a lot of depth to them.  It's a momentary connection with someone, and then it's over.  As Dickens demonstrates in this little excerpt from A Christmas Carol, however, even the most trivial of conversations can carry significance.

My point this morning is that there really is no such thing as "trivial" human interaction.  Even the most superficial of meetings between people can have serious import.  I always try to remember this fact, whether I'm talking with the cashier at the Dollar Tree or the head of the English Department at the university.  Everyone deserves to be treated with respect and kindness.  I'm not saying I'm always successful at doing this, but I try.  Words have a lot of power.  They can hurt or heal.  Knock a person down or lift a person up.

Meryl and me, the big winners!  Suck it!

Last night, I hosted an Oscar party for family and friends.  We had a great time.  There was a lot of "trivial" talk and fun.  It was good to be with people I don't see on a frequent basis.  By the way, I won the competition by a nose.  I'd like to say I stomped the competition, but that would be unkind and childish.  Like I said, words can hurt, even when said in jest.  Therefore, this morning, I'll say it was a close contest, and I really respect the other people who were competing.

I will not say, "In your face!"  I will not do a victory dance every time I see somebody I beat.  I will not send gloating e-mails to my entire contact list.  (OK, I sent an e-mail to one person this morning.  That's all.)  I will not act superior to my friends and family.  I'll try not to.  I really will.  And I will not treat anyone I meet as less intelligent or charming or deserving of praise than myself.  I won't.  I promise.

This week is the last before spring break at the university.  All I have to say about that is, "Hallelujah!"

Saint Marty needs to go and act humble now.

February 26: Speak Comfort, Lost Work, Oscars, New Cartoon

"Jacob," he said imploringly.  "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more.  Speak comfort to me, Jacob."

I need some words of comfort right now.  Scrooge is begging Marley's ghost to give him some kind words, some hope.  I have no ghost to beg for help. 

I just tried to open the file that contained the pages of memoir I'd finished for today's post.  The file is empty, and I have no hard copy of the "Preface" on which I'd been working.  Eight or nine hours of writing is down the drain.  I can't find the work anywhere.  I have to start all over again.

Usually, I don't work on a computer first.  I write drafts of everything in my journal, and then I do the keyboarding.  I even followed this practice when I started blogging.  For the first year of my blogging life, I wrote each post in my journal, edited it, and then typed and posted it.  I don't do this anymore.  I just sit down a see what comes out of my fingers.

That's why I decided to work on my laptop for Project Memoir.  I wanted to see if I could actually write something completely on my computer.  Look where it got me.  I have no first chapter of my memoir to post, and I have to reconstruct all of my work from memory.  I'm pissed.

So, this first week of Lent, I'm a big Lenten loser.  I have a shit-load of catch-up to do because I trusted technology.  That won't be happening ever again.   From now on, I will be working primarily in my journal.

The Oscars are on tonight.  People are coming to my house to watch the show.  I have Scoop Fritos and cheese dip, Red Vines, and Diet Mountain Dew.  My sister-in law is bringing her artichoke dip.  My poet friend is bringing fruit salad.  I guess we have to have something to eat that's a little bit healthy.  We'll see by the end of the evening if I win my family's traveling Oscar trophy.  (Yes, folks, we take this crap seriously.)

I don't have much else to talk about this evening.  I'm pissed.  I'm a Lenten loser.  I will be stuffing my face with lots of unhealthy snacks and cheering for Billy Crystal tonight.

Saint Marty needs get to work in his journal now.

Confessions of Saint Marty

February 27: Saint Anne Line and the Oscars

Tonight, I'm going to watch the Oscars with my family.  That might sound like an incredibly tedious evening for most people.  It's a big deal for me.  You see, since I was a teenager, I've had a competition with my family over who can guess the most Oscar winners.  It started out as just acquiring bragging rights, as in, "Hey, all you losers, you eat shit, and I'm awesome!"  Then, about ten or eleven years ago, we bought an actual statuette that has the size, shape, look, and heft of an actual Oscar.  It goes home with the winner for the year.  This innovation has turned an evening of good-natured sportsmanship into a blood sport.

My sisters spend hours on Google, doing "research."  This afternoon, they were huddled in a corner, whispering to each other.  The Oscars have caused tears and arguments.  The winner, now, can't even savor the moment of triumph.  I won two years ago, and I had to wait to do my in-your-face-sucka dance until I was at home, alone.

I realize this may sound over-the-top, maybe even a little ludicrous.  But there's nothing worse than watching the Oscar ceremony for three or four hours and walking away empty-handed.  No wonder Woody Allen never shows up.  It's even worse when you realize you don't even stand a chance half-way through the night.  At that point, I usually start hitting the Cheetos hard.

There will be nothing even remotely saintly about my behavior or feelings tonight.  I want to crush my competition.  Every year, I vow to not get caught up in the fever.  Every year, I fail.  Right now, I'm sitting here, trying to calculate my odds of bringing home that gold trophy for a year.  It ain't looking good.

Saint Anne Line's life sort of puts this whole night into perspective.  She was disowned by her parents for converting to Catholicism.  In 1585, she married a fellow convert.  Her husband, however, was sent into exile for participating in a Mass.  He died in exile in 1594.  Anne, herself, was arrested on February 2, 1601, for hosting a Mass in her home.  On February 27, she was hanged for "harboring priests."

So, compared to Anne Line's life, my little competition for a faux Oscar seems, at best, silly.  I readily admit this fact.  Anne put her life on the line for her country and her faith.  I'm watching vapid celebrities stroll down a red carpet to attend a gala event that, in the grand scheme of the universe, really means absolutely nothing.  It won't bring about world peace.  It won't topple a bloodthirsty dictator.  It won't make Sarah Palin a Rhodes Scholar.

Saint Marty is trying to keep everything in perspective.  But Saint Marty would give his left testicle to take that statue home tonight.

Wish me luck!