August 9: You Lived On It, Create a Little Happiness, "The Lion King"

Ford has just learned the Hitchhiker's version of the Book of Genesis . . .

"So there you have it," said Slartibartfast, making a feeble and perfunctory attempt to clear away some of the appalling mess of his study.  He picked up a piece of paper from the top of a pile, but then couldn't think of anywhere else to put it, so he put it back on top of the original pile which promptly fell over.  "Deep Thought designed the Earth, we built it and you lived on it."

You know, there can be myriad explanations for everything, from the origin of the universe to the actual color of the wrapper for a grape Tootsie Pop.  (By the way, the answer to that last mystery is purple, in case you were in doubt.  A good number of you disciples out there may be laboring under the misconception that it is blue.  I will pray for you.)

Let me provide my explanation now of what I did this evening.  Some people may think I was being fiscally irresponsible.  Me?  I just decided to create a little happiness for myself.  I was facing an evening of solitude and brooding.  Instead, I took my daughter, her boyfriend, and my son to see the live-action version of The Lion King.  It was something that I had been kicking around all day in my head, but I didn't put it into action until I was on my way home from work.

So, at 5:30 p.m., I was on my way to the theater with my son and daughter laughing together, talking about a computer game they'd been sort of playing together earlier.  My daughter's boyfriend joined into the conversation, and we had a great 20-minute drive.

Then there was the film.  I'd forgotten how moving the story of The Lion King truly is.  It is Shakespearean in scope.  In fact, it borrows quite a bit from Hamlet.  And, the first frames of the movie, the first notes of that first song, I was hooked.  So way\s my son, who has never really experienced the story.  He was enthralled by it, right up to the end, when everything comes full circle.  It was kind of thrilling to watch the movie play out across his face.

After the show, we headed over to Michael's, which is a local craft store.  My daughter's boyfriend needed to buy paints for some fishing lures he's making.  We even had fun in Michael's, looking at the Halloween decorations that are already sitting near the front of the store.

Now, I sit here, typing this quick blog post before bedtime gets full underway with my son.  Tonight, happiness really was a choice I made.  It worked, with a little help from the Walt Disney Company.  I had a great night.

Saint Marty needs to be reminded every once in a while that he deserves to be joyful in the middle of the crap storm life throws at him.

November 1: So Damn Dizzy, Sick Kids, Fairy Tale fo All Saints

After I came out of the place where the mummies were, I had to go to the bathroom.  I sort of had diarrhea, if you want to know the truth.  I didn't mind the diarrhea part too much, but something else happened.  When I was coming out of the can, right before I got to the door, I sort of passed out.  I was lucky, though.  I mean I could've killed myself when I hit the floor, but all I did was sort of land on my side.  It was a funny thing, though.  I felt better after I passed out.  I really did.  My arm sort of hurt, from where I fell, but I didn't feel so damn dizzy any more.

Holden is one sick puppy by this time in the book.  He's probably got pneumonia.  He hasn't eaten anything substantial for a couple of days, and he's gotten really drunk at least once.  That doesn't even count the two or three packs of cigarettes he's smoked.  And he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  He's, to put it mildly, a hot mess.


The day after Halloween.  My daughter woke up complaining of a sore throat.  My wife took her to the doctor.  She has strep.  My son came home from school with a case of conjunctivitis.  Obviously, my plans for today have changed drastically.  My daughter is no longer going to a hair appointment or her dance lesson or an overnight birthday party.  My son is longer spending the night at his grandma's house.  Currently, I'm waiting for a phone call from my wife to go pick up prescriptions for my kids.  Like Holden, they are both hot messes right now.  They'll be better by tomorrow, thank goodness.

I'm in my office at the university at the moment.  It's quiet here.  Most people (faculty/staff/students) don't come to campus on Fridays.  I can usually get a lot of work done, including getting my blogging done.  I like my Friday afternoons.  No interruptions.  No distractions.  And it's the first day of November.  All Saints Day.  Halloween is a memory, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are fast approaching.  The year is quickly drawing to a close.  It hasn't been the greatest year of my life, but it hasn't been the worst, either.  It certainly could have gone a whole lot better.

Once upon a time, a traveling bard named Barney came to a little town called Hamlet.  Hamlet was so little it consisted of only three cottages.  In one cottage lived the Hamlet's baker.  In the second cottage lived the blacksmith.  In the third lived the sheriff.

Barney took out his mandolin, put his hat on the ground, and started to play and sing.

The baker, blacksmith, and sheriff came out of their homes to listen to Barney.  Barney sang songs about love and betrayal and death.  He even sang a few Lady Gaga tunes.  When he was done singing, he waited for Hamlet's residents to throw some money into his hat.  The three men didn't move.

"What's wrong with you?" Barney finally asked.  "Didn't you like my music?"

The three men nodded slowly.

"Then why don't you put some money in my cap to show your appreciation?"  Barney said.

The sheriff said, "Well, I was just wondering if you had a permit to put on a show in the town square."

The baker said, "I didn't know if you liked cinnamon rolls, which I just took out of my stove."

The blacksmith said, "And you don't have a horse."

Barney shook his head.  "I don't have a permit.  I'm allergic to cinnamon.  And I sold my horse two villages ago."

The sheriff said, "Well, then, you're going to have to move along, son."

"Don't I get anything for my performance today?"  Barney said.

The baker stepped forward and handed him two dead bugs.

"What are these?" Barney said.

"I found them on my windowsill," the baker said.

"Why would you give me two dead insects?" Barney said.

"We're trying to solve an argument," the blacksmith said.

"What's the argument?" Barney said.

"We want to know if these are two bees or not two bees," the sheriff said.

Moral of the story:  never stop in a town named Hamlet.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

That is the question